...So, because I am a Crescent that I am knew? Far more gossips surrounds my surname than legends to be told. You can eat a radish as much as you can eat people, though the later is a crime. Far more, it''s a sin, like when we become Dragoon Knigths. We couldn''t be what men were, this until Joanna, founder of the Crescent clan, came in to do the agreement. Besides a statue given after her demise, they created an order of female knights, knew by Leviathan Knights, whereas the male become the Bahamut Knights. I am a Leviathan Knight, or used to be, this before you came in.
Not that I don''t like you, in fact, I like children, yet I never had the time to take care of Jack. If I truly liked his, then this job would be done, and that is a sacrifice I must not commit. I can''t live for the sake of only one, though, he is me as well. Me, and Bart too. How I wish for your father to come back soon. I wish he could be here now, but that is just a wish, of an only person. Me, Jack and others of us think the same. Even you may be tired of this wait, but don''t worry. Just don''t. You are too young to be upset, and too young to share of a hair that keeps falling like the rain.
¡ª So how are you doing, Lenneth? ¨C unlike the man standing at the back of the counter, like many around the market, someone asked how do I feel, or how is my day. On these times, when we are on our own, they must show us some kind of compassion for what we had been throught. To think they are the few ones who stood there... so, about the voice I heard, my dear, it was such voice coming from my back. I didn''t know who it was, but certainly she knew me. It wasn''t a relative of mine, or Bart''s, but sure knew me, like this.
Near my back, there''s a woman standing in there. She is like any other Burmecian I knew, this in the first layer. She''s not a single woman, thought she seems to be alone, but she ain''t or doesn''t look like a common figure with another look, a far depth one, yet not enough to estabilish her personality. Prominent details are the basket she''s carrying in the left arm, and a little infant on the another. Her face and eyes open wide, a hand softly touching the chest, and a reaction of relief, a brief one, in a single breath, that repeats with time. I can see the trepidation of the legs, the same ones felt by me after Jack came from me. She should had been in bed by now, but she keeps standing like this, even wounded by a knife, feeling such pains, as I do feel a kind of compassion, maybe less than her pain, but at least I feel something, so familiar, yet so near of me.
¡ª Hi ¨C I said. It was pretty basic to say only a single greeting like this. If I, at least, knew her... Now, I should tell her how do I fell, and I must be truthful to her, and myself ¨C I feel fine ¨C sometimes I do, to be fair. Today seems to be the day I shall feel fine, since early morning. Jack once again had no complains about the breakfast and lunch, though he said to me that there was no milk.
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That wasn''t a complain, since I also had been complaining to myself about it as well. At least, there''ll be bread for tomorrow, this if those I had gotten in this basket don''t get hard as a rock. They still use to do, ever since those days. I lost one of my teeth when I ate one of these breads; fortunately, it was a milk-tooth, so another grew on its place months after. Now, wasn''t I talking to that lady there? Yes, I was. I said a ''hi'' earlier, didn''t I? She is buying some bread as well, as much as I had done before her.
¡ª Excuse me, but what is your name? ¨C I asked the essential question to that woman I talked with. On an instant, her answer came.
¡ª My name is Sophia ¨C she said, clever as before. She listened to me, even backwards of me, I know she did. It''s wrong to not keep listening to others when they do need of your attention, my dear.
But I know you are listening to me, aren''t you? You may be sleeping by now, like that newborn kept wrapped in those pieces of clothes, comfortably wiggling such little ears, small like yours. I remember the days I used to walk with Jack around the town on a same way. Only a few times I did it so, because of my duty as a Dragoon. Sometimes, I would hold his with my outfit on, as he used to touch my hair instead of the cold escutcheon hanging on my chest, which I had quite a hard time to take it out to feed his. If Jack could, at least, know of the efforts I had to be able to be his mother and a knight at same time...
¡ª What is his name? ¨C I asked to Sophia, still standing next to me. She already filled in the basket with the breads, as we walked to somewhere else in the market. This place is full of people, prices and lies, but there''s also good people of heart, and people who also sell hearts, however.
¡ª Sixty ¨C she said ¨C Sixty Highwind ¨C and later added his, or her surname. I didn''t know if it was a boy or a girl, but sounded like a boy''s name. Such a name, don''t you think? I have a name for you too, though Bart also had gotten a name for you too. I wonder if you''ll be a boy or a girl, well, only time will tell, when I hold you into my arms, the same for your father, this if he makes the way back to home, please. Well, of all the people of this market, this woman knews who am I. She spoke ''Lenneth'', and only. Such formality could be only heard from my husband, or a few relatives, who also call me by Crescent. Maybe she forgot I was a Crescent, or didn''t insisted to tell such. I admit that I''m a bit tired of being called by my surname, and only. When I used to wear the Dragoon helm, together with the entirety of my outfit, that mattered, but now it seems so... so... formal.
Yuck. There are ''Sirs'', ''Dukes'', ''Kings'', ''Queens''... had any of them got mad because of such formality? They are still people, so why shouldn''t we pretend they are people, to often call them by their names, instead of ''King Something'', why not just ''Something''? However, that''s just my opinion. They are proud to be called this way. It''s a matter of recognition, since the names of a few are kept, while others are forgotten. Not that I am proud of being a Crescent, sure I am, but I am more than a Dragoon Knight, or more than a female, more than the lady in red, more than the white hair beauty, more than a single mother. I want more, but I don''t know the enough; I have limits, but I don''t accept such. I was born with this name and blood, and I need to accept of such, because without them... I am nothing. Nothing but someone like mother, taught to raise children ever since I used to play with Karellen, or since Jack used to play with his.
¡ª You used to be a Dragoon Knight, don''t you? ¨C Sophia asked to me. Coldly, I took a deep breath, a breath of distress, followed by words of sincerity, or kinda of.
¡ª Yes. I used to be ¨C I promptly answered, looking down with the eyes. No, it''s not your fault, my dear, I know it isn''t. I am glad that you made your appearance with such evidence. What I once thought to be a disease was nothing more than a new life, the seed that hatched from the love of me and your father. After all the lives I and my spear had taken away with a single hit, you had been striking me in the back, with a pain belonging to same spear, that I am glad to feel, somehow. They can see you plenty by now, instead of what used to be my misery. They now pay attention to yours, instead of my face, my hair, and my clothes.
¡ª Really? ¨C surprised, Sophia briefly spoke. She was one of those persons that used to recognize me as a Dragoon Knight, or so I thought ¨C A Dragoon is always a Dragoon, no matter the situation, ain''t I right?
¡ª Yes, you are. But you see¨C
¡ª Can you do a favour for me? ¨C she interruped what I was about to say. I don''t remember, but I was about to say something about pregnancy, which may be a wonderful experience for many, yet a dangerous game for same ones. Prior, it''s fine, then the fun stops with the pukes, the scent of lenghts, the... what was it? Oh, that''s fine. I am about to do a favour for this Sophia, why not? Before I ask to her what should I do, she raises that basket, full of food taken in from the market, from where we once went, and now we are heading to our homes. I guess bread, cereals and those fruits and truffles are enough for today, though I still need some milk, or else there''ll be no chai or what Jack intends to do with such. I shall hold tight the ear of his if trouble happens, but that would be a waste of time, since Jack had done nothing wrong or questionable or relatable to bad behavior lately. He keeps quiet as usual, like he once did.
I own Bart and the amount of gils he left, just in case the unnexpected happened, like it had weeks ago. With his, and other males too, like Sophia''s husband too. He doesn''t even know of its sixty son, as much as Bart doesn''t even know that I am not sick, or deranged. I do feel fine, yet I don''t, because Bart doesn''t know how do I feel, neither Jack, who doesn''t believe in me, just obeys. He needs to, for some reason, maybe because I am the only one left to take care of his, the one who stood with his father mostly than any other, besides himself. I may be Lennie to his, but still I am a Lenneth, in a way.
So, the favour Sophia asked for me was to take her, kinda, heavy basket and hold it until we reached her home. That sure was an easy task, in theory, but practice fooled me again. Now I had to keep carrying on both baskets, counting yours as well, afraid of breaking the column apart, but that was an overreaction of my body, and memories of those times I trained to become a Dragoon Knight. This reminded of the day I had to wear heavier armor as usual, and climb a mountain path to defeat some Grand Dragons, left there by the highest skilled Knights who had immobilized them with the extract of opiates. Though they left many scars on my back, by each time I defeated one of them, I had to wear a pair of rings attached on their body, and then I had to kill another, wear its rings, and another, wear the rings, until my limbs could support. The maximum allowed quantity of rings is equivalent to the strenght of 24 men.
Such hellish challenge that led the life of many into a skull collapsed by the weight of the rings can''t be compared to this task of lifting this kind woman''s basket and mine, with both hands, in the way back home of ours. We live at the countryside as well, it''s such relaxing place, more than the town, maybe even like inside there, my dear. Listen... the rain follow us as well, always had ever since we were born. While I hold of these baskets, Sophia still hold of the infant with both arms by now. She doesn''t want to let him go, and why would she? I understand it. I did let Jack go, and I''m sure I won''t let you go, since besides Jack, you are the only one there for me to take care of, or to be taken care back in the old days. These and those days, already gone, unlike your father. He may be far away, but only in lenghts stretching these lands, as the sky remains the same leaking ceiling of always.
Finally, whew!... There is Sophia''s house, which seems quite a lot alike mine. These structures share of a same shape, of a bell, and same people living in there. Kids, as usual, awaited for their parents or relatives to come back, so they can eat, keep playing with no worries, or talk with the adults, to satisfy their curiosity. Currently, there was none of them, as it seemed to be. Only Sixty was there with Sophia, who carefully opened the door, to allow her and me to come inside. As we stepped from the round marbles of outside to went through the room, once dark but now seem with the candles lit upon the walls that lead from that room to the kitchen on the right, clearly illuminated by the window, as I left those baskets on the table, what a relief... I thought, this until a figure came running downstairs. Those steps, now heard alike the common pitter-patter of a child''s legs, belonged to one of Sophia''s sons.
¡ª Mommy! ¨C he exclaimed of surprise, as he came running like before, to give a hug, a brief and soft one, on Sophia''s legs, who still trembled, but that didn''t mattered, as before.
¡ª Where are your brothers, Fratley? ¨C Sophia asked to that infant. Fratley... do I recall such name? Maybe I do.
¡ª They are playing in the field, mommy... ¨C he said, and kept saying, with that characteristic voice belonging to a child like his, and Jack, though my son''s voice varies in a certain tone, unlike this younger one. This Fratley... yes, he is one of Jack''s friends, I presume. Something I noticed from his is that he swings the knees to the front and back, back and forth, and so repeats. He also looked upon his mother, and me as well. With an only eye often being targeted onto me, as he kept talking with his mom, and her all ears to his, yet she was paying more attention to the baby in her arms than the one who already learned to talk, and how does he talk, for someone of his height. We are both taller than his, yet far different people by design, like him as well.
¡ª ...Fratley ¨C by the instant Sophia interrupted his, after speaking of his name, Fratley had stopped the conversation. He stood quiet, looking at his mother, and only, though his limbs still kept moving, unlike that gaze only directed to his mother, barely blocked by a shards of his long hair, coming from underneath the green cap each boy like him does wear. So he stood in there, awaiting for what seemed to be an order, as usual it seemed to be. I know it, because Jack also share of this same way to deal with my orders, since he already knows when I should give one to his. When I speak of Jack''s name, on a same tone Sophia spoke of Fratley''s, there is a pressage on the way the name is spoken, as they promptly know what to do next, all by experience. To wear proper clothes, to come to the table for dinner, to get in bed to sleep... these kids already know what to do, and usually they stand quiet, because they haven''t achieved such experience.
¡ª Yes, mommy? ¨C he asked. Besides standing in there, looking fixed at mother''s eyes, Fratley also asked a single question to his mother. He had no idea of what to do, but ask to the one who told the name of his, on that tone, which other children would be able to decipher easily, as I did already. But Fratley is still young to attain coordenation for what he is supposed to do.
¡ª You said your brothers went to the field, so why don''t you call them to come here now?
¡ª Yes, mommy ¨C Fratley said, promptly turning his back and running away from our sight. But before he coult step on, he turned backwards, now looking up to me, with both eyes gazing as much as I ¨C Hey, mommy... Who is this other lady over there?
¡ª Well, this one here is Lenneth ¨C said Sophia, talking to Fratley, yet cuddling of the little one in her arms ¨C You should thank her for being able to help me come back to home, my dear.
¡ª Oh... ¨C he looked towards me, like a sunflower revolving to the nearest ounce of light. For a moment, his face expressed such gratitude, less than what he intended to do, but yet he had found a way to show such ¨C Thanks, Lenneth ¨C he said, as he waved the little hand of his, brief as the smirk given to me, and from me to his as well. So he ran away from the kitchen, to the door, and outside, until the vision of his fainted away fron our sight.
¡ª He sure is a nice kid, isn''t it? ¨C Sophia asked me, with a rhetorical look on her eyes ¨C The others are good kids too, though they may age from a time to another... but that''s their nature, that once belonged to us as well. Such a pain, yet they are nice with each other, as much as we do. Maybe we''ll see one and another soon, don''t we, Lenneth? ¨C as I picked up my chest, I decided to left Sophia''s house, not before I could say a goodbye to her.
¡ª Yes. Sooner than you think. Bye.
¡ª May Bahamut shall grant you strenght.
Now, before we head to home at least, I need to borrow some milk for me, and Jack. I am a gallon of milk already, but this is only reserved for yours. Once it belonged to Jack, but now he had grown up, and had acquired a taste for other things, and born with some as well. We are guiden by such forces to meet friends, marry each other, have children, all for a sense of security, similar to the one we had while inside the womb, as much as you do by now. But soon, you''ll get out of there, but don''t worry. When your descent comes, there will be those who won''t let you fall, as they hold you close, sharing of the heat, a sense of heat you currently are living with. Besides heat, I''ll offer you safety in those arms.
Safety can be found in a gun, in these claws, or at the tip of many javelins, sharp as the jaws of the dragons killed by those. It may be just an instinct, but dragons do kill to find safety for their own species, as much as we do for the sake of our species as well. I used to kill, but now I am breeding of new life, your life. I once breed of Jack''s life too, but this time, it feels that I am so close to yours, this is unlike what I felt for Jack, before his birth. There is a first time for everything, or so they say, and a sense of first that only happens once.
You can speak a world, futile for us who already spoke of many, but you''ll never feel once again how special such word sounded, only for the first time, and only; you can eat a bowl of soup, either like it or not, and even if you grown up and learn to like such taste, you will never feel the same strange sensation of such flavour being introduced in your mouth, to be swallowed deep into your throat; you can feel the rain running throught your skin, but as soon as you keep walking below it, you lose the sensation of being bothered about it, or what you felt for the first time rain touched upon your nose. You can love a person too, be kissed by they lips, same ones who spoke of your name, be caressed by they hands, be guided by the candle in the darkest of the narrow paths, but either if it was you or they who threw away the keys, even if you meet with another person, you''ll always remind of his, or her, for the first time and for what seems to be an eternity.
...
XXII: Kneel To The Boss
July 04, 1778
XV - VI
At the front of the door of his house, Jack, son of Bartholomew Brandford and Lenneth Crescent, stands there, sitting along his cousin, Daniel Brandford, also known as Dan, or ''Gappys'' by his nearest cousin, the same Jack that is as bored as his. Bored because they had nothing else to do. Before reaching such unnexpected conclusion, they played some marbles, yet they still feel such boredom, like a stranger from another lands also feel when it comes to such land without a shining sun on its full glory. There are things a boy can only do on its own, or when together by same boys. Jack and Dan had done many of these things, and some they are still awaiting to do, either because they are only children, or because only an adult has the height enough to do such thing.
Even with such low height, these kids can climb a tree, thanks to the claws they were born with, and the energy kept into such tiny bodies. Someday, they might climb onto something, or someone else, but until there, they keep playing some marbles, because that''s one of the things they thought to do first. There is no winner, or loser yet. A game of marbles is usually played with more than two players, but since only two of them got along, and with no sight of a third or fourth player anywhere else, they keep playing the same game. While both keep hitting the marbles of each, blue for Jack, and green for Dan, they think for themselves.
XV - VII
Time used to went away when these kids played with each other, or when they thought for a moment about something of their interest. There are other boys playing with marbles, and others playing with other balls. At home, or in the distant yard, covered by mud or rain, some kids play a game with an only ball, and eleven boys, while Jack and Dan play a game with many balls, and only two boys. No girls are allowed to play or interact with such games and balls for boys. They never tried, but insisted to play, or else they cried and later come back with mommy, still insisting to be allowed to play such game.
Unlike girls, mothers are serious beings. To think some of them were once as childish as their daughters, thought Jack, remembering of the day a girl, instead of calling her mother, called his own, only because he didn''t allowed her to play a game for boys. To call a mother belonging to yours is a thing, but to call Lenneth, whom he refers to fondly as ''Lennie'', was a cheap trick. And how cheap it was. Jack never told to his mother, or Lennie as he call her by, and keeps insisting so, what kind of game he didn''t allowed that girl to play with his and others like his. When you are a boy, other boys check you out, so Jack lied and said it was marbles instead, like now. Life is a pop of cherry, or so Dan said to his, and of course it was the father of his who said it once, or many times, since many of the children learn from patterns, from repetition, because everything repeats, or insists so, like these cherries eaten or soon to be ate, or what the heck do ''pop'' means, or sounds like. Jack still is wondering to this day, as he uses to wonder with everything as well, and what kind of life his uncle Clyde do lead, and if its the same one that belongs to his father as well. Maybe not, he thought.
Speaking about fathers, they usually were were there to give them an advice of what to do. Jack often would hunt some Basilisks with his father, whereas Dan would do the same as well with Clyde, the father of his, also Jack''s uncle. Not the only one, but a kind of uncle, an individual they call by ''unique'', ''special'' to denote such individuality, however Jack only calls Clyde by ''uncle'' or ''funny'' than such terms. These aren''t enough to describe his, he thinks, as he once though of same before. Today, they don''t feel such need of killing Basilisks, even if maybe that would be fun, but the fun they are willing to search needs to last, for a bit longer.
XV - VIII
So Jack and Dan keep playing marbles, throwing a ball on another, and seeing how they move above a surface of stone, the same where they stand sitting, or laying down, as Jack had moved, unquiet of standing in same position. He ain''t a statue, though statues are given more attention than an ordinary as his. Lenneth, went to the market, and sooner or later she will get back home; either way, even if the day would find a way to progress with her comeback, still stood still, as much as it insists to remain into such. That''s why people seek a way to break with the habits, do something new, or else, life become such a boredom, like the game Jack and Dan insists to keep playing, unlike adults.
Besides the task given to take care of Jack, Lenneth now found herself to be pregnant, still awaiting for the arriving of the newborn and also for the one who was crucial for its production. So do Jack, for his father, and only. Because there is no such a thing like a kid with two, or many fathers, or so do Dan says otherwise, referring once again to ''Mrs. Bindweed'', a lady neighbor of his that had gotten many sons, belonging to many fathers, though her house ain''t an orphanage. ''I''m not interested'', or ''shut up'', as Jack uses to say to Dan, and his ''bullshits'', or ''shits'', either with the mind of his, or with the lips of his. The mind spoke at the moment, and how often his lips used to... Moving on.
Not that Jack did''nt wanted another brother. Maybe if the brother of his grew up, or so do Jack thought, then he and Gappys would be playing together on these days of marbles. While Jack would taught his brother some words, Dan would share of his Basilisk Hunter techniques, as much as his father had told his how to do. Jack also would be there to teach his young brother about the world they live, and how everything is not funny when it comes to claws, as a good old brother must do, in order to assure the youngs one strenght, both physically and mentally, to endure such situations where a fist seems to be the only way to decide answers. Yes, that would be funny and even an act of responsibility, but what if his father didn''t come back? If Bart, daddy, hypothetically failed, and died in sequence.
Such humdrum blew into his mind. Daddy would never fail with his, Jack thought, as much as he won''t fail to his. That''s a major reason that justifies why he didn''t attempted to abandon Lennie. Only a coward would let a female, girl or woman, on their own when they need of another at their most, or so uncle Clyde said to his, sounding alike his own father. But why his father did left? He ain''t a coward, Jack thought with conviction, with absolute truth, or so what he knew about his father. He may be a fool who stood with Lennie instead of mother, but he had his own reasons, unlike Jack. Too young to understand, or too old to be treated as a young one, Jack isn''t daddy, or daddy isn''t Jack. Though they are father and son, a kid and adult, they still are different, or rather similar, on the way they do live.
Well, if daddy never would come back, even if he had all that strenght to his alone, it was hard for Jack to believe into such possibility, but heroes do die, someday or everyday. They are either hid under or between hats, or exposed like statues for them all. Kain, Frigg, Gizamaluk, Cyan, Magnus, Phaedra... those were the names Jack thought, as much as the ones whom Dan said when asked by his cousin names of Kings, Queens and legends that resisted against time, and only. They are dead, but they are knew even by an infant like his, or Dan, or his other cousins. Even the surname of his, Crescent, was knew by other people, associated with a substantial amount of legends, enough to be recognized by the masses.
All of the Crescent knew by others were once Dragoon Knights. Now they are either a few statues, or mainly spears of what they used to be, or unknown relatives from past centuries, buried like any other belonging to same place. Tombstones are recognized by family members, and only, who learned from the old about their location, like a secret treasure map, whose treasure can''t be dug however, unlike statues, who are constantly fixed from time after time, day in and day out for those belonging to Kings and their wifes, the Queens, a few of them who are knew for far more than their beauty. Jack''s grandpa, the Major Brandford, also had gotten a statue to his, and a tombstone made of silver, that can be found near the Burmecian Palace, where other majors bodies and ashes rests as well.
Sometimes, his daddy is knew by others as the Major''s son, like Dan''s father as well. Jack wonders if his father, who share of same name as his gramps, will come back, soon or later. Still awaiting, patience often gone to be back another day, the only thing Jack knew about the future was that his brother would be there soon, on the same crib he once used to sleep, to play with that sane doll brought by mother to his, and to be told some lullabies when it comes the time to put an end to be awake. Jack wishes for Lennie to bring a brother to this world, even if she had plans to give the name ''Bart'' to his, instead of a sister. Girls aren''t funny to play with, either because they are annoying, or because of their mothers. Dan thinks otherwise about the previous quote of his cousin, but Jack doesn''t care, as he tells him to shut up and keep playing marbles...
...
?Cabaret Voltaire - Kneel To The Boss?
(Still) July 04, 1778
XVI - XII
...
¡ª Had some of us won this game already? ¨C Gappys asked to me. There is only me to his to answer the question brought by his, as it seems. That kid sure is taking some time to be here, even if the house of his isn''t that far from here. This if you count on the legs he, as we, owns.
¡ª No, I don''t think so ¨C he can''t be somewhere else, playing with other boys, can he? Fratley told us that he would show something to us. Something I wonder why it''s taking so much of his and our time as well. This something that supposedly belongs to his father, which once used to belong with other people. Strange, unfamiliar people. From the corner of the dark alley to the corridors shone by the bright sun, that must be truly something valuable to be kept with such security.
¡ª How do we play this game, after all? ¨C once again, a question was asked to me. Another answer is about to be delivered... oh, here we go. Why don''t you shut up, Dan? No, that''s too formal. What about...
¡ª ...Just be quiet. If we had any rules, then you wouldn''t be awaiting for his as I do.
And so Dan obeyed me. Even I had to obey myself, as well. Like fishing, where you can''t talk because fish is afraid of our talking, we kept playing this silly game, as silly as a fish afraid of conversation. Fishs are such stupid creatures, if you think about it. They smell bad on purpose, so they can''t be eaten, yet we ate them; however, they swin in the lake, in the river, because if we do, we might drown up, yet, these fishes can''t live to breathe air, can''t survive on the rain, which is also water. Frogs do, but fish doesn''t. I smell bad too, but at least, when there''s water, Lennie gives me a bath. It''s not that bad, after all, though sometimes is, other times is a pleasure, now that I know I am better than those fishs I ate.
Man, I''m so bored that I am thinking about fish to kill some time. Talking about fish, this reminded me of daddy. I used to go fishing with daddy, and I still remember how easy it was to caught some with his silence, and mine as well. We could even caught some with our claws in clear, or dirty water. Nothing seem to have changed, after all. I could be fishing by now, but without daddy? There was a day I almost fell into the lake, no, I did fell in the lake, and I couldn''t swin, but daddy was there to caught my hand, or my feet, or my tail, it doesn''t matter the limb, but sure he caught me. And holded into me, unlike mother... no, Lennie. She wasn''t there, and never had.
Lennie can eat fish, as mother used to tear apart the scales of the dragons she putted on eternal sleep. How I wished to see mother awake, instead of being put on such sleep she used to put on those dragons. I know, I know... To sleep is another of many quotes that means death. That used to work with gramps, but with mother, it didn''t had same effect, thought it seems only I do know what happened to mom... Now I know why fish do hate conversations. It''s because they would end up drowing on a single talk. Drowing in conversation, drying up in thoughts... As if my brain turned into sand, perhaps it''s the effect of insisting for the hours to keep passing, until they reach tomorrow, or another hour. They do pass; faster for others, and slowly to a kind of us, this including Dan, whose brain had turned into sand too. Maybe don''t, by watching that amount of earwax at the tip of that nail...
Yuck. I prefer to watch something else, or someone else. When I was younger than this, sure I was, I used to keep watching daddy and mom''s faces. This before I could see my own face in the mirror, but before I could, they were my mirror. Lennie is a mirror of mom, though mirrors do have the smudges, like glasses, but it seems nobody cares, nobody that I know. They do care for other things, like Dan, who keeps cleaning himself with those nails. At least, he do have a sense of what it means to be clean, thought that''s doubtful, as his smile. Geez, is there something more interesting to keep watching instead of the face of his? Those gaps? The marbles? The tree? The tree nearby my house has a hole, that reminds me of Gappys, and Lennie, for some unknown reason.
...And another ball is threw into another ball. Yeah. Whew, guess who''s the champ?... You''re right, Jack. Nobody. Ah... Lennie sure is taking too long to come back. Maybe it''s the milk, but that ain''t my milk. It''s for my little brother, and only. I''m thinking about that one kept on those galloons of tin. They are kinda heavy, you see. And cold too, like Lennie. Her gaze sure is cold, yet daddy finds it ''stimulating'', or so he said. Maybe it was Dan who said, or intended to, but whatever. It used to stimulate fear onto me, and fear isn''t exactly what daddy felt for mom, or still feels for Lennie. If he felt fear, then I wouldn''t be born, right? I once asked to them how I was born, and so they told me the same tale, of someone who falls in love so much for another, that a child is born. Who need details, when you have a friend like Dan?
Nobody can make me a fool again, since I do know how a child is born, and made as well. I wonder how adults do learn, since they were once children as we. Maybe there are some other Dans like this one, in a manner of speaking, who offer of this message, this ''wisdom'', or what the heck is this supposed to be. More ''stimulating'' than her look is that coat, a red coat Lennie wears, pretending to be someone else. Now, speaking of Lennie, she seems more worried with her look of these days than a figure to have fear with from other days. This is what happens when you pretend to be someone else, to the point you become it as a whole. For some reason, I know about it so damn well. I wonder why, but maybe because I kept seeing Lennie day after day, and now I came to realise of such matter. How wonderful things are...
XVI - I
Speaking about wonderful... Fratley sure took a long, long way to get in there, didn''t he? Well, at least, he sure came here, as he said he would. Good boy. Between a four and a five, one is an odd number, while the other is an even one. Me and Dan are odd, whereas Fratley, my dear friend, besides being a short kid, in height, he''s also an odd one, not in age, but on his way of living same age. In fact, he seems to be living his own age further more than we had done once. So, Fratley came in, carrying something more than a piece of cookie crumbling apart, or hard to be broken as a yesterday bread, this because I told his before to get something for us to be shared, to give us some time to waste, or in a few words, a pastime. His voice could be heard from a short distance, as he was singing something alike:
...I say... Eleven...
...You may say... Seven...
...Still, I wish you... a place in Heaven...
I admit it was a quite pleasant melody. It had rhythm, or some kind of dynamic. Well, I''m not that smart to understand why, but it sounded well. Very well to my both ears. Other than his voice, I also noticed that Fratley was constantly putting his both hands into both of his pockets, and he still kept movng those limbs as he uses to do. Then, as he approached further, I saw clearly that he was putting his hands on the pants, scratching underneath those with his little hands. I expect this from itchy people, but what I thought for an instant to be lice on his pants were just crumbles of those cookies he use to eat. It seems he only do eat those, and I still wonder how many fill in the pocket of his. I also wonder if that boy has a sense of cleansing,
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¡ª Oi! ¨C he exclaimed, as he kept stepping into the tiny ladder in front of my house, settled above the road, like a single hill on a valley, until he reached those marbles that are placed above the grass, guiding guests and the people who live at these houses, with the shape of bells, or sort of.
¡ª Hi Fratley ¨C I said. For some reason, I was calm, yet upset of his absence. I could blame his for this boredom, yet I couldn''t.
¡ª Why did you took so long? ¨C Dan asked, raising from the same place where his knees rested, and trembled as his whole. It''s cold in there, like Dan''s gaze towards Frattie. He was kind of angry. Still is upset, or intends to with that eye and its lashes. If he ever gazed at me like that... Now that I see how Dan is gazing at Fratley with those eyes, it kinda reminded me of someone. Myself, me, to be fair. Dan seems like me when I used to gaze at his, on those times. Maybe yesterday, or last week, but there was a time I looked at his on same way he''s looking at that boy.
¡ª Oh... well... ¨C Fratley couldn''t even say a word, or even move. Well, he still kept moving as usually, but now it seemed that his entire body was itchy, unlike before, where such was restricted to his pants. His eyes looked at the gaze delivered by Dan, still as the smile of his own face. A smile of distress, if I recall, not a kind that belonged to the face of that kid, but Dan''s.
¡ª Wait ¨C I said, as I noticed something peculiar. Besides noticing such thing, I also interrupted them, both my intentions. Even with such gaze, Dan didn''t noticed what I saw at the back of Fratley''s right ear. It was something greenish, not blending with same green as the cap wore by his; that object had a colour of a green like the grass from home, standing below both of their, even mine by now ¨C what is this?
¡ª This is my lucky clover! ¨C Fratley exclaimed, pointing with his index to the clover he took from somewhere else, and had put on the back of that ear. I mean, he could have decided to keep carrying on that clover with one of his hands, or even in one of his pockets, but these are my thoughts, belonging to my head. This kid''s head is another thing. I took that lucky clover from the back of its right ear, to look at it closer. Then, I shaked my head in disbelief,
¡ª No, Fratley. That ain''t a lucky clover ¨C I said, as I pointed with my fingers to its leaves, and deduce the obvious ¨C See... there''s only three leaves, like any kind of clover.
¡ª Four-leafed clovers are rare, so that''s why they are rare, and lucky as well ¨C said Dan, as the infant''s face shone below me, with such expression on his face. It''s the same face of his, but with a confidence on its smile, and on his own words about to be spoke as well.
¡ª Well, people who like these three-leafed clovers are also rare too. So this mean they''re lucky too? ¨C yes, in a kind of way. That''s what I was about to say to Fratley, but instead, I had no words to say. I thought about them, but I couldn''t spell then with my teeth and the touch of my tongue beneath them. Besides an awkward silence, followed by an awkward head movement, to the left to the right, as if I was awaiting for someone else besides Lennie, and he just kept smiling at me. I smiled too, but not like his. Maybe that silence from before, this same silence, was an answer, alike that smile. His smile, mine doesn''t count. So I put back that three-leaf clover on the back of the ear it now belonged.
As I returned that clover back to where it now belonged, since clovers belong to the soil, not at the back of the ears, something felt out of his cap. It was a rectangle-shaped card, purple at the back, but with a deciption of a beast on it''s front, or so what seemed to be the front of it. Dan took that card away from my arm, and looked further at same card, as if he knew what it meant to be, or maybe not, since curiosity appeared before his eyes more than the knowledge of what that card was supposed to be.
¡ª Hey ¨C Dan said ¨C What is this card for? ¨C he asked, looking at the one who had gotten it alongside the hat all along.
¡ª Daddy call this game by Quad Mist ¨C said Fratley, who took out the hat of his, only to show us a bag. Carefully, he opened that bag, and showed us it''s contents. It was full of a bunch of other cards, and other beasts as well ¨C but some call it by Tetra Master.
¡ª Quad Mist?... ¨C Dan had his doubts, same as mine ¨C we never heard of such game as this one.
¡ª If it''s better than marbles... then, let''s try playing it.
XV - II
When rain started pouring down more than softly as before, Dan headed at the front of my house''s door to collect his marbles and put then on a bag, similar to the one where those Tetra Master''s cards resides, althought a bit smaller than the previous one, me and Fratley headed to the kitchen, since card games are usually played by people on tables, where the cards rests, the same could be said for the drinks, the gils, but those are adult games. I never saw daddy playing such games, I guess, but many do it so. These people sit around a table, keep talking, playing, drinking, shouting names, or so Dan told me about the time he saw uncle Clyde''s side, the one I didn''t knew about, but Dan sure know. Not only uncle Clyde, but other people as well do have their sides. I, as well, also share of a kind side, unlike the one they mostly see from my gaze, my fist as well, this side kept obscured by many, unlike me, who does show of such for them all, unlike uncle Clyde.
¡ª Well, let''s see. 3P60... 0P00... ¨C I putted all the cards on the table, ready to play this game, not before I learned of its rules. Funny... I recall I asked Fratley to get some passtime to be shared for us, and so he did. I knew he is a good pal. I could even say he is as close as a friend to me. Dan is my cousin, so he doesn''t count. Daddy would, if he was there. Maybe daddy know how to play this game, but now I''m on my own, so... There are numbers below these cards. Each one seems to be different, as I thought for a moment. I mean, all cards sure are different, yet there are ones who share of same number, like, I found a whole of ''0P00'' tagged on four different kind of beasts, all of them unique beasts, yet they had the same number, or tags ¨C 1M10... 2P10...
¡ª Damn! How in the heck are we supposed to play this game!? ¨C man, how lazy was the cost of production for each one of these cards? Couldn''t they afford some time to explain what these tags mean, since they do follow a pattern, like this: Number (0-9); Letter (A to Z); Number (0-9); Number (0-9); As it seems, each number and letter is random, but not, as seem with 0P00, and 1M10. A whole of 0P00 says it all. Ok. So, there are these tags, they all obey this ¨CNLNN¨C pattern, and that''s fine. But now, I wonder what those mean, since you can''t put something out of context and expect to share of some, even without an explanation. Explanation...
¡ª How are we suppose to play this mess, Frattie? I asked, as I had no answers to be spoken to solve of this puzzle. As it seems, nobody else had as well. This until Dan came from outside, after he took all the marbles of his. He heard me, of course, as he was about to deliver an answer to us.
¡ª Oh, I know how! ¨C Dan shouted, as he took some of the cards to the hand of his. Forgive me, Fratley, if one of your cards remain a bit grubby... ¨C Fang eats Goblin, Goblin eats Fang, Skeleton can''t eat...
¡ª No, that''s bullshit enough ¨C I said to Dan ¨C anyone can be eaten, or be the one who eats, being the skeleton the one who had been eaten already, though he''s still hungry even dead. Shesh...
¡ª I know! ¨C said Fratley ¨C the card with the highest tag wins! ¨C that sounded alright, but...
¡ª No. That ain''t possible, or fair enough for us ¨C let''s see... as far as I know, the highest value for each ¨CNLNN¨C belongs to the 4P44 card, the one with the picture of a Grand Dragon. I know that Grand Dragons are strong, menacing, Lennie too, so if 4P44 is the ultimate card, anyone who had gotten it would win the game already, and that ain''t funny. We want to play this game for hours, or before Lennie come back, with the milk, of course. The milk within the galloon, to be sure ¨C say, Fratley... how your daddy supposedly played this game? Did he taught you how to play, at least? ¨C I asked to his, since he was the one who brought these cards to ours.
¡ª No ¨C he said, but with such sincerity I couldn''t afford to deliver a punch to his face. It would alter that kind expression of his, that seemed to have an effect on me, or each one near his sight. If Dan, at least, could do the same, he wouldn''t lose many of his teeth. Yet, I had to raise my fist, still I could somehow, but instead of pulling a punch, I gently took out the cap of his, to softly touch my hand upon his face, because I''m kind like his too. Well, sometimes... ''good boy'', or so do my hand intended to say. I could offer Fratley a cigar, but I don''t think he do smoke. Neither me.
¡ª Hey, Jack... Can''t we just begin the begin already? ¨C asked Dan. I would ask the same as well, yet I wanted someone other than me to answer and solve of such conflict. At least, not only me was there ¨C So... Why don''t we create our own rules and play on our way? It can be better this way, don''t you think? ¨C said Dan, now sitting on a chair in front of me. For once, he said something I had to agree with. Fratley, as well.
¡ª So, let''s play on our own way, shall we? ¨C I said, ready to play.
¡ª Can I play too? ¨C oddly, Fratley asked. It was odd, because he was the one who brought these cards at first place. I guess his brothers never had given him a chance to play with then. I don''t know, but that sounds clearly next to the truth, if there is one.
¡ª Of course. Why not? ¨C I asked, as he already knew the answer. So we divided all cards, a total of 52, between three of us. Of course, some cards remained, but mostly they are repeated ones, not unique like the rest. The cards were delivered backwards by me, to avoid some other conflict coming from Gappys, or even Fratley''s, about how unfair was I. What is unfair, if we are playing on our own rules? Is it really unfair for us to not even know how to play Tetra Master rightfully? I don''t think so. The original game might be boring, as everyone in this world uses to play with then. Fratley even told of a tournament of same game that happens at the Dark City of Treno, or so his father told to his, as he used so, when not traveling around this continent we call by world.
So restricted are the rules, like the walls of this house, the glass from the window, the blanket of each night, the hands of those who put these clothes on us, as they make other clothes to the ones who are already there, or are meant to be there. Same could be said of Lennie, who seems to only care about my brother, I wish his to be a brother. If our world is already restricted enough, so it''s the sister''s side, mother''s side, even Lennie''s side. But if there are people who like three-leafed clovers like Frattie, then surely there are people who play Tetra Master significantly different, outside the rules. So did mom, when she become a Dragoon Knight. That used to be a manner to play outside the rules, but since it has now become a family thing, it has become a rule that, at least, one of us become a Dragoon as well, like mom did. And so did Lennie.
Speaking about rules... each one of us seems to be playing the card game as we had been told how, not by the ones who came up with the rules first than us, but by whatever our mind tell us to do, rightfully creating our own rules, our own game, our own fun. It seems to be working, thought I am about to say otherwise. While I had chosed to play a guessing game, where I guess which kind of beast is in the card, Dan seems to be playing the food game, where I throw a card on the table, a random one, as he threw another, random as well, and in the end he sees both cards as the veridct of ''this eats that'' comes up, whereas Fratley... well, he seems to be playing with an only card, despite the amount of cards given to his. There is a single Chocobo card being held by the hand of his, as I could see when he flipped it sometimes, like a doll walking to somewhere else, but the table had its limits, unlike his idea of game.
XV - III
Anyway...
¡ª ...Do you have any Ironites? ¨C I asked to Dan.
¡ª Yes... ¨C said Dan, throwing an Ironite card at my direction ¨C Call! ¨C he shouted next, as we threw random cards at the table.
¡ª Choco... ¨C sometimes, that word seemed to be the only thing spoke by Frattie. This, and when he uses tp drop down the card of his at the table, as he takes that three-leafed clover from the back of the ear to feed ''Choco'', offering such like a Gyshal Green to that yellow bird of his. Other than such things, I don''t know.
Aimlessly wandering to the left and right, moving like the limbs of its owner, Choco keeps traveling, sometimes even ''flying'' outside the table''s border, like how Dan''s dirt uses to fly outside the border of its nose at the tip of the finger. Used to, since he''s inside my house, and there''s no place in there for him to drop down that gob. Not only because of me, but because of Lennie, whom he thinks is cute. Maybe he said beautiful instead, but I am talking about Dan, and I do know about the way he uses to talk about Lennie.
¡ª I won ¨C just as I wasn''t expecting, Dan said such words.
¡ª What!? How!? ¨C he caught me up this time.
¡ª You see... Skeleton against Fang, Skeleton wins, of course ¨C he said, trying to find an explanation of why he had won, instead of me ¨C the one who has no flesh wons over the one who have what the have not insists to have. Understood? ¨C that kind of explanation didn''t amused me, as I insisted to find a way of winning against Dan, since I can''t win against Fratley. I don''t even know how am I suppose to win both games, at first place, so I keep trying as I can, with my rules. Dan took that card
¡ª So... do you have any Skeletons? ¨C I asked, intenting of taking that card with me, but for each coin flipped, there might be Heads, but Tails had struck me this time, like how Dan''s tail waved, as he laughed against me, and my tail, silent as I.
¡ª Hah ha. Nice try, but you cannot take my Skeleton ¨C Dan said, holding and showing of the same card I was about to take from his.
¡ª Why not? I ask which kind of card you do have, and then I take it.
¡ª These are your rules ¨C he said, now pointing at the Skeleton card with his index, as if I didn''t paid enough attention to that thing ¨C you can''t take the one who ate, thought you can take back your Fang, but you can''t play with same Fang again, since he''s dead ¨C He sure is mocking me, isn''t he? At least, Frattie wouldn''t ever do such thing, since he''s on his own, with Choco.
¡ª It''s actually pretty boring to keep winning, you see... ¨C I said to Dan, who had won over five times, counting now. He sure won then and now, yet he still keeps playing same game of his, as I do, with my own game ¨C you seem to be enjoying such boredom, if I may say.
¡ª Trying to bluff me? ¨C he asked, with a cocky tone ¨C I actually like to win... Call! ¨C I dropped another random card, before Dan could. Then, he flipped such cards, and come to same verdict. No surprises ¨C I won. Ironite eats tiny Goblin, no matter how big the sword of his.
¡ª See? You always win, no matter what...
¡ª I won too ¨C said Fratley, besides calling the name of Choco, as before.
¡ª You won? How? ¨C I asked, as I had turned my head to his direction.
¡ª I got Choco. I won! ¨C I wondered for an instant what was supposed to be that kind of game Frattie had been playing all along. But like before, I couldn''t even understand why he sounded too serious, and sincere as well, to claim such accomplishment. Maybe he just said that he won because Dan kept spelling the same word each time he ate one of my cards. Maybe...
¡ª Why do you want to win, Jack? Didn''t you said that is boring to keep winning?
¡ª I already lost many things... ¨C I didn''t even had time to prepare an answer for Dan. I just said what came up, and this was what prominently I had been forced to tell them, as much as they were forced to look at my direction. I felt a kind of recognition with their look, as much as they also felt of such recognition as well. Not only my daddy has been gone to lenghts away from me, but their fathers as well. Then, we blinked, as the door opened on its own. We thought to have opened by itself, but it was just the one I once was expecting mostly. It was Lennie, carrying of a basket with one of her hands, and a same baby on her chest.
¡ª How are you doing, Jack? ¨C she said, looking at the table where I, Dan and Fratley were sitting, playing different games with same cards. They grated Lennie with a ''Hi'', thought to be a single for a moment, until it was followed by a ''Mrs. Lenneth'' by Dan, and a hand waving gently by Fratley.
¡ª I''m fine ¨C I said, promptly taking that basket to be carried with my arms, and to be left above the table, on the side of where the cards resided. I know I only did it because of how much Lennie took to be here, at this time. There must be a galloon of milk awaiting at outside, and since mostly of then are heavy, which requires both hands to be raised, or one, but that was before my brother came to her chest, so maybe if I try to be kind, she''ll pour down some milk earlier than I thought, for me, and her as well.
¡ª Thanks, Jack ¨C she spoke, before she came outside, to raise that galloon with both of her hands, That basket sure could be raised by her as well while lifting of same galloon in both arms, but there is always time to make things, or seemingly make then easier as they should. Chomp!... That''s the sound of a mouth eating of an apple, clearly heard by any ear belonging to this room, seem by their eyes belonging to such faces as well.
¡ª Don''t you see, Jack? You won your mother''s confidence over you ¨C Dan said, holding of those cards he took away, as this apple is slowly taken apart by my jaw, torn apart into crumbles by my teeth, swallowed into my throat, unlike these words I choose.
¡ª Munch!... But she ain''t my mom. Chomp!... and what I had won from her isn''t confidence. It''s just a matter of Burp!... a matter of survival.
¡ª ...Survival of who? ¨C asked Fratley. His eyes stared at me, a fixed gaze belonging to a flatworm''s eyes. Eveb underneath the cap and strands of hair of his, they could be seen. He, like his eyes and ears, may had been caught by surprise after I told his that Lennie ain''t my mom ¨C well, if Lenneth ain''t your mom, then why do you insist to be there, with her?
¡ª I dunno. Maybe it''s because of daddy. I do not want to dissapoint his.
¡ª Oh, daddy... it''s because of daddy that you are here?
¡ª Well... ¨C for some reason, I had a waste of words. I wanted to be quiet, on my own, just like daddy, but how could I, in the middle of the conversation. I couldn''t. I had to talk, with that boy, who wanted to talk. Since then, he had been talking, or less than, with a card by the name of Choco, instead of a rat like me by the name of Jack. Now he seemed to be talking with me, or trying so, since I do not want to talk anymore, yet I wanted they to watch me. But now that she came back, there''ll be no more worries about it. Who need to be worried, when there''s milk to be given to yours?
Daddy... Frattie also seems to address his father by such name as well. Mostly the children do the same, after all. They are taught to speak dad, as much as we are taught to speak mom with our lips, followed by their lips, used to speak with us, and kiss us as well. Lennie didn''t even gave me a sign of gratitude for being a patient kid this day. I even allowed myself to be taken in to a bath this morning, only to see if she cared. Maybe she did, and still does. There''ll be milk for this day and onwards, so that seems to be enough than a kiss. It seems to be, not that is rightfully truthfully enough. ''A matter of survival'', I said; ''Survival of who?'' he asked. If it''s right, or if it''s wrong... it doesn''t matter, Jack. Why don''t you try to play with another rules, beyond your owns? Why you don''t try to be so kind with...
Mom. If I could say it on her face... just on that face. That face... had I ever noticed when someone cries, yet a tear isn''t even shed? Maybe I didn''t. Maybe they don''t, as a tear can be mistaken by a drop of rain. There is no rain falling from the ceiling, there is no sweating of my efforts, yet I am sheding of a tear for such effort, such rule that is to wherever you''re sad, try to shed a tear. I only tried, and I think I thought I say myself try so many damn times ago, but the clock still keeps moving forward, or downward as its arrows, and I, yet the silence remains still, as I try to be still as well. I tried. I tried. I tried.
I didn''t tried enough. Slu-u-u-urp...
XIX - II
...
XXIII: Further
''''He who cannot obey himself will be commanded. That is the nature of living creatures.'''' NIETZCHE, Friedrich
"For after all what is man in nature? A nothing in relation to infinity, all in relation to nothing(...)" PASCAL, Blaise
"...Year 0. Gaia had its moments of glory, when the first civilizations were being developed and organized, from a primitive community of farmers to wide urban centers, powered by the production of artifacts and the emergence of the first commercial relationships(...) Market concepts, know as Trade and Currency, date from that time. Living at the lowest parts of the Mist Continent, the early human inhabitants of the planet suffered the constant risk of invasions, mainly from the inhuman Vastitas, who would later become Burmecians." Excerpt taken from Encyclopaedia Alexander, volume VIII
"It''s foolish to believe the only way of prosperity is to sacrifice our own brothers. You''re sacrifing part of yourself as well. The only way to clean your bloody soul is to follow the path of the floating river." Excerpt of the Words of Kain, the Mediator, also first King of Burmecia, orally passed from generation to generation.
"All kind of warfare is utterly based on deception." Excerpt taken from a revised script of the Book of Gizamaluk, dated from year 1300.
"Deception is the key that opens many doors. My sons had been brought to this world of deception by same deception as well." Excerpt taken from Clyde Brandford
...
(Before the trip to Vube''s desert, Bartholomew Brandford and Prescott Highwind shared of a moment of contemplation, sitting on a hillside of Poplos heights, above the Mist. Covered in Grand Dragon''s blood, like the rest of the squadron, retrieving the dead carcass of that creature while taking it to Burmecia, where these fortunate souls will have a short time, still an opportunity unlike any other, to see their families. The alexandrians aren''t the only menace at horizon...)
BART: ... (stares at the skies)
PRESCOTT: A beautiful day, don''t you think?
BART: ... (nods with head, positively)
PRESCOTT: The skies are so blue...
BART: ... (doesn''t nod, stares below, feels an awful scent)
PRESCOTT: ...And the sea of Mist, insignificant compared to the floating rivers coming at Burmecia...
BART: ... (with hands on head, washing dry tears)
PRESCOTT: ...When I see it all, I feel so... so tiny.
BART: ...I feel sad.
(pause)
BART: Don''t know why, but all I feel is sadness.
PRESCOTT: Come on, pal. It ain''t all you feel. Is it something like a twinge in your heart, isn''t it?
BART: ...Yeah. Like that.
PRESCOTT: Well, that''s not sadness. It''s pathos.
(pause)
BART: Ain''t the same thing?
(pause)
PRESCOTT: No.
(sigh)
PRESCOTT: With a world beautiful like this, I am not surprised that you feel this way.
(pause)
BART: What do you mean?
PRESCOTT: What do I mean is that it''s natural for a being like to to feel things like this from a while to another.
BART: A being like me?
(pause)
PRESCOTT: Yes. A meditative being like you.
(pause)
PRESCOTT: I once met a hermit, who lived in a cave. He was like you, but the beard was bigger.
(long pause)
BART: Did this hermit felt sad? I mean, how he felt without company?
PRESCOTT: He was never thirsty. Drank a lot of water.
BART: It ain''t healthy to drink tones of water without boiling it.
PRESCOTT: Animals drink the water out of a river without complaining.
BART: I ain''t an animal!
(pause)
BART: ...I mean, covered in blood like this... who am I supposed to be?
PRESCOTT: Someone who thinks.
(pause)
BART: ...That wasn''t me. I haven''t thought for a while, only now I realized... I was angry... so much angry...
PRESCOTT: ... (staring at clouds)
BART: ...I lose teeth, but they grew back again. That''s... I... I can''t believe...
PRESCOTT: There are things you believe, and things you shouldn''t. It either comes by experience, or personal belief, or whatever makes you think long enough.
(pause)
BART: I feel sad watching the clouds.
PRESCOTT: Why? They always come back.
BART: Yes... they come back and leave, like longing for someone.
PRESCOTT: Wife and child, right?
(pause)
BART: Lenneth and Jack for me.
PRESCOTT: Sophia. We had five kids. Can''t remember their names, except for Marsh, Fratley, Prescott... but that''s my name, I carry it on with me. I think I have a Jack too. Everyone has a brat called Jack these days... it''s one of the first names that comes to mind. Easy to remember.
(pause)
BART: ...Why those clouds look so big, while I feel so low?
PRESCOTT: So, that''s what bothers you?
(pause)
PRESCOTT: You are unable to see yourself in what the world offers to you. The whole world, I mean, since you are used to live in a small world like Burmecia. That''s the why of the dissociation between your being and the being in himself.
(long pause)
BART: ...Look at that cloud. Does it ever feels sad? It cries when its gray, and when it''s white... does it know it''s white?
(pause)
BART: Now, when I see a white cloud like that, upon the thick Mist... I think about Over The Hill''s melody.
PRESCOTT: ''Over The Hill''?
BART: Yes. Over The Hill, Crossing Those Hills, something like that... I remember when I heard it being played outside the Royal Palace, arranged for dad''s funeral. I hate that song as much as I like it. I don''t hate it because of my dad''s demise, but it''s because it reminds me of how small I am to this big world.
(pause)
PRESCOTT: A lot of emotions come afloat when hearing a song. It''s the speaker/listener intermedium that makes possible for emotions to be brought from deep inside. The giver, and receiver... You know, it''s common for those traveling to Burmecia to feel sad, not because of rainy days, but because they miss the sun who once shone on their faces. It''s the longing you feel that makes you feel these conflicting emotions.
(pause)
BART:... When I look to the Mist, I think about the melody of that mellow song I mentioned before, its chords, the coldness preceeded of a soulful flute... that part, in special, I don''t know how to describe it in a way you can understand, but... it gets stuck in your teeth, like caramel. It brings uneasiness, as much as it embraces you with comfort. But, since we''re speaking about a song, the teeth are replaced by your ears, and in my case, the heart.
(pause)
(long pause)
BART: ...My whole existence is a conflict in itself.
PRESCOTT: Combined with the existence of others, you mean.
BART: Yes. Without alexandrians or lindbluniams, or any kind of competition... I can''t think of a world dominated by our kind.
PRESCOTT: I don''t believe that one should subdue another. There must be an exchange between parts, that''s my dream, my idea of an utopia. Now that it seems so far away, I have plans, less pretentious, but as long as I care for what I have... they''ll be worthy a try. If I came back alive, which I hope, I want to teach one of the kids how to fish with the tail. Ever tried to do it?
BART: ...Yes. Clyde threw me on the lake.
PRESCOTT: I don''t think I''ll do same with one of my kids.
?Autechre - Further?
July 05, 1778
The Funeral March
Early Morning
...
¡ª Oi! Get your filthy hands off my desert!
Those where the last words uttered by Komakino, if I recall. This before gunpowder struck at his chest, same part I thought to be hollow once. Gunpowder... To think such is now killing us. Once upon a time, fireworks were fired at the cloudly skies of home; whenever a King had been crowned, whenever a King or someone important had a marriage, whenever a son/daugther of the King was born. They never fired such fireworks when a King died, thought, they do a march instead. Not only for the King, but those as important as his, like father. Drums were played, and each beat strucked our ears, loudly than a single firework, but less than how our ears had been struck by the news. Either sad, or neither bad, because father died in the field, and that''s were he should had died, instead of letting this world as a Major, sick in bed, like mother.
Only when father was alive, the fireworks were alive. But the same cannot be said for Komakino. Even when father was a child, he was old like now, or even more. Even with their guns, these Alexandrians still find a way to stab us, either with with shots, or with the tips of those knives. Thiefs would never play fair, this if it''s fair to pour some sand on their gaze, but instead of our eyes, they pour sand on our wounds, more than enough. And mostly, this is our sand that is being threw away into the wounds, and these wounds had been made by us as well, or ordered to be made by the one who''s above us, yet below Bahamut.
''God''s watching us from a distance?'' Don''t make me laugh, Sigurd. Well, I sincerely can''t, right now. But even if I did, briefly, someone else would notice, like Bart, here on my left, same direction his wife often uses to hold of his arm, and that spear, and maybe something else, judgind how she holds that spear, made by her husband as well. We cross many lenghts to achieve love, or a peace of mind, don''t we? We offer gifs, invitations to stroll around the lake, all done for us to have a chance to later make out keenly, as I did, Bart too, Prescott as well, but the same cannot be said for Komakino, judging how he used to ergue that sword... Speaking about swords, we all queued in this linear row, except Sigurd, who''s in front of the pile of wood, we all lift the tip of our swords, or daggers, or knives, something with a sharp blade that shines within the range of the sun''s light, up into the further we could touch the azure of the skies, same color belonging to many of our outfits, except Komakino, who isn''t wearing nothing. He sure seems gray like before, heh he... Ouch!
With some words of ''he was a courageous one'', ''an honest Burmecian'', and ''this medal of honor shall be granted to yours'' is the cherry of the cheriest cake. Giving a medal to Komakino is as redundant as someone who is digging to find some dirt; medals are already spread on his body, alike every children''s body is meant to be infected by lices or chickenpox once in a lifetime. That old crook already had gotten tones of medals dedicated to his honour, if there was one. Maybe a medal of tolerance would fit better, or a medal of ''oldest alive'' would be alright. But medals don''t make you itchy, despite some of them being uncomfortable, and the risk of the tip some had gotten to be stuck in your skin, like a wood splinter in your finger, but instead of the finger, your chest is wounded. However, these people are proud of receiving medals.
Maybe I''m just jealous that I had never gotten any kind of medal. I have, at least, a wife, my dear Cynthia, whom I call by other names as well, this when we are alone, cuddling in the room, and those hands, my hands, her ears... they say you cannot raise the dead, so I''d rather reserve such thoughts for later. About the relationship between me and Cynthia, whom I miss so much, like any other man there misses their wifes, and children as result. I wasn''t planning to have children, but it just happened, like how Komakino just died. Komakino was the son of another commander, a family of commanders, unlike my father, the Major Brandford, whose family, my family, is alike a tree that share of many twigs. I can''t even imagine Komakino as a kid, but I guess he was already old when born, unlike my sons, who were so little, skinny, furless, yet adorable.
After some words of self-praising, which I might include in my will to be uttered in a near future, here, on that pile of dry wood, they''ll burn that damned''s corpse for good. I wonder why, since Komakino could be mummified instead... or maybe he''s already mummified? Heh. Even Bart may had agree, don''t he? Maybe not. People often smile when they are upset, or worried, than they are happy with something. Even children force their smile sometimes. What we think to be cheerful beings are deceptful ones as well. Besides the fake smiles, mostly the children keep asking not due to their annoyance, if there''s such, but because they need to satisfy their doubts, or so Prescott told me before, when one of his sons asked to his about the labour pains, and if sex hurted mother. Geez, I guess I would never be able to tell the difference between pain and pleasure on a satisfying way, but Prescott sure did. He''s a cooled out person, even when on a fight, unlike many here...
Bart is my mirror, sure isn''t he?
...
The Post-Funeral Chess Match
Afternoon
...
Gbr: NB1-C3
Sig: PE7-E5
¡ª Moving one of your horses first, my Highness? ¨C Sigurd said, as he moved one of his pawns, jumping two squares instead of one, as pawns can do on their first round, and only. Afterwards, pawns can only move, or jump one square, and always to the front square. They can only take another piece if such is located on a square adjacent to the front square, either left or right.
(pause)
Gbr: NG1-F3
Sig: NB8-C6
¡ª Another Horse? ¨C Sigurd asked, rhetorically, after he settled a Horse belonging to his side of the table, as I did before, twice. He even moved as fast as I did. Well, even if I had the opportunity to take out that Pawn he left on E5 on a first hit, since I could move the Horse from before right were that piece was lying, I couldn''t. Horses are the utmost important pieces of chess. Well, each piece belonging to chess is important, even Pawns, this if you can reach the end of the other player''s border. Chess sure is a game of lure and deception...
(pause)
Gbr: PD2-D4
(pause)
(long pause)
Sig: PE5xD4
Sigurd captured a pawn of mine, the same who I moved prior its demise. I was careless, or maybe not. Pawns are easily the ones who get caught first on chess. Paws can''t be taken, or be ''killed'', as I used to say when I was a kid, that much. At least, one or two or three of their kind must stay at the table, so they can reach the other player''s border, Sigurd this time, and always had been. I played this game firstly with him, like many of the things I did first. I used to play outside the rules, making bishops move like the Queen, make the King jump on a Rook so he could move like a Rook does, make the Pawn go backwards or even attack and ''kill'' one of Sigurd''s pieces with a single move to the square in front of the Pawn, or make a Horse move in ''L'', ''M'' and ''N'' patterns.
Sigurd just let it go on such times, these who happened before I grew up, and understood of every single rule, of Chess and anything I used to do. Speaking about rules, Sigurd, as much as me, can block the Pawns from reaching the border with a piece in front of the square where the Pawn was supposed to keep moving, simply because if you reach the border of the black pieces, as I am playing with white ones, you can get a piece of our side, once taken from yours, back to be played and used against the side who had made such piece a prisoner. For example, if Sigurd took a Horse from me, I could move my Pawn to the end of the Black border and take back that Horse, or other piece taken from the White infantry. Kinda like a war, mostly they stood on same way. Until now, there''s no such piece taken from me, so I don''t need to move further those Paws, this if I want to free the Bishops, but not yet.
Gbr: NF3xD4
Sig: BF8-B4
I took that Pawn belonging to Sigurd with a Horse of mine, as he moved that Bishop of his. From a distance, a curtain of smoke raises in the air, as white yet grey like the skin belonging to the body, or what was one, resting over that pile of wood, burnt by the bright sun, who brought of same fire and ashes posteriory. Commander Komakino''s funeral just happened, minutes ago. Everyone was expecting it to happen, prior these weeks. Even when I was young, the commander was already old like now. Even older than Sigurd, or father, or everyone else. His body has been cremated instead of being mummified. He was already mummified, some would say, or think as I do. There are things better thought to be spoken, as I learned with Sigurd, who learned from father.
Gbr: PF2-F4
(pause)
(pause)
Sig: BB4xC3+
(pause)
Gbr: PB2xC3
(long pause)
Sig: NC6-B8
...
Ransom On The Sand
Afternoon/Dusk
...
¡ª How odd... ¨C Bart said, as he stood erect, turning back after watching the both sides his neck could turn, with a look on his face belonging to someone who carry on more than doubts, but suspicions. Unsatisfied, Bart watches everything, even me, with an unpleasant vision, unlike the breeze that comes after, and before the sandstorm. We had left our camp to do a walk, as we check if there''s some stranger presence over the horizon we gaze. Thought, we are strangers of this land as well, even if such land belongs to our ancestors. Yet, I do feel in a kind of home.
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¡ª What is it, Bart? ¨C I asked to his, yet he didn''t gave me an answer. Yet. He turned his back once again, watching the trace of footprints left by us. Only us, I thought, Bart too, yet he denied of such circumstance, calmly upset.
¡ª I don''t know, Prescott, but I am with this kind of sensation since we left the tent. It''s like we had been followed by someone all along.
¡ª That''s strange ¨C Bart was somehow right. Something was off, wrong. Chills sent throught my spine, I was beginning to act like his, when suddenly, somehow, I also felt that we had been followed, no, still being followed. It''s a kind of situtation where most of the people claim to be just our imagination, yet it doesn''t. How could somebody follow us throught this desert? Well, anyone could. However, why couldn''t either me, or Bart, see footprints on the sand, that''s the question.
It was then that the wind blew further. What was once a mere breeze was starting to become a sandstorm. I and Bart went running to stay behind the nearest dune we could find. Maybe the sandstorm from before had cleaned all his footprints, as it did with ours, on seconds. Now it became almost impossible for someone to keep following us, this before the sandstorm became slighter. From marks left by our feets to small holes, sand who almost filled in our eyes, we could see the skies once again, as before. With the dusk arriving out of the orange afternoon, scorching hands becoming colder, and the twin sattelites wandering in the skies, I guess it was about time to go back to our tent.
This before Bart stood still. He refused to walk, unlike me, who had been walking towards the place my compass told me to be the southeast, where I could find Clyde, and the tent he had been taking care of, alongside the Libers, who had been taking care of us as well, tied by more than familiarity. Bart ain''t the kind of reckless man, so I turned my back, and from a distance, mere 5 meters away from his, atop a dune higher than the one where we stood away from the sandstorm of before, I saw his, and something else, the something we had been afraid of. A crimson bat came flying, being blew by the wind, until it landed atop that dune, near Bart. It must had been such that alarmed his, and me, by consequence.
¡ª So we were being watched and afraid of a CRAPPY MAGIC CARPET!? ¨C I shouted to Bart, who stood above same bat. I think that Bart could hear me from such distance with my common voice, but instead I had changed my tone, a tone that I do not often direct people with such, only when I am truly pissed off. Not even my kids are that kind of to bee annoyed with.
¡ª It can''t be... this thing, can it? ¨C he said, about to pull out that crimson piece of cloth, a rather peculiar one, even from such distance, who become shorter as I walked, again, to same place. That bat didn''t caught my attention of sudden, besides the crimson alike blood I saw as the color of such. Maybe it belonged to some Liber, who had lost it in the middle of the sandstorm, strong as the tidal waves of the sea. A cloth who seemingly had been following us at our backs... Heh, I briefly showed a smirk. Tsk, tsk... Briefly, I said, this before I felt it again. Something was, once again, off. To a world where ships seems to be flying in the skies, and houses with spider-like legs moving around foreign lands, a living bat is kinda doubtful. The doubt is gone if I consider the bat isn''t the living one, but... Oh my...
¡ª ...Watch out, Bart! ¨C I shouted, but it was too late. No wonder why that cloth, besides a life for his own, told by the strange yet familiar motion of a human figure in distress, had such weight, even for Bart''s arms, who holded both of them in thick air, this before a sharp knife''s blade crossed throught the bat, letting a cut throught his right arm''s sleeve and skin, where such blade had gotten stuck, and a ''GRAAAARGH!'' yell had been made, to be cleary heard from a distance, lenghts away from mine. A yell made by Bart''s lips, who spoke of the pain, flowing into same arm and coming from the bottom of his soul as well, and by the figure who lied behind the curtains, unseen by us all along. Who would doubt of an assassin hid under a wandering bat?
No other pain mattered to Bart, besides the one coming from the knife stuck at his arm. As his body felt from above the dune to its lowest point, the neck belonging to his body seemed to had been turning at the back belonging to his, alike a fossile carved on a hard stone, who presumably died of agony. Bart didn''t died yet, this only if he, or someone else, took out that blade from his arm. If it was the throat of his that had been hurt, even by a slight hit, then Bart would be gone already, a fate said otherwise by his constant yell, and shivers that followed of same yell, into same disturbing waves that made the body of his tremble, as I could see when I reached him.
No high amount of blood poured down, only a few slivers of red felt into the sand, but mostly they stood flowing from the wound to where gravity pulled then out of that arm. That blade must had hitten the bone, because of how it was truly stuck on that arm. I couldn''t forgive, still I can''t, of what happened since that moment, with Bart, and mostly his. It could had been me who had been hurt instead. But that didn''t mattered, since I was about to be hurt more than now by his, even without the weapon that used to belong on that putrid arm.
Before Bart took that cloth with his own hands, that assassin had been hid underneath such dune, where that cloth once were lying above. Fascinating, like how the sleeveless of armor figure, revealed to be a man by the daylight still, the same that stood above us walked throught the sand, the dunes, without letting a single step, moving around like the wind, fast like a breeze, as told by the leap he took, to end up falling in both feet, alike a cat, or an experienced acrobat. However, of acrobat, he had nothing to share with. Dressed in black as a messenger of death, carrying on of the unseen wings of Malphas, who guided his to us, Tommy Violence, or Zephyr as the way many call the name of his, the name he prefers to be called as well; an adequate name for someone who share of both light feet.
¡ª Before you kill me, and this man... would you please consider what should happen next? ¨C I asked. There was no answer to be delivered, as told by the gaze of his. A gaze of an utter determination to kill us, barehanded or not. When I fight, I often feel my muscles stiff, my blood crossing faster my veins, the lungs breathing more than usual, as I could see from his as well. An average man in height, and weight as well, Zephyr stood before me, the only one near his who stood still, on both legs. He expected me to fall like Bart, or even fall on his knees, if I needed so. But I had no time to do of such courtesy, since I didn''t worried about it. All I had been worrying about, from that moment and onwards, was about Bart''s safety, but not before I engaged into a conversation. You must be respectful to someone who can kill you, Mrs. Highwind.
While that man, that assassin, stood moving around in front of me, without letting a single print on the tand, I stood in a fighting stance, still adopted until today by Dragoon Knights, and some special units of the army. It''s both an offensive and defensive stance, as I may be able to avoid an attack coming from any direction, by pouncing into a direction contrary to where the attack might come from, with speed on my side. Thought, this armor is kinda heavy, yet soft. So I took out the metals and leather of my uniform, throwing them right under my feet.
¡ª Is it a threat? ¨C Zephyr asked, and I had no answer to give to his. It sounded like a threat, I may admit, but the one who came with the threat first was his ¨C because I do not care. I am an assassin, after all. I had been sent by those above me, like many times ago. I am rewarded by what I do, and I am proud of what I do, for my sake, and their sake.
¡ª Right, my dear assassin ¨C I said, tryin to not upset his further ¨C I know, that your job''s prospects are to kill those who you had been paid to. People of this world are paid to do many things, some aren''t even paid after all, yet they still keep working. With this job of yours, you may be able to sustain yourself, or more than yourself. I do have a family, as much as you too have as well. If not, then you do consider the concept of being a member of a group, in bloodline, kinship, or just what do we call by mutual need.
¡ª All I need is to kill a member of your species for today, and tomorrow as well. That''s what I had been told to do ¨C he said, looking at me with a distaste on his mouth, unlike the eyes, who only stared at me. A look that was grated of my presence into both eyes of his, who reflected of my image into them, same for the blade stuck on Bart''s arm, who reflected of his concerns. Don''t worry, Bart. Just hang on for a while. I know how to deal with those scumbags. Mostly they lose against me when playing of a Quad Mist on the darkest of the alleys belonging to each Kingdom I had made a trip into. Not only they do lose in the card game, but they also are fooled by my kind face and skinny limbs.
¡ª You are sure of a tomorrow where your job is done for good, Zephyr... It seems you do not accept, or even consider of another possibility to happen instead, don''t you?
¡ª And why would I bother? ¨C he said, stretching of his fingers, and closing them to form a fist, and so he repeats. He must be preparing to jump into me, so he could suffocate my neck, blocking the flow of blood to my head, besides forcing my lungs to stop the breathing process, as my heart stops beating, my arms vainly try to take those hands out of my neck, unlike those legs numb already, as the whole of my body, when my vision darkens, alike the dusk arriving sooner than I expected... A slow death, worse and more painful than a death brought by a single stab in the neck. Victims of burning buildings mostly die due to suffocation than being burned alive; same goes for those who climb the highest heights, where the snow also burns alike the fire.
I thought this for a moment. A single moment that felt like a minute. I knew, from that moment onwards, that I couldn''t die yet. Bart, as well, wasn''t ready yet to knock the Weltall''s door. The same couldn''t be said for that assassin, who somehow hadn''t killed us yet. A better assassin would be done with us already, so I had a storm of ideas. Such thing happens mostly when I am on danger, like now.
¡ª You''re taking too long, my dear assassin ¨C I said, as I abruptly threw away my own dagger, whom I had kept on its sheath all along ¨C we, Highwinds, are known for traveling such long distances, but not for solving of personal vendettas. They blacken the soul, as much as they blind both eyes, as much as you do insist to remain blind, because that''s the job of an assassin, after all. Nothing against, I know you don''t do this because it''s fun. No kind of job is funny, though; I guess you could take my blade, and end this at once. It make things more easier, as much as you insist for them to be.
¡ª I won''t take this dagger of yours, but if you insist to die already... ¨C he said, and only. These few words could had sounded menacingly to someone else, but I had no worries, except Bart, who only moaned, and had no eyes to see both of us. And why would he? Instead, all attention of his was paid to that knife, and the pain still crossing the arm of his, or even beyond, since his entire body has already been overtaken by same pain. Even my body could feel of his pain, unlike that assassin, and how careless was he.
That assassin was willing to kill me, and show of his moves as well. After I threw away my knife, oferring of ration for the dog, he jumped to later crouch in the sand, moving alike a wagon''s wheel. I guessed he was a kind of acrobat, and exhibitionist as well. Then, as Zephyr took that dagger from where it layed, sand carried on by my right hand flew right throught both of his eyes, or threw by me into his eyes, to where I gave a kick with my joint afterwards, when I had the opportunity of holding his shoulders to deliver that kick at the right angle, who had made his vertebra briefly turn, on the same way Bart turned when falling from the top of the dune. I do expected of a counterattack, but what I didn''t expected was a straight punch delivered by his into my chin, coming from below like a whale emerging to the surface, and I the boat who almost sank. My nose bleeded, but at least it didn''t broke.
The pain didn''t mattered, and the same goes to Zephyr, or not. Unlike me, it seemed that he didn''t felt anything. Nothing. Not even a bit of pain, or a kind of expression that suggested of such pain. This if frustation could be considered a signal of pain, thought. I mean, he should had felt some pain, don''t he? As my head slowly recovers from this dazzling commited by the impact of his fist, I am able to perceive the face of the assassin in details, even with the fist of his above my face, about to be crushed, or so that seems to be the intention of his. That leather boot, as black as the outfit of his, didn''t prevented me to see that face, if that should be called by face.
Zephyr''s face is full of scars. Not only single scars that resembles clear lines, as random mistakes commited by a black eyeliner. In fact, that face of his had less skin than scars left, presumably by Zephyr himself. It is as if all the scars of his body, and even soul, if there''s one, had been gathered into his face, and only. There''s a few of them on his naked arm, thought, but those resemble more the cuts of a blade, not that I guessed his own face''s scars had been made by the cuts of a knife as well. Jigsaw pieces that felt apart from the table seems to be a more adequate description about Zephyr''s face, and this feature being mostly noticeable around the eyes of his, where the raw meat has been exposed, in the shape of wings, yet, for some reason, he doesn''t feel the pain, even on such place with skin tore apart. The sand may be burning the skin and gaze of his, yet no pain seems to be felt. That''s a kinda of stubborn assassin, if I may say, or maybe not, just be quiet for this remark...
¡ª Enough already. Your tricks won''t work with me anymore ¨C Zephyr said, as he stood with the feet of his above my face, pressing futher as half of my head is covered by sand, unlike the whole of that man''s face, who just ignores it. Zephyr couldn''t hold me into thin air, as Bart did with his, but could kill me right now, on a way a tomato is squeezed, or so one of my kids had done, ending up covered by its seeds and smithereens. I imagined myself into such tomato, who had been eaten later that night, drank within the soup. Damn... I thought. I thought again, and everything changed, back to my control. It needed to.
¡ª Heh ¨C I smirked, purposefully. It seemed that I could talk, even with half of my face swollen by the sand ¨C why you do keep doing this? Only because you are an assassin, it doesn''t mean that an assassin is someone that kills. It''s just a word, don''t you know? Had been you who wrote for all people that someone who kills is meant to be called by ''assassin''?
¡ª What the hell do you think you are doing? Another trick, I see... It doesn''t work, my pal. It won''t ¨C of course it worked. I caught your attention with an uncoherent triviality, after all.
¡ª Then why do you insist to hear me? You seem to share of a curious sight, for an assassin. Am I a kind of victim to be appreciated, or what? ¨C I asked, staring at his, on a way unlike his. His eyes penetrated into mine''s, like the fear a beast naturally instigate on its victims, before they became his flesh.
¡ª Morbid curiosity of my part, you see. People say many funny things when they are about to die. Some are entertaining, others don''t, some don''t even utter a word... A sort of desperation move, like yours. There''s no way you can''t convince me to not kill you, right now.
¡ª You had the opportunity to kill me many times ago, even the opportunity to kill my friend Bart was wasted by you ¨C I said, reluctantly trying to split from his hands, carefully trying to move, without him noticing of such movement. Yet, he noticed of my voice, and only did ¨C you can kill me now, so why do you insist to waste such time? Now, answer me: how many people had been killed by you until now?
¡ª Had you ever made an estimate of how many times you have breathed in your life? ¨C I had a short vision of Clyde saying the same thing, and that was rather strange, yet truthful to the way Clyde do often talk. Either way, I can''t be distracted by his world. He should be distracted by mine''s instead. Just a bit further...
¡ª You seem to find pleasure at killing, seen the way you speak of the matter so gratifyingly of doing it ¨C I said, now realizing for once why is taking so long for me to die already. Not that I want to die right now ¨C you are proud of being a blade artist, don''t you are?
¡ª I enjoy murder as much as you Burmecians do ¨C he answered, with same cynicism from before. Maybe he and Clyde could know each other. Now I see he''s not the only cynical here...
¡ª Had you ever killed a Burmecian before?
¡ª Of course. This if you count those rats who live at the sewers, but yes, I did kill some. Mostly they were immigrants, denizens who mostly inhabit the outskirts of Lindblum. Some are rich, some are not, but that doesn''t matter to me, althought I am paid by those who hired me for the ''service, I also steal some of my victim''s most precious treasures. It''s useless for the dead to carry on of money, because they can''t spent on afterlife, and... ¨C as he kept talking, like I predicted, I carefully moved my left foot, right where my dagger had been lying, trying to hold it''s tip with my toes. I had been trained to do it so, and I never imagined that I would do it on this kind of situation. Just a bit, and you''ll be fine, Bart. I guess he can''t hear anyone else. It''s like he''s already dead, since the moans coming from his lips stopped. Please, keep hanging on, in the name of Bahamut.
¡ª Which kind of treasures? ¨C I asked, to extend his fault of attention towards my feet, to instead pull it on my words, spoken by the lips above my feet. Almost there...
¡ª You know, money, furnitures, dresses... Heh he. A girl with a sweet dress. I met her once, and only. She and her parents, whom I had to kill, were once alike you, and your species. Rats wearing clothes, or at least, mostly they wore, like her. With her parents dead, those who I had been paid to take care of, I told you that the dead have no need for treasures, as much as dead parents do not need to take care of their living child as well ¨C bastard. Rotten bastard. Son of a rotten bastard, rotten down the core. How could you... I don''t know if I should grit my jaw of angry, or if I should cry with same anger. I choose to do neither.
I can''t let him see throught my anger, or throught my pain; those are my weaknesses, easily to be exploited further. I can''t even wonder how many ways he had found to take those lifes. or ruin then as a whole. Truth is, the truth hurts. It''s a painful aching that goes deep within a heart, and it goes on and on, until it stops. But how could you, a reckless machine, understand of such? He can''t feel pain, nor even cry, or feel of this same aching we, and those you were ordered to kill, felt, and still feel, like Bart here, and me as well.
Even assassins share of some honor, unlike Zephyr, who had been programmed to not allow this interference to inflict a number ''2'' in his own binary system. Maybe those holes, if there''s a right word to describe such, on his face were marks left by desperate souls, who had been killed by his. That''s a possibility, and I may agree it''s a real one, even if there''s a bit of overreaction coming from my bottom.
¡ª How many assassins had they hired to kill our units? ¨C I asked, and that was my last question to this ''person'' above me.
¡ª Why are you asking such? ¨C he tried to intimidate me, once again. As I know, he is already a failure of both human being and character ¨C if you do want to know, before I turn your skull and brains into mincemeat, I should tell you that I was the only one hired by the ones you call by Alexandrians to take care of you, Burmecians. They do despise your entirety, as much as I do despise them.
¡ª ...The only one?
...
The Post-Funeral Chess Match: Aftermath
Afternoon/Dusk
...
¡ª A Castle may be a special move, but that doesn''t mean that you need to sacrifice many pieces of your side to be able to do a single castle. As a King you may be someday, you must know the meaning of each piece. Not only they are in this table for your safety, but the victory that should follow
¡ª Sheesh... ¨C I lost. I know I did. Even when I had done the Castle move with a Rook and a King, Sigurd found a way to take as many pieces as he could, and a way to keep his Horses. Horses are the worst chess pieces to be kept at the table, because you can do anything with a ''L'' movement. Not even the Queen I caught from Sigurd can do ''L'' shaped movements across the table. The Queen, on chess, is an amalgame of a Rook and a Bishop, while the Queen is just another Pawn, but unlike many Paws, the King is protected by the other pieces. I won''t even bother to see those pieces aligned once again. There''s a Horse, a Bishop, and the Queen, as the King is left on his own at the border, where he can''t escape, and some insignificant While Pawns, who cannot do anything since they had been blocked by other Black Paws of Sigurd, who I thought to have blocked first. This kind of situation would never happen when I was a kid...
¡ª What is bothering you, my Majesty? ¨C Sigurd asked, after we kept playing same game for a while, moving our pieces into each square, 64 in total, as time somehow found a way to move on.
¡ª It''s just that... not that I lost for you (again), but... I just miss home.
¡ª You miss home? ¨C he asked again. I know I wasn''t fooling Sigurd, neither he thought of same possibility. It has been a few days, but I do wish to come back to home. This place is so much dried up already, unlike my spirit, and my homeland ¨C my Majesty... Do you miss Burmecia, or do you miss the Palace? ¨C that question struck me abruptly. Mostly I''ve spent my life at the walls surrounding same Palace I was born, being raised by this same man in front of me, yet... I just miss the easy life I had. Not that I do not want to return home. Sure, all of us want the same as well, though. But who else is expecting me at home? My brother, who despises me; my parents, already gone; my people, who don''t even know me, besides the name ''Prince''?
The ones who sure are awaiting for me, or used to do, were Edgar''s sons, or so they are in a blood matter. I am also their uncle, in a blood matter, but I don''t count our blood as the only factor of raising them to become adults. Before, they used to look away from me, but now I realised that they only did it so when their father, or the shadow of same, came across themselves. Their sons must had thought I was like his, but my actions said otherwise, with the days we''ve spent, when Edgar remained on the throne, even out of same sit. But that brief week happened before I had been invited to come to this place, ending up away from Edgar and their sonst sight, on same way our father had been brought to the field.
Edgar had never the time to take care of his sons, but only their hatred against me, and who can say he is doing it already, once again? We all do the same again, I know. It''s part of the blood as well, and the skills such blood is submitted to endure with. Or so I keep asking complicated questions on an easy way. ''Easy questions, to easy answers''; neither are easier, as I thought it would be once again easy to ''win'' against Sigurd.
...
Justice Is Might
Dusk
...
¡ª Heh he he he he...
Puff, puff... Damn. I woke up, so sudden after I heard that laugh. Gravity started to pull my wounded arm, on same way it pulled me when I was over the edge, until I felt from that dune, to be kept lying in there. That laugh... It belonged to Prescott, as I could barely see, due to his face being covered by a boot, belonging to that same man who stabbed this arm.
¡ª What''s so funny to you to keep laughing like that ¨C that man above Prescott asked, looking keenly at Prescott, who just kept laughing, as if he had no other words to say. But I was too careless to admit of such possibility. In fact, Prescott seemed to share of many thoughts, who would later become words, rightfully chosen by his to be uttered, on the right time. Argh... I wish I could be able to do something, instead of just being a witness of their enduring conflict.
¡ª Funny, isn''t it? ¨C he asked, already sentient of what he was about to say, or so I could hear from that confident voice ¨C of all the assassins, scums of this world, do the Alexandrians just needed to hire you? Now I get it. I got the joke that''s you; the joke those Alexandrians already found before me. Well, you are either lucky or too arbitraty for reaching me first than the others. I enjoy these kind of situtations, in a way that are a risk to my life, yet, I do not feel such rish, neither yours. It must be very tough to be an assassin hired to kill, don''t you think? I do not think, because I can''t. You must had been sent by those Alexandrians. Mostly they despise us, you know. They have many reasons to despise us, as much as we do against them, but to be fair, I am not a single Burmecian, my champ. In fact, I''m a half-child of Cleyra; that''s why I had been so peaceful with your demeanor until now, but did you forgot already that I''m also a child of Burmecia...
It was then that I noticed, beyond Prescott''s words, that one of his feet, wth my toes, succesfully was able to hold of his own dagger, whom Prescott stabbed the foot of that assassin, or so Prescott called that man by such name. He had other names to refer to his as well, or so his concern told me. After stabbing the foot of that man, his equilibrium felt apart, just as both of us predicted, and then, Prescott proceeded to jump into that man, as both rolled up in the sand, until Prescott had put his own hands around the neck of Zephyr, the name of that assassin, who stabbed my arm, I recall further in my own anger, felt less than the one belonging to Prescott, who I once thought to be a calm person, but such persons would never press with such force the neck of someone, to... suffocate his? What the hell are you doing!?
I also didn''t expected this. Sure, I would expect to Prescott do something else than stab that man''s leg, but suffocate that man to a certain death is something...
¡ª Stop... you... weak... weakling! Weak-ling! ¨C Zephyr pleaded, but those were shallow pleads, and more bottomless threats of his to Prescott, who didn''t bothered to stop. Barely, that assassin said a thing, yet I could hear his sentences.
¡ª And why would I care to stop, Zephyr? ¨C Prescott said, or asked. If he did asked, then why expect an answer? So, he said, expecting nothing else than his victory ¨Cthose last moments of yours... Can you see them? it''s time to settle the one thing you''ve been searching all along at once. You, who had been wandering throught these lands, spreading of the horror of these same weapons you pretended to stab at at us. Once, you stabbed them at innocents, and once again, did of the same. This hatred of yours, this anger you feel heating beneath your skin... it''s painful, isn''t it? Or, is it rather scarier? You should be, like anyone else, Fear is the key. We all feel fear, it''s part of our nature, the nature of all beings, plants and animals. This fear is universal, it can''t be expressed by words, it can''t be understood by a single manner. You... you, off all beings, can feel fear, and you can''t admit it, can you?
¡ª I... don''t follow... your orders... you filthy rat...
¡ª And who do you follow, those who pay you and only them?
¡ª I...can''t feel fear... I-I am... fearless... I... am... the fear...
¡ª Yes, you''re right. You ARE the fear. You had been made to be such. But, is that who you truly are? Who has been the one who told you to be such? Was it your creator, the one who gave you the name Tommy, or Zephyr as you prefer to be called by? A reason to kill doesn''t exist by yourself, Hellship. They, the society, your family, those who insist to hire you, told you to be this. This fear, the unnexpected we feel, tied with no boundaries across this universe... you are it, and had been told and instructed to be.
¡ª ...nghh...
¡ª And what do you win when your dirty job is done? A recognition of their part. Not only Alexandria, and the ones who follow of his way claps their mettalic hands each time this spectacle done by yours is finished into the same way you had been ordered to, but they see into you an unique potential, or intend to behind the curtains. Thanks to their relationships estabilished between other kingdom and themselves, Alexandria could had hired as many assassins, or ''hunters'', they could in a single day, but to avoid this mistake of leading a harm to your obssesion with such individuality you share only with you, this ''talent'' of kill was kept exclustive to yours, because each one of us carries on a weakness. No one is allowed to be perfect in this material world. Whoever who created such world, such space... it never allowed the beings that reside to be perfect.
¡ª ...grrr...
¡ª Heh. After all this talk, all you can do is ''grunt''? Had you realised the loss of your own words against mine''s? Or do you never talked to anyone besides those who paid you to do of such dirty job? Do the Alexandrian commanders talked to you face to face, or they just ordered you to do a favor for them? You never dissapointed their orders, don''t you? It''s because you feared to be not recognized, left behind by them? Why can''t you be recognized beyond this murder machine? Fact is, your will, this ''resolve'' to agree on others is failing with you. In just a single generation, you''ll be forgotten, vanished into the void you allowed to be taken in. If you believe a ''Zephyr'' is a ''Zephyr'', no matter the place this same element is kept, so be it.
¡ª D...d-dirty rODent... wHen I Am DOnE with yOu... yoUr nAme w-will be al-l-l arOunD t-th-the world... to s-s-Ay nOthiNg of your eArs, SnOut, TaiL... and SPLEEN!...
Those were the last words uttered by Zephyr, before I could hear a ''CRACK!'' coming from the sound of this bones. With his own hands, Prescott broke that neck, as much as he broke that man apart. After he had done such thing, Prescott Highwind finally lifted up, stooding on his both feet on same ground he layed for a while, and the same couldn''t be said for that assassin, whom the fellow Burmecian looked in despise, and somehow, same despise had overcome the image of himself as well.
¡ª Can''t you understand? This world we live may be a trash heap, or a pile of shit that stinks for those with noses. But now, consider this as your surgery table, and you... you should call me by Surgeon instead.
...
XXIV: An Cat Dubh
¡ª ...Men truly are selfish beings. They say ''please don''t come'' as if anything is dangerous for a lady, no matter how big or small. Kids I understand, they are too young to deal with adult problems, like one of these last nights ago. Fratley came in to our bedroom and complained that he heard sounds whenever the room was dark. Something like an insect, to which he answered monster! With a shout hard to ignore, same for that face covered in fear and innocence... Kids and their imagination. In fact, it was a monster, but not as same way my son said, because Prescott went to his bedroom and got a cockroach by THIS size, stepped over it and made that filth. I could tell was shivering in fear, which he didn''t admitted. At least, Prescott cleaned that filth, because if he asked for me to do it so, he would ever see me naked again.
The many things they say when nobody''s listening... Before, eyes stared at us throught walls. A hundred soldiers to battle, a number which increases everyday for a kingdom of millions. It feels strange, a bit quiet, had not been for the rain. I feel retired, but I''m too young. The kind they like, said Sophia. She''s right on her terms, but mostly I disagree for words barely told. That''s what you should expect when your tongue feels a taste of freedom, followed of a cup of tea.
¡ª I don''t think men are the same. They may be all rats inside, but rats do not have homes to stay, or want a special place awaiting for them. If you don''t have a peace of mind, you can''t do anything at all, like killing a cockroach... a feeling which men try to fight out as much as they can. That''s why... don''t you think they''re cute when they do that?
¡ª For sure, Lenneth ¨C Sophia said, adding honey to her tea, though the bitterness remained ¨C they call us by ladies, do they? And when you least expect it, you are chained at the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant.
¡ª We are all chained in something, whether we like or not. There is always a struggle to be free.
¡ª Do you used to feel free while in the air? ¨C she asked. It feels like a long time ago since I touched the skies. Only weeks passed since I got new responsibilities.
¡ª Without a ground, I can''t walk where I want to, but this also takes my freedom.
¡ª So in order to be free, a bit of us need to be caged.
¡ª That''s why we don''t kill each other after not agreeing with what the other said ¨C Sophia seemed to agree with me. Maybe what I said wasn''t the right thing, but she nodded anyway.
¡ª Do you have a name for the little one there? ¨C she asked, looking below.
¡ª Not yet. If it''s a boy, or a girl ¨C I said, before taking a slurp of tea.
¡ª Or twins... ¨C then I almost spilled it all over the table.
¡ª Uh... Let''s not exaggerate.
¡ª Be fruitful and multiply, sayeth Bahamut ¨C I couldn''t tell if Sophia''s smirk was ironic or not ¨C strange how I don''t miss Prescott that much. But still I feel this longing for his company at my side. I wanted his hand to hold onto mine instead of the pen, and hear words brought out his mouth than ink written on paper.
¡ª At least, you know he''s alright. As for Bart... I don''t even know. He may be dead, but if that was the case, I should have been feeling something ¨C other than my feet rattling ceaselessly.
¡ª If Prescott is said to be dead, and for a reason comes back alive, I swear that I''ll kill him ¨C said Sophia, frowning and with a clenched fist. She tried to look tough ¨C had not been for the kids...
¡ª Hope Reis listen to our prayers. It''s what we can do in meantime for they to come back safely.
¡ª I can''t tell they won''t come without wounds.
¡ª As long as there someone awaiting for their return, someone who cares... all wounds can be healed, Sophia.
I miss the days I held that spear in hands. Moreso, the days I held Bart and Jack close of my heart.
?U2 - An Cat Dubh/Into The Heart?
July 05, 1778
...
Funny how I am rather impressed about the way Lennie insists to act like mother used to do.
I woke up earlier in this morning, not that I wanted to, but the pressure of morning inside me told it so. After squeezing the lemon out of my vein, I came to the bed to sleep once again, and I holded of my pillow until I heard of a delightful voice, the same who told me a lullaby yesterday, who also pulled me out of the bed, whom Lennie had covered with an extra blanket later that night, for so I could sleep well.
For breakfast, I had been feeded by bread, milk and I even enjoyed the taste of oats in my mouth; when I was about to go outside, Lennie holded of my hand, as we walked up in the stairways, and so she changed my clothes, althought they do look like the same as yesterday, except that they had been washed and put all together in the cloth line, who hangs outside my house as much as a tree and something Lennie calls by kailyard also lies there. Although the rain waters a bit of our clothes hanging in that cord, they would be watered anyway, but somehow, they sure went dry in there, maybe due to the wind.
She also tightened my loose ribbon, not so much to prevent a later gangrene, and sudden decay of my dead tail. I never saw it happen with my both eyes, but imagination deserves a praise to create such image. And, like any mother does, Lennie told me to not talk with, follow or believe on strangers. By stranger, she refers to anyone else, besides me. No, I don''t think so, because everyone would be a strange, even my cousin Dan, or my dear Fratley. I guess they aren''t stranger people anymore, since Lennie knows about then, or better, their moms.
If so, that''s fine for us. I am currently heading to somewhere else; just wandering here, there, up, down, left, right... I know there won''t be strangers to be afraid of anywhere I go, since other people who Lennie knows are keeping an eye on me, and us as well. When I used to head to Dan''s house, his mother kept an eye on both of us, if not the older brother of his. However, Lennie didn''t said anything about these men who wear of such armors. Not Dragoon Knights, but officers of the King, members of the Royal Guard, who had been walking around the kingdom these days.
They had been interrogating us, kids, recently. I came across five of them since now, and they all asked the same question, and if I recall, it was something alike: ''Do you think those who passed away come back to life?'', or so do I remember, this before I struck with another one of these guys, interrogating another child as well. Unlike other adults, they aren''t strangers to be afraid of, but to be trusted instead. They are Royal Guards anyway, followers of a code, unlike many of us. I do follow of a code as well, though I do not seem to be a kind of help for those who need of a hand. These adults think we are the helpless ones, after all we had been throught. We even had been born as helpless people, to be taken care by their arms, until we could hold onto anything else with ours, besides themselves. This doesn''t only apply on our arms and only, but the entirety of us.
Before I went in there, I saw a couple and a baby on the arms of the woman, presumably his mother, or so he and everyone else had been told of. They, counting the presumed father, or the male hanging with that lady, forcibly trying to make that infant, younger than an infant who learned to walk, and talk as result, to speak ''mama'' out of his throat, made to digest of his mother''s milk primarily. I may be a bit jealous, though. Either due of that mother, who resembled the one I had, in a way, or mostly because that baby and his mother had a father and a husband to share with, a few of a kind who stood in these lands. Now, back to the ''yes'' game, since no children until now uttered a single ''no'', a Royal Guard stood before a child I knew, though the hat of his was gone. It was Fratley, who stumbled across same guard, who asked him the question I had been told to answer before.
Dan also came up across a guard like that one, or so he said when I came across his as well. His father, uncle Clyde, was also a member of Royal Guard, before he became a baker, and that sounds silly, or either smarter than I might be able to understand. Either way, I wasn''t, and still I am not interested to talk or play with his, I just want to be on my own, but there''s no such a thing as ''own'' in a kingdom of roads connected to houses, and friends connected to other friends, like a tree share of twigs, leaves, sometimes flowers, fruits, seeds... and so it goes on, like how Gappys teeth keep falling each day, less than mine. My tooth felt yesterday, so I had put it under my pillow. Dan also did the same, as he said to me he expected to see that bastard mouse to come up and take that tooth of his, but before he could see anything, he felt asleep.
It wasn''t the first time Dan did such thing. I also did the same, but I felt asleep too. It must had been a kind of sleep potion or the darkness that closed both eyes of mine later that night, or maybe it was Lennie, who had blown that candle, after a kiss on my forehead, a cold kiss, unlike the bed I stood, unlike the bed my brother resides. When I woke up, it was gone, from my mouth, and from my sight, unlike Lennie, who was there, telling me to get up, and so I did. Before, she used to tell me to get up as well, but on another tone, of distress, and those eyelashes kinda made me get up as soon as possible, together with that curve on her mouth, and those arms freed of being crossed, as if they were about to slap my butt, unlike this morning, when those arms were crossed on her chest, a huge chest by now.
...
I woke up earlier this morning, a cold day outside this blurred window, once smudged by my own breath, who I used to clean, or diminish the dirt brought by the air, if there''s such. The more I clean, more this window gets blurry, though I can see what happens outside on either ways. Rain, and its people, who travel across many lenghts, on same way rain keeps pouring down from the highest heights, beneath the clouds, who either stay still, or move slowly as others, alike the kids and the adults who follow, or try so, of the little ones. At least, I can distinguish both with my eyes, suffering of restless blinks, and each moment I see the darkness, or the crimson that comes on each night, when I close my eyes looking at the candle, I might want to lay down on this same bed, on same way as I did yesterday, though I may be able to sleep, unlike before.
The veins I see into the mirror, red unlike the blueish ones belonging to these legs, as I can see with the gaiters off, and this right arm, crushed by the pillow of feathers and this head who attempted to rest, alike these both feet, who lured the rhythm and heat of a tribal dance, who I pleasantly agreed to be done, even if such had taken away my sleep, but not my comfort on bed, althought these strands of a messed white hair, once wrapped into my neck like tendrils, said otherwise, as they usually do when not brushed to my back, where their tip might tickle, but a tickle is less than a discomfort I usually felt these days, or nights. Yet, unlike many of my parts, my head seems backwards, because it doesn''t feel nothing of the morning addiction, that strucks each one who had ever gotten a living being in the chest once. Mostly they speak of nauseas, althought my mouth is dry, unlike the toilet I filled in later that night, same night I tried to to sleep into, unlike you there.
These and other disorders told me, and now their aftermath came for me to realise, that I must rest, but I cannot sleep, even if I and my body kinda want to, telling me to go to bed on ways more exclusive than singles, and spontaneous, yawns. My flaccid ears, once crestfallen as this chin, who felt when I took a look at the nails of my feet, lifted up, as that spear used to remain so, not hanging on the wall, but in this left hand, the hand that used to ergue those who felt with a single touch. Same could be said to Bart, as a whole. Whenever I felt, he was there to give me a hand of support, as much as I did used to be a support of this Kingdom, but now, it seems I must be the support for the one whom I had given of such, yet not enough.
Forget about funny cravings, Lenneth, since the bad aftertaste still persists deep into your throat, tasteless for anything else. Remember when you were afraid of doors, that seemed to be about to hit your stomach in any moment, of the weight of your family duty as a Dragoon Knight, stood on what once was the coat of arms you wore in the chest, seemingly about to collapse and expurge of a life like a butcher''s knife?
My future seemed static, as now, alike the position I stood on same static bed, same bed I decided to lie for a while once again, same bed I used, and still I do, lie in both ways. ''Don''t worry'', these were his drooling words, soft as the pillow my head is lying above, and the other pillow I''m holding tightly, alike how Bart used to hold me, into the nights, or in mornings like this one. Unlike this pillow, he whispered to my both ears, sounding alike my own thoughts, as he looked at me in the eye, to later be kissing my innermost lips of love, same love he shared when touching upon my hand, comfortably caressing with his fingers, until they got to hold the entirety of my palm, our fists kept close, alike how men threat each other by pulling fists to be able to harm each other.
Bart would never harm me, yet a pleasant harm was delivered by his touch, by his closure, and by the trust I had of his, more important than his trust on me. Over the edge, the red of the Crescent blood didn''t mattered, for the first time, or when mean seasons arrived, or used to. That thing screamed, as I screamed as well, nailed on same bed. Tears belonged to cries, I thought, as that thing kept screaming, like his flesh was set ablaze by the cold of her outside. The contact of the Cleyran nursemaid''s hands, who once touched of dry sand to watery skins, wasn''t enough for that thing to stop throwing tantrums, even on such age, if there was piece of navel string still belonging to his would rotten in a few days, unlike his mother, luckily well, as you can see, or will see one of these days, alike how Jack opened his eyes to me, that morning, and this morning as well.
...
I look up at Lennie''s eyelashes today, and only with them, I could deduce how she had changed, or how do I changed, soft as a pillow. Those eyes shared of same concern as the day belonging to before, as if she was about to cry, or as if she already had shed a tear, away from my sight, daddy''s sight. Well, an eye-mote also makes people cry as well. Speaking about tears, mostly these children who were interrogated cried as well. Seemingly, by result, most of them said a single ''yes'', some took a while to say something, that ended up with a ''yes'', followed by ''please'', and often a tantrum, that resulted in a tear to be shed, in both eyes and pants. I said ''yes'' too, though. Just a single ''yes'', and nothing else, and I don''t recall ever seeing someone saying ''no'', but I guess that there''s always a head backwards, like Fratley.
¡ª I''ll only answer to you if you take that hat up there ¨C before an answer could be given to that guard, another were delivered by Fratley. It wasn''t the kind of answer that I do often hear, or heard about, or a type of answer that you may expect someone to utter. I may agree that most of us lose many things, like hats, yet there''s always a place to wonder where such object had been lost. I wonder how Fratley''s hat went in there, atop that tree, judging the size of that tree, and that kid; between a nail and a drawing pin, same could be said to his and that guard''s height, and me as well.
¡ª Can''t you take that hat by yourself, kid? ¨C the guard seemed to be not so fully of patience this day. They never appear to be patient anyway; however, that''s part of their duty to be able to help the helpless ones, same rule for the Dragoon Knights to obey. About that hat, whom the tree holded on its twigs, I could perceive that same question of mine, who still wondered how that hat supposedly came there, had been briefly struck into the mind of that guard, or so I could see in his face, barely due to that iron helm of his. Maybe a throw wasn''t enough, judging the size of Fratley as a whole, more than the arms of his, but kids can do anything, and I am such proof. But I ain''t Fratley, yet I wished I could be, in a way.
¡ª I''m afraid of heights ¨C he said, and what else would he say? If I had that height, I would fear heights as well, althought ants, who are smaller than his, do not care about heights. Well, what else would the tall guard do, other than take that kid''s hat? Either way, as the guard climbed up that tree, like an ant in search of a leaf, whose tree used to share of many, I came near Fratley, who didn''t even noticed me, well, he sure did, with a quick gaze, and a smirk too, both who later paid fully attention to the guard, above us. For some reason, when the guard reached that twig, that hat suddenly moved, but maybe it was just the wind, or so I may agree to think. Fratley didn''t even bothered, as I did otherwise.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
¡ª Here, take it ¨C the guard said, after he threw that hat from the highest spot where he could be standing, atop that tree. Instead of Fratley, I was the one who took the hat of his. Not that I had been mistaken by his, but anyway, I am a kid as well, and also someone else who was there to take that hat, if Fratley couldn''t. A matter of luck, to be said. Then, the guard and his claws gathered closer to the trunk, where they once had been to climb up that tree, but now they were being used to do the opposite. After he came down, to stand before us, into the tree or not, he demanded an answer for his question, or so other guards like his had done before.
¡ª Now, would you care to answer me this: Do you believe that someone who passed away will come back to life? ¨C he asked, for Fratley this time. Maybe he wanted to ask the same for me as well, but by hearing the words of his, I could only presume that the question had been directed by one of us, and since I had answered such before, and since it was Fratley who had struck with this guard before I did, then I can only say that it was him who needed to answer the question. He sure is taking some time to say something, doesn''t he?
¡ª You mean... if someone who had died will come back alive? ¨C Fratley asked, on a way more clever than the guard could be. They all had asked to us the same question, not even mentioning the word ''death'', but a single ''pass away''; well, sure I and Dan had taught those Basilisks to easily pass away, as easy as it is to fool a child, other than a kind of me, to say so.
¡ª Yes, that''s the question: If someone who passed away will be alive once again, yes or no? ¨C At this moment, I already had said ''yes'', like Dan said too, althought I am convinced that I just said a single ''yes'', only so that the conversation between I and the guard would be over already. I mean, besides answering this exact question, I had been interrogated to answer many questions beyond a single ''yes'' or ''no'' choice, like when I ssaid my name was Jack, and still is, the guard asked my surname as well, or ''Jack of what'', as he clearly said.
I took a time to answer that, this until he took the ribbon Lennie tied into me, only to see half of her name inscribed at the tip of my tail, or so that guard did with a hundred of Jacks, if there''s such also asked me if I wanted to be a Dragoon Knight, alike how mother was once, and I said nothing instead, but a ''maybe''. Instead of answering the guard, Fratley just stared to his face, like someone would do on a conversation, however no words had been spoken yet. Only thoughts, but these can only be shared to ourselves. He may be thinking about delivering the answer only at this moment, since he was occupied and concerned about that hat who stood in that tree more than the question brought in by the guard, only awaiting for him to say something, and more than my presence as well, as I am only perceived by his look because of the hat I''m still holding with both hands.
¡ª Uh... well... Mister... What should I say? ¨C and why do you ask?
¡ª Just say what you believe to be the rightfull answer.
¡ª But... I can''t lie, can I? ¨C do you lie? ''The children who lie won''t go to paradise'', or so the rhyme says. Just answer the guard, my dear Fratley.
¡ª I''ll know if you''re lying, or not.
¡ª But what if I convince you so much of a lie that you may agree to be the truth?
¡ª Not that I''m not prepared, but... I had been trying to find some bugs, you see ¨C that''s enough. I''m tired of holding this hat, as much as I am tired of standing in there, as much as I expect something-AAAAH!... No, not this. A single butterfly, before a crowd, came from underneath the hat of his. What a silly thing to be afraid of... what the heck!? Butterflies, in the rain? No, under the hat? Oh, now I see. Maybe those butterfly had been caught by Fratley, by the hat of his, instead of a net, or an empty jelly jar, or whatever comes to the mind, even a hat may work, and sure did. They must had been gathered by his, and then, they tried to escape, by flying somewhere else.
But how the hell could they fly into that tree, anyway? I don''t know, yet I wanna. Maybe they didn''t, since it''s raining, and butterflies can''t fly into the rain, unlike birds, only if the rain is smooth, falling into little bits onto us, like when its drizzling, or used so. Smooth or not, butterflies can''t cross the field of rain, as the drops of water from the skies could kill then, or so their fragile body says to me. I am made of bones, so wherever it rains, there''s no chance for my bones to be broke, althought a tumble may be enough for my bones to be gone, this only if I get old enough than I am already, or maybe older than Lennie.
Funny... these butterflies, who are now standing in hiding into some flowers near me, so quiet they had beTence before, I would say that they were dead, and that sure sounds like another reason why Fratley didn''t took the hat of his, when such had gotten upon that tree. Try to think about the shock... I can, because it happened with me once. Not with butterflies, but frogs, or so they were meant to be ones. I once had gotten a bunch of tadpoles from daddy, who had put then in a jar of glass, same where he used to put the jelly mother, my mother, used to made to his. I, who forgives myself until this day, had mistakenly put that jar inside the dark cabinet of the kitchen, and on the next day, as I woke up to have of a good breakfast, prepared by daddy, I remembered that I had put the tadpoles inside same cabinet I say, and when daddy opened it, we saw with our both eyes that they were all dead.
But now I agree that they would die anyway, if stood on the marsh full of pikes where daddy found then, and even if they turned into frogs, I wonder how they would end up, after I had succesfully put one of them inside the pants of someone else, like Dan, or maybe Lennie. Whereas Dan would be pissed, yet our cordiality still remained after, Lennie would do more than press one of my ears, until they turned red, but split to my daddy as well; however, she seems to have no such force to do it so, not because daddy isn''t here, but also because of my brother, still inside her, unlike me.
Well, after all this time, and he didn''t answered yet. How much longer should I await for his to speak? Oddly enough, Fratley doesn''t seem to avert the fact that death should come, yet the guard who is still awaiting for same answer just stands there, to calm whenever someone cries, as other kid had done, or to interact with the one whom he demanded an answer.
¡ª ...spiders aren''t insects either, neither lices... ¨C or so Fratley said. I don''t recall he ever saying such thing. The guard in front of his, erect like a spear, wasn''t paying that kind of attention either, yet I could see him listening to that kid. I was listening to him as well, still I am, but I can only hear bits of his voice. It just keeps going on, and on, althought that''s the intention of the guard, who wants the conversation between his and that kid, as one did with me, and Dan as well, to flow naturally, to not be forced.
After all, Fratley had been told to tell the truth, or so the truth his father spoke to his once. ''They'' are, still, talking about armadillo bugs, or woodlouses, those kinds of bugs that can be found below a rock, or rotten trunks too, and when you touch them, they cover themselves like a ball, like an armadillo does as well. Interesting... the guard, like them all, had been acting naturally, like our fathers used to do so well. I wonder if these guards share of kids as well. Maybe his sons could be my friends, maybe the guard could be my friend, as they insist to be on the conversations I had, five for me in total, but if this guard, like many, sure was a friend of mine, I would call him by the name, instead of calling him by guard. Or Mister, as Fratley uses to direct to him.
¡ª ...don''t you think that bugs are fascinating, Mister?
¡ª Yeah, they sure are... ¨C the guard, unlike Fratley, seemed tired of the conversation, or in a few other words, tired of the listening his ears had been enduring all this time, and I wonder which time is it, and how long such passed since that moment. Five minutes, maybe the double, who cares anyway...
¡ª I agree too! Daddy and I used to catch some butterflies... ¨C compared to the guard, and me on a way, Fratley had a taste on conversation, even if he was talking by himself all along, yet he wanted to endure same conversation as long as he, or his stirring limbs, could. I guess you don''t even need to pay attention to your own words, or your body, if you want to talk with someone ¨C I once ate purple like grape corn for breakfast...
¡ª ...Purple corn? And how did you got to eat such?
¡ª Daddy brought it from the hills...
¡ª Your father seems to be an important person to you...
¡ª He is important to mommy as well, as much as she is important to me, and my brothers too.
¡ª And do you agree with this distance kept between you, and your father?...
¡ª ...
¡ª ...So, you disagree?...
¡ª ...
¡ª ...Do you wish your father to come back soon?...
¡ª ... ¨C from that moment onwards, the guard had opened his lips, as Fratley reclused of his ones. He just looked somewhere else, other than the guard''s face, purposefully avoided the questions brought by the guard. Not only he did brought the look of his to another direction, other than the grounds below his feet, the grass where his feet once stood, that same tree where his hat once stood, whom he took from my arms who holded of them, for some unknown reason, and wore on that face of his, who expressed such nothing unlike before.
No hearing, no breathing, no movement, no colors... just silence, althought the rain, and the guard, said otherwise. So Fratley hid his face, alike how a turtle shrinks like a cicada to inside its shield, with that hat, green unlike the color of the blood, and hair as well, with those familiar strands. He tried to close his eyes as well, but the utmost he could was to blink, to briefly see the dark red of the lids shut. So, Fratley just stood quiet, as much as I. However, it seems that he couldn''t stand it, as much as he couldn''t deliver an answer, or answers as it turned to be. He doesn''t seem to be the kind who prefers to talk by himself, in thoughts, but the one who likes to share of his words to others, and hear of their words as well, even if they turn out to be a mere few words, but words in a way.
¡ª ...Mister... ¨C well, he gave up from that silence of before, at the moment he said a single word, and I, as much as the guard, could hear it as well ¨C ¡ª about my daddy...
¡ª What''s it? So... shall it be a ''yes''?
¡ª No... A yes, or no... maybe both. I... I don''t know. I may be lying to you, Mister, if I had choose a ''yes''. Daddy... Even if he sure come back, so... I know he''s doing his best, but... Of course I want him to come back, everyone does want... But daddy, he''ll die anyway, Mister. And I don''t know for sure if the dead come alive, but I kinda wanted to see if they do. Like... would I come back if I had been dead? I am alive, don''t I am? So... I want daddy to be back, as soon as possible, like my brothers and mommy too, and that''s fine, a wish or not.
¡ª Okay then ¨C and so, the guard just turned his back to us, and left. He would left this place anyway, since there''s many to be asked of his question around the kingdom. I don''t even know if the guard just left because he was bored enough already, or if he needed to ask other children. He didn''t even asked me the question, maybe because I did it already, or maybe his patience regarding the Fratley nearby mine was gone.
Fratley had a kind of difficult to answer a ''yes'', or ''no'', and I don''t even know if he did answered the questions brought by the guard, or if he did had listened to then. But eyes can''t listen, since we share of both ears to do it so, so I guess he did listened to his words, and also spoke of his own words, even with the eyes away. At least, he tried to answer on his way, instead of giving a single ''yes'', as much as I, like many, did, only to see things wash away as soon as possible. Even when abruptly ignored by that back, one of many, Fratley looked at that guard from a distance, and a sort of reminiscensce, or so I could see similar thing as well, came to his eyes, and his whole as well.
Now he moved those limbs like he usually did, not that he seemed to control then, as much as he couldn''t control that appetite for a conversation. Even when not engaging in a small talk, at the moment I am looking to Fratley, describing his, creating an image of his based on his habits, it''s like I''m talking to him, and the same goes for Frattie as well. If I, at least, could do the same for Lennie, or, should I had said times ago, mother...
...
This stomach reminds me of many things; things that remained, and things that shouldn''t remain anymore...
After Jack had been conceived to this world, a month or two weeks later, I had to do some exercises, since I had been lying flat all along. It was difficult on the first days, but being a member of Dragoon Knights motivated me enough to do them, until I could fully recover to my state prior the labour. Days prior I could walk once again, and prior the exercising of my legs, the placenta I and Jack shared once had been taken from my womb to a bowl of soup, as I and the son born of my flesh stood on same bed, one lying above other.
From the first breath of tiny lungs, to the approach, the crucial contact of his skin to my heat, bleeding without any open wounds belonging to his own, and the string who had been cut, with its remains rotting day after day, as Jack felt the heat of my body, and I felt of same heat, feared of such to overcome me as a whole. Exposed like abatoir meat, even with both of us sharing of common pieces of cloth, green like the sourest of the limes, green like a tasteless wall of lime, althought my tongue still had the ability to taste something, like my own flesh.
I had to taste the stew of my own placenta in a soup Bart prepared to me, to improve my recovery, or so he said. He also tasted of same meat, whom he declared to be a bit limpy, sometimes gummy, and I could agree with him as well. I may admit that I felt slighty better after I had tried out to eat my own flesh. Same relief that I found when I filled in the potty a few days later, or or when I took a bath, like now. Bart felt nothing else, other than a relief as soon as I told to him that I felt better, I got better, I got strong, and nothing wrong, because I felt better, as much as I couldn''t taste a glass of wine, like Bart would usually do when followed by me, on the old days before I became older, yet even younger, I had, and still I do have, been able to brought another living being to this world, as much as I had been brought as well on same way. Before I felt better, I didn''t wanted that thing, who beared the name of ''Jack'', given by the father, near my breasts, even if he needed of such milk, who only I had been gathering a month ago.
Painfully, my ears had to endure of his tantrums, and when I couldn''t, I had to redeem myself, and allow that mouth, who had gotten a surface of white alike the strands of my hair, and a while alike the milk I had to give to his. Even at the moment of his birth, Jack seemed more quieter than when he ''asked'' to me when it was time to feed him, and time for his didn''t mattered; early in the morning, late in the midnight, Jack would be awake anytime he wanted, just to be feeded by me, his mother. Besides waking me up in the middle of my sleep, Jack used to bite my nipples with his jaw, as if, since that earlier, he was telling me, and anyone else, besides the cries, that my breasts had been claimed to his, and only, and he didn''t even bothered if I ended up aching, or not.
I never told to your father, or anyone else, about the ''sensation'' I had when I brought Jack to the food he demanded for the first time. Not that I had the time to say it so, but I couldn''t, since I preferred for it to be restricted between me, and only, but since you are between me, and since I shared of many secrets with you as well, I may be able to tell you about that. A thing I thought to be forgotten for good, since it was wrong for I to had felt it, even if it was good, for a moment, before the shock, and the shame.
It happened on the first days, even after Jack had bitten me without a pair of teeth, and same thing also happened when I stood with Bart, and only. Now, since only I and Jack shared of that bed on those days, I couldn''t, and still I can''t even call such thing felt from the tip of my nerves by ''pleasure'', even if it had given me creeps, shivers not belonging to my spine, or any kind of bone belonging to my body, yet, I had the need to feel a kind of pleasure, but not on that way, who had left a guilt on me since I am able to record of those moments.
With half of my dignity though to be gone, I also had been lead astray, not only by the son who had been feeding on myself, but by his father, your father, the one who once gave me comfort; Jack and Bart may had shared of a way to brought me comfort in a way, yet they also had found a way to harm me as well. The size of Jack''s head, who weighted more than his own little body, had done a major damage to my entire body, who felt the loss of him, and the blood who passed throught the navel to his. Althought my vessels, compressed for a month to bare the size of the infant growing inside me, like now, had relaxed within the days after the labour, nowhere else, other than my organs, went on same relaxing.
Being numb by the pain instead, if it was a challenge enough to be able to fill in the potty on the early days, or to ergue a leg to practice one of the exercises required to each woman a few days after the birth, I also had to deal with a kind of love, unlike the one Bart gave me before, during the days we spent together, after I had completed the training sessions, during the nights he used to brought me home, and used to leave at the front door as well, before we ended up on same bed, same home, as I used to woke up before his, yet half of his always had been awake in the mornings, like this one.
However, when Jack came, Bart couldn''t even touch me, or kiss my lips, afraid as much as I had been of bearing, more than a headache in the middle of the nights. Sleeping in the sofa instead of sharing of that same bed, Bart avoided any kind of contact of himself, or anyone else, with me; not even a single touch of his hands were delivered on the first days, even if such had happened before, when the labour pains had taken me as a whole, unlike any kind of infection, fortunately. Only the heat remained, not the heat brought by Bart, or the heat brought by a pile of blankets, covering not only me but Jack as well, whom Bart holded carefully, but the heat, belonging to nothing alike the blazes of a fire, that first took my forehead, then my ears, and my head as a whole, crossing throught my skin, and almost ending up taking me and the entirety of me as well.
A sister of mine had died of same fever as soon as her baby had been born. It took five days, to be exact, for her heat to be gone, together with her soul. The baby cried, as it usually did, and had done on the day of his mother''s demise. Knock... Many gifts were brought by family members, and friends of mine to me, and Jack; same also happened to my sister, who had never seem then being used, or wore, by his daughter, whose only gifts, the ones who remained of those times, were her name, Eleanor, same name who belonged to our mother, and that orange ribbon, tied into her tail, a sort of tie that seems to be the only one who remained after her mother had passed
...Knock... Same could be said to this ribbon, and my mother as well, however, the red coat says otherwise, or used to say, yet it keeps saying the same. Even without a kiss, whom he grated to my lips a month after, same month I had decided to become, once again, a proud Dragoon Knight, Bart''s tenderness with me stood the same, and the same could be related to Jack. As I had been stuck on same room, lying on same bed, wearing of same clothes, watching the light coming from same window, that was enough to make me mad, but I also had been living with same Bart, and now with our son as well.
Or, should I say, his son. My son...Knock...The one who took care mostly of Jack was his father, instead of me. But on the early days, it was different. I also took care of Jack, in a way; by being a Dragoon Knight, I protected him, and many others like him, from the dangers that surround the world outside. I may protect you as well, with these claws. Yet, even with such protection, came the distance... Knock... Knock...
Away from the heat, away from the breast, away from the sheltering red sky; I know babies can''t walk on the instant they open their eyes, because of the weight of their heads, compared to the weight of their bodies...Knock Knock...Jack can''t accept I am his mother, because of the weight left by this head, and those who had made it. However, not only they, but me as well. It was me who decided to be this way...Knock...It was this body who decided me to be this. These clothes I wear made me into this. And you there counts, althought you do not wear any cloth, or do follow a way...
Yet.
...Knock Knock Knock...Jack grew up on this way, but he''s still a child. Knock...There''s still time to do it so...Knock...There''s always a time to grow up, to accept, and to...Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock... Geez, who might be the rowdy standing at the door, knocking so much?
XXV: Cant Find My Way Home
?Swans - Can''t Find My Way Home?
Same July, Same Day
Another Hour...
...
Okay, I guess I should stop hitting the door.
Those don''t seem to be knocks, althought they do sound alike. Either way, Lennie might be mad by now, seeing how long it took to hear those steps. Maybe she was sleeping, or taking a bath, or both. If I could reach that knob up there... Why this house needed to be so big, on first place? Not even daddy, or Lennie, are that tall. Though, Lennie sure is tall, like mother. Oh... I know, I know. Stop aching, please. There''s time for anything, but now I need to open the door. Maybe I could await for Lennie to come open it for me, but I had been awaiting for this for too long. Yes... the time I shall open the door by myself. Althought, I may need some help. Not Lennie''s, but someone else. Maybe if Dan lifted me up, or Fratley?... Well, for some reason, Fratley just followed me to my house. I didn''t even noticed his, unlike how he do notice me, with those eyes, even behind that hair of his.
Maybe he was bored of being left on his own, so he just followed me, the one who became the nearest to his, since the moment we bumped on each other. Well, we didn''t meet each other this way, but it sounded alike how things went, even if they might sound different to anyone else, like Fratley himself. I had a reason to left him on his own, since I thought he wasn''t alone, because he had been enjoying catching some butterflies, to later release them, but not before he watched them keenly.
Others, mainly adults, would kill these kinds of butterflies, or any other insect, so they can look to them for an eternity, but Fratley''s eyes aren''t just a pair of green glasses, a color unlike the glass where the corpses of many butterflies are kept against their will. A fish and their eggs also goes deep into my throat against their will, and I am feeded of watercress and bell peppers by Lennie against my will as well. Though, I am beginning to like the taste of oats, or maybe its the milk that comes with them as well.
Hngg!... Her will is above me, as much as this door seems to be above me. Hng! Hnng! Ahn!... Damn, I jump, and yet, I can''t reach that knob... Pant... Pant... Whew. I wish I could jump, like a Dragoon Knight does, like mother used to jump, like Lennie used to jump. What a pain. I am bouncing, rather than delivering straight jumps. I guess I should ask Fratley to lift me up, or maybe I could lift him, because that sounds easier than the first option. No, both are equally hard enough, ''cause it''s hard to convince someone to do things for you, without going unrewarded. I don''t think Fratley has any kind of attraction towards rewards, other than being satisfied after any kind of conversation. The same couldn''t be said of his stomach, who needed of another kind of food, other than words to be eaten.
¡ª Hey, Fratley ¨C I said, as I turned my back to the door. I just said the name of his, since he was the only one nearby, and also the one who I had been looking at. I had no idea of what should I be talking about with him. With Dan, it''s another story, since he share of a bunch of stories, but without Dan, or father, my conversations seem meaningless. So, I take a glare to that face, some would say its cute, but in that way, I would be cute too, and then, I noticed that something was gone, the same couldn''t be said for that sparkle in his eyes, or whatever was that coming up from between the black and green half of those. Maybe it was me, but I couldn''t see clearly, with those flaxen strands above them ¨C do you know whatever happened to your lucky clover? You know, the one you wore on the back of this ear?
¡ª My lucky clover? ¨C Fratley said, as I came up with that sort of question. He was surprised, if I may say, and who wouldn''t? I guess nobody else asked to him about that clover, or ever noticed such at the back of his ear. Well, except me. I''m akin to details, or so the devil belongs to them. Anyway, that ''lucky clover'' of his was gone, since it once stood at the back of one ear, same one who listened to me, belonging to the kid who always seemed to listen to me. And answer me too, since he was not a baby anymore ¨C Oh, I know. Sorry, but I lost it.
¡ª Oh, that''s okay. I do not mind, you see. I just asked, because... well, you had been carrying on that clover at the back of your ear last day, don''t you remember?
¡ª Yeah, that''s right. Maybe the clover fell somewhere else... ¨C Fratley said, crestfallen to his pockets, as if there was a clover hid in one of them. Unfortunately, for his, there was nothing in there, not even dirt. This may be as meaningless as the talk I had , but since Lennie may be changing her clothes by now, what else should I do, other than await for that arm to spin the knob of this wooden door? And, to be fair, I''m bored of being too quiet, unlike those hands belonging to that boy. Now, after those hands had been put to be later taken out of both pockts, they now stand above his head, under that hat of his. Maybe that clover could be hid below that hair, below that hat, but each doubt has its flaws, that only I had the time to perceive of such
¡ª It may have fell somewhere else, other than yourself ¨C I said. Fratley didn''t paid that much of attention to my words, as usual, althought he listened to me clearly. But everyone''s ears do listen to another, paying attention or not. Sometimes, it''s hard to make someone follow of your advices. Not that Fratley is reckless as me, but it''s just that... how could I explain? I... nevermind. He''s just a kid, and I am a kid as well, althought I''m a bit older than his.
¡ª Uh... ¨C he muttered, with a sort of dissapointment on his face. I guess Fratley couldn''t find that clover, as much as I expected he couldn''t. Not that I expect in contempt for this, but I hoped he could find that clover, somehow. It matched with his appearance, althought no one else, other than me, seems to bother with small details. Fratley sure is small, alike the details belonging to his.
¡ª What''s up, Frattie? ¨C I asked, when I couldn''t hear of his voice. ''Frattie''... how seldom I do call him by this way. Same goes for Dan, whom I often call by ''Gappys'', and Lenneth, who I choose to call by ''Lennie'' instead. Now, I became quiet as much as Fratley did, or so I thought for a moment. That dissapointment of his, unlike this one of mine, soon turned into a sign of gaiety; like, he was about to tell a funny story, or so that smile told me to be that kind of story. I just had to ask, after all.
¡ª You know, uh... no, you don''t, so let me tell you what happened ¨C and so I went all ears to his ¨C you see, when I came home, to find those cards daddy had hidden on his closet, and as I heard the door opening, I came downstairs. Mommy was there, and your mommy too, see? My mommy told me to call my brothers, because I was the only one there, besides my little brother, but he''s so little that he can''t even walk yet, and your mommy didn''t knew where my brothers were, so I had time to do it so. But your friend said otherwise, with those yes, back that day. I didn''t knew back that day that you two were so upset, and who wouldn''t? You two where awaiting for me, or for those cards, or whatever I needed to bring to yours. I forgot to bring those cards in time, and then, I dissapointed both of you...
¡ª I don''t mind ¨C sure, I don''t mind. Yesterday is yesterday ¨C please, continue ¨C Lennie didn''t opened this door yet, so all I can do is to keep listening to his. I''m rather tired of listening to myself already, unlike the words of this kid.
¡ª Either way, I forgot for a moment that you two needed me, because, between you and mommy, she comes first, you see. So, I had to call my brothers, my priority was that, no matter the rest, I just had to call them. Mommy had gone to the market all alone, but then, she came thanks to your mommy, and... what is her name, by the way? Was it Lenneth? Oh, yes, that''s her name, I thought about that when I went walking, you know, to see my brothers.
I guess she didn''t spoke that many, but I know I''ve heard of same before, maybe I had saw her once, or someone who spoke of her name, I know, but I don''t know how. Not so many know about me, or my name, you see. So, I thought about your mommy, and her name, before and after I called my brothers, and just as I went walking to meet you, and that friend, cousin, that boy with a gap between the front teeth, a stone made me tumble, because, well, I was distracted, and then, I felt, just as I went rolling into a ha-ha, and I kept rolling, rolling, rolling...
¡ª ...And then, you stopped rolling? ¨C I asked, just so that talk didn''t lasted forever. I paid attention to his words, and gestures as well. Speaking about gestures, mostly done by both hands, varying from zig-zags to full circles, I could see, and feel, thatFratley was excited to be able to talk about it, and still he wanted to keep talking. At this point, many would have already gave up of this boy, and the story within his. Well, what else should I do, other than keep listening to his?
¡ª Of course I did. I had hit a wall, or the wall hit me... either way, I had to stop rolling. Fortunately, you see, I feel fine, since that day. The cards and I landed atop the green, a bit yellow, grass, and other plants. Those seeds with spikes went glued to my skin, as much as they went within my clothes as well, and I took then all, shaking my head, turning my fingers into pinchs because those spikes were itchy, except for a clover that went stucked at the back of my ear. I didn''t even noticed that thing, until you noticed it.
However, what you, your friend, even myself didn''t noticed, besides the green of the clover, was the purple, not the one belonging to those Quad Mist cards, but the purple of my knees and elbows. Mommy did noticed them, even before I had showed them to her. She surely knew I had been wounded, you see, althought I felt fine, as usual. I had to drink a spoon of castor oil, whom mommy usually served to my brothers as a sort of punishment, but because I had been kind with her all along, she also had made me prove a bit of maple syrup as well.
¡ª Interesting ¨C to prove of some castor oil, to later taste the flavour of something alike maple... now, I know Fratley sure is lucky ¨C and what happened to your lucky clover? Wasn''t it stuck at the back of your ear all along?
¡ª Well, it was, until today. I took a bath, I changed my clothes, mommy washed my clothes, as she did with the ones belonging to my brothers, we all had dinner, and nobody asked about that clover, not even mommy. And, like, I woke up today with a strange taste in my mouth. Strange, because I had a dream where I stepped on moss carpet, then I went sit on a dinner table, and I had been drinking only water, glasses of water, it was raining outside, then I drank a whole cactus daddy brought from the desert, I felt its spikes into my pants, then mommy gave in my hands a dish full of cut like squares watermelons into my mouth, I spited those black seeds, and then I woke up, with my nose telling me that my bed became wet, once again.
It happens. Like, one of my tooth had fell on the same day, see? So, I had to sleep, not on the same bed, but on another, belonging to one of my brothers. But before, I changed my pants, because, you know, they were soaked, and they stinked, just like my bed. I took a bath on my own this time, and my hands instead of mommy washed me instead. Each one of them refuse to divide a single space, even when I said that I could sleep at the tip of their feet. It was getting cold, so I had to sleep.
¡ª And the clover was there, at the back of your ear?
¡ª Yes, the clover was there, on my ear, unlike now. My tooth was under the pillow, whose feathers didn''t had any smell, so I took them both. I hoped that I could find the Nezuminoko, maybe even be able to speak with him; however, my eyes said otherwise. How could I talk to that mouse if I had been affected by his sleeping powder? It was then that I was about to fell asleep, the wall and the floor seemed so comfortable at the night, until I saw the light, orange light, of that candle, coming from mommy''s room.
I holded of my pillow, as I crossed the corridor between my room, where my brothers stood on their beds, to came above the only remaining bed belonged was the one who belonged to mommy, where daddy used to sleep with her. My little brother was sleeping on that crib, where I and my brothers used to sleep too, but now that crib belonged to his, and only. Besides the crib, mommy''s arms where also there, to hold him, as much as she uses them to hold us as well. But, with my little brother, she holded tightly with him, and not so much, unlike the way she touches, or even washes me, and my brothers as well. So I had to sleep with mommy that night.
¡ª And that was when you had lost your lucky clover?
¡ª Maybe. Seeing how much I had tried to convince my brothers to hire a space on their beds, which I failed to do it so with them all, mommy allowed me to sleep on her bed, as I layed on the same space daddy used to sleep with mommy. I could even smell his scent, on that pillow and those blankets, as much as mommy could too. I couldn''t sleep yet, with that candle lit, so I had blown it with a single blew, aside a mouth covered by a bit of spit.
So, as the room went all dark, like almost the entire house did, as I put my head on my pillow, mommy layed above daddy''s pillow, to feel more of his scent, and my tooth rested under my own pillow, covered by same blanket daddy used to share with mommy, and now I shared of that blanket. It was that big, even bigger than me, the blanket, the bed, and mommy too. With that big bed, I hoped that I had a big dream as well, until I felt something that made me woke up sooner than I expected. I felt a bit of something watery falling in my skin, and this time it didn''t came under my pants, but atop my face, like it wasn''t spit, or sweat, but a tear. Not my tear, and that wasn''t my eye, but mommy''s.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
She was crying, like a willow does. Seeing that hair and face crestfallen that way, she looked like a willow to me. I couldn''t even hear her moaning, like when people do when they cry. Mommy then holded onto me, the nearest person who had been there, closer than my little brother sleeping in the crib. He uses to wake up in the middle of night before mommy does. Not that she wants to wake up, but she needed to do it so, because my little brother would be crying, and crying, and I don''t think its polite to tell a baby to be quiet, even when hungry. I was hungry too, even after the dinner I had, but I couldn''t complain to mommy, seeing how tired she was, even before she came up to sleep on that bed. So, mommy holded me, instead of daddy''s pillow, on same way as daddy used to hug her.
I guess that was more than a mere hug. A cuddle, if I could say. Daddy always told me to treat a lady right, no matter the age. I never asked to him if it was my age, or the lady''s age, that counted. But then, I had no way to ask him that night, or the nights that came before that day. Maybe mommy had been crying because she had doubts, and daddy wasn''t there to answer then. I couldn''t answer mommy''s questions, like daddy would do, because I couldn''t even hear then, like daddy would listen, and only he listened what mommy said to him.
But, I had to find a way to calm mommy, so I told her, on the first try, that I enjoyed the dinner of that day, althought I had peed on my bed that night. Second try, and I told to mommy that I took a bath on my own, for the first time. See? Those were good things. And, for the third try, I told, no, I sang a lullaby to mommy. On each night, she uses to tell me and my brothers a lullaby, for so we could sleep, more than we could under the blanket, and above the pillow. I never had told mommy a lullaby so she could sleep before that night.
And guess what? It worked. Mommy even grated me, and that effort I had to sing, because, well, I only sang to myself all along, but never to anyone else, besides me, but then, mommy heard of my voice. Though my voice ain''t that sweet, like mommy, she then released those arms away from me, unlike that look, same look that could be seen even with those eyes closed. Before mommy closed her eyes, she told me that, despite my lullaby, a song about spiders being washed down the wall, I couldn''t think of anything else, she also appreciated that I stood on her side as well. Not that I wanted to, but my bed went soaked by an invisible yellow of mine, or maybe it was clearly as water, but it was dark, so I couldn''t see. It was dark on mommy''s room as well, althought I could feel her kiss, on my cheek, the nearest place besides the lips, whom only she kissed thoses belonging to daddy. So, after that good night kiss, we had a good sleep. I guess she did, seeing how I didn''t felt the blanket moving unusually. Fine then.
I had another dream, and it was a dream unlike another I had. I had been sitting on a table, only me and mommy, we both sitting on chairs belonging to same side. I was eating lettuce, prepared by mommy, who looked at me, and the more I coulse see the look of her face upon me, more I ate of same lettuce. When I finished, mommy clapped, and then, I picked up a pretty red strawberry, mommy''s favorite kind, with same fork, then I raised that fork to mommy, to put that strawberry inside her mouth. And it was then that I felt a strange taste in my mouth, a sort of leaf taste. Oh! Now I know whatever happened to my lucky clover. I ate it, Jack.
¡ª ...What!? You ate it? ¨C I said, rather surprised, after all I had been kept to endure. No distraction, only to hear this. I guess nothing else can surprise me after this. Or maybe I am utterly wrong, as usual with Fratley.
¡ª Had you ever eaten a spinach leaf? It''s the same thing ¨C Fratley said it, as if it was the most lifelike thing that may happen.
¡ª No. I despise spinach, as much as I despise watercress as well...
¡ª Really? I like then both! ¨C Fratley said, surprised as much as I had been, when he said that he ate that clover. And now I had find someone who likes what I don''t like ¨C It''s only my tongue that dislikes their flavour. See? ¨C he opened that mouth, and with that index, he pointed to his teeth, from the left to the right ¨C you put the spinach, the watercress, whatever it''s the vegetable you don''t like between your teeth. Try to chew then, wthout letting your tongue touch them, and when you had chewed enough, you just swallow everything deep into your throat. If there''s a flavour remaining in your mouth, you can drink water, or milk, or eat a watermellon as well.
¡ª Thanks for the advice ¨C I can see it was a pretty good advice of his. Think of how many carrots and peppers I could had been eating, without tasting then, only to feel them deep into my throat... that''s why Fratley is a good boy.
¡ª There are lucky clovers anywhere I go, so don''t worry if I had eaten one by a single mistake, okay? ¨C okay. I said that I didn''t minded about it before, but thanks for reminding me of this detail. Fratley sure reminds a lot of things, for someone with a small skull ¨C you know, speaking about food, and those things you put in your mouth, daddy once had to prove of his own pee. He said it tasted like hot beer, and guess what? He was right ¨C what? Uh... I can''t believe it. Is there something that hadn''t been there, on that mouth, other than food? And why I am interested to ask more? And where''s Lennie to open this door already? Whatever.
¡ª ...And did you drank beer just to know if it tasted like pee?
¡ª Nah, I only had to taste it. The flavour, if you could call it by such, later made me spit in a wall. I''d rather drink my own pee than drink beer once again.
¡ª Well, ''good'' for you... ¨C I am speechless, althought I want to speak more, and listen more as well. That''s one of many faults belonging to my design. Fratley''s as well.
¡ª ...Daddy said to me once that if you pee on your feet, they''ll be clean of any kind of fungus...
¡ª Ughhh... Couldn''t he just treat both feet with some kind of medicinal herbs? ¨C enough of that. Where''s Lennie to open this door? Not even the windows are open, unlike Fratley. Besides hearing Fratley, I heard some steps, same steps I heard before Fratley came up with his explanation. I guess I was so interested, or distracted as well, by his words that I didn''t even noticed, or bothered to hear those steps.
And, as I expected, the knob belonging to that door twisted, as same door opened, allowing us, because Fratley was still there as well, to see the owner of same hand, and the house where she had been all along. Lennie, or if I could say on her face... thinking about it, she sure is beautiful, on the way daddy speaks of her. Forget Dan. Even with that belly, huge by now, prominently becoming the detail that hids the smal ones, like those purple eyes, or that silver hair, wrapped like a ponytail with an orange ribbon, akin to the one tied into that tail, and my tail as well.
Geez... Why do I feel this way? Can''t I just tell how do I feel? How ''I'' feel... I had been calling her by ''Lennie'', yet what does ever that mean? A sort of mockery? Why only now I came to realise of such? Argh... I can''t even grim these teeth without she notices them with those eyes. I need those eyes to notice me, somehow. Yet, I want her to notice of my words too. Not those words, but... I am speechless of words I never had the time to tell. Some I don''t even know yet. ''Lennie'', As much as I, stands quiet, briefly to say so. I can see whenever a question may come in, to be uttered by those lips. Mouth, I mean. Those lips are for daddy, and only. A mouth belongs to anyone else; however, am I anyone else to her? Of course not.
¡ª So it was you who had been knocking the door before, Jack? ¨C she asked. I agreed with a nod, and a look on her face. Maybe I could had said a ''yes'' instead, but I couldn''t. I don''t know why, or maybe I do know. I already know why. At least, I made a signal for Lennie, proving that I was alive ¨C well, I guess I can trust your scent, after all ¨C she said, looking into another direction, to the kitchen, instead of a straight look into my face, like before. Her nose sniffed, or maybe she just breathed, as usual.
¡ª Why you took so long to open the door? ¨C I asked, in a tone unlike mine. Sure, I would ask to Lennie this same question, had I been prepared to ask it so even before I came here. That''s why I knocked the door, at first place. But, speaking about how I said that question... I asked on a desperate way, on a way I did needed to know why that door hadn''t been opened yet, unlike how I do used to not bother, to not give a damn about anything, but ask just because I felt the need to do it so, like now, but I never sounded that... soft by now? There may be another word that means the same, but better.
¡ª I had been busy ¨C Lennie just said, quickly as she noticed Fratley, glanced to his, and turned his head to the kitchen. Also, she scratched that nose, carefully due to the size of those nails, and with same hand, and nails, she scratched the back of her neck, until that head had been turned to the kitchen, same instant that same hand ended up laying above that stomach, all done after another. So busy that she didn''t even looked at me... Well, she did. For an instant.
¡ª Sniff, sniff... what a wonderful smell ¨C said Fratley, who had been sniffing with that nose of his. I didn''t even noticed, until I turned my head to his, like how Lennie did, and still is doing, to the kitchen''s direction, which is just the opposite direction of Fratley''s, whose direction is near the kailyard of my house.
¡ª Boy, that''s only hot water and salt ¨C she said. That face had been kept on same way, looking at the kitchen''s direction, except for a brief turn taken by those eyes, after those ears heard of Fratley''s voice, and words of praise, who suggested that her cooking skills were amazing enough; that the food about to be prepared, as it seemed to be, tasted good even before they went inside that bowl. Lennie left a smile as well. A smile unlike her turn, who only lasted briefly. Though, she remained a bit worried, like before, even with that smile. How easy it is to make someone smile, don''t you think, Jack? No, I don''t.
¡ª I wonder what shall be prepared for lunch... ¨C I said, and also wondered. Giving that there was nothing, anything being cooked inside that bowl, I guess Lennie was worried about what she needed to cook, at first place.
¡ª The usual, Jack ¨C ...vegetables once again. I know, and Lennie knows. I may not like them, but as Fratley said, I''ll try to chew them with my teeth, without letting my tongue touch a single leaf. Lennie didn''t even looked at me, not even a bit. At least, she heard me, but ears can hear anyone, looking through or not. Once again, I saw that look on her face.
It was like Lennie did knew what to do next, yet she didn''t wanted, or had been worried about it. I know Lennie is truly worried not because of her expressions, but the way she acts. Her arms may not be crossed upon that chest, but at least, there''s an arm there, and how often she puts that same arm there. My brother, who is below that arm, that chest, is a reason for Lennie to be worried about. Not that she is worried because of my brother and only. She is also worried about me as well. I know she is, always had been. This morning, the morning of yesterday, the day before yesterday... so many days. I''ve had this feeling before, but I just rejected it. I threw it away, yet I want them back. But there''s time to do many things, and less time to do all things.
Now it seems to be lunch time, yet there''s no such lunch at the table, but hot water, and a bit of salt, where food used to be prepared. Still it is prepared on same way, to be later served on same dishes. Well, only two had been currently served above the table. But today, it seems there''ll be three dishes, or so that kid''s stomach hurled, even if I couldn''t hear of such, but Lennie sure did heard it. Since Lennie knows about Fratley''s mother, the same goes for Dan''s mother, she allowed him to share of a dish, and a sit as well, for later. So we, I included Fratley, came inside that house, crossing between Lennie''s legs, who, like the door, had opened it to allow us to get inside.
I didn''t had any reason to run, unlike Fratley, who already reserved a sit for his. Funny though, because I am an only child, and yet, there are like five, six chairs, each one with four legs, awaiting for someone to sit at them, and by these someones, now it remained only two of us, each one with six legs in total, counting my little brother. Before, there was once three of us, each one with six legs in total; I hope daddy didn''t lose a leg, or an arm, for good. By the way, I already sat into all of these chairs, Fratley. It was raining outside, as usually had been for an eternity, but who else to care, other than those who had been there? Though, this house is under the rain as well. Only the ceiling gets soaked, as we stand in there, drying up, or trying to do it so. The wind also dries the cloths hanging into that line outside, althought in the end, they all get soaked anyway, like those vegetables, and fruits hanging in that kailyard, where Lennie soon will be, to collect pieces of our lunch.
Now I do know why she had been so worried. Lennie thought that I wouldn''t come back, or maybe she did though that I would, but then, what would I do next? Ask her about any kind of food? Do I ever asked to her that I wanted a bit of watercress to be served anyway? I guess I didn''t. Not even now. An empty basket is lying above this table, as much as forks, knives, spoons, dishes and our hands. That basket used to be filled in by any kind of vegetables, or leaves belonging to them. Leaves of cabbages, roots of carrots, stems of potatoes, fruits of tomatoes, tiny alike cherries, seeds of beans... a variety of food served on a single dish, who had been all empty by now, alike that basket. Lennie also noticed it, and as she came near us, near the table, I raised that basket, so I could deliver it to her hands.
¡ª Thank you ¨C she said. I think I deserved way more than a mere ''thank you'', seeing how Lennie stood, on that same position. She didn''t even turned her back so she could hold of that same basket on her arm. I recall she once said that her back hurted, or maybe she didn''t ever said it after all.
I saw her back hurt, back that day, and today as well. As if that chest, and that back weren''t enough, Lennie''s ankles were a bit swollen, but a bit had been enough for I to notice of them, on both feet. So, Lennie couldn''t turn her back, because of how painful it was to do it so, and those bubble feets must be painful as well, althought she keeps standing anyway. I follow Lennie, to where she goes, the kailyard outside this house, because she doesn''t seems to be okay. Never she had been a kind of ''okay'', but ''fine'' instead. Or so she insists, and still does, even without words, that she is fine. Fratley stood on that same chair, knowing that Lennie wasn''t alright as well. He looked at me, as if he had been saying ''your turn'' with those eyes. Fratley had no idea of what to do next, other than put a piece of food into that mouth, who stood quiet, unlike that stomach only Lennie could hear, like any other of her kind. She''s a kind of mother. My mother.
If I could, at least, find a way to say that, on her face. Of all the things I said to her, and none of them had ever sounded alike this word. Yes, this word. So near of me, yet faraway, yet so close. I wished that I could be near Lennie, like that basket, but also that I could be more than what that basket does for Lennie. To be holded by those arms, and also to hold of same arm with my own. From the front door, to a few steps, I came where she is, and so we stand on same soil, same position. Speaking of position, Lennie only stands on that position, alike a statue does, but she isn''t dead yet to turn into one. Althought she is already gray, like they all seem to be, like a dead does seem to be.
Besides the rain, I felt a tiny strand of hair falling upon me. A white strand, belonging to that same white hair. That thing fell like a leaf, once again, into me. Atop my nose, to later fall into the ground... Alike how a tree does when autumn comes, because Lennie isn''t bald like a tree on a winter, like many trees by now, althought the white in the ground slowly starts to came in when winter comes. The rain seems colder than usual, yet I do feel a kind of warmth, and aching of same level as well. I can''t even speak to Lennie... It''s like there''s a mirror between us, and I am the bird who cannot see them. I know it, because a bird once had gotten his head beaten into my bedroom''s window. If I had left that window open, maybe that bird wouldn''t had died that day.
However, there is no such mirror on the ground beneath my feet, Lennie''s feet. As I said, she can''t even turn that back, without feeling that pain, unlike how I do keep crouched, digging in the dirt with these tiny claws, of tiny hands, to find some potatos, carrots, any kind of onion, to be put into that basket. I can also take some okras and lettuces, cabagges, tomatoes, those kinds that I do not even have the need to dig to find and take them to that basket. But they are unreachable for Lennie as well. She does keep watching me, and these actions of mine, on same position as before. No kind of ''thank you'' had been uttered this time, because Lennie, as much as I, went speachless as well.
I know I have the touch, and I had been wanting some contact all this time. I know I''ll be served of a good lunch, because the same had been made by a good mother like you. If, at least, I could say that to you, instead of looking at you, and thinking that I once had said that to you once upon a lifetime.
...
XXVI: The Sheltering SKy
?King Crimson - The Sheltering Sky?
May 1778
...
Kill... or to be killed?
I ask, to this self in the mirror. My back is killing me, as much as they tried to do with me, as a whole. Not only me, but the country from where I came from, and their people, who stand in there just like me as well. Mirrors of me, of the country, and their prosperity, now gathered in this other land, these wetlands of Lachenta, found miles away of Aerbs and its hills, higher than these plains, dry than this land of marshes, and their inhabitants. Mainly frogs and creatures that eat of such, known as Qu, who can be found living in their natural state into one of these marshes. The sound of frogs coming from outside the tent vanish into bits of massive tongues stuck in the mud, the ponds of grenish water found anywhere on these land says of feet stuck.
Their symphony sounded alike the organ of the early morning brought by Alexander. On that day, and those days before that day of departure. Days of flowers for them all; for my wife, on the day of our marriage, for my sons, on each day one of them felt the water of baptism flowing throught their skin, like the spirit of Alexander guiding us since that moment, and for father, and his funeral. He was a farmer of Dali, a town of granaries filled in by corn, who sustains the main populance, as food, and mainly funds.
Airships fly and land on such place to move people, and their corn, to Alexandria, who needs both, besides already sharing of the azure of the skies, the white of the sun, those I and father used to watch, instead of the grimmy belonging underneath the Mist, for whom I once stood above, like these other men, like their families still stand. Unlike my both legs, once sustained by the itchy ones.
Dirty boots of mine lie in the corner, as the feet that used to wear those are currently being treated of a collection of ringworms I had gotten with the years. I may not be an athlete, but I had gotten of such burning in both feets. Leather boots aren''t effective, as water and heat gathered together, favouring the proliferation and amount of fungus into my skin, either peeling or burning, like a frostbite gotten by the hold of a thick hoarfrost. They say a kind of fishes are used for a treatment, supposed to heal people from such disease inflicting my feet, currently. These fishes, said to had been found into hot springs near the settlement of Esto Gaza, seem to appreciate the taste of dying skin, thought Qus seem to appreciate the flavour of a dead skin as well.
I''d rather eat fish than let then eat me. Qus only seem to known about how to cook and eat of such cooking. Few words are enough for a whole mouth, who''s only able to eat, even words as well. Broken words, as this world, unlike those bones, who once were broken, by rocks and debris falling at my back. I guess I am lucky, or guilty of such misfortune, brought by others, brought back by same others, who cannot be brought back to their families, only in conversations, and thoughts. Father used to tell me about this kind of feature belonging to each one of us, this mechanist of praise for the dead ones.
When someone dies, they''re recognized by a whole as a man with values not belonging to his, in many times. Soldiers who die on a war, or a civil outbreak are praised as good beings, brave people with blood running throught their family, while prisoners often are associated with murdering, even thought most of them had been in a cage because of thievering. So, why can''t I be a murderer, or a thief instead? Father may had been a thief, but because they stole from him first. Father may had been murdered, yet he had been once the butcher of young calves, numb to become the veal my dear wife appreciates that much, as she used to enjoy finding painted eggs stolen by their Chocobos on Easter back before I knew her. I am older than her, who''s just a child, even now.
''It''s soft'', she once said when eating of veal on dinner, an opinion that would be uttered by me as well, this if I had never been a farmer''s son, who knows of the way such flesh goes from the farm to ther dish of porcelain. I never told her, and I insist to not tell her, and I have no time to tell her. I never had time to anything else, besides her protection, and the protection of many, that go and came alongside us. I only lost a finger, yet such valuable ring as well, but I had not lost her, and the sons that came from her. Despite my uniform, I''m not a estrangled being for the duty I had been born with. As father used to plow the soil of his plantations, virgin soil awaited to be taken in, and seeds of mine to be buried within.
Stormy seasons often would came, and I would fall like an orphan to her arms. On top or underneath, I would even try to pinch her skin to see if she was real, more than I could feel her, and the role of servant of mine in the game of unequality. I may be smart, but that doesn''t mean the others who are less smarter than my capacity are unworthy, or pathetics. Not are we perfect, but we share of this imperfect we had been born with, and by learning of such imperfections, each day we improve, we try our best to feel better with ourselves. As imperfect ones, we seek into the other the ''perfection'', a mere act of solidity.
However, in just a single generation, some will be forgotten, vanished into the void you allowed to be taken in. But this hard work of mine may save my soul, may be more than a reward in gil, because, like father, I''m sure that I did more than enough I could, yet I can do more, or so this body says otherwise, althought my body only works contrary to my thoughts due to its nature, unrelated to my thoughts.
But my thoughts, however, aren''t mine either, alike this body, and the soul that maybe resides within, on same way these thoughts, of mine and others, had been spread into this mind, put in there by voices, mostly commands. I am the one that seems to command others, yet someone else controls me as well. I wasn''t willing to put these herbs on my feet, for the treatment of this disease already inflicting the damage on my skin, and maybe more, as it seems to go deeper and further within me. I struggle to such thing to not happen, never happen, however, it already happened. I am not the kind of a careless being, but one against the crowd has its results, and most of the times, the one who wins is the crowd; same could be said for the advices taken from my subordinates, who insisted to put these herbs beneath my toes.
A few burmecian herbs for a burmecian treatment, a treat to my feet, and a threat for my image; as if their image could even stand out. I could even draw a comparasion between a mere dragon hunting painting, to a colorful stained glass belonging to a baroque church, built in for Alexander to reside, as much as there is enough hearts to be his home. While they dance barefoot for the harvest, in the rain or in the sand, I stand in there, safe in the permanent gaze of a cold glass eye, or so father had one, and so do I share of one, as much as Save the Queen, who do not share of eyes, but a blade whose light can be seen by one, and felt as well.
There is a passage near this marsh, that should be able to guide us into their territory, or so the advice of the ''messenger'' came up to be truthful once again. And, to think he''s one belonging to same species...
...
June 05, 1778
Two Months Later
...
...A phenomenon... caused by an intense state...
The shape... abrupt changes of character...
...Only humanoid beings... no reasoning... emotions...
For now... To enter same state... overcome by its own emotions.
...Berserkir units... past... evoke the spirit of animals.
Spirit... to be discharged... massive energy... in Trance...
Triggered... death... anger... sorrow... despair...
...Bravery?...
Traince... It naturally ends... all energy is discharged...
Atmosphere... Mist...
...
¡ª My Highness... ¨C I heard that voice. I came up across these documents, and I have read the words in bold, or those that had caught my attention. More than the words on the paper, I also caught the attention of Sigurd, same attention belonging to him, after he found out who was the one who went looking out for his personal stuff. Me, of course, who, even at this moment, had been holding of same document, page five, to say so.
And what should I say to Sigurd, on that state? My state, as well, counted. Caught by surprise, who wouldn''t? I had been caught by that hand so many times, same hand who taught me how to lift a sword, or the correct fork for any kind of food. Swords, and spears as well, do not share of same shape, yet they can be put in any hand, and the edge of their blades can be used to do anything, to make life easier.
When I was younger, I once saw a Royal Guard, no, two of them, in the garden, as they lifted their pikes to chop down a tree with a swollen trunk. It was a dead tree, unlike many winter trees, who only lose of their leaves, to later make them grown when other seasons arrive, but that tree would never grown again. That trunk, afterwards, had been turned into fuel for the fireplace, because that''s the destination of all poor prime materials.
Not even a chair could had been made of that wood, but then, at least, it could burn, like all trees do, and are capable of doing. People also burn, in a way; by fever, or by mere reaction, a single reaction that, may, end up caughting the attention of anyone near its fire. A pile of dry wood burns well, and quicker than any kind of wood; now, a pile of dry people... they all burn, and no one knows who started the fire, after all.
¡ª Oh, Sigurd... ¨C I said, as if I had been surprised by his presence. I''m not that kind who''s skilled in lies, seeing how much I do not even trust myself. To truly lie, you must believe that your lies are the truth. Yet, all I had been learning, by Sigurd and others, is that it''s wrong to lie.
Why is it wrong to lie, and rightfully acceptable to tell the truth? Is it a lie to tell others that the truth is better than lies? What should I choose as a better way to avoid any kind of question belonging to that frown? Anyway, there is no truth, as much as there is no lie. There are circunstamces, perspectives, and presumptions of what happened, and what shall, or not, happen. Even if I admit, with words or a single quote, the truth, my truth, my body will say otherwise. And how does it keeps saying the contrary of my words.
Sweating, a bit crestfallen, no words to be uttered, even if they were, they might end up stuttered by this tongue, about to be bitten, in a chance of two added up to a full percent, and this confusion I created, as I intentionally seeks of more of same, unlike Sigurd, who stands there, seeking of a clear answer, with that frown, arms wide open around that waist, unlike those who gravity keeps pulling to any kind of direction, alike the words I planned to utter, already being uttered, other words, by that royal navy blue cloths hanging on that body, alike this one, who also share of same blue cloth, yet ripples are delivered, instead of the static, and calm sea, who seems to be calm, until a tidal wave comes abruptly, from the middle of the unnexpected time, as unnexpected I though about the appearance of his, same who used to belong to father, when he found out, that day, that I broke the urn containing the ashes of the first 10 Kings who went by the name of Kain. They may have shared of same name, but they were not of same kind, except in blood.
¡ª Who granted you acess to my stuff, my Highness? ¨C Sigurd asked. I had nothing to say to his, yet I needed to tell him something. When Sigurd asks on that way, he also demainds of an answer, and silence, if there''s such, isn''t acceptable, as much as a single ''yes'' or ''no'' can''t be validated as well. Just because is an answer, but an answer belonging to the ignorant ones, and I am no such, in blood, or in words.
¡ª I''m sorry, Sigurd ¨C I said. Apologies are accepted by Sigurd, ever since I''ve learned to talk, and to lie as well. When I look to Sigurd, since the times I had learned to bare the light with the eyes, I can see if my words had made the effect I desire.
¡ª And what else? ¨C no change could be seem on that face, because of how vague a mere sorry is to Sigurd. It used to work when I was learning the alphabet, but given how much I grown up, a sorry is an only answer, on same way as ''yes'', ''no'' or ''just because''. Besides a sorry, I also needed came up with an explanation, enough to make that frown dissapear, because that''s the maximum I can get to soften a bit of Sigurd, as I am no more a child of pillow.
¡ª Sigurd, I''m sorry if I went snooping into your stuff below your nose without your approval... ¨C I said, really sorry about what I did before. ''To snoop'' sounded too informal, but since only I and Sigurd were on this tent, it didn''t mattered, with the eyes of the public away like the troops, scattered around this desert.
A sort of guerilla tactics, adopted by us, and not oficially adopted by the enemy, the Alexandrians, who adopt a sort of phalanx defensive stance, or ''granfalloon stance'', when they all are gathered on a same site, sharing of a same identity and purpouse, althought meaningless, or so it makes us believe to be is meaningless when you share of a defense, the troops, and supplies, the food for the troops. Given the the assistance of Libers, there is a sort of advantage on our side, as much as there is disadvantage as well.
The sun of Vube, althought the same sun who shines the entirety of this continent, or the factor that scattered away the Mist from this desert, maybe it''s meant to be unnexplained, alike how the rain of Burmecia keeps pouring for what seems to be an eternity; so, the sun may have settled down by now, but the nights here are worse as well. With the heat, comes the sweat, and dehidratation, and maybe death, but when comes the night, the cold, the intense shivers make you wish of the heat of day, and when daylight comes in, you think that you might had chosen the wrong answer, yet good, althought you feel bad.
This comparasion between the heat of the day and the cold of the night suits well how do I feel about Sigurd, and the way he acts by each word I speak. These intentions of mine are unlike the results, most of the times. You can''t wish for a tree to turn into paper immediately, as much as you can''t make Sigurd laugh for any joke, no matter how funny it is. Just because it had been funny to you, it doesn''t meant that''ll be funny to someone else. I know it, because I once told a joke to Sigurd, that one about why the chocobo crossed the road, when I was a kid, to some like that one about the pregnant woman, and how grass doesn''t grow on beaten soil. I''m sure that Sigurd understood them, I know he did, but I couldn''t even see a single smirk.
¡ª Tsk, tsk. It seems you had been prying into my personal research, don''t you? ¨C he asked, with that same demeanor, saw many times ago, and once again. Briefly before as well. All I could say was the truth, and an apology, again. Only a few times I had to apologize twice to Sigurd, and only because I had done something that much than a single ''wrong'', and too far enough to be even ''right''. Breaking glass in the room again, drawing something awful in the carpet, swear to the Priest, or the Duke, or anyone else in words, and pry into personal files belonging to Sigurd, as I did, and I am sorry if I had done it.
¡ª Yes. I''m sorry, Sigurd ¨C I said, as if it wasn''t enough to keep saying it. What I once thought to be an easy escape route to all sorts of problems, this turned out to be one of my many problems.
¡ª You don''t have the need to be sorry only to yourself, my Highness. I am another one who shall need to be sorry as well, seing how I had given such vulnerability to these documents, even for someone such as you, and by result, someone below you, or us, as well.
I... am speechless. I never heard Sigurd say such thing. Well, only once, when I asked to him about mother. ''I had a mother, didn''t I?''; that''s what I asked to his, after hearing from Edgar about his mother, but what about mine? I recall I had said it to Sigurd, about how Edgar treated me, still does the same, but seeing how I fell asleep later that night, I don''t know for sure if I had said to Sigurd about it. He didn''t even bothered, did he? Anyway, I gave these documents to his, as I left to my room. Not a room alike home, but a sort of room, better than any common tent from inside. I know it, since I saw one before, many who seemed to be one when I and Sigurd decided to check the troops. That''s what he would do, when followed of father, most of the times.
So, I asked about Racquel, her name, to Sigurd. That garden, same mother used to be, so Sigurd told me once, two, three times, same subject of his conversations, was her favorite place belonging to that palace. I wasn''t even born, or had an existence yet, but mother had a tie to trees, and their trunks, where she used to rest, to lay under a tree''s leaves, with the head and back near the trunk. No matter how stiff the wood, she always felt a kind of comfort near one. Sigurd also told me that Edgar used to play hide-and-seek on same garden, with same mother, as he kept an eye on both. I also played hide-and-seek when young, but not on same was as Edgar, the main brother, used to. When I played same game, I was the one who were left behind, the last one to be found, not only because I used to hid well, but Edgar was the one who seeked me.
There was a time I played hide-and-seek with my brothers, and Edgar had found my other brothers, but he couldn''t find me. It took so long for him to find me, that I got hungry. It was then that a guard heard me, because of the noises belonging to my stomach. As usual, I had been feeded by a banquet like another, and the same for my brothers as well. But when Sigurd seeked me, it was different. Behind the curtains, behind the plant pot, under the bed, under the table, behind the throne... a few times, I used to hid behind the guard''s leg, because they just stood there, like statues, unfunny ones, who only seemed to get alive when ordered by father, or Sigurd, who always had found me, no matter where I was, or when I told the guard to not reveal where I was. They always disobeyed me, but obeyed Sigurd, and father as well.
But there''ll be a time when they''ll have to obey me, instead of taughting me the rules, of anything. Edgar used to be same kid as I do had been once, but now he''s the King, like father was. He can do anything, always seemed to do anyway, even young, as we were once. Still we are young, and act like such. Sigurd may had been young as well, certainly he had, yet, at least, he''s one of few who grew up. He knowns how to grow up, besides the height. And, like many grown ups, Sigurd also shares of many secrets, or personal stuffs, ether problems, or solutions, as it seemed to be wrote on those documents. The King can meddle in any situation, unlike the Prince, yet I do what I haven''t been told to do. Curiosity is one of my flaws, and apologies succeding of same curiosity as well. Not that I had been grounded by Sigurd, never I had been, not because of my behaviour, but my status. I am the one who shall ground others, or so I had been taught this way.
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Besides the punishment, a King also needs to balance same punishment with rewards, gifts, something that makes someone valuable of their efforts, though many die without being acknowledged. Mother passed, even before I could look at her, or feel her, yet there''s a statue of her hanging there, somehwere to be noticed. There''ll be a statue belonging to me as well, as much as I do something other than keep saying apologies for any kind of bad situation. At least, I do say an apology, unlike my brother, who still hadn''t said anything to me, besides ordering me what to do, against my will. Though, I took care of his sons not because he demanded, but because they demanded of something I had, but my brother had lost it long ago. Same could be said about how Sigurd took care of me all this time, not only because father ordered to him at first, but because he had a commitment, alike how his sister, my mother, had with Edgar, and my brothers.
...
On Another Place...
...
¡ª ...We must go back, before the sand loses the heat at the peak of night ¨C I said, after I took care of that creep, with these own hands... same hands that I''m using to ergue Bart, who recovered slightly, yet not enough, seeing how that wound left by that knife, still stuck on his skin, I better be careful to not remove it, or else... I know what happens.
But I don''t want it to happen, again. Many things that already happened before, I do not want them to be shown anymore, in front of me. That''s why I had to take care of these two men, in two kinds of ways. I was very kind to both, yet I do regret of my manners with the one who stood, laying in the sand, awaiting, because of me, and my actions, for the desert, home of Antilions and nasty scorpions, to kill him instead, before his own body, suffering from dehidratation, does. These are both painful ways to kill someone, I know. More painful than the known, it''s the unknown. Many fear the unknown, as much as many fear those alike us. Me, Bart, Clyde... Mainly men of our kind.
¡ª So, Prescott... ¨C I heard Bart, saying his name. He''s currently being holded by me, my back is holding me, in a way, as his right hand can be felt atop my right shoulder, his head lying above my left shoulder, and that left hand had been left numb, unlike the pain of his. Many shed a tear when they felt pain, but Bart seemed to feel nothing, yet I knew how he was feeling. Not only feelings, or doubts about the knife, as it seems ¨C are you a Cleyran? ¨C he asked to me, as we walked closer to reach our tent. Before, I had been watching the sandstorm that secluded my home from this world on a distance. Like a spinning plate, it kept twisting, for what seemed to be an eternity. And I wished, from the moment I saw such familiar place, that the sandstorm were kept on the way it was, and luckily, still is.
¡ª Of course I do ¨C I only said, truthful to myself. Yes, I am a Cleyran, or used to be. Still I am, yet the rain and these clothes say otherwise. As I keep moving my feet throught this sand, pigs don''t sweat, but horses do, feeling the heat of the dusk, and the sweat flowing into my body, refreshing my skin with the breeze, these and other things makes me feel in a kind of home. A home I used to stay, unlike the Libers and the Cleyrans.
¡ª You don''t seem to be that much of a Cleyran to me ¨C he said. Bart may had heard from Clyde about my past life. No, I guess he heard it with a single sentence I uttered to that assassin, whom I''m not that bothered, unlike Bart, who keeps watching me, as if I was a stranger, more than I was on our first sight. I do not speak that very often about my past to other people, so it''s understandable for Bart to carry on of this doubt, of many.
¡ª The rain and these clothes do made me into another person, don''t you think?... ¨C I said. I may had asked it to Bart, but I already knew the answer. It was a single question, per se, but nothing is as simple as it appears to be.
From that and many other moments, I am still wondering to myself why I had gotten outside the sandstorm, that used to protect me, to walk into the rain. I may be a little confused about who I am today, with the who I was back into the life I''ve spent at the settlement found atop the Yggdrasil, known as Cleyra, or the ''city of Illusions'', though Cleyra ain''t big enough, or even share of economics to be called by ''city''. So... am I a Highwind, or not? Maybe. The Highwinds from the legend can be related to me, this if I had some document to prove that.
My words, alone, aren''t that much of a document. I''m am an only person, unlike the many Kings who reigned over Burmecia, whose story is mixed with the history, both who had been mainly made by words, and only a few documents, written in archaic symbols, not words belonging to the standard alphabet, as they were translated centuries after, into compact books. From a thousand parchments, came an only book, with a hundred pages, and this book is a collection of manuscripts written by Gizamaluk, when he was a Burmecian. Our warrior code, written in a book, once gross enough, heavy as double swords on both hands, can now be compacted enough to be fit in our pockets. If many rolls of ancient parchments can be later revised into two hundred fifty pages, then why not can''t I tell my story in a single sentence?
No, maybe not. A sentence isn''t enough. To share of my history while I walk isn''t a good option either. The memory also counts, as I can only remember a few things. My father, Richter Highwind, was a Burmecian, a warrior like I am disguised into, same for his. Before, he threw away the youth belonging to his, to become a street rat, roaming in the kingdom for some fights. He was not that good of a person, and neither a puke to be thrown into the street. It was then that he became a member of the army, as much as I, and my uncles had become soldiers as well. How ironic, seeing how much father despised soldiers, even went on trouble with some Royal Guards once, and now, from that moment onwards, he had became one of them. Father also never had commited murder on the scoundrel days of his, until he came to be a member of the army, where any enemy killed by his became more ratio to his bowl.
It was then that, during an expedition, a training on this same Vube, that father got lost in the middle of a huge sandstorm. Many who had gotten lost on that same day dissapeared as well, only for their bones to be found near the Antilon''s traps, or some alive, in the middle of the dunes, or what they thought to be a sort of oasis, with their mouths filled in by sand, same who took away their throat''s moistures, and hope as well, until other soldiers came to their aid. A friend of father, who shared of a few, ended up on that way, unlike father himself. That reckless behavior of his became his salvation, somehow. At first, it was a single trunk, but when his sight recovered, father was in the presence of the City of Illusions, also known as Cleyra, the settlement secluded from the main world by that huge sandstorm, same I saw before, and so many times I had, inside and outside the same.
As the sun settles down, and the sky turns orange, I recall the days I used to live inside the sandstorm. A thing Cleyrans usually do is to lift their heads to look above, where they can see the day, or the night. On a same way a stranger in Burmecia awfully notices the rain falling into their clothes, father must have felt the same as many who lived outside Cleyra must had felt as well. I said lived, because many who stay for a week enough, they also turn into Cleyrans as well. Even with the secession, and the ties severed with our Kingdom, the Cleyrans accept those souls who came there, no matter from where any kind of people who came across such place was born, or lived into.
Negotiations between the Kingdom of Burmecia and Cleyra usually happen year after year, King after King, Priest after Priest, and their results don''t seem to be that optimistic. Althought, Cleyrans still hold of same intent to purify the disturbance of the wandering souls, who ended up on those sacred grounds, like father. That''s their kind of nature, unlike the one belonging to the Burmecians soldiers, many of those who would be later converted into Cleyrans after a few days they stood in that settlement. Same also happens in Burmecia, as it happened with me, and the first contact I had with the Baptism of the rain who blessed my body, and changed more than my wardrobe.
Prior that, father stood on that place for two weeks, where, besides knowing about the main fountain, whose water is pulled from deep beneath the underground reservoir to those heights, the observatory, who is able to see the main desert throught the sandstorm, the chapel, where the people pray for the sandstorm and its strenght, and, more than the air that made his lungs a bit breathless, Rhiannoa, or the woman that later would become my mother.
For my father, many kinds of women were candidates to be his wife, but none of then shared of the same to be compared with mother. She was the maiden whose task consisted on watering the plants, all kinds who resided into the settlement, even the poison ivies that causes of many rashes around the skin. That''s part of their belief to accept all the things, no matter how hard they say otherwise, but there''s always a way to give a second chance, instead of apologies. The Cleyrans accept of nettles and ivies in their gardens, as much as they accept the presence of Burmecians on their grounds. Their ancestors were also Burmecians as well, who shared of the taste of war, whom the Cleyrans deny solemny, to all living beings. Their only protection against the enemy, if there''s one to them, is the sandstorm, who kepts then hid from the main world, full of good people, and assassins as well.
They, the Cleyrans, say that those who stood on Cleyra always return on same place someday. To make that happen, father became one of them, when he married Rhiannoa, for whom he felt more than love, in a sense that stood before he met with Rhiannoa, and the dance of Pales executed by her, and others like her, but he only paid attention to her, and the way she danced, waved that hair, inside the chapel, with the sound of a harp playing its chords.
It''s interesting that, in Burmecia, and in other countries as well, except Treno, the full exercise of prostitution is harshly condemned, due to its nature be against the public morality, and, considering Burmecia, because it deviates from the main purpose of reproduction, and besides being a banal and improper way to feel plently of pleasure, it also contributes for many cases of sterility, diseases, and children without fathers, althought the same couldn''t be said centuries ago, even prior the foundation of same Kingdom. Before the monotheism of an only God, the civilizations that came before Burmecia shared of many gods. A god tasked for anything; the sun was the god who brought they the heat, the water was the God who brought they the oasis, and so it goes on. Idols that represented the image of gods were also made by other tribes, who also shared of their rituals, and their gods.
Mainly the women participated of same rituals, due to their attractiveness, varying from tribe to tribe. While some women belonging to a tribe were attractive to the male ones due to their fat, unlike today, others had their nipples mutilated, alike how the Vastitas belonging to their kingdoms used to do, on their temples, same where the act, the contact the devadasis had with the goddess, and the mortals, used to happen. Same kind of ritual, now deemed as prostitution, used to happen in Burmecia as well, before Kain and his descendents successfully erradicated and prohibited of same cults, mainly made by those who once were Vastitas, or so that''s described by the many pieces of well-preserved codices and manuscripts left from that century.
Besides the codices, the clothes and dances the devadasis whore back in those days persisted as well, with the Cleyrans. Richter decided to stay at Cleyra, until his wife gave birth to two of his only children: Me, and my sister, Niamh. When infant, I was raised in the outskirts of this settlement, until I turned 7, when father came back from Burmecia, to retrieve me from that place, the heat of the desert, to the cold brought by the rain, or so I felt that cold, before father changed of my clothes, and name as well. You can give Kain as the name of your son; though he won''t be remembered by anyone else, besides his family, the family he created to be his own, alike the friends of his when alive. But if you are a King, and the Prince''s name becomes Kain, that''s another story.
But, you know, legend is legend, but unlike legends, people do change with time. As much as Cleyrans are kept hid by the sandstorm, Burmecians are kept under the rain; the others above the Mist, and the Mist kept our world hid from our sight. Once, I had been called by Hyuuga, but since there''s no ounce of sunlight around Burmecia, unlike the one I used to see at Cleyra, I became Prescott since then, as my father became a Priest on the way back to home, his home. When Cleyrans come to Burmecia, they are forced to change their names, some luckily still maintaning the original meaning, yet all their names are spoken in full new words. When I grew up, I decided to return to Cleyra, my first home. Mother may had passed, unlike my sister, who grew up as much as me, and how she had grown up, alike that hair.
Since children, the female Cleyras learn to comb their hairs. If their hair isn''t grew up already on youth, then she ain''t a woman, but a girl. As they grown up, they start to wear less clothes, until they reach the maturity, when they wear those dresses, peach alike the fruit, gentle as the petals of a flower. Others garments include jewels wrapped, instead of an only neck, in both feet, a circlet around the neck, alike the bracelet in both arms, but those are details, unnoticed for those who only perceived of their dance, their dresses, and hair as well. The Cleyrans wear those dresses when preparing, or when they do the ritual dance, althought many wear of same dress like today''s clothes.
When pregnant, or older, these women hid their bodies, on a same way they used to be when children. Naturally, the hair and its strands tend to fall on such age, as their remaining task left is to make a girl''s hair belonging to her offspring to grown down, as the child grown up, until she becomes a woman...
...
¡ª ...Yes, yes. You already told me that before. Isn''t there anything else you might share with me, instead of bad news? Or a bad wound left on my brother?
¡ª I''m sorry about that ¨C that Prescott said, looking at me, while sipping of a warm tea. The sand of outside sure was that hot, seeing how a bit of sand poured down to his tea. He didn''t bothered, as if the sand was part of his life, and why wouldn''t? He''s a Cleyran, after all. Half-Cleyran, to be fair, and also half of what me, and Bart, are, since birth ¨C I didn''t wanted that to happen with Bart. I failed once again, didn''t I?
¡ª Of course not, Prescott. You had the bones to carry on of such weight others wouldn''t do instead. I''m glad that you brought Bart safe, at least, not in the arm...
¡ª The arm doesn''t matter. The wound will heal by itself ¨C he said, sipping another drink of same tea. The smoke came to his face, as much as a sensation of failure came to his as well, even thought Bart is alright, unlike that arm.
¡ª Yet, Bart will still feel a kind of pain, don''t he? I don''t want to hear of his moans... ¨C this statement makes me remind of the stormy nights, where Bart, afraid as he is, used to hide, not on his own blanket, but mine instead. Not only he was near me, but that kid also cuddled with his arms onto me, as if I was his pillow, and whenever a thunder struck, with the lighting included as fear factor as well, Bart hid in the blanket, cuddling me as well. I guess he used to chose me because I was the one who lied to his, yet when I said that ''it''ll be alright'', followed by a ''brat'', ''mice'', or a ''dick'' in my thoughts.
Yet, I liked him, still I do like him, not only because Bart is my brother, but because, I don''t know, maybe its the responsibility I had with his, since father was gone, and Bart began to piss on the bed as result. I would slap him in the mornings when my nose had found out the smell of his in change of my own smell. Damn... I can smell Bart, on that bed, agonizing of fear, and I can''t do anything. Anything, until Prescott stops sipping that tea.
With that mouth, he could sip an entire bowl of soup and the carrots as well. Bart dislike carrots, unless they''re prepared by Lenneth, though any food prepared by that lady is pretty, same goes for my darling, prettier than any pretty, unlike the favour I had with Bart, when young, as he offered the carrots to me, and I had to eat them, only because he disliked them, even thought father liked of their taste, or so I told to Bart, who later had eaten them all, whenever mother cooked them to fill in the bowl of soup.
Only because father... how many times I used of the name of father to avoid of Bart''s closure, or to approach that brat next to me as well. He said once, and only, that only stood near me, mostly me and mother, but unlike mom''s, Bart said that I looked like daddy. I got fooled by that kindness, as much as the Bart when kid was fooled by mine as well. With a single word, I knew I could make him do anything for me, or as I said many times, for father.
"Father was brave, you see, so why don''t cha you climb up that tree, damnit?"; I would say, maybe I said it clearly to Bart, back on that day where we climbed that tree near home, same tree where Bart had suffered from a pretty incontinence, same who also happened when he sleeped on his bed. The rain was pretty sour that day, heh... Now that I look at Bart, it ain''t funny anymore. Only because he''s hurted, I see. When younger, I would be hurted on his place instead, with father, or without his. Mother had her own way to punish me, althought the maximun she would do is to ground me, instead of slapping me.
She didn''t had this kind of force, physically, and spiritually as well. Since father went gone forever, mother felt bad each time she had to punish one of her children, including me. So all we had to do was to behave well, even if our thoughts said otherwise. "That''s what father would wish of us"; I had to say it, from a time to another, to make them behave well. Only in a few stances, like that one, I used of father''s name to do something good, not only for me, and my safety, but for mother as well.
¡ª I can''t hear Bart ¨C I said, certain that I would be hearing of his moans. A word, a tantrum, a scream threw right at he nearest one being... anything, but nothing came instead. He was still lying there, like a, a... I would say that he looked like a corpse, but at least, I could see him breathing. Pupils kept close, unlike that nose and mouth belonging to his. Since that age when many start to talk, and many teeth start to fall, the monologue has been Bart''s favorite kind of discurss. Same could be said of father, and me, as well. Prescott too, seeing how he just sits there, drinking and drinking.
Many drink to forget, I know it, by proper experience. In the pubs, in the taverns, at home, before the day, after the night... There are even some who drink the water of the rain, althought their intent shown is to remember that the rain, blessing thy skin, exists. Instead of beer, those religious people, devotees Of Bahamut, drink wine instead, and eat bread as well; the blood and body of Kain, as they say.
How many times I had been there, on that bakery, only to prepare of many Kain''s bodies, whose spirit, they say, would be there, inside those breads. And the wine turns out to be his blood, because the spirit also flowns into the liquids. I might be wrong, but maybe that''s the reason why those bastards name their own sons after their father''s names, because the spirit of the old flowns into the liquid. Speaking of liquid, Prescott has finished that sipping of his tea, and I can see that he''s now prepared to say something, instead of thinking it.
¡ª You won''t hear anything, Clyde ¨C Prescott told me, as if that wasn''t the obvious.
¡ª I wish I could... ¨C I said, a futile, meaningless sentence, alike my face, dull like a rock. Prescott couldn''t describe if I was sad, upset, or even happy, due to Bart, and the suffering that knife brought to his, before Prescott came to his aid, because I couldn''t. All I am doing is complaining, instead of Bart, who should had been complaining about the pain on that arm, as naturally the things should had went, or not. Maybe I''m bit too upset, see, Prescott? Of course, he can see it.
¡ª Well, if you can''t hear your brother and his complains, then the sedactive had reach the desired effect ¨C Prescott said, turning to me, after he came near Bart ¨C you see, the seeds I had put on the tea I prepared for Bart to drink before were poppy seeds. Don''t worry, because I recall I had administrated a small dosage of this drug before. Your brother, and the brothers of many may had felt of its effects before. He couldn''t even understand what we were talking about, could he? You see, all soldiers and their legs had been tired later that day, the one that came before our departure from our homeland. After all that walk, and fights along the way, against their own kind, among themselves as well; some small injuries, others bad ones. Painful aches in the head, a few slight cramps in the feet, we all missing our families, our friends, that was a shock that happened so sudden, alike the pain felt by the hands, the feet, the arms, the body as a whole.
¡ª ...Oh, I see ¨C I said, sure of myself, instead of Bart, whom I knew it was in good hands. Not mine, but, at least, there was someone other than me who was worried about his, and also cared for his safety. Someone who''s near him, unlike the homeland so far from there ¨C it was his first time, wasn''t it? It seemed so, seeing how his head wasn''t right that day. I thought he was fine, because, you know, that''s how Bart is.
¡ª I see. His first time numb like that... It reminds me of the day your father stood on same way. Then, he stood like that, for an eternity... ¨C Prescott stood there, next to Bart, and that arm belonging to his. I thought, for a moment, that he was about to complete of his own words, but none were uttered as that look of his went on that knife.
Silence, breath... Prescott just stood quiet, alike Bart, like me as well. He looked at that wound, me as well, but he was near of that arm, and that wound seemed to be near his, sprouting into his own skin. When he looked at that wound, it seemed as if Prescott blamed himself for such to happen. I also did the same, but Prescott blamed himself more, since he was near Bart, unlike me, who stood inside this tent all along.
I didn''t even had a chance to protect Bart, even thought Bart is grew up already to protect himself, but Prescott was there, near his, and he had the chance to protect Bart, the son of the father with same name, whom he had to protect once as well. Then, that knife and its tip were pulled out of that arm, and... Red. That''s all I can say about Bart''s blood. Red alike the coat wore, or used so, by his wife.
My brother, and his arm, felt nothing. Just nothing. Even when I squeeze a pimple, I do feel a sort of pain, no matter how big such is. Well, that''s the effect of the poppy, though, each effect has its cost. And I know about them so damn well. As much as there are walls to protect the boundaries of a Kingdom, each individual has a a self-defense mechanism. In order to secure themselves from a fear, for example, they just forget what happened. Though, this sort of thing usually takes many years to happen. For example, the same happens when someone, at the end of a year, like when my wife Cynthia usually says that same year lasted so quickly, because they compare a whole year with the last day.
Yet, this doesn''t seems to work with some of us, like Hyuuga, or Prescott, it''s the same person anyway, Burmecian as me, or not.
...
XXVII: Absent Friend
?Bark Psychosis - Absent Friend?
July 06, 1778
2:00 P.M.
...
The air is heavy. Heavy as a drug.
The weight is enough for his lungs, his kidneys, his relief. Bart woke up, in the middle of the night, a cold night, like many had said to him before. The light coming from the candle wasn''t, and isn''t enough to bring some heat, outside his body. Yet, Bart is sweating, as if he woke up from a sudden nightmare, where he dreamt of himself, as always, in a third view, like now, when contemplating of his nature. A leaky boat, he thought, in the middle of the sea, storms coming from a distance, he looks at the moons in the sky, because there are no or a few clouds to be seem, the same also happens when comes daylight. Bart wonders why there is a blue, and a red moon. Why couldn''t there not be a gray moon, like this? He thought, holding of more than sand pouring down on his palm.
Blankets as well hadn''t attained the same purpose of the candle, to bring comfort into the nightseven if the sleep of Clyde, his brother, and Prescott, a brother of his in a way, as he looked up to that wounded arm, who, at least, still was there, instead of being inside a jar, or worse, in his stomach. This kind of thought ran throught Bart''s mind, and almost went outside the throat of his, if he wasn''t occupied yet, with another leakage. The draining went well, as Bart stepped into the sand, dry to his feet, and watery like an oasis to a short distance, but what''s important is that his feet went dry, unlike the days where Bart, alike any child, would be wandering across the wet plains, the roads soaked by the rain falling from the skies. Bart would usually do it in the morning, cold as well, but not like this same cold.
Silly things ran into his mind, but since he is on his own, it''s natural to think of those. Clyde often do, anyway, but he ain''t the main focuse of Bart''s thoughts. If he was, then he would be the perfect aim. His wife and son are far more important, and kind, and lovable than his own brother, a scoundrel that may had made the entire Burmecia taste the bread made by his own hands. Only the hands, Bart thought, briefly looking down, to his both feet, and claws. Then, he looked to his both hands. They shared of many similarities, besides the skin, and the size, the location, and the use. The amount of dirt also had been noticed by his. Bart''s hands were clean, the feet as well, althought if sand could be deemed as a kind of dirt, both his limbs are meant to be dirty by now. Bart also noticed that his wounded arm, the right one, was still wounded, yet it was numb, unlike his tail, whom he holded with the other arm, until that work was done. Half-done by now.
Ants walking throught his right arm, or so Bart felt a kind like this. Furred spiders wrapped alike octopuses tentacles sucking his blood like octagonal-shaped men would be more adequate, if not truly adequate. Birds pecking his skin, that tea drank before and its side effects, or maybe those were just speculations, worried ones coming to Bart. Since others, in worse conditions than his arm, drank of same tea to relief the pain, then maybe they are feeling the same, or not. There is pleasure in killing as well, as seem with that assassin, and the way Prescott immobilized his, althought he didn''t enjoyed that. Never that guy would enjoy killing a flea, Bart then looked to the tent, same where his comrades were sleeping, and he was just there, asleep, and outside, and left-handed. And daydreaming, or worse, traveling without moving.
By using constantly the left arm, Bart thought for a moment about Lenneth, of the Crescent Clan, and the way she used that hand to ergue the spear, to hold of his hand, to do everything. Wind blew onto his. A nice breeze, he thought, and pretended to say, but the distance of his to the tent wasn''t enough for a shout, so all that Bart could do was to appreciate, in silence. With silence, and ears covered by his fingers, he could hear his own blood circulating throught the body, his heart pumping, his patience starting to become meaningless as anything Clyde ever said, or thought to say, or just thought.
The wind who blew before, fortunately carrying on no relative amount of sand reminded Bart of the day that hair waved, freed underneath that helm, red like that coat, and the blood who pumped inside his, and more when she revealed to his those eyes, a purple stain as intense like a headache, yet not enough to make him faint. Even that name, Lenneth, was uncommon like her whole appearance, besides the face, the first of many things Bart had noticed to belong to his dear Lenneth. He swears, and who else wouldn''t notice that red coat before the ribbon tied into that tail? Such thing present after the birth of many that doesn''t get any attention, any kind of affection, any kind of love, like Lenneth.
Finished, halfway through the way to the bed, and Bart knew more about Lenneth, and who she was, besides being a Crescent in blood. When with Lenneth, Bart used to forget which one weared the trousers. That bothered him on the first days, since she was a Dragoon Knight, a skilled one, of course, but a Leviathan Knight. Many, including Clyde, thought with the eyes, and gossips, that Lenneth, not Bart, went hanging on with Bart, only because of his family, the Brandford, and not the contrary. Even if that was the story, about how Bart supposedly fooled Lenneth to be with his, only because of her family and legacy of same, Bart would never be into a relationship only for this kind of interest.
Maybe Clyde would, since he only married with Cynthia because of her attributes, or maybe Bart is wrong. He might be wrong, because Cynthia was his brother''s friend since childhood. It was the only woman Clyde allowed, besides mother, to be closer to his. Because they were childhood friends, and because she grew up to become that beauty, so they married, or maybe they don''t. Anyway, Clyde got what he wanted, even if he did refused to want at first, but deep inside, he wanted her. Laying down, Bart had drawn a comparasion between his brother and himself, on the way his brother had gotten Cynthia to his, and how Bart had gotten Lenneth to his, or how Lenneth got Bart to her. She was just another woman, pretending to carry on the family name, he thought when they first meet, even before they knew each other by the look, and the days that succeded the first look, the vision that slowly didn''t remained the same anymore, althought the shock of a first impresion had made the effect already, and never on same way as before.
A Dragoon Knight, Leviathan class, and me, just someone who can be found anywhere, doing anything... who thought that Bart and Lenneth would end up, with each other? It may not had been on same way as father ended with mother, Bart thought, with his head, as he thought before, once again, about Lenneth. She is his favorite topic, not in conversation, but thoughts. On conversation, he talks less than the words he thought to talk; not too quiet, but not too liveless, althought many see him as the ''quiet''. There''s no such a thing as silence, Prescott said, when talking about how grass grows, speculating as well about how silence is just a term to describe the sudden lull of the sea, and how the ear focuses on kinds of sounds, a few sounds instead of a thousand being the ''silence'' all beings appreciate.
''If there is silence, then why the wind exists to break such?'', Prescott learned this, and many others, statements when on a traveling across Gaia, or so he intented, and still does have the intention to do it so. Of many places belonging to the world, Prescott had been on Esto Gaza before. Known as a sacred settlement for pilgrims, being isolated from the main world, located into the cold lands of another continent, many, mostly religious people, seek Esto Gaza to find of the meaning of silence, the lull of the stormy sea, as Prescott would say. Half of the world still needs to be explored, he would say, as all he can do is to choose, between walking in the world known, and to face the unknown of the world.
Burmecia, in general, is unknown for many, yet that Kingdom and its people belong to the known world, the Mist Continent, althought mostly the population of the continent reside atop the hills, plateaus, where Alexandria, Lindblum, even Treno had been founded, prior the sucession of many wars between themselves, and the creatures who resided below, still do, in the depths of the valleys covered by same Mist. For Bart, who changed like many on these days, there is no such Mist, not because he, or the others, are currently settled on Vube''s desert, where there''s no Mist, possibly due to the sacred grounds, but sandstorms coming from Cleyra, secluded of the main world on same way as Burmecia remained secluded, by the rain, and the Mist as well.
Grey like the clouds, grey like the dead, grey like the Mist; the Burmecians, for Bart, are the Mist of the entire continent. Same Mist who obscured the history, and the vision of many, in general. Not lices, or the lack of sanitation, but rats coming from the sewers below, the slums above, are the ones who caused of many plagues, and many wars as results of mistakes commited by the blind ones. A Kingdom to be called their own, and a God to be called their own as well; they, both sides of same table, one who stood above the hills, and another who stood below the rain, to seek their own kind of God, a God who is three, and three who are seven, a conquerer of many cities whose name is the name of Alexander; up in the sky, the wet of dry lands, the rain falling from the sky, dragon or not dragon, a savior by the name of Bahamut, and the demigod Leviathan. Alligators aren''t born of the mud, but flies can be born of the exposed meat, because that''s how they, alike many living beings, are born: Born of the flesh, dirty as the mud, or clean as the feet of clay.
''One thing at the time''; those words echoed for Bart, words once uttered by his father, his mother, and Prescott as well. Bart could even hear them all saying such thing, except that the same couldn''t, and cannot be said for everything, like the financial point of view. Prescott also told to his, including Clyde, before this day about Lindbluniam people who work in the factories belonging to the industrial district, or sell things in the market district, and how production, including anything, from clothes sewed of silk to barrels where cucumbers turn into pickles, increases in the factory whenever there''s light, or not, and about how the price of same products later sold at the market lowers when there are less products to be sold, unlike how the price increases to such great heights when there''s a surplus of, for example, cereals, the basic of the foods.
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Only because these people are part of an experiment, and because they want to improve with themselves, as a whole. This also counts for the army soldiers, whenever their ratio is reduced, no anger is seem, but improvement over what the main commander see as a failure. Now that Komakino''s work is done, Sigurd took his place, but that meant nothing, since Sigurd was the one who mostly gave orders to Komakino, who repassed them to the remaining soldiers, alike Bart, or his brother, or his cousins. Everyone is a cousin when it comes to be a Burmecian, but some with same blood are more closer than those with another blood.
Since Bart, alike many soldiers, had been on this desert, the diminished ratio didn''t mattered, like before. Only their relationships between the local Libers, and the enduring of that heat, and this cold, that comes every night. Blankets would be there, awaiting for Bart at home. Since he was young, and since the youth and its impulse overcame his, as a whole. His entire life seemed to be an experiment, and all Bart had to do was to improve, and still he does. Not only he do improve, but Bart also helps others to find a way of improvement. His main job, or used to be back at home, was to find anything he could do, no matter how hard such task was: To grab some lemons out of a neighboor''s spiky tree, to fish some tilapias out of the lake, polish some dirty windows and nails, to kill some Basilisk before they petrified another child; anything so he could be recognized by its efforts, and to feel proud of doing it so.
Payment sometimes came into his hands, mainly due to the fishmonger''s demand to many mouths, including the ones belonging to his own offspring, only to slip away from his. They call it by solidarity, althought Bart also intends to promote solidity, in many ways, mainly the ties between people, and their relationships. Even when he doesn''t, they still happen, yet what guides Bart to do it so, if there''s another that could be on his place instead? Another...Clyde was already his another. This also counted for the Dragoon Knights as well. They all would be there, on the streets, doing a favour to the people. Instead of turning out to be a Dragoon Knight, Clyde had a short career as a Royal Guard, but seeing how much he despised those at the palace, or so that''s half of what Bart can understand about his own brother, he them became a baker; from the hands that killed to the the hand that feeded.
A thought about all kinds of breads eaten once came across Bart''s mind, whom he replied with nothing but swallow the food into his throat. For Bart, it was wrong to waste any kind of food, or so his mother told to him, when alive, like his father, Clyde''s father as well. But, forget about Clyde... He already occupied the void of his thoughts, his recognition, his hopes, his own soul as a whole, until Lenneth came to his life. She already had a life, like him, before. ''A life without a sort of pain can''t be considered a kind of life'', she told to him, as much as she told him of her many secrets, or slices of situations that already happened on her life, all seemed to be related to pain, including happy moments, if there was one. One of Lenneth''s past life moments Bart mostly recall about was the one when she, as a child, broke her right arm when she tumbled with her feet downstairs. By her descriptions, it all seemed, and also ran, as a funny thing, to laugh with.
Her mother had already told to her before to walk in the stairs by holding the banisters, but did she agreed with? Which kind of child would listen to his parents before knowing by themselves the injuries left? Of course, Bart never laughed, or ever thought such event to be considered funny, not even Lenneth, seeing how she forced that smile upon his face, same smile that happened to be there whenever she was ready, she never was, to bear a burden right at the face. Seeing her face as well, anyone near could notice that she was lying, except that she wasn''t, or so half of her told it so. Half of Bart also used to believe she was afraid of telling the truth, by turning a tragedy into a comedy, or so that''s what all we do. Clyde mostly, but his kind of humour ain''t the one to laugh with. You are the one that shall be laughed by his, but damn, can''t Clyde be away from a single moment of my life? That''s what Bart would tell to himself, except when he starts to think about Lenneth.
Bart, on that age, never wondered to himself if she, that lady, that pretty, that rat, thought about his, from that moment and onwards, if there was at least one onward for both. There wasn''t, as they were just less than friends, but more than talking heads. Tastes like fish; Bart recall saying it when he was a child, after his brother, always Clyde, came to be into that lake, those kinds of lakes, pretty shallow ones, where orange and white, any kind of carp with any kind of color for their skin lives, but even a bowl of soup isn''t small enough for a kid who ended up drowning into one of these. At the lake, and that bowl of soup, to choke with his own saliva as well; Lenneth would be laughing out loud, but not that loud, a rather shy laugh, hidden by those claws, that palm, those cheeks... They didn''t turned red, but instead, they stood grey, alike how they stood for Bart as well. He used to wonder if Lenneth could choke with her own laugh...
...Was that funny? Bart didn''t bothered about that, though he had kept that same doubt. When the suffering of another turns out to be something funny, like how Clyde once felt inside a manhole, and got stuck in there because he was too fat, or so Bart said to his, whom Clyde answered with a slap on his face, and a kick in the eye, and so the grey of his face turned in red, not because of shame, but the red of same blood. Once again, Clyde... It seemed as if he was his only brother, though Bart had others. Martin, Stuart, Arthur, Jack, Dario... they weren''t that interesting. Just common rats. Though they had their own lifes, interesting ones in theory, Bart never had been able to interact that much with them. Some were too old, still are, some younger than his, not that young by now, since they are all married, or surrounded by possible affairs. They do not interact with each other even now, only Clyde, as it seems.
In short, Bart doesn''t care about his brothers, neither they do for his, and Clyde... well, ''the one who laughs mostly is the one who suffers the most'', or so that was what his father told to his. Lenneth also had some sisters, and a few brothers, but they were all a bunch of brats, except one. Lenneth didn''t seemed, as always, to be interested in that subject, about her brother, or so that thing was meant to be one; that''s what she said, and always said, before the silence comes in. How awful the conversation they had became, after the mention of that ''brother'' by Lenneth. Awful was the silence as well, when they walked together, and on their own as well. But when tomorrow came, they had already forgotten about that, as they kept talking as usual.
Sometimes, instead of two, a third person would be there as well. Clyde used to walk between his brother and Leneth, for whom he had an eye, even thought he had been making out with Cynthia since the childhood. Cynthia often would be horrified to see two young kids in a fight, not because of her, but because of themselves. She would be playing with her dolls instead, alike Lenneth, and her sisters. Luckily, for Bart, most of the times, it was Theresa, one of Lenneth''s sisters, equally beautiful, like any lady who resembled of his own mother, that would be there, to follow both in their walk, and their conversation.
Althought Theresa was a better option other than his own brother, Bart would be a bit bothered towards her, and that habit she had, to stop between the walk, only to talk. Maybe she still carries on of same habit, but that''s only a guess of Bart, since it happened a long time ago, when they did meet each other in a walk, other than tea parties, or chai parties, or baby parties, whatever is the name of the ceremony other than marriages that makes women glued, attached to each other.
Speaking of things attached, that spear used to be on her hand. Bart has its own spear, and dagger as well, alike any other man belonging to the army. The Dragoon Knigths are a sort of army as well, he thought, however, they can''t be seem beyond the boundaries extended across the Kingdom, where they live, alike any other Burmecian. Instead of a dagger, they only use a spear, a pike, a javelin, anything that resembles a wooden piece with a blade on its tip. Althought swords are heavier, spears can be holded by an only hand, but that doesn''t mean that they aren''t that heavy. Lenneth told to his once, that, because of that same childhood accident, she could only use the left hand to do what the right one had done before that.
Even thought Lenneth can move both of her hands, she and her main movements had been attached forever to that left arm. And how could she become a Dragoon Knight then, with the spears mainly made for the right-handed? That was another of many things that Bart saw on that lady, and had been admiring her for that since them. Maybe it was a family thing, but the efforts Lenneth had to manuever that spear with the left arm, even thought the weight, the pain, the fear had been trying to difficul her task on the way she had been following since a childhood dream, other than the brave men, and a few women, running throught her family''s blood.
But families aren''t just made of pure blood, as much as any kind of water ain''t pure. There are lead vines everywhere, of course, but Bart wasn''t one of their kind. To help Lenneth more than she had been doing to Bart and people of their kind, he ''made'' a spear to be carried on by that left hand, on same way as his own hand did, or so he desired to be this way, for both sides of his. Truth to be fair, that was a right-handed light spear all along, but Bart just had to say to her it was special, that it became that special. A sort of deception, but for a good cause, after all.
As soon as Lenneth learned to hold on that spear on her left hand, by following of the trust she had with that kind man, it took only a month for other spears, made of better material, like iron, copper, brass or mythrill crystals, to be carried on by same hand, with less mistakes made and the performance slightly improving along the days. Anyone could had given that same light spear and ordered Lenneth to hold that on her left hand, but the only who had done it so was Bart, and which effect could had happened if it was someone instead than his? He knew Lenneth, not alike Theresa, or her mother, or her father knew her, no one knows who she is even now, mainly the Dragoon Knight she had become, alike any person belonging to that family. Some had tried, others succeded; Bart was the only one who fitted into both alternatives.
...Only to be recognized? Only to conquer her? Only to hold more than her left hand? Bart had been doing everything for Lenneth since them, as much as she had been doing a lot for his protection as well. On the days that came after, he delivered more than mere gifts for that Lenneth. It began with flowers, calla lilies, her favorite, then yoshinos, blossoms followed of those redish fruits, blueberries, red and blue, purple, alike her amethyst eyes, hid by that silver, maybe its white, hair, and its white strands, his laurel strands, her colorless strands, unlike that portrait he painted for her, wearing that lime dress, okra, orange trousers, orange ribbon, nice tail, nice ears, grey ears, grey body, gray tail, purple eyes, wine, white strands, chamomile, red coat, strawberries, cherries, pomegranates, plums, opuntias, rhubarbs, radishes... until he had found himself preparing the dinner, to be later laying on that same bed, inside that same house, staying with that same Lenneth.
Her, the Burmecian, the Crescent, the Dragoon Knight, the child, the maiden, the mother, the love of his life, thought to be gone, yet brought in not by his arms, but a single thought, as usual. And that wound, left on that right arm? Well, the pain, almost gone, didn''t mattered, as much as it didn''t for Lenneth, and her own arm, or Bart''s arms, or those tiny hands belonging to their son, Jack.
...
XXVIII: Storms
?Fleetwood Mac - Storms?
IX - XII
30 minutes after Jack''s bedtime
...
Sniff. Sniff. Sniff...
Damnit. I can''t believe it... Sniff!
Of all the boys of Burmecia, I am the only one who got a cold. I can''t even sniff or taste food like before, and constantly, my nose keeps getting stuck with this warm muck, that keeps falling, and falling, unless I... SN-NI-IF! Unless I pull it back, or if I blow it over a cloth. It is still early to blow it away from my nose, since it is still flowing as a liquid, so whenever I need to pull it back, I just snifff with the force of a hundred men. I doubt those men ever had gotten a cold, at first place. Runny nose sure sucks. As if I was drowning man, it keeps running me out of air. Well, for what else do I have a mouth? If only the air that comes in and out of my mouth was warm as the one that used to go in and out of my nose, then I would give it a chance, but they are over by now.
To think I dirtied my both hands with mud, alike Dan does with its fingers... sniff... Gappys, huh? He touched that nose with that finger so many times, and still hadn''t he got an infection already, but me, who stood on his side... It can''t be. I can''t believe it. Damn you, Dan. You lucky moron. You, and that finger of yours! A-CH-OOO! sniff... I can''t punch Dan, so this pillow tastes my fists. How soft it is, but Dan isn''t soft, because he got bones that shall be broken. If I see Dan once again, another tooth shall be taken from that dirty mouth of his, I can say for sure. Wait, am I sure of how I got this... SNIIFF!... cold? Sob... Why? Why am I crying? Why am I crying, for Dan? Is it because he is... innocent? So, am I guilty? Wait... this ain''t a tear. Snif-f-f... That''s only muck, that felt like tears, from my nose, the same place I was thinking to punch Dan tomorrow.
Forget it, Jack. I was so careless, then and now. Oh, how could I think of hurting Dan with such stupid matter. Idiot. Idiot! Id-Hey! Calm down... Sob. What will you got by hurting yourself instead of Dan, who isn''t even there? Choo!... sniff. At least, it does seems that Fratley is okay. Sniff!... Thought he stood with us all this time, he seemed to have gotten nothing bad of ours, just good reception. Then, Why don''t you try to do the same, Jack? Sniff... Okay? Okay. Good, let''s see... Lennie sure made a delicious soup with the vegetables she took from the kailyard. Well, I had to take them, because she couldn''t on her own, as much as I couldn''t make that soup by myself, but, at least, taste it.
I recall I raised that same basket to her own hands, as if that was the the maximum I could reach, approach near that face, that smile, though she didn''t grabbed that basket, either because it was too heavy for her, which I disagree with, because sure it was heavy for me, but Lennie is taller, alike tha tail. To end up taking a cold only because of the rain is a silly thing, however I still have a hand full of fingers, and suspicions as well. Those didn''t, and don''t seem to matter, unlike a back who''s hurt enough by the weight of that chest. Lennie couldn''t even turn her back to hold of that same basket, because of how small I am, and how tall she is, and how painful was that back.
Sniff... not even this cold is enough to compare with that pain. Not even a smile was given to me, or a thanks frankly said. I said frankly, because Lennie knew how to gratefully congratulate me, besides that soup. Unfortunately, I couldn''t feel its taste, because of this nose, who got stuck of this yuck muck. Because of this cold, I had been ordered to rest on this same bed, by same Lennie, who somehow knew that I had gotten a cold even before I knew it.
Sniff. That''s why she boiled some onions, whom I also took from that garden, without knowing that they would be my treatment, instead of another ingredient belonging to that soup, who I wished to my tongue to have tasted it, seeing how much Lennie had been enduring of that pain, and how much care she brought to me, and that soup, and the way she found to bring me of same comfort, like the texture, or surface, or whatever my tongue forgot to taste, of that soup... Sniii... sniff!
Yet, look at me. I never offered a breakfast, lunch or dinner for Lennie, or ever said to her, right at that face, that she needs to rest for awhile, even after all she had done for my sake, and her own as well. Not even a ''good morning'' to be delivered whenever she wakes up, because Lennie always woke up, still do wake up, before I do. When morning comes, I just want to keep laying on this same bed, unless I want to pee, on the toilet, or on this bed. Sniff. I used to do it so, but seeing how Lennie is trying hard, I guess I just stopped doing it on bed because it was either too childish, for someone grown up like this, or because that was another excuse to put myself out of commission, to put Lennie out of her rest, whom she deserves, after all, yet I always seems to be taking that same rest and comfort belonging to her to be replaced to my own comfort, as I throw away my grief to her shoulders, or her back as well.
I can''t say sorry, or anything that sounds like an apology, for Lennie, so I hug this pillow. Sni-i-i-if... I don''t know if Dan is the type that agrees to apologies with hugs, but this pillow seems to agree with me. So soft it is, yet there are no bones to tell if this hug is enough. I think I never had given a hug to someone, besides mother. She used to hold those arms into me, as I do with this pillow, and never let me fall, well, only on sleep she would let me fall into. Daddy kept doing the same when she was gone, this until she come back, or so do happen with all families. Dan''s, Fratley''s... the same for all. In the beginning, they hold us, they feed us, they teach us how to walk, on a same way how are we supposed to talk; then as we grown up, we hold on ourselves, we feed on our own, we walk with our feet, and talk with our mouth, thought I can talk with myself without moving those lips... Knit...
Lips... sniff. Mother used to kiss me, I know she do. While in bed, I had to drink some chai, which was kinda good, and then later smell some onions boiled in water by Lennie. Another of those grandma''s stuff, who seems to be alive as she is. Lennie somehow felt bad, as much as mother would be for me. Mother... I had the oportunity to say that word, didn''t I? I could have said that, but would Lennie ever had perceived of such word, on that state, my state? Sniff... I guess she wouldn''t, but I also said that I could, not that I can''t. ''Be my mother, and I''ll be your fool'', that''s what would sound like, but I don''t want to sound like that. I do not. No more that I want that... SNIFF! No more... Knit...
Lennie always seems to be always woke up, even after she tells me to sleep, with a good night spoke by her, to me, and only me. I know a child like me needs a good night of sleep, but what about Lennie? Knit...She may be an adult, but wasn''t she a child before? Well, she has a child inside her, inside that chest. Besides me, Lennie is also taking care of my little brother, which hadn''t been born yet, thought I can hear a familiar sound. The sound of two wooden objects hitting each other... Knit Knit...
The rain has it sound, but as soon as I spent an entire life underneath it, I can''t even perceive such sound, the same for its smell, that becomes a daily thing. Damn! SPLAT! Mosquitos... they bother me as well. The rain may be pleasant, but the sound of those mosquitos isn''t. Good thing is that they are easy to be spotted, just by this irritating melody, and the bad thing is that the blood they usually left on your hands might be yours. Knit Knit... A sort of reckoning aside, I still can hear those wooden sticks colliding, emitting of a sound, somehow pleasant as this rain. Unlike the rain, they come from inside the house, inside that room, above the orange floor, into mother''s room...Knit... Knit Knit... Sniff... ...Knit... Knit Knit... Knit...
...Knit... Knit Knit... ...Knit... Knit... Knit... Knit... Knit... Knit... I wish I could see the moon from the window. All I can see are the clouds, and the rain pouring from beneath them, as usual. It''s a calm rain, to be appreciated with same silence, or less than. Storms used to ran over these lands, and still do, but this night, they sound different, or do not have a sound either. The lightning brought by the thunder, as the sound that used to force myself to put my head under the blanket, vanished, unlike the sound of these sticks made for knit, and the light coming out of a gap in the middle of the clouds, a light that resembles the same brought by the sun in daylight, the light of what they call by moon in a distance, yet so close.
...Knit... Knit... Knit... ...Knit Knit... Knit... ...Knit... Knit... Knit... ...Knit. Full of holes as a cheese, or craters like the face of the old, they say there are two moons, so which one should I choose? While one is red, the other is blue. Nobody knows who is the real one, yet they still remain called as moon, for both sides. Red or blue, the moon is gray, as we, and its pieces that keep falling down, like every one of us, like each leaves of same trees that raised from same soil. I won''t fall yet, as much as I won''t let you fall... Never I''ll do.
...Knit Knit Knit Knit Knit Knit... ...Knit... Knit... Knit Knit... I can see Jack from behind the door. I can''t see the moon, but I can see from the window what seems to be a picture of Jack, and the pieces of his. He insists to be kept hid by the door, whom I used to keep close from his eyes, and curiosity. And energy. Jack used to move around this entire house ever since he learned to walk, and run by consequence. And how he used to run... He couldn''t even sleep because of the energy carried on by his, unless Bart told him of a lullaby, like he used to do when holding of same toddler on his arms.
Even before he learned to walk, Jack used to be awake in the crib, still standing in the corner of this room; not a single termite had eaten the wooden legs for this day, you see. Well, his eyes gazed upon us, me and Bart, and we felt rather awkward on such times ...Knit... Knit... Knit... Knit... Soon as Jack had gotten a room to his own, and I a room to share with Bart, and only. But now you''ll also share of this room, of this same crib, and of this same piece of cloth I''m knitting. I had not that much of time as Bart had to take care of Jack, or even be with his before the sleep, and be there to tell his to have good dreams. I couldn''t even hold him on my arms on those times I went home with a wounded limb.
So, with a broken arm, came the broken promises, and the lies that used to fix what still is broken. Like a child hiding below the pillow, afraid of listening to the storms, I keep telling lies, and still I do, due to how I feel when they are told... Knit... Knit... Knit... ...Knit Knit Knit Knit Knit... Knit. A sense of relief, to be fair. Unlike the sense of security, I only do this relief for my sake. It''s a selfish relief, attained by each lie I told, for your father, for your brother, for myself, and maybe you too. Lies can become the truth at some point, as a man also becomes a Burmecian. They may not share of same tail, or claws, but they also share of same head, same intelligence, different skins.
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We all share of a kind of skin, so our flesh and bones remain hid from others, because they do need, by nature. But that nature isn''t the same for the lies we kept, or what we insist to keep close. ...Knit Knit Knit... Knit Knit Knit... ...Knit... Knit... Knit... For those who are hid, or remain so, there is at least one who seeks. I can''t tell which one, if me or Jack, is the seeker, and who is in hiding. Maybe we are seeking and hiding from each other at same time.
...Knit Knit... Knit... Knit... However, you can''t be everything at same time, as much as I couldn''t be a Dragoon Knight, or a mother figure at same time, space, and world. There is one who seeks, and hids, with a physical barrier, and another invisible for both eyes. We both share of barriers, walls, all created by ourselves to protect us from others, and others from us. But we all end up hurting ourselves, and the others by result. Yet, I do feel fine, as they do feel well too... Knit... Knit... Knit... Knit... ...Knit... Knit...
...Knit Knit... Knit... Knit... Knit Knit... Knit... Sniff. I guess Lennie didn''t noticed the sound of my feet, as much as she never noticed me when wearing of that dragon skin, as cold as I turned out to be without her, this if I had been left alone, but daddy always seemed to be there. Now he doesn''t. Lennie received a message about daddy. It wasn''t him who wrote that same message, and how could he, with a wounded arm? Well, look at you, with a wounded heart, and a wounded else. Why only you, if Lennie is by far the one who have more wounds left in this room, this house, this life more than yourself, Jack? And, guess who''s the one who left many of these wounds you are now trying to sew with a needle, resulting in more pain than relief?
Well, she did noticed I got a cold. Only when I am hurt that Lennie seems to notice me, as much as I do with her as well. Heck, she even keeps standing on that chair, knitting that green piece of cloth, a baby''s cloth, or maybe a kid''s cloth. Well, instead of preparing new clothes when my brother grown up, I may share of some clothes belonging to my wardobre, or so Lennie will order me to do. She always orders me to do things, even when I disagree with them. But, on the garden, I dug the earth on my own, didn''t I? Or was it because of Lennie once again? Did she noticed me, or did I noticed her? I had done that because of me, or because of her? Her? HER? Knit Knit Knit Knit Knit...
...Knit Knit Knit. No, it''s just Lennie. You fooled me this time, sure you had. But, this time, it was so real. To think it was all a deception, but that hand and those lips said otherwise. They tried to say, and almost got me into their intentions. Half of me, to be fair. I would say those things on my head before, but now... it''s meaningless. This Lennie... Consider this motherly attitude of yours as a sicky thing too! Thought, I somehow would like to share of same disaese, to be infected by her warmth instead of my own fever. Sniff... Sniff... Sob. Sniff... I recall the taste of my tears. Knit Knit... They are salty, as much as I do. Sometimes I do feel salty, like my pee. I can still hear these sticks being hit. Kinda relaxing, yet melancholic. Why is it so hard to tell her, just a word... just a word?
KnitKnitKnitKnitKnitKnitKnitKnitKnitKnitKnitKnitKnitKnitKnitKnitKnitKnitKnitKnitKnit... Knit Knit Knit Knit Knit Knit Knit... Knit. My legs kept moving through the nights, restless as the tail of mine. Once again... Knit Knit. What a relief... Knit Knit... Knit. Oh. No, not this kind of relief. Hum, hum hum hum huuum... Hum hum hum, hum hum hum huuum... Lennie began to hum that song. Mother used to hum that same song to me. I don''t know about the lyrics, because I was too young, more than now, but still, I remember this same melody.
But... for who she''s humming that? My brother? Yes, that''s right. He can''t even talk, but at least, he can listen to Lennie, and kick her from inside, unlike me, who kicks her without she notices of such, alike my efforts, who only seem to result in more pain, for Lennie, and for me. What a pain that I am. Yet, daddy, and mother... Sniff. They holded me so carefully. I couldn''t even talk, but at least, I could listen, look, touch mother, and that hair, that seems to be falling, being left at the tip of my fingers. I once wished of same hair to belong to my tiny hands, but not these tiny lints at the bottom of my nails.
¡ª Hey, Lennie... ¨C I said abruplty, the first words that came into my mind, althought I tried to say more, but I couldn''t. Sniff. I didn''t even spoke these words while looking at Lennie. Instead, I faced the floor, or somewhere else, other than her. Not that I''m out of ideas, but because I am out of myself.
¡ª What is it, Jack? ¨C she asked. At least, Lennie, besides those ears, turned into my direction, gazing at me, this me, not the one at the window''s glass. For some reason, I want to bite my tongue. No, I can''t. If I swallow my tongue... delicious tongue meat. Tongue soup. I like lentils as well. I ate them all, alike the carrots, the radishes, even the watercress, with my teeth, as Fratley suggested. He was there, on that table as well, didn''t he? I forgot that he was there as well, eating, or more like, drinking that...
¡ª Soup... ¨C I said, not only in my thoughts, but in my own words as well. It seems that I can talk, by now. Let''s see... what I had been thinking about a seconds ago? Oh, that''s right ¨C yes... the soup. You know, Lennie, that was a wonderful soup you have made today. I liked its taste ¨C I guess I commited a mistake right here. Lennie might be wondering, sitting on that chair, that I''m lying to her. No, I guess I didn''t lied. I''m truthful to myself. I ate and I drank that soup, as much as Fratley did the same as well, thought he is always hungry.
¡ª Well, that''s pretty nice, coming from you ¨C she said. For some reason, I feel ''taller'' as I should be, by listening of Lennie, and those words. But, for another reason, I also feel like a dog, when its owner tells ''good boy'' to him, and then, the dog just stands there, eating that raw flesh threw by its owner ¨C but... Jack. You already told me that before.
¡ª Did I? ¨C Sniff. I guess I did. Now... you better came up with something, or else, this conversation is over. And do you want to waste of this opportunity, do you? Of course not. Daddy would never lose an opportunity, so do I ¨C well, I just came here to say it again, to express how much grateful I do feel regarding the meal I had this day. I do not want you to forget... that... ¨C the words failed with me, as much as I failed with this conversation. Don''t forget? Well, look at you, who had forgotten that Lennie is your mom. Don''t try to say otherwise, because that''s another lie. The truth is that... she is your mom. See it? Can you... see it, Lennie?... Lennie?... LENNIE?... Yaaaaaaaaaaaawn...
Sniff. As I left that giant yawn, Lennie lifted from that chair, and walked towards me, until I felt those arms holding my waist. The pain inflicted around her back didn''t mattered, unlike before, when I didn''t needed to be holded of this same way. I... can''t see cleearly because I am... ra-th-er as-le-eee... asleep? Yawn. Look at her. Look at Lennie. Look at... how much she''s blinking those eyees in teh dark, anyone can guess she is faaaaah... falling. Yet, she caan''t fall yet, not even on thy bed, or riight now, at this c-o-r-r-i-d-o-r... because of me, ''cause of my brother, becaauseee of this pain that am I me. Sniff.
Word eater... one word, two words, thee words, for words, five word, six words, seven words, eightee word, ninety word, tenth world, twenty ten words, heaven word, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, five teen, sixteen, seven teens, third, forth, hum dead... yaaawnnnghh. My mouth is dry. There''s no spit around my lips. Sniff. Sniii-i-i-iff. My nose''s phlegm seems to be hardening. This sucks, because my nose''s holes gets clogged up, alike my ears. It''s like there''s a worm stuck in my nose, water inside my ears, and salt inside my throat, or something else that makes water vanish from a cup other than my own throat. Lennie''s one, as well.
Looking at that beelly, I can guess she drank much water around these days. My brother sure seems that big, yet they all are tiny, alike my fingers. Pinky, alike... my tongue. I din''t ate my tongue. What a relief. So many stretch marks around that belly. There''s even one darker gray area, near her navel. Now that Lennie is wearing that dress, unlike any other I usually see her wearing, I can''t see them. Or even bother about them. Yet, Lennie keeps holding me like that, as if I am more important than herself. My brother, as well.
Mother... It ain''t easy. I don''t know. I... I don''t know, because I don''t want to know. All I want to know are easy answers. Easy answers, for easy questions. Easy love, there''s none of that, yet I keep insisting of such. Because... well, because... I don''t know. It''s easier to keep saying the same thing. Why did this happened? Well, because ''yes''. Why won''t this happen? Well, because ''no''. Who keeps saying ''yes'' or ''no'' for anything? The easygoing ones. I am not such a thing to be called by easygoing, seeing how much I had been of a trouble for they; same can be said about Lennie, and her legs, standing there, below me, like my own legs do when I am in both feet, on my own.
I want to puke right now, but that would mean more trouble for Lennie than being my own kind. Who else to clean the mess about to come out of my throat? Wait... ain''t that the same dinner I had with Lennie? No, I can''t do that. I really appreciated so much of that dinner, alike that lunch, the soup, the meat, the rice, the bread, the oats... Oats? Do I like them? Not without the milk. I ate so much this day, and I am grateful of that, so I hold of what would be a potential thrown up, as I ended up engulfing of my own puke, bringing the sour down to my throat. Maybe it''s because I''m anxious that I wanted to do something, instead of letting Lennie do anything for me, and my sake. But... isn''t that what you wanted, or had been awaiting to see?
By cracking a pot, breaking a flower glass, by expressing yourself with the drawings made along this wall, you made daddy, and Lennie as well, do anything for you, even thought I didn''t wanted those drawings to disappear from that wall, the same belonging to this corridor. I can''t prepare the lunch on my own, thought daddy, or Lennie, had done it so for so long, yet even close for this now. I''m still growing up, awaiting for my legs be as taller as if , someday, I could tell these chairs and their legs to get bent with themselves, thought, by saying or even thinking about this, I may become someone with the few chairs missing, or so I heard Dan saying it, to Fratley. I don''t bother losing one of two chairs from a room, if for the sake of mother, or as I call her by, Lennie.
Instead of puking, I am breathing with my own mouth. My nose is worthless when on a cold, alike my tongue as well. I can''t smell, and so, I can''t taste the food. To eat, I can do it, without a problem, except the lack of my nose and tongue during meal times. If I smelled that bad, I would rather become scentless like now, and that would happen if Lennie wasn''t there, to bath me, or to do it so when I don''t wanna. The rain is already a bath meant to be taken when you go outside this house, or whatever is the place I am where a ceiling gets soaked instead of me. It''s raining outside, as usual, though I may had felt a small drip of water touching upon my nose. Maybe it was my phlegm, once again, or maybe this ceiling needs of some repairs.
Even tall like that, Lennie can''t reach the top of that thing. Althought, she could jump as higher as she could. After all, she is a Dragoon Knight, or used to be. No, she used to wear that coat, and do those training stuff. When Lennie is about to sleep, she takes out that loop, tied at the back of her hair, alike that orange ribbon on that tail, my tail as well, unweaving of that ponytail, same belonging to any mother I saw. Sniff. I can''t feel this nose here, but at least, I can feel these strands falling from her head, and thankfully, most of them are kept on that same head. I hold it tightly as I can, even thought those arms are already doing the same to not let me fall into the ground. I pretend to speak, instead of throwing up words from my mouth. I''m sorry, and I miss you.
I''m sorry. Unfortunately, I can''t say anything, as soon as I came to where I was before. That same door, that same cold knob, that same hand, that same creak, that same room, that same wardrobe, that same mess of bed, where I lay. I''m sorry, Lennie. Sleep well, she said, as that arm, gray like a stormy cloud, tosses a blanket over me, alike a huge wave from a disturbed sea, and the pillow below my head as as the piece of wood, the remaining debris of a sunken sea, that prevents me from drowning up, except when I submerged on my own wet dreams. I''m sorry, and I miss you. Lennie. I see her, leaving this room, leaving me, your arm, the arm; my knees, a beeard of beees... My ears, my aarms; your pleas, my fleeeas...
Like a roundabout path... walking in my fooootsteps... A plenty of staaares... Submerging in their prospeects... From miles to yaaards...
Time is a heaaaleeer... Swallowed by the seeeaaa... If the shaadows could march... Cooome in a high tiiide...
My iron tail... My breadcrumb trail... Lay your hands to heaven... Luck for three sevens...
I saw a girl flying throught the skyyy... She was rather shyyy... Throw your shaards...
I''ll shieeld you as a kniiight... Years of kniives... A waaste of tiime...
You won''t be aloone... Bring the booys back hoome...
You won''t turn bluue... Under the crescent moooon...
Peacheees and creaaaam...
A day in the life of a tree...
I''m sorry, I miss you...
¡ª ...Lenneth.
...
XXIX: Drowning Butterflies
?Cleaners From Venus - Drowning Butterflies?
A Sum of Memories...
...
...Fall Breaks and Back to Winter.
¡ª ...I would laaaikee soome meeiilk for the keeiids-s-s... I would laaike to taaste your keeiss-s-s-s... La la laaa... la la laaa... Laaa la laaah... Cough! Yo-o-o ... Cough, cough!... Your keeeiiisss... ¨C oh, my Bahamut. Sniff. I know that I do not often call of our name, but, could you please take that song out of my head, can you? Well, won''t you do anything? Is it some kind of punishment, right? Can you, at least, hear me?
I guess you don''t. Maybe you are just standing there, sitting on these clouds, watching me, expecting you to do something for this me. I''ll punch Dan if you won''t do anything, but, of course you''ll do something. His mother will be here, right? She always seems to be watching keenly, with that eye... Dan can do anything, as much as I don''t do anything to him as result. I know Dan can''t sing right. Screeching like that, even a bird who broke one of its wings is more listenable. Even a man without any teeth on his mouth, eating a soaked lettuce, is more suitable to be given a chance to be listened.
¡ª ...Learie... she''s so shy, she couldn''t even say a word ¨C that''s what he said, about that girl who gave a smile to his. It''s funny, but rather sad as well. But, for Dan, it''s sad, and only. Sniff. Thought, it''s better to say nothing, to avoid any punch pull into my face, or into his image. To criticize little things, that''ll disappear with time... it''s something rather futile to keep bittening as a little bug on that giant skin. To sing something like that, same could be said as well. I''m sure that he''ll improve, because I have a kind of hope; well, last night... that was an impulse. Dan... It ain''t the fault of that gap on his front teeth either. Sometimes, Gappys would drink some water to later spill a warm jet from that gap. My face was his aim, and instead of my own mouth, not because of a matter of luck, he would spit that same water on my eye.
Look at that smile. That gap... that hair. Sniff. Dan forgot to wear that cap, after the bath he took this morning. I know it, because I saw it. Don''t know why, but I wanted to go to that house. It has been a long time, althought I had been on that place a week ago. I knocked the door, as usual, as I had been greated by his mom, Cynthia, or so they call her by that name. Lenneth... daddy, and uncle Clyde as well. He wasn''t there, but his sons had been, like always. Jared and Ranaldo usually play football at the yard, with other boys to make eleven of a side, and eleven as well on another, or some other number closer to twenty-two, like twenty, eighteen, even numbers. I once played football, but I ended up soaked of mud. The rain did its best to clean me up, before Lenneth... she did what the rain couldn''t do, with those hands around my body.
Sniff. As usual, they weren''t there. Good, because I hate those boys; they made fun of me once, because I was short, unlike now, seeing how my legs grew up a bit, to be compared to they. Short, heh? Tell it to my fist. Short... why bother about them, Jack? They weren''t on that house, after all, unlike that baby, or toddler, seeing how much she grew up. Daniel, or Dan for those close enough, Gappys for me and only, is the third son. He would be the last of the trilogy, if it wasn''t for Fourthy, or Aoife, the only she of his family, besides his own mother.
They don''t seem to pay that much attention to Aoife, besides her need to be feeded by milk, or to change of its clothes dirtied by pee or poo, or anything that starts with ''p'', like puke as well. If she was older, soon she''ll be, everyone will pay more attention to her; as much as she''s able to catch the attention of everyone with a cry, and purity of that look, and tiny hands, only the hands will grown, but the rest remains the same. If my brother is a girl, which I may disagree with, the same will happen to her, as much as it''s already happening with Aoife. Sniff. Babies do call the attention of everyone, including me as well, but girls are the ones who mostly caught the attention of their parents. Mainly because women like women, because equality is what we all had been attaining for.
''You can''t smell like mud, but you can''t smell like a flower either''; or so I heard Dan''s mother talking to his, when washing his body on the bath, before she grabbed Aoife on her arms, to put that toddler on its crib, a cage suitable for sleep, though Aoife wasn''t asleep yet. Instead of crying for too long, she fled from that crib, because of those claws, tiny ones, yet enough to be able to climb up those piles of wood. Alike how do I used to climb up a tree, I still do it, though I''m not in the mood to do it so, Aoife had of that same habit to fled from its crib, who once belonged to Dan and his brothers as well, mainly during the day, either because she wants of some attention, or because something caught her attention. Me, on that case, as she came near me.
Harmless, I thought, seeing how she just tried to walk around me, and tumbled instead. How cute where those tumbles, and to see Aoife crawling like that, making those ''coos'', or whatever was that sound, innocent alike that look, until she opened that mouth... I thought she was about to cry, I had been afraid of that, seeing how much Cynthia kept looking at me like that, but that didn''t happened. Instead, that mouth had been opened, only to to bit my tail. Ouch... I can still feel it, even though those tiny teeth didn''t let any wounds, just a slight bite mark, that could belong to any insect, but they belonged to a baby rat instead. More than the pain that I felt, still I feel a bit, I was afraid to break her teeth, when I carefully pulled her out of my tail, out of my flesh. She has a tail for her own, so why the need to bite mine''s? At least, she did only bit my tail, and only. Moving on...
I didn''t had the need to tell Dan, or his mother, that his daughter, his sister had bitten me. Sniff. Well, I told it so for Dan, still on that bath, wearing nothing. Well, who would take a bath with the clothes on? The rain doesn''t count. Maybe falling into a lake counts, but whatever. Dan, or Gappys, whenever he smiles, didn''t even putted those hands to cover his sensitive area, when he lifted himself from that tub, holding of that loofah with the black seeds, as if he wanted to show that thing to me, another boy, or didn''t bothered enough, because I already saw it before. Like, I''m not that kind of curious for a kid, but whenever we, boys, are behind the wall, one of many places besides a tree we can find some relief, on our own, or when followed of other boy, a pal for extra security in case someone catches us, or a delusional artist, who contemplates of the another''s work.
...What the hell am I saying? We make this kind of tournament every weekend, and we are both the judges and contestants as well. So, Dan wasn''t wearing anything, like we all do when on a bath, or being bathed by someone else too. His mother went there, to bath his again, althought Dan could do it on his own already. To be taken by those arms, even thought he can walk, and to be put those clothes, even thought his own hands can put those clothes already on his own. Same could be said about me, and Lenneth... at least, we need someone to recall us that we forgot our hat, or cap, it''s the same thing. A mushroom, that''s what it looks like, a bit flaccid, but still a head. Same green one I''m wearing at the top of my head, Fratley as well.
Well, he''s here? Fine them. He doesn''t seems to be the kind to bother with strange creaks coming from a door by the name of Dan. Not because his ears are short like that, mine''s atop this head are short as well; I never saw Fratley throwing tantrums to anyone, not even a lice. Maybe he thinks about that, but that''s impossible to know. Even if someone opened that head, they would only see its brain, but not what is inside. He''s eating some vegetable, maybe lettuce, or cabbage, they share of same leaves, same color... if that leaf was, at least, purple, I could say it is a cabbage, or was, seeing how he ate it all, like a maggot''s larva, though Fratley doesn''t seem to share of spikes. Or any maggots.
¡ª Catzo... ¨C Dan said. How rude to say that. Well, he was interrupted, we all had been, by that Basilisk. We saw that Basilisk, a big one, not pretty like Aoife. Even if she bit me again, it''ll be okay, she''s only a toddler, knowing everything with the mouth, the tongue, the teeth... unlike that creature, who doesn''t want to know anything, except to reproduce. I don''t know if I should be glad, thankfully because that singing stopped for good, or if I should be worried, if Dan hadn''t threw that rock on that creature. A sharp rock, hid on that pocket. Crack! Dead. That''s what happened, and what I expected to happen soon. Those yellow eyes, with a twisting black swirl on both, slowly began to turn into nothing, but only fish eyes. It didn''t blinked, like we did. I blinked, but that Basilisk didn''t. Good for it.
¨C Heh... One less statue for the gardens... ¨C Dan said, as he approached near that thing, to take that same sharp stone, and put that back on his pocket. He used that same stone many times, to break many skulls and eggs belonging by those Basilisks. Not only they turn people into stone, but they also can make a limb become useless for an eternity. We may share of grey bodies, but a greyish arm, stone legs, slowly falling apart, crumbling like a cookie, ashes to ashes... ugh. Though, it rarely happen these days, but rarely, even if it mean less than always, is meant to be considered a possibility as well.
¡ª My brother Danny once turned into stone... ¨C Fratley said. He kept hid at my back, as he began to scratch his own skin. He was so close of me that I could hear the noise made by those nails. Afraid, or the ripples made by his trembling legs over a water puddle told it so. I guess that''s enough to deduce he''s in fear, right? Strange, because I didn''t moved anything. Not even my own tail, althought I only move that thing without I ever perceive.
¡ª It isn''t right that we shoud keep stumbling across these creatures... ¨C said Dan, not even looking at me. Instead, he looked at that monster. We also looked at that thing, even if we didn''t wanted to. We couldn''t deduce if that that thing was still alive, or already dead ¨C come on, won''t you do any favour but to put it over all my back? ¨C he asked. I wasn''t the one who had a stone to fill in one of my pockets. If I had, that forehead would be suitable for a thrown. I could aim over his face as a whole, and I am only thinking about that because of Dan, and the way he puts me behind his, as if I had been sitting on his shade, althought there''s always an ounce of light coming inside that eloquent gap.
Well, with these roads filled in by cobblestones in the grounds, and in the pockets, spears in the hands, people falling down, kissing the floor, licking the grass, watering the wall, as we do... We all do these things, except that the only spear in hand are our tails. The one that comes in front of us. Behind as well. There''s no reason to tie a ribbon into these tails, because they are too short, or so Dan said it once. Maybe it was me, but who cares? Anything is said on these places, because this country is filled in by walls. Houses are built of walls, but we don''t have the need to water what the rain is already watering, and bringing of its same scent. Well, I said houses, and only, because there are trees and their trunks, branches, ha-has, walls... they all can be used to play hide-and-seek as well, but all we do on this kind of situation is to seek them, and only.
I am already in hiding, fortunately, except for those who followed of you as well, in this case, Dan, whom I followed of its trail instead as well. Fratley too, but he wasn''t filled in enough, so he had been put on an important task, on the other side of that wall, belonging to someone''s house, only to see if someone was approaching. Nothing happened until now, except the sound coming from the rain. I know, there are public toilets, but they are only reserved for the army; that may explain why many, even daddy, enlisted to that place... A friend''s house, from inside, ain''t only just an opportunity to get free toilet, and their mothers aren''t just free lunch makers as well. Nothing comes for free, except when you steal it. I may not be a thief, but I can''t deny that I am someone who constantly lurks in the shades around this country.
¡ª ...and mother once grounded me because I had been sucking my finger ¨C Dan said. He had been watching keyholes since that age. Only the keys blocked the vision he had of private lifes. That''s why Lenneth... well, she also had been putting some keys on the door belonging to that bedroom, even thought I couldn''t reach the knob even if I jumped as high as I could. Dan didn''t even needed to jump, but he always had a chair, or a tree, to climb up and put his flag atop anything he saw. Whew... you aren''t finished yet, Jack, are you?
¡ª ...I once ate a squid''s tentacle. I could feel it getting stuck on its own into my throat. Rather frightening, don''t you think? ¨C Fratley also wanted to share of something without context for those near his. His existence was already something out of... I don''t even know what to say, but seeing how much the rain had been soaking Fratley, I guess I can be sure that he exists, unlike Karellen, who had been only just a doll pushed over me, althought that doll was alive somehow, for Lenneth... Geez. It''s cold in there, yet warm. I also want to say something too, instead of swinging my own tail.
¡ª ...your sister bit my tail today ¨C I said, looking at Dan. To his face. I''m sure that I already said it before, to his, but I guess he didn''t heard me. The only one who seemed to have heard something new about that was Fratley, but seeing how much he had been following of the task given to his, he said nothing, unlike Dan, who turned his head, after he had put his pants. That tail of his back stood out of the pant, like an arm out of its sleeve.
¡ª Which one? ¨C Dan asked, trying to find the hole belonging to that pant. He also smirked as well, only because I said that. Why is he interested on the details? I replied with a frown above my eyes, and a single curve, a smile in reverse, a boat in the lake whose owner is drowning up ¨C heh he... at least, she didn''t chewed you ¨C and Gappys, of course, had to say that. So, alike Dan, I also wore my pants, I had found the hole belonging at their back, and nobody noticed us, besides ourselves.
...
...Hyena crawls on his belly out.
I am the fly, I am the fly, atop some ointment... Tch. With a single clap, I killed two black flies in a row. They all come out of that river, you know. Tied into the rocks found into the stream going down the mountain, these flies are black since they are born, unlke their blood, who''s always red. Our blood is red as well. The elder ones tell us to not swin at the river, or else, we would become blind. Tch... I once ate some beans with weevils, until I spit both of them. Mother should had been less careless, but seeing how it was father''s task to buy some food, or even prepare some, I''ll let that pass, as I did before.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Poor mother... Tch. they also fooled ya; those merchants; Mark Hunt''s, who keep selling of their rotten food. I once ate a dried pickle, whose smell is to be compared to my pants, when they aren''t cleaned enough, and beans full of holes, althought I may appreciate of something crunchy alike those weevils. Tch... At least, they hadn''t got stuck, alike how those leaves, of anything, since lettuce to carrots; I may be the one whose mother forces to eat even the green of the carrot. Tch... they usually get stuck between my teeth, sometimes at the middle of the front one. Wouldn''t they all try to be nice to stop keep staring at my gap already? I guess not. Father said that a man has a lot of other features, though I''m just a kid, even for my brothers, kids too, but way more older than me. Idiots, as well.
¡ª Careful there. Ain''t that a snake? ¨C I said. Tch... then I spit that leave who got stuck between my gap. Maybe I could have eaten that instead, but I don''t like leaves. Only when mother watches me. Aoife likes leaves.
¡ª A snake, coming from the ground? ¨C Jared said ¨C ...don''t be silly! ¨C he also said, louder in words than before. I understood, you jerk. How much I wanted to spit that leave on his face. But then, he would spit a fist into mine, so I''ll let it pass. Like... not only because Jared is my brother, but I can predict the future by seeing the hand of someone. If the fists are kept close, then that''s a clear sign of an upcoming fight, althought I once saw my brother with the fists close, but he was on his own. He even fights against himself too, huh?
¡ª Do yah thin th-tha the moon is madeh of thesee from-from... ? ¨C Ranaldo said, or tried to say, until his mouth kept spitting what he tried to spoke in words. I didn''t understood his, even though he seemed to have a clear understanding of his own, and only. In the end, he pointed to his pants, confident that I understood of its message. I didn''t. He had a free hand to do it so, until Jared called him to help him pull out that thing from a hole in the ground.
Besides Jared, my other brother, mother also had gotten Ranaldo, who stood there, trying to pull out that string, whom I thought to be a snake, still I do, out of the ground. He''s much alike Jared, except that he has a short hair. Mother likes short hair. Aoife shares of long strands. And a huge capacity to be able to talk clearly. Any woman shares of a nice voice when they talk, unlike Ranaldo, who sounds a bit raspy, even thought his mouth ain''t dried up. Never it is. Besides the short hair, a bit messed up, and that mouth, both that I don''t care about, Ranaldo is also rather skinny.
Mother had been preparing all kinds of meals to us, and Ranaldo still looks that skinny, as if all the food threw into his throat went to harden his bones. Maybe it''s because he''s growning up more than usual. He will be as tall as that tree someday. Well, all kinds of trees are tall. Beyond my brothers, here''s Brennon, a friend of both; as I said, my brothers are pretty much one alike other, even though Jared had gotten that big nose, but I got this gap whenever I laugh, so I''ll let it pass again, as the ticket man does. Brennon... only because he got that cool name that my brothers befriended his. If it wasn''t for that name, he wouldn''t even be there, I''m sure of that. He ain''t nobody else, just a Brennon. If I had to define who he is, I would say that not even the scent of the rain flowing into the mud is enough to make Brennon one of us.
He stinks like cheese, alike how Ranaldo does, even thought he only eats fish. Brennon is also fat, alike your butt too... that''s what Jared would say, if he wasn''t occupied with that vermin, as it seems to be. The word of mother comes before his own, althought he''s the one who gave me more slaps. So, the three stood there, near the house I live, in this same garden I am also standing, only watching. Jared dug the ground, as it seems, seeing how closer he was of that thing. Mother may had told to Jared, or Ranaldo, both as usual, to find some truffles in the garden. The gil given to her by father may be in plummet, or mother is avoiding to waste too much of that. Aoife is the one who needs less food. In this garden, it''s far more easy to spot some littles balls after taking out a bean''s plant than finding some fungus, althought the feet of some share of those kinds. Not that they are meant to be eaten, but with a kick, anything under the feet comes into your face. But the rain is always there to wash your face.
¡ª Alrigheit... letez pull tha th-thfing outta r-right now... ¨C the word eater said, in the middle, as Jared, in front of, and Brennon, at the tip of that thing, holded of that same long string, an animal, seeing how it moved. It ain''t a snake, but a vermin. A giant worm, glowing in red, and brown, same color of the dirt around that body. The boys holded of that thing on their hands, bigger than our own tails combined. Like, it is bigger than...
¡ª It may not be a truffle, but sure looks delicious ¨C Brennon said, as if he had been invited for the lunch as well. All he had done was to share of a help, not to be given a praise of a reward. Well, look at you, who only stared... and what else could I do? My brothers, and their legs, are way taller than I am. Even their tails are taller than me. And with tall legs, comes the tall arms. And responsibilities as well.
Birds parents builds their nest on taller trees as well, but lizards still ate those eggs. I know that worm ain''t a snake, not because it had that peculiar ring, largen than the others rings that make a worm to be a worm. Mother also wears rings on her fingers, thought she ain''t a worm. These vermins are soft, unlike the bones of her fingers, and the same for the voice of Ranaldo as well, but what my brothers insisted to do to prove that worm was a worm, it is, clear to the eye, but they don''t believe, or don''t care, about such.
A brief ounce of sunlight came across the garden, yet it still rained, as water poured into us, and that worm, alike that bit of sunlight. That worm, I''m sure that it is a worm, but my brothers don''t, until they all, including Brennon, moved that ''thing'', they believed not to be a worm, into the sunlight, where, and when, same ''thing'' started to move abruptly, twitching and writhing, alike a tail, covered by coal. It was as if that thing screamed, but it hadn''t a mouth given to speak, like Ranaldo''s one. Those ones who stood there had a mouth, and smiles, laughs... except me. I ain''t tall enough to be laughing with them. Though, I disguise a smile, just so they recognize me.
Like, I would do the same as they do, with those hands, those smiles, those eyes. But a smile ain''t enough for them. So, I think about the many possibilities of delivering a laugh, thanks to my thoughts. Heh heh... That worm sure is big enough to jump rope with. Or to be eaten. Heh heh. As I, briefly, drawn a gap, I guess there wont''t be any candy for dessert, or anything that has a brown sugary taste, but meal instead, alike same lunch to be served on the table.
...
...Laoco?n and his Two sons.
Lenneth... Sniff.
Two days after that night. I can''t think of what to say to her. Wasn''t her name enough? I can''t even say that... those names rightfully. I can''t even think about Lenneth... without it happening. Alike the ribbon belonging to my tail, my tongue also share of same knot, and I don''t even know if it was me, or her, who made of this same wrapping up, that comes and goes out and into this same tongue. I can feel its taste, as much as it is made to feel anything, tasteful or not. Blood as well, with the taste of an iron that''ll never become rusty enough than that blade who resides above that spear. After I saw her, I just had to hid behind this trunk, enough to even hide of this silhouette, but not this shame. Hope she didn''t noticed me... Maybe she saw the tail, but not the ribbon, whom I took with my own hands, unlike the knot still stuck at the tip of my tongue, whenever I speak of her name.
Lenneth... If I ever find that moogle, I''m gonna to HURT HIM PLENTLY!...
Sniff... How awkward this silence is. How awkward I am. It''s as if I had been trapped behind a wall of glass, a mirror world, unable to convey more than my own feelings, but a way to express them, without demanding of love, or something else other than love. Food, maybe. Or self-control, though, when I am hungry, I don''t share of such. Never I had been hungry on my life, because of Lenneth... The ''L'' comes before the ''M'', ain''t that right? But the ''J'' comes before then all, right? Whew. Even after her presence is already gone, to my ears and my eyes, I''m still stuck at this trunk, nowhere else to go, other than home, or a friends''s house, or just a friend is enough. They may share of some other ideas, unlike me, who only shares of one, but one ain''t enough for me.
Hng!... I grunted, at the moment I closed my fist and then... Bam! I hit the trunk. I wanted to hit myself, but I couldn''t.
I can blame myself, though it''s hard to do it so, unlike when I do pull out a punch. The hardest part is to avoid any other punch, for sure. No splinter got stuck in my fingers, fortunately. Sniff. Trees don''t seem to seek revenge against kids, even though I had made those many woods around the country as places for self-reliefs. I didn''t even cried, or shed a tear, as I only felt the sweat flowing into my skin, before that punch. Trees may not share of any purposes other than growing up and feed us, but this one acted as if I needed of a hundred dews to fall into me. The rain is already pouring into me, but not into my eyes, as that tree intended so. Of course it was me; this Jack here.
These clothes may be already soaked by the rain, but that doesn''t mean they can be soaked from inside, as how a lake does. I also felt in there, on the river, but sometimes I jumped there, without a slide of my feet over the mud, or a tumble at a stone in focus, unlike my head when I felt on that water, and when I found myself in and out of it. Those arms who brought me into the surface aren''t here anymore, as much as these same clothes did, when I used to swin on that lake. Any lake, or puddle of water that I, and my naked body, could be fit in, besides the bathtub. Dan also did the same as well, like any other boy of our age. Funny that we share of same age. It''s like daddy and uncle had been guessing which one was going to be born first, even though uncle Clyde already had two sons before Dan, and I, had been born already.
Born from Lenneth... when will I say that name without losing the focus? Or the breath? Huff... When you are underwater, you can''t say a single word. On land, the same also happens as well. Not only with me, but others like me. Well, Fratley may not be exactly like me. I mean, he''s younger, and smaller, than me, but still a boy, who wears of same green. Green... Sniff. I couldn''t even see Fratley standing around that marsh, and he couldn''t see me around the kudzus as well. Our clothes sure fit as disguises, vegetables to be put in hide-and-seek; this before he turned that gray face to watch some dragonflies passing by, unlike me, who is standing here, near this tree, and these wines, everywhere, even under my feet. He had been kept hid by that hat, who also hid his hair as well. That tail, now that I see it moving a bit, seems taller than his as well, alike that hat, big enough to fit on that head. Mushroom head.
I am the only one there who''s sharing of a smile. Funny, isn''t it? Fratley just keeps standing there, near that marsh. Eyes blinking, eyes watching same marsh. That water ain''t clear enough, unless you don''t mind to see yourself in green. A bit of yourself, thanks to these plants, and any kind of leave who felt in there. On the land, there are the kudzuz, but on the water, flowerless water hyacinths reign, almost covering the entirety of that marsh. Well, not only plants reside in there, but toads with horrible skins covered by warts, heard by their constant schreeching alike frogs, that will soon end up on my dish, or Lenneth''s... uh, dragonflies like before, and maybe some pikes as well. If there''s a pike in there... I better be close of Fratley, seeing how much he''s near the border of that place. It ain''t funny when they come to bite and try to chew a leg, or so I heard that it happened once.
¡ª Hi Fratley ¨C I said to his. I can''t be near someone and say nothing, can I? At least, I grated that boy, more than I could when I brought of my own presence to his surprise. A sudden one; hope I didn''t spooked his. Sniff.
¡ª ...Uh? Hi there, uh... Jack, right?... ¨C Fratley seemed a bit distracted when saying those words. I understood what he intended to say, somehow. Besides being distracted, mainly with the eye, Fratley seemed a bit off, motionless as those arms told to me. Something had been bothering his, I know. I also felt a bit off these days as well.
¡ª So... how are you doing? ¨C the start of a basic structure of a conversation is to known if the person near you is alright. That''s what daddy said once to me, thought I don''t know if he''s alright. Sniff. They, all the people who I had meet once, always seem to be okay. A lie may be seem, or may be so convincing that you accept it as the truth.
¡ª Well... you see... uh, I... I feel good. See? ¨C not even Fratley, as it seems to be. I mean, he looks like a bit pale, a bit like a statue, doing nothing but looking into an only direction. He didn''t even looked to me, only briefly, to notice that I exist, not only a product of his loneliness. That''s what imagination truly means. And those pauses... those also bothered me as well. They also bothered his too, I know it ¨C You see, Jack... I can''t even walk with my feet over the water. Not even the rain and its drops does, like, all they do is to sink, see? ¨C he said, pointing with his index, and that vision who, once again, had gotten his, and my attention to the marshes.
¡ª Fratley... ¨C I said his own name, and only. He already knew, looking at my face, what kind of answer to deliver to me. Was he afraid of something more than a pike, to cross the water on his own feet? For what reason he would do it so? This kind of doubt caught the whole of me.
¡ª I don''t like eggs ¨C he said ¨C ...anymore ¨C he completed, after a brief pause, a brief breath, cold as this rain. I didn''t expected him to say that. It looked so out of place, that I began to think about food. I''m hungry. It''s near lunch time, though not that much, since Lenneth... she, and my brother, went to a tea''s party. A chai party too. These ones are kind of boring, because they all just sit around that table, talking about stuff that I don''t care about, althought the gifts they deliver to each other are pretty nice. One of them must have made a nice cloth to be wore by my brother, and that''s fine, for him, and for...
...Eggs? Sniff. Did Fratley said something about eggs? Well, eggs? Strange, because I saw some lying above a nest, in the middle of that marsh. Hard to spot on a first sight, because they weren''t white and a bit far away from the eye, though we both saw something alike a nest, and something alike eggs inside. Now they had been seem cleary, for me, and Fratley as well, who became more worried than before. He didn''t ate any kind of egg because of what he saw, what he happened to see with both eyes. Jacanas, or lilly trotters, usually live on these marshes, or so his father told to his, don''t know why. My daddy also said many things to me as well, and anyone has their own daddy to share, so why do you ask, Jack?
Anyway, those birds became the favorite of his father, because of how the male speciments shared of a common fatherhood, by building the nest, warming the eggs, and carrying on the tiny baby birds below the wings. His son, the same who''s here, stranged that the bird shared of eight legs, but those extra legs were the ones belonging to the little birds, the offspring belonging to that family. Which family, if there''s only a male in there? Well, there are female birds as well; if not, there wouldn''t be any little birds, or little eggs.
So, one day, somewhere else, other than this place but a marsh as well, Fratley stumbled across a kind of uncommon event that he saw, he claims that he saw it happen. A big bird, presumably a female of the jacanas, came across between the leaves above the water, only to find a nest, and its eggs, unprotected by the male. The jacana only stood there, in hiding, awaiting for the parents of those eggs to come in that place. Only the male, known by their height being lower compared to the female ones, came near that nest. When he did it so, the giant female came rushing to the nest, as the male jumped, shrieked, made others noises more than mere the chirps, chirps, chirps heard atop the trees, as the beak of that female crushed those eggs, same beak who also took the infants ready to be born into that throat, as the tiny little cries of the male did nothing, but to call the attention of that boy.
Poor Fratley. Sniff. No matter what I do to him, even if I invite him to play some football for later, it won''t change anything. He may feel something else, but he saw it happen once. He doesn''t want to see it again, and that''s all he can do. There''s a jacana lying in there, on that green, maybe not, but those eggs are unprotected, not only of their own kind, but anything that eats eggs, like pikes, toads and their tongues, Burmecians... ''That''s the nature''; anyone else would say. But Fratley do changed the one aspect who once belonged to his own, as much as I could. Half of it that I could, but that doesn''t meant that I can''t, even thought I may feel more than an aching in the stomach.
Now... should I keep eating eggs? Should I tell Lenneth?... maybe later. Always putting things to do for later. Sniff. I see...
...
XXX: Hoarfrost
Birds Without a Voice
.
Miles to yards, swallowed by the sea
Time has become a healer
When your little arms beckon on me
Lord with the flaxen shards
A day in the life of a willow tree
Growing in the soils of a crusade
From any disease, my dear child
I''ll shield you as a knight
Like a roundabout path
A red like velvet wound left
Anytime I watch the sky so blue
A view of an empty throne
I keep walking in my footsteps
Gray has become the stone
A heart that''s left a hole
Under the crescent moon
...
?Sonic Youth - Hoarfrost?
July 08, 1778
...
¡ª Good morning... ¨C Lenneth woke up, with those words, not belonging to her own mind, but words spoke by her son, Jack.
Fever in the morning; fever all through the night. What she thought to be another of those products of her imagination, not as vast as the one that may be inside the head of her son, or any child, but a sort of imagination on a similar way as well, has now become another piece belonging to her reality. She was once a child, of course, but when you grown up, not only in height, your head is filled in by more than ragged dolls made of pieces of clothes or planting bean seeds to see them sprout in the garden, two kinds of ways Lenneth used to bring happiness to her self, when young. She''s still young, though, each time the world ''youth'' rang on her ears, or inside that head, it became an association of sorts. The younger the lady, the more attractive she is, or so randomly she reached that conclusion, by proper experience as well.
When Lenneth became a Dragoon Knight, on her sixteens, many thought she was a man, and who would blame her only, if it wasn''t for that height, 70'''', being 62'''' the average height of many of her pretendants, and that red coat she used to wore around that female body. Leviathan Knight; after those words had been uttered, they all knew that she was a female for sure. Thought the clothes changed, to a common lime dress, an orange between brown apron, and a ponytail to wrap that once freed hair belonging to her, Lenneth still remained female, but now the details made her more than she ever had been, during the childhood, and this kind of adulthood. Lenneth became what her mother once was, or was taught to be like, by the cloth she used to wear, the ponytail she used to wrap that laurel hair, unlike the outfit belonging to his father, the main Crescent of the family, and so goes on, backwards.
The Crescent, a tree that keeps growing its roots generation after generation; still laying on that bed, even after she woke up, to prepare the breakfast, Lenneth later found herself, again, on same bed, where her husband, Bartholomew, or just Bart, who used to lay there as well, above or below the blankets, asleep or just too quiet, like usual. Bart would be there to say good morning to his beloved wife, but instead, his son was there, to take out of his throat such words. Jack also had to take more than a few words, but a sacrifice to his existence as well, she thought. When Jack, that boy, said ''good morning'', he was there, sitting on that bed, on the same side Bart used to be lying above. On that same side, that crib, and those wooden legs, remained as well. How many days had been passed since Jack used to sleep on that crib, so near of Lenneth, his mother... No. Rarely, Lenneth was there, wearing of that Dragoon coat, and alike that side of bed, Bart used to be there, instead of her.
On that night, under those blankets, she dreamt of huge waves, tossing her into both sides of same bed. What used to be a sort of boundary alike a wall, or a floating device to be holded, has now become an empty space, another one to be filled in by a sea of blankets, and no island to be found, or to be sunk. It just dissapeared from the sight, that shadow, the silhouettes blended into the dark. Lenneth''s favorite method of dialogue with herself always had been the daydreaming, on that same bed. Like a fish, she didn''t closed her own eyes, yet she felt asleep, on a daydream. Nothing seemed to appear on her vision, as if she stood looking at somewhere, alike how her husband would do, if he was, at least, there. On bed, on both feet, sitting on a chair; monologue has become the favorite method of dialogue for Bart, or so it seemed to be.
As quiet thoughts ran throught Bart''s mind, anyone else, near or far, wondered why he had been so quiet. Lenneth as well, but since she had become akin to his, she understood and agreed to Bart''s own way of living. ''Quiet'' was Bart, because everyone knew, by self-experience as well, that many boys, men aren''t that quiet. They are meant to be restless, to work hard, or just plead for someone to work for them, when young. Jack as well, but whenever Karellen, that doll was near his, that infant just felt in silence, asleep as well, on a same way that head felt on her shoulder, both eyes closed, a breath from the nose felt into the skin... My skin? Rarely, as well. Bart was there to give him some comfort, more than Lenneth had ever done. She was restless, she needed to work hard, others pleaded for her to work more than she could. Ever since she was a child, Lenneth became a sort of magnet for the eyes of everyone.
Speaking of eyes, they only blinked. Lenneth couldn''t sleep, yet she wanted to do it so. It was like the same sensation she felt after reading a book with many pages, and many words, many letters... Books aren''t that fond for Burmecians, or Burmecia in general, though, on this same place, Lenneth is sure that, somewhere, lies a few exceptional writers, and their works, hid and obscured by the ones belonging to Avon, a Lord, and alexandrian as well. He seems to be known around the entire continent, only because of that ''I Want to be Your Canary'', also a famous theater number. Famous because Avon was an alexandrian, and a lover; by the use of cryptic words, gender changes and unrelated topics beyond easy love, never they would be able to read some Burmecian books, or manuscripts as they had been before. That''s why, alike the legends, fantastic tales surrounding the beginning of the Kingdom, short poems are spoken and memorized into lullabies instead. Not only these lullabies had the intention to make an infant sleep, but their main nature also surely would make someone fall asleep as soon as they could.
Someday, Lenneth sure will be eager to see adaptations made of the lullabies spoken, sang as well by her mother. Picks of her choice on those nights would include ''My Iron Tail'' by Eijk, about a child in starvation, who went lost into a labyrinth, tring to find an exit only using of a bread, given by his mother, and its crumbs threw into the ground, to make a trail so he won''t be lost; ''Breathing in Fumes'' by Caineghis, about a Burmecian soldier who had gotten lost in the middle of the Mist; ''Pluck and Luck'' by Bruford, about a little Prince, and its tutor, or maybe little Lenneth, a bit afraid, with her sister and brothers who already fell in their beds, and with the privilege given because of that broken arm, would plead to her mother to tell her once again the entirety of ''Birds Without a Noise'', written by Freyr, brother of Fr?ja, founder of what would become the order of Leviathan Knights today.
A favorite of Lenneth, it''s a poem about the love between a civilian and a Dragoon Knight, and the whereabouts of both due to one''s duty. A poem as old as the cloud, for Lenneth, ''Birds Without a Voice'' surely would beat ''I Want to be Your Canary'', if the first had been written by an alexandrian, or anyone who lives above the Mist. Same would happen for a poem written by Fr?ja, entitled ''Moth-eye''; another favorite of Lenneth, a very short poem, a bit unaesthetic, about how her silver hair hid her beauty from the main world, alike how a mote blurs the vision, and whenever those strands opened up by the wind blew, a pair of frightening and liveless eyes appeared, as if a moth landed upon her face, to show of its wings, or so that''s what she interpreted to be its meaning, if there was one.
¡ª Good morning... ¨C those worlds still reverberated into Lenneth''s mind. Spoken by Jack, that child, that son...
What was once a Dragoon Knight who stood above the fertile soil outside this house couldn''t even lay that head, staring with the face down on that pillow. Looking at the ceiling was her only option, because of that belly, pretty huge so far, a bit of uncomfortable, but what else brings more discomfort than the thought of a sudden death? The kicks, the punchs, whatever were those bumps felt inside Lenneth, besides the pumping of her own heart who, somehow, still pumped, they weren''t that funny enough, never had been that much. Only a sign that the thing inside there is getting bigger enough to react, be noticed by the mother, and those around her, or that belly, as Lenneth had been born to become one. Some are born before the ''hour'' comes, and some aren''t even born after all. More than mere shivers are sent deep down that gray skin whenever those kinds of thoughts arrive on that mind. Can''t she even bring a smile for that mirror?
Lenneth knew she had something else to do, other than lay on that empty bed, thinking of such things. By Sophia, whom she met on a row at the market, the Crescent had been invited to a chai party. But... would someone ever arrive on a place without a gift to be given? Lenneth didn''t knew which choice was meant to be worse: if she had been gone to Sophia''s house with empty hands, or butter hands who slipped of her gift in the middle of the path taken. Either way, Lenneth remembered about that piece of cloth, left inside the drawer. Made by knits, that cloth was enough to be fit in a toddler. Before the invitation taken to that party, Lenneth planned such cloth, made with a kind of care, to be wore by the infant soon to be born. But a gift can be made for anyone, as much as a Dragoon Knight lives for the sake of anothers, even if they do not recognize of such acts. So Lenneth, without any excuses left, wrapped carefully that cloth inside a casket, went downstairs, feeling the ankles and the pain that came from those, but as soon as she reached the front door and its knob, Lenneth didn''t bothered about them. On those days as a Leviathan Knight, she felt worst than that mere pain.
Now, as Lenneth found herself outside the house, all she needed to do was to arrive into that party, before the chai meant to be drank got colder, alike that same skin.
...
Moth-Eye
.
There is a mote inside my eye
An eye between a moth
White miasma grew on the head
Jaws in the mouth
Fog glows in the dark
A white view without a room
Strands wrapped into a ribbon
An orange moth, silver is the moon
Wings blew by the wind
Tears shattering the mirror sea
They took away my amethyst
I can''t see anything
Without the moth being feared
...
I closed the main door, and windows as well. Don''t know where Jack went, or where he is to be found. But I''m sure that he''ll be safe, since he already knows how to do many things on his own, althought I still do a lot of things for his. He can''t reach the upper cabinet, as much as I do with a single hand. None of them can do it on their own. Not even I could, until I grew up, and so did my limbs. For anyone who wishes to be a Dragoon Knight, the legs must be prepared for the jump. Not an ordinary jump, but a jump of heights. Many rookies who came in those grounds to be trained to become Dragoon Knights had put all of their efforts to do a single jump on magic, and only. But magic, spirit, or the will of God alone won''t do anything. Preparation comes first; both physically and spiritually. To be, achieve into a Dragoon Knight, or anything else, means that you don''t need, or have to put everything on others shoulders. A Dragoon Knight is the one who carries on the weight, and drops the sweat as well, besides carrying on the duty of protecting others beyond his sake. More ''his'' than ''hers'' can be seem around these lands, as it seems.
Sometimes, I keep wondering to myself if I only did the job of being one of the few Leviathan Knights only because I am a Crescent. Now, I can''t do anything, besides protecting you there, and to be protected by others as well. Like that house, and those walls, both who kept me dry from the rain coming from outside, as they had been, still are from any distance, being watered by this same rain pouring down onto everything, including me, but not you, my dear. Not yet. Those walls will sustain you, but not for too far long. Soon you''ll be walking there, on these streets, these stones, wearing of some little gaiters to cover your feet from any disease, or any vermin that crawls under your skin... am I frightening you? I''m sorry. Don''t worry, because I''ll hold you, and I am tall enough for the ground and its dirt to reach your feet. I''ll also make some gaiters for you too; if not, I may ask Jack to borrow some of his for you.
...Can you, at least, hear me? You can''t sniff, touch, lick, bite, moan, cry, look at, but at least, I know you can hear me. I can also feel you in there. I''m glad that you are still alive. I''m also glad that I didn''t ate, or drank anything that could harm you as well, since you are still there, alive, and kicking. That''s a sign that you are alive, right? Funny... I didn''t felt Jack as much as you do make me feel you. And yet, no matter how much I had been these days... Falling asleep yet? Yes, the rain is quite pleasant today. Cold, as well. While you are in there, wrapped by those red blankets, I am here, wrapped by this lime dress, as much as this hair had been wrapped by this ponytail, and my legs stuck on these streets who share of shame color as my skin. Fortunately, I seem to be in the middle of the way to Sophia''s house. I had been invited by her to a tea party, and I won''t dissapoint such invitation by no means. The gift inside the box seems alright, as well. It was meant to be your gift, but don''t worry, I''ll make another for you as well.
¡ª Hi Lenneth ¨C I heard my name being uttered. At my back, a voice so familiar... It is your aunt, Theresa, followed of her daughter, I believe to be her own. Theresa had so many sons, yet she seems to be followed by an only one, and it''s a girl. My sister always had such kind of affinity to flowers and fruits. Arancia, Fraser, Aeron, Oliver, Durien... and Heather, that cute girl holding of that leg belonging to her mother.
¡ª Hi Theresa ¨C I replied, as I came closer to her. Who else would leave the other one on its own, when on a conversation? Besides, she is my sister, and relatives, siblings are not only tied in blood, but in intimacy as well, althought I only seem to know Theresa mostly of them all ¨C hi there for you too ¨C I looked at Heather. She grated me with a wave of that little hand. Little girls like Heather also wear a kind of green dress, and a kind of orange ponytail at the back of their hairs. Besides the behavior that distinguishes a boy like Jack from an angel like Heather, those bends seems to appear even on such age. Heather Crescent... Not a bad name for a Dragoon Knight.
¡ª It''s been a long time that I don''t see you ¨C how convenient that they all say the same. Unlike her mother, Heather had nothing to say. The only time that I remember seeing that child was when I holded her, on my arms, still wearing that same red coat, whom I also used to disappear from her sight, if she even developed some around that time. Same for Jack, althought I saw him grown up a bit, but that wasn''t enough. Now that I''m wearing of this dress, I''ve became part of the mass, and I always had been such, though anyone belonging there, where I am stepping into with these polished nails wants to become what I had been once. Others want to become what I became now, with you residing there, within me. Theresa also noticed this belly; huge like now, anyone from a distance would.
¡ª Well, Theresa... Since that day, even if such belongs within those monsters, I haven''t tried to expurge of any life, but I just let it grow ¨C for a while. It won''t be soon enough for me to return, to be standing near the Palace''s doors, the grounds where they train to be a Dragoon Knight. Without me, or any Dragoon Knight on its surroundings, Burmecia would fall apart. Heather would be gone; Jack would be gone, or so I thought. I came to realize that it''s not only me that become such Dragoon Knight. There are many of them around this place, as much as Theresa always holded of heathers on those hands, as much as I always found a way to put Jack on that crib, without noticing of my presence. Heather is still holding, tied to that leg as well; not by any chance she will unhand of her mother, as it seems. Same for this gift, and the compromise that surrounds such. Speaking about the compromise, Sophia said that I could invite one more person. I guess that my sister and my niece are enough ¨C Theresa, what would you say if I invited you to a chai party? I can invite, at least, one guess, and I just wanted to known if you wanted to...
¡ª Oh, thanks. But you known... no thanks. I have many mouths to be feeded ¨C she said, leaving already, holding of Heather''s hand, and a basket on the another ¨C I''m sure that you''ll find someone else to follow you to that party ¨C yes. Someone else, besides you there. I guess the chai is already as cold as this rain. Theresa... I didn''t even had the time to say a thing, an ''okay'', or to just nod positively, or to even say ''goodbye'', with a single waving of my hand, alike Heather did. Goodbye... Maybe I said it before, when I became such Dragoon Knight, but now that I step on the same ground, wearing of other''s clothes, I''m unrecognizable. They now know that I am a female for lenghts, because of this bends. They knew that I was a Crescent, because of that coat, and this hair, freed or not, have nothing to say, alike this same mouth, same lips, all made to attract some attention from their sight. Same for this chest, who seems to attract danger, and shields to avoid of such.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
¡ª No such cloud, or the grief of this squall, or any kind of lightning will hinder us from meeting each other, right... Lenna? ¨C as if the ''Crescent'' following of my ''Lenneth'' given by mother became my name, only a few people called me by the first name. Parents, siblings, some relatives, and some of my acquaintances, like that Dragoon Knight there, or, should I say, Sir Ezekiel Chardonnay. A Bahamut Knight, wearing of a navy blue coat, and a helm missing from my head, alike the many features of a Dragoon Knight, but there is a scarf on his neck instead, covering half of the silver escutcheon they all carry on above that chest. I used to wear some kinda like that one as well, before you made an appearance, my dear.
¡ª I thought that you wouldn''t make an appearance, Zack ¨C Ezekiel... he jumped right in front of me, from atop, on the same way rain pours down over me. Besides those features of a Bahamut Knight, he ain''t a Burmecian, like we do, but someone who shares of a brown skin belonging to a Liber.
A denizen, an immigrant of Vube; his friends, foes disguised as such, used to call that little poor boy, that by ''dormouse'', because of that same brown skin. I also called him by that as well when we were children, but in a way unlike others. Because of closure, we start calling people by nicknames, or we just shorten their names instead. For Bart, and the same happened as well for Zack. He also calls me by Lenna not only because we were close friends, but because of the way he pronounced my name as a child. ''Len-nae-ty''; and so it remained Lenna for his. I seem to be the only one who ever called what once was a boy by ''Zack'' before his ascension into a well-respected Dragoon Knight. How could I be so close of his, if others didn''t? That''s why. I wasn''t part of the group who kept uttering ''he never took a bath after he felt into the mud'', althought I called that boy by dormouse like anyone did, but not with the intention to harm of his dignity. How could he have fell into the mud, if he was born on that same way? That''s ridiculous. More so than the fact that everyone seems to respect his, and that outfit. He even looked at me, as if I was a civilian, to be protected by that spear above.
¡ª So, how is your wife? ¨C I asked. I didn''t knew a single thing about Zack, except what I''ve learned during my childhood to the days we''ve spent training as Dragoon Knights. He gave me that same look of always; always when I was there, dressed in red. Now I seem to be caughting more the attention of his regardless of the costume, or the fault of some. I didn''t mentioned to his yet that I was going to a chai party, but we went walking anyway.
¡ª I don''t have any, Lenna. You know, this job is too much for me, as it would be for her too ¨C he said, looking away from me. The way he mentioned ''her''... Dragoon Knights have a tendency to marry each other. So did Harland and Eleanor; father and mother. But as soon as we were born, mother stood with us, while father was sometimes there, and sometimes not. Now he ain''t anywhere to be seem, besides that grave dug at the cemetery. He was a good person, like mother, like Zack too.
¡ª Nice scarf ¨C I said, as we both stood still. I don''t ever recall Zack to wore that brown reddish on his neck. He even allowed my hand to touch such thing. It felt a bit raspy, alike a carpet, or an unfinished knot, or so my hand told it so for me. It seemed as if he ripped, tore apart the skin of a lizard, yet I couldn''t feel any scales belonging to that piece of scarf. But I know, for sure, that such scarf must had been made, or belonged to something else, I don''t know what. Zack sure wants to tell me about it, with the look of a curious child I gave to his with my eyes... It''s been a long time, isn''t, Lenneth? Rarely, I would do it so on training, because of that helm, and that hair covering them both as well.
¡ª Impressive, isn''t it? ¨C yes, it is ¨C this scarf, unlike others made of silk, was sewd from the dried intestines of so many beetles and weevils that I can''t even count with these fingers... Uh, I guess this one, and the spare copy I also have gotten, togehter, make out 60,000 beetles, and weevil''s fibers as well. It''s said to repellish the flow of lightning sources by dispersing it on thin air, instead of my body as a whole. Heh, I wear this just in case I am been hit by a lighting bolt coming from the sky, or above the ground, or if casted by a magician as well.
¡ª And does it really work? ¨C I asked, as if any Burmecian aphrodisiac worked well, and also for the sake of those poor beetles, and weevils. It must had been quite an awful day for them. And for those maggots who had gotten boiled to become many of my cravats. I would like to wear them again. It has been a long time, sure it is, but, on those days, besides my hair, Zack kept looking at my cravats, the white of my neck, so did Bart. Same for the ribbon atop this tail.
¡ª I''m not sure, but, you know, Frigg also wore one kind of same scarf, and at least, I feel more secure than before ¨C he said, as secure as it is to become a Dragoon Knight. One thing that I admire, coming from Zack, is that he fought so much to become what many tried to achieve into, and yet, many failed to do it so. Preparation, not magic; I also had to be prepared for this job as well. My name is Lenneth Crescent, not Descent, after all. Speaking about descent, Zack kept staring at my chest, noticeable for everyone, as if there lied a little dormouse of his like. Well, I''m sure that something is still lying in there, and I hope it so to be true.
¡ª I wasn''t ill, deranged... you see ¨C Zack heard me, with that head crestfallen to my belly. He sure was worried back on that day. Sure I was worried of his on those days. I''m sure that Zack only looked at my eyes when I was as young as his, on that age anyone else mocked his. The purple of my eyes couldn''t be compared to the same purple of his joints, his ankles, his eyes as well, though they are green, like the majority. Now he is a Dragoon Knight, whom the majority wishes to become, so I did what the majority told me to turn into ¨C sometimes, I may feel dazzled, and disposed to hurl everything out of my throat because of the smell of a few fennels from a distance, some even outside my house, but that''s a problem that belongs only to my head, not my spirit. I ain''t sick... just a bit tired of this routine. This job is too much for me as well.
¡ª I see. I may not feel the same as you do, Lenna, or even imagine it happening to myself; it can''t happen to me, never will do, but someone near me, like you, may feel such things. Like, you can''t see these people crying if they stand walking under the rain, letting the water falling from the grey skies pour down on their own faces. Even if they didn''t stood in there, they always find a way to fake a smile, a smile nonetheless, alike how a Dragoon Knight does everytime. If you don''t mind... ¨C I didn''t, so Zack holded of my hand, a bit cold, yet the one belonging to his was warm enough to masquerade of this single condition, not only belonging to my hand, but my body as a whole. He holded my hand, not so tight as the ribbon belonging at the tip of my tail, or loose enough to allow me to be lost, of his, because I''m already lost in myself.
Sir Ezekiel Chardonnay... we went walking together, alike a couple. We are both Dragoon Knights, or so I had been one once. Still acquaintances, old friends, carrying on of old wounds as well. But since we had become two of the few Dragoon Knights of same Jugend, people of all Burmecia started to treat us on a different way. More they had given respect for Zack than me, already born on these wetlands. Not enough of a Deity we are to be venerated, but the name of Bahamut and Leviathan stood with us, or within our outfits. The navy blue stood, as the red went gone from my sight, his as well. The Lenneth many knew went out of commission ever since that day, maybe a scoundrel day, maybe a blessful day; either way with a single life gone, came another, as usual. And when something new is settled, new rules are also settled as well.
They treated me on a different way as soon as I became a Dragoon Knight, soon as arrived into the age of consent, and when either Jack and you there arrived at this same place. Lectures about what you should, shouldn''t be doing, as I pleaded with my eyes, not enough were the unspoken words, and the discomfort coming from those, some knelled in the ground, stranger''s hands, who touched of my bump. So sudden were the appearance of those random people, who came across my way to the market, who usually would do that anyway, still they do. Besides touching of this bump, they also do anything for us, as if I couldn''t step into a ladder without the awful thought of me falling from atop such, ending up with more than a few bones broken. Such thought also ran into my mind, but since I broke this same arm once, I am more confident and secure of my actions as well.
...
My Iron Tail
.
My iron tail
My breadcrumb trail
Woke up scentless in a narrow way
Don''t go near the water
Pikes and men, it ain''t safe
My iron tail
My breadcrumb trail
Let the fear propel you forward
You must do it on a leap
Climb a wall, then go onward
My iron tail
My breadcrumb trail
If you need someone to hit
Throw a rock in the air
Hope that you don''t feel guilty
My iron tail
My breadcrumb trail
Drying up as a desert already
Do not let failure stifle you
Who else to fell besides the crumbles of a bread?
My iron tail
My breadcrumb trail
Do not look back in anger over perils
No blood is thicker than the ink
Remember that such days ran away like chocobos over the hills
...
I don''t seem to disagree with Zack''s presence, neither he does with mine, so I just invited his to the chai party as well. He agreed, as soon as we got in there. Who else wouldn''t drink something warm, on this cold? Well, even if given for free, we are not only guests into this house, or mainly those who appreciates of the snacks and drinks given by the owner, though it seems hard to appreciate, even taste of same without feeling such odd flavour, if this scent coming into my nose isn''t already something else. Besides greeting us both formally, Sophia also fried some green tomatoes and had cut some slices of annonas that her husband brought some time ago from another place.
She doesn''t seem to be that rich, althought that rotten pineapple still remains close of the front window; in front of the main street. Some hazelnuts awaiting to be cracked stood on that same table, for lunch and dinner as well. Althought the table remained filled in by those decorations, dishes empty alike those chairs, forks and knives still inside the cabinet, and the children playing outside as well. Except one, the same whom Sophia couldn''t let away from her sight, or those arms, or the warm blanket surrounding his, or her, I don''t know its name, not even its mother does. Sixty is just a provisory name, though that thing will survive for time enough to be chosen a name to his, or her. That thing ain''t a Qu, but a Burmecian, as much as we do are.
¡ª I thought this place would have a plenty of people ¨C I said to Sophia, before I took an entire, and fresh, guava with a hand. I could feel the peculiar fruit and its seeds into my mouth. How hard they are to be chewed, but to swallow them makes such task a bit easier ¨C had you invited someone else, other than me, Sophia?
¡ª I don''t think so, Lenneth ¨C she said. That woman didn''t even looked at me, and why would she? As soon as I spoke to her, that infant had a need to be feeded by a breast. It was the only one in there, on that age, being holded by those arms, or an only arm, as I wonder in which way how did she prepared those things at the table. Only a few sets of chai, and the smoke coming from them, were prepared, just in case someone here asked for more. I guess that''s enough, and kind as well ¨C but hey, at least, it''s nice to see you again, followed of a companion as well. Who''s this, besides a Dragoon Knight of your like?
¡ª I''m pleased to meet you. My name is Ezekiel, former Bahamut Knight ¨C Zack said, unable to do a handshake, as he would usually do ¨C I am also a condecorated Sir, though I am not of the kind that keeps shovering to others such title. The King may have granted it to me, but that won''t make any difference for what I am, right Lenna? ¨C thne, Zack turned to me. I nodded, and I also recall I was there. Not only because of a raging horde of Ironites rottening that Zack had been granted with the title of a Sir, though many disagreed with such thing. As if these Sirs stood beyond other Dragoon Knights, they would think, even I did, a bit jealous of that sudden nomination, yet, no single mouth uttered a single ''dormouse'' to Zack. Or even a punch, just like in the old days.
¡ª Well, that''s fine. I guess we should sit for a while. You two must be tired of walking across rooftops, right? ¨C she said, as soon as we took our chairs, the ones that were in front of us, to sit. Wooden chairs, alike the ones of home.
Across rooftops... Only Zack seems to be wandering above those, as much as I had been back on three weeks ago. Remember how tired you were back on those days, Lenneth? Sure. Even walking without any of these ankles had been equally painful on those times. I only seemed to came into that house and drop dead. Not really dead, but almost beaten up by the fatigue, and the muscles, and the need to be beaten on that way, even bleed, if necessary. On those nights, I would only take a bath and sleep, but they never let me fall yet. Mainly Jack, and those cries. Soon as he grew up, they ceased, unlike that look of his face. The fear of blood tends to create the fear of flesh; I keep thinking those things just by looking at Sixty and its mother, and the half of the guava that stood into my hand, a globe as massive as a carbuncle, red and pinly like such, swollen alike sometihng eaten out of a body, I don''t know.
I can see some maggots crawling around it, disguised like these white seeds, being eaten by me, as a child. Zack offered me of such fruit, who felt in the ground after a tree was shaken by his arms. It wasn''t rotten, or had any scars, but how pretty it was, like its flavour into my mouth, and the unnoticed maggot''s syrup, whom since them, didn''t harmed me like I thought it would. Same I thought about Zack, before we became friends, but others remained the same about that boy with the cocoa skin. These seeds sure fits as a companion for the chai... Slurp. They thought Zack, alike his family, had more lices than any other Burmecian around these lands. More so that I feared they could crawl into me, my nails, and my mouth. Every night, I felt myself itchy, yet I only went scratching an only part of my body. Not my skin, but my bottom, and only, with this same left arm. Slurp. It turned to be that I have gotten vermins instead of lice, so they had more reason to blame Zack, and his family as well. But who else would blame them anymore, if they hadn''t given the cure for such itchy? Garlics had been eaten by me, and so they had no more reason to do it so. Yet, they still called this dormouse here by other names, and other tones, until he became from a new slang to a Dragoon Knight. Slurp.
¡ª Slurp... Sophia, could you answer me if Sixty a boy or a girl? ¨C I said, as we kept sipping our chais. It''s cold outside, and the rain kept falling more than usual.
¡ª It''s another boy ¨C Sophia replied. She was the only one who didn''t went drinking chai, not even a bit of, a single drip. All she had been doing was holding of that little one on her arms. By the tone of that voice, I guess Sophia wanted a girl instead, yet she had been taking care of that son until now. I recall that I saw her in the market, on that first time, not being able to hold that basket, yet she was willing to hold of that same Sixty with an only arm. It was like she gave that baby already, on that same day, and walked out of the bed, only to be able to buy some food remaining there. They may be that little, but sure they aren''t that light in weight.
¡ª It seems that you won''t you drink that cup, my dear ¨C Zack said, looking at the cup belonging to Sophia, as the one belonging to his was almost empty, same for mine, given how the sound made by our lips any time we drank changed.
¡ª No, I''m sure that I will drink it ¨C she said, with the sight given to Sixty, who was still drinking much of his mother. They are hungry even on such age... ¨C That''s enough for today, right? Well, would some of you please hold of my dear Sixty instead of me, Lenneth? ¨C Sophia asked, in front of my right side, standing on her both feet, as if she offered of Sixty to my arms already, even before I had to give an answer.
¡ª I...I am not sure if I can do that ¨C though I already had done that. With Heather, Jack, Karellen... come on, Lenneth. It''ll be like holding of a rag doll. Well, do rag dolls cry? ''Karellen'' did, before turning into one. But that was a silent cry, a cry of a flesh. Only flesh. The taste of the guava from before, and its seeds, tiny bones, hard to swallow without any bite coming from these jaws. Jack used to bite me, even without a single tooth on that mouth. Tiny teeth, tiny seeds. Am I really sure that I can do that, to hold of Sixty, without letting it fall? I didn''t let this cup fall, and even if I did... there is always another choice.
¡ª Well, if you please... ¨C said Zack, soon as he went tooking off that coat of arms, sliver alike the one I used to wear, away from his chest, to make it warm enough for Sixty to lay close of his. Carefully, his mother put that infant on his arms, as if what was being holded on both hands is as fragile like glass, as easy it is to pour sand down between the fingers as well. Sophia... She sort of remind me of my own mother. Don''t know why, but maybe it''s because of how strong she is; not in that body, but something above. She doesn''t seem to be that worried about Sixty, since he''s currently being holded by secure arms, of a Dragoon Knight other than me. Wrapped by that beetle scarf, anyone would feel a little more secure, as much as Sixty do with any arm, except mine, who tremble with these worries of my mind.
¡ª (Was I supposed to bring a gift with me as well, Lenna?) ¨C Zack whispered to me. The only thing I recall he holded with the hand was my own hand. He also had a spear on his back, but I don''t think that would be a kind of gift for that woman, or any of their children, althought I know so many of them that wish to become a Dragoon Knight someday.
¡ª (I''m sure that what you''re doing already, besides your own presence, is a gift enough for both of us) ¨C I said, also whispering alike his. Usually, we would do this when next of a danger, a threat behind or above us, flying with same wings atop our helms. Zack doesn''t seem to be that kind to take care of children, as much as I do, even thought Jack needs of my care. If so, then why you left him on his own? Before, I would left Jack to be taken care by Bart, but since he ain''t there, the only care I had given so far for Jack was pleasure, and still I deliver of same pleasure to that mouth, whom I feeded, and still I do, with foods other than milk. Oats with milk...
¡ª ...''have you ever held a frog before, Lenna?'', and then, she said ''Eeewk!'' with an horryfying expression, if sure there is one on that age. Sure, it''s fun to tie a string on their feet and keep them swinging around. It''s fun, until the string disrupts and the frog ends up falling into someone else. Right, Lenna? ¨C and so, after some time passed, we began to tell some stories, funny ones, that happened a time ago, some that I do not even recall that happened, mainly those who involved me as the ''main protagonist'', because of how shameful some had been for me, and now, these stories, no matter in which situtation I had been harmed, are meant to be laughable. This one who Zack told happened a long time ago, when we were children. It was the first time we went swimming, and the first time I also ate a frog''s leg as well. I guess it''s my turn.
¡ª ...I remember that, when I was training to become a Dragoon Knight, I felt a kind of familiar scent coming from under another knight''s helm, also a rookie as I had been. Some crumbles fell from those tiny holes, and I kept wondered what were those. It turned out that it was a bread. A bread... a bread inside the helm. And guess what? The pigeons also felt of same scent, as they came to beck on that poor knight''s face. The pigeons are eating your goddamn face! I shouted ¨C and so, we laughed, even Zack there as well, the knight of my tail. Tail, heh... Funny that people laugh of other''s suffering. Everyone seems to share of a laugh when telling of these stories. A laugh is a laugh, nonetheless. A Dragoon Knight smiles to anyone, no matter the circumstance. Sophia also told us some stories about her husband, which seem unbeliavable, yet the task of an explorer is to see the unbeliavable. To think that I''ve carried on of this same gift inside the box so far, without dropping that box in the middle of the way... I guess I should give it to her before I leave.
¡ª Oh thanks, Lenneth ¨C she said, opening the box I''ve offered to her, revealing that small piece of cloth I''ve knitted some nights ago. That was meant to be your cloth, I know, but a gift is a gift, no matter to whom you give it. Sophia and me share of same intentions, so that gift given for Sixty still carries on of, besides the intention, same heart as well.
Then, I closed my eyes. Now I am at home, sitting on a wooden table. Sir Zack must have followed me as well to this familiar place, where I live, so does Jack. He is there, sitting on the other side of the table, pretending that I do not exist for his sight, and only. Sophia also gave me a gift too. Besides a recipe for the chai she made there, I also had been granted with a flower bouquet. A pair of yellow and blue hyacinths lies on the table, same for the lunch I''ve prepared for me, and Jack as well. Jack... If I spoke of his name right now, his ears would listen to me, and his eyes would look at same direction such voice came, but would he reply with only two of his senses to me? I''m sure that he wants to talk something, but that''s a rule. Don''t talk with your mouth full, it''s a rude thing to do; purposefully, Jack had filled in that mouth with rice and beans, in order so to obey me, and also to create a sort of excuse that works, because I was the one who taught it so to his. I also can''t talk anything, since I would be disobeying of myself as well. Bart can''t talk a single word as well, not because he is that quiet, but because chairs do not share of lips. I hope that someday we both see you utter a word, as much as we will taught you to do the same, as much as Jack had been taught to say so.
We''ll know where when we get there.
...
XXXI: Sense Of Doubt
?David Bowie - Sense Of Doubt?
July 10, 1778
...
...What does it mean to live, Magdalene?...
...A life of work is dependable of what you gain for it; a life without a work is your dependancy of what you didn''t gain, or losed. When frustation comes, alike these thoughts, some would give up of living for what they lived all along, yet no matter how these thoughts sound comfortable for me, I am a man made to die, here now, or in the field, or on a bed, maybe any punk or hoodlum wandering those dark corners, if they are lucky enough. I don''t believe in a sort of luck; uncertainty lies at the tip of this sword, as certain will be the blood dyed on its silver blade. That trash... it always seem to share of ties into myself. I am trash, I have become such, if I keep awaiting for this long. I''m drying alike this desert, such pitiful place to be a nest of such pitiful creatures. Like spiders, crawling up inside my body, laying of thousand eggs, I await for these children to grown up, so I can crush then like I would crush a bug...
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...Spiders may not be like bugs, as much as these burmecians are nothing alike Alexandrians, as we do. Your sword claims of their blood, as much as an entire generation of Alexandria and its people claims the crystal back. A source of power, once given for free to other nations into little shards, divided alike the bones and breads same blade of your sword cut throught, in your time, same time I am living as well. You may question us, mainly me, and the acts I am planning. Sure, the Cleyrans lying inside that trunk are defenseless without that sandstorm, and killing them would cost my own dignity, my own conduct I am known for. The only lives I''ve never sparred where those belonging to the men, always armed with swords, knives, or even claws, like these burmecians do. From a distance, they''ll soon be there, the brother coming for its sister''s aid; also, same brother is the one who tends to kiss his own sister in secret, as it seems...
...Frustations leds to loss, the loss leads to a hurt, and when it hurts, I feel fear. What do I really fear is the uncertainty. To think this is the same sword that had cut of Alexander and its crystal''s shards, and same one whom I have used as a device to kill others who tried to kill me and my dignity, even people who once shared of my same country... those are the certainties, but they all belong to this sword. The certainties of mine are none, but the death, of mine, and of some burmecians, any scoundrel who cames into my way as well. What does it means to die, Magdalene? I''ll only die when I overcome of such fear, when the certainty arrives at me, more than this sight slowly going blind, unlike this sword, the sword of doubt...
...
XXXII: Moss Garden
"To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring." SANTANAYA, George
...
¡ª ...Had you ever guessed how much life is that great? Without it, you would be already dead...
Clyde. Unlike the night that came before, Bart had an awful nightmare. It was awful because he sweated, yet he stood unmobile on that bed, numb of other pain that he felt on that same day. Besides the pain coming from the bottom of his feet, sand still pouring from between his toes, the blanket that used to be thick back at home has now become a tissue, or less than a piece of cloth to sneeze out the dirt from the nose. Awful was his dream, because Bart could feel it as well, even if he didn''t wanted to see those things happening inside his head. First, Bart only dreamt of black, a lack of image that happens often in the head of those who dream. They all are meant to be forgotten, or just to be barely remembered; if there was something pleasant to Bart and his eyes, then that something went into that void, to never come back.
Alike Lenneth, since on these kinds of dreams, she would often appear on the thin air, if there''s such thing as air in a dream. Bart still breathed, but less than he did back on that day, when those feets had to walk some miles. It was the task given to his to see if the enemy was approaching, but they all retreated, or never appeared, to be fair. That wasn''t fair, because Bart was ready to put an spear into someone''s, to see them bleed, scream... Black. There are no mountains, beaches, waterfalls, or even his own home... just black. At least, Bart was fortunately glad that Lenneth wasn''t there. He never had any bad dreams with her. He didn''t wanted those kinds of dreams to come to his sight. Black.
Then, the curtain opens. Up, down, turn around. Please don''t let me hit the ground. Bart tore the darkness, with his own bleeding claws. He found himself in a room, maybe home, but nobody was there. Only that room, a table, chairs, all empty. Outside a window, rain felt backwards, and Bart could see a man, and gray snakes around his body, or so he saw, before he came to realise that those snakes were jutting out of that man, as some few Burmecians clapped. One of them, a woman and a child, looked alike his own mother, pregnant, and Clyde, maybe he was also there too. Mother, or some woman that looked like his own, lifted Clyde, or some other kid that looked like his own brother, from the ground he stood and gave him a kiss, not on the cheek, but a mouth kiss instead. If that was already a reason enough for Bart to wake up already, the more they clapped, more the snakes became angry, as they began to eat that man, who turned out to be an alexandrian cake. They all spited on that manure, before a carriage moved by a man with a chocobo''s head came, with the Prince, and Sigurd, the persons inside looked alike them, or so those gold and silver armors wore told it so for Bart, who dissapeared from that place.
Thankfully? Maybe not.
Then I saw a mushroom head. I was born and I was dead. Black. Bart blinked, and he couldn''t see nothing, but black. Then, suddenly, he was inside the Burmecian Palace. After his own father''s funeral, he decided to stroll around that place, before a guard interrupted his with a spear, not allowing the little Bart to enter further into the royal grounds. Clyde was there, dressed alike a Royal Guard, smelling alike fish stew. His feet were soaked as if he took a bath before he came to be there, only him. Clyde, was he? He didn''t even recognized his own brother, as that bastard made a little cut, enough to bleed a single finger of that child. The walls were so polished, alike a clear mirror... He''s going to kill me! He''s going to kill me! What Bart heard coming from the back of his was an adult''s voice. It sounded alike his own father, he was a man with a beard, as saw on that wall, dirtied by the blood of Bart''s finger. It was Gizamaluk, or what Bart imagined him to be like whenever he, as a child, had been told of his tale.
Kill him! Kill him! That Gizamaluk said, as Clyde came behind his, to slap a fish on his own brother, and its scales flaying the skin belonging to that face. Tastes like fish. Then, everything turned into black. Crimson. I''m gonna give my despair! I''m gonna give my despair! Red. Some sort of light came before Bart, lying on a dinner''s table, Jack was sitting there, sticking his tongue out of the mouth, trying to lick his own ears, because daddy could. Bart had a pretty large tongue, and Jack was hungry. He pointed at the darkness, above his, where lizards tails had been hanging on some hooks. Jack is too short to reach them. You have a pretty yummy tongue there! Said a voice, belonging to an eyeless Burmecian, carrying on of a scalpel raised to shine before Bart, alike that light, and that skinny shape, of that figure, he didn''t knew who he was, but at least, it wasn''t Lenneth, since Bart couldn''t see those eyes and strands.
Kiss the floor. Kiss the walls. Kiss the door. Turn again. That rat could even cut the thin air with that sharp blade, alike how Lenneth did moved that spear. He ended up cutting his own tail instead, who fell in the ground, as Jack came near that thing to suck it alike ramem, or a raw worm out of the ground, it was too dark to see. Gulp. Bart ate his own tongue, and sweated more than usual. That tail suddenly crawled away from Jack, like a gray maggot, digging holes into the ground, until it screamed. Bart, for some reason, still could close his eyes, and now he stinked. Some poppy flowers sprouted of that fertile ground, that pile of shit he stood into, naked, sweating, eating eggs, the rain being his own way of relief of that heat. Clyde''s head could be seem floating into the stream of Kinneas, and that face of someone who sucked a fresh lemon as well. Run! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Run! Run!... Hi daddy. Bart was then grated by his own son, Jack, who, with a carrot on his hand, killed as many Basilisks as he could. Soon as Jack pointed to the last petrifier he took care of, a crow came to eat of that rotten flesh, then it died, as a lot of Burmecians stood on a row to drink of a soup being prepared on a black cauldron.
Crow! Crow! I hate them! I HATE THEM! Jack was hungry. Bart too. Daddy was naked, so do the King, but nobody cared about, since they didn''t noticed of that awful scent, who disappeared as soon as that body had been washed by the rain and the scent brought by Bahamut. Prescott came before his, alike a Cleyran, but since Bart only knew about the female dancers of that settlement, Hyuuga was wearing a beautiful Cleyran dress instead. Jack laughed, as soon as Bart told him to be more respectful with that Cleyran. He stopped laughing, after seeing his daddy''s face. They were the last ones to be in that row. A weevil crawled into Jack, whom that infant''s hand grabbed and put on that mouth. But that bug wasn''t enough for his stomach. His fingers looked alike sausages, but how could you hold of that Carrot if you don''t have any fingers, or so Bart said to his. Awaiting... How strange. Lenneth wasn''t there, Bart thought, but her helm was being wore above Jack''s head. Dan became a member of the Onion Knights, so why can''t I be a Carrot Knight? Jack replied, shedding a tear. What the hell is happening there? Bart thought.
Dead bees on a honey cake. Cheese with extra vermins. Fungus growing on a bread. Veal. Those were the foods given for the three when they reached to the end of the row. The only one who didn''t ate anything was Jack. Wasn''t he hungry. Bart, Hyuuga... anyone else ate with a single swallow. Lenneth... the child said, and then, paused. She... is... hungry. There was a hole on that helm, as usual. A single piece of cheese were put inside there. Soon, Bart saw a tombstone, standing near the one belonging to his own father. Here Lies... Eleanor Crescent? Her mother? What the... her mother is dead? Bart began to sweat, and to stink as well. Daddy, can you please hold her for me? Jack said, as he took that helm, a Dragoon''s helm, out of his head, to grab a piece of cloth, dyed in crimson. It seemed like a meat wrapped by the local butcher, Bart thought, until he holded such thing with an only hand. It was so tiny, and it had a heart as well.
A heart? Bart could feel it, slightly moving, so did Jack, and its shivers. Frightened by the look of his eyes, Bart unwrapped that cloth, only to reveal such to be a doll, made of same cloth as well. No, that wasn''t a doll. Could it be? Bart only saw its tail, a tail made of flesh. This ain''t a doll. Less than an infant, wrapped around a red velvet, lied Lenneth, so tiny, alike a bean seed; without a mother, that thing, that being soon would die. Please, hold her near the chest, Jack said,¡ädesperately shaking, enough to squeeze water out of his, alike a tree''s leaves does, when shaken by the wind. She is beautiful, isn''t she? Hyuuga asked, now wearing of Prescott''s clothes. Close to his chest, Bart could feel himself warming up Lenneth, on a same way Jack did by putting her on his head. Ohhhnmnghn... A strange sound, alike a moan, could be heard.
Bart looked to ''Lenneth'', and she made no such sound, or any kind of sound. With those ''eyes'', dark globes alike a fish, she didn''t even blinked, alike a doll. But a moan still could be heard, near them. Behind the wall, an Ironite, whom Jack killed, he was so proud of it, was still alive. A crow then came to eat of its flesh. The crow died, with a single meat taken to his mouth. Bart asked to Jack how did he killed that beast, whom Jack replied with poison. The tip of the Hruting carrot could be seem, green was the colour before it became brown by the red. A hunchback wearing of a black cloak came near same black crow, to take it with a hand. He was the same who gave those foods for all Burmecia. And now they wanted more. What about a dragon''s soup? The cauldron, black as well, had been filled in by flesh once again. Everyone made a row once again. Like autumn leaves, like the rain pouring down, like Lenneth''s mother, they all fell down, on a row like dominoes. The man, under that cloak, turned out to be an alexandrian, who only spoke a word. I''m going to show you... Black.
...
?David Bowie - Moss Garden?
...
¡ª ...Hnng... Ohnngh... ¨C on his bed, Bart sweated, moaned, shivered because of the cold coming from outside, yet no one could hear his. Except Prescott, who woke up and stood near that bed, sitting there as well. He awaited for Bart to do the same as his own eyes did. The look they gave to that man, however, couldn''t be the same look Bart would be able to give to Prescott as well. Sweating, with the heat going away from his, alike same nightmare, Bart woke up.
¡ª What an awful nightmare you just had ¨C Prescott said, with his both arms close, fingers wrapping into each other. Bart, looking at the ceiling, still laying above that kind of pillow, above same kind of bed, heard those words. With his legs numb, he awaited to reply with some as well, but not before he grabbed some air to fill in his lungs.
¡ª Huff... Huff... You don''t even know the details... ¨C Bart said, or tried to say more. The breathing overcame his words as a whole. He briefly looked to his leg, covered in white bandages, more than his own wounded arm, except that his arm didn''t had such crimson pool in the middle, anymore. I had been bitten by an alexandrian Antlion, he thought, but since Prescott was there, and that tea as well, he had no worries. Lenneth may had some, but she and Jack will be alright...
¡ª I do know. Painful, wasn''t it? ¨C Prescott asked, as if he knew what Bart dreamnt on such night. And what caused such nightmare to happen as well ¨C I don''t need such details, but it seems that you''re worried about your fatherhood...
¡ª What? ¨C above his chest, Bart found his own blanket, messed up, yet it kinda resembled a wrapped cloth. He once holded of same cloth, where Jack used to lay while being holded by his father''s arms. Such resemblence only seemed to be on his own mind, but since Prescott was here, he knew what that meant. Talk about the man who knew of Bart''s own father, the once Major Brandford, so closely, even closer than mother.
¡ª Don''t worry. There is nothing on that cloth.
¡ª Yes. There is nothing... Nothing but a shell ¨C said Bart, as he lifted up his back, still sitting on that bed, naked. Prescott, as well. They both woke up, in the middle of the night, the beginnning of a new day, but all days seemed the same. Uncomfortable to be wore, those outfits, soon as the morning sun came from the horizon, once again, would be wore. And how much sweat comes when they are wore, underneath the sun, above the sand. But those were the least of Bart''s worries ¨C I don''t know if Lenneth is alright. I don''t even know how much Jack grew up during these days. I just want this to be over soon. Not me by any cost, but this mission, this battle, whatever is this. It''s meaningless to keep standing in there, without doing anything, but hurting yourself. The enemy, if there is one, rarely comes out of nowhere, only to disappear into same. I don''t even know for what reason we are fighting for...
¡ª ...Your father also thought the same ¨C Prescott, or Hyuuga, said. Bart didn''t knew anymore how to adress his by, since he wore nothing, but the skin given to his ¨C I also thought the same too. But see where I am? I bet those alexandrians do not even know why they went from those lands above to the desert below. They despise Burmecians, as much as we do with them. Despise enough to make us travel such long distances, only to kick each other to someone''s death.
¡ª But why would these alexandrians invade Cleyra, if they did nothing wrong?
¡ª Nothing wrong, you say. Well, the Cleyrans had done something utterly wrong. Do you know what? They were born, Bart. That''s a reason enough for an invasion ¨C Prescott said, as he kept looking at the hollow, althought his body still layed inside that same tent.
¡ª What? So it''s because they''re kind that the alexandrians despite them all? ¨C Bart asked. He was about to fall asleep again, but not in the middle of a conversation, and a talk that seemed important to his, and Prescott as well. Both had been sharing of that same tent for what seemed to be a month, yet the only time that do mattered for them was the time to go home. But why would they go home, instead of protecting such? Hyuuga, still sitting on that bed, had two homes to shield, one who seemed to bear a threat that not even the sandstorm and the beasts who lie in that giant trunk could''t counter.
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¡ª It really doesn''t. It''s kind of irrational, as much as it is the whole of our fears. Look at me, Bart. Can you spot something out of me that distinguises me, a Cleyran, out of you, a ''geniune'' Burmecian, besides the cloth? ¨C Bart then looked to Prescott, or Hyuuga, he didn''t knew how to direct to his, withouth excluding of a name. Maybe Mr. Highwind, but that sounded too formal, and they knew each other already; only the surface, but that didn''t meant Bart needed to drown further into that person. Which cloth, if both wore nothing, but the skins, fur of same color that remained since they were born? Aesthetically, Prescott looked the same as Bart, althought the height and weight of both slightly varied, alike that flaxen hair, and there is also an orange ribbon tied on that tail. So, Bart had nothing else to say, but...
¡ª I don''t know. You look almost exactly as me.
¡ª Yes, half of me does. Well, we Cleyrans are alike yours, Burmecians, because we are the same people, but with different beliefs. It''s a fact that the ones who founded of a settlement above that tree trunk were Burmecians, who rejected of being such in ''nature''. Not only these people, followed by Aquinas, founded of such sect that later would become Cleyra because of the taste the Burmecians had, for a war, but the fear as well to be overcome by such war, to become ''war'' as a whole. The only way to avoid such fate was to start where everything began, to cleanse the soul before it has been cleansed by blood.
¡ª So, the alexandrians do not care if the Cleyrans reject of our traditions... they are still Burmecians to his?
¡ª Yes. There are some of us that do not believe in a deity above or below us because our eyes never saw such thing, only our ears heard of such. The same for the rich ones that do not believe the poorest ones exist, under their tables, pillars that sustain of their foundation, and for women who can''t even if they looked at themselves, without any mirror to fall into. For the alexandrian eyes, and the nature that surrounds both, A Burmecian is a Burmecian, no matter the place he calls by home. Althought we live on a settlement atop a trunk, the Cleyrans do not even share of a country, a Kingdom to be called our own, but a desert, a wasteland like this instead, once the same place our ancestors, all of them, were born.
¡ª But, unlike many of our ancestors, the Cleyrans do not tolerate of same violence, right?
¡ª Yes, they don''t, until they become the same as before. We, and our culture, may have survived the test of time, even until now, but I do wish I had a God like you, Bart. Even when I became what I am in nature, a Burmecian like you do, I still feel that I am not a part of the whole; a whole, in clothes, and in general. Cleyrans do not believe in such God, like those who stood in the rain do. All we, I used so to believe as well, was that the sandstorm could protect us from the outside world, the Burmecian world. But, after all, we had been Burmecians all alongs; without the rain, without the Mist... They are Burmecians. Always had been, without Bahamut, or without any violence. Even the Cleyran history as a whole is sustained by the fact that we are the same of your kind, since the ''main'' culture generally, often do impose of its people''s history, rules and beliefs on others. Same for the alexandrians, and the wounds left by more than our claws.
¡ª But they also left some wounds on us as well... ¨C Bart said, looking at the same nowhere other than the Highwind''s face. Prescott knew why and what wandered inside Bart''s mind. One was a father, the other was a friend of his; They both had shared of moments with that same person. Taken away from both, and many more. Too young, they would say, or already late, a few would think. That was the Major Brandford, before his gray skin become the same as his tombstone. He had chosen of this same life. He knew the risks. One took a fair amount of time to believe in it so, while the other had spent the entire childhood without questioning of such things, until that youth was over, as he grew older, and colder.
¡ª A body who had been let in a tiresome routine is easy to be dealt with, but a weary soul... remains weary. I still recall how much your father, felt tired on those times, and yet, he kept fighting, with more than a broken finger. Some would say he was stubborn, which I may had agreed, before I knew him. Younger than his, yet older than his own sons. I knew everyone there, besides the Major. I wasn''t only a soldier, but a practician whose strenght was on the White Magic I''ve learned, thought such had been gone for a long time, in change of a spear, and a needle on the other hand, alongside some sedactives prepared to be drank as a tea ¨C Prescott briefly stood quiet, as he began to cuddle, going fetal with his both feet and arms ¨C if I... still had the knowledge of such Cleyran magic to heal that leg and bones of his, he would be there. Many lifes would, in this world.
¡ª You may be right, Prescott, but I don''t think you should keep blaming yourself. I also did the same many times, and yet, nothing changed.
¡ª Nothing changed... When you look too long into the abyss made, the abyss looks back through you. And you start wondering which one fell deeper into each. War and its uncertainties, as a whole, are part of the lowest and darkest rift where a man could be fit into. Those who soon would become Cleyrans feared that such void left by the war, whom the Burmecians of that age appreciated, filled in their souls, as an entirety. Some would bet on progress instead of regress, but what we all do share of a singular desire is life to be lived on a way which leads to prosperity. Many ways lead to such, so these people had no other choice, but to go away further from their own selves, in order so to develop a new society, a small settlement with a hundred people, not before they made for themselves a god, a defense unit for their, let''s say, territory. What sustains the sandstorm, besides their belief into such''s strenght, is the Desert Star, the same crystal the founders of Cleyra took from Burmecia-
¡ª And yet, another war had to happen for the ownership of such crystal to be possible... ¨C Bart said, as soon as both stood quiet. One had the blankets to offer of some heat, comfort, while the other remained losing heat, althought that position had another effect on his. Security can be found in those claws, as much as insecurity can be found on those doubts.
¡ª From the disorder, began the chaos; and from same chaos, began the order. As much as you can make an order, to put every adornment around a dinner table, you can create the contrary, in your head, or with these hands whom your thoughts are also tied with. The mess that is a dish, and the pieces of meat scaterred across the wooden surface, beyond the dish and its limits, it doesn''t matter how much careful you had been, you''ll always find yourself in a sort of turmoil. As if a crystal given by those alexandrians as a gift for your Kingdom wasn''t a turmoil enough, it was the beginning of such. The Cleyrans believed that the crystal carried on a curse, same who had been inflicted into almost the entirety of Burmecia''s population, resulting in many deaths. The power of the Desert Star also wasn''t enough for the King itself to handle, so the Cleyrans demanded of the destruction of such, resulting in a civil outbreak, and we already know who won. As it turned out to be, same shard of crystal has now become the main source of the power of that sandstorm, whom they pray for their security.
¡ª And do you still pray for the sandstorm?
¡ª I don''t. I may not share of any god to hear of my prayers, yet I still wish the safety of those whom I love. You must be one of those who do the same as well, althought Bahamut shall grant you of his strenght; same he did for your father, and I tried as well to find of his name in a way so I could find a relief for my failure, not as a Burmecian or a Cleyran, but just as a being ¨C Bart looked at Prescott, Hyuuga, they were all mixed up. A same person with two names, and two homes. Whereas Cleyra is his homeland, Burmecia and its rain had washed away the smallest trace of sand belonging to his. The Highwind one didn''t even shed a tear, but his words were enough to tear off that matroska skin.
What should I say, or ever think, Bart thought, and remained into such. He was tired, as much as the Prescott he didn''t knew that much is, standing on that side of bed. Another one of those nights, Bart recalled when back at his home, unlike Lenneth; while his duty was already over, the one belonging to her wasn''t. So late that the gray clouds turned into dim, unlike the pale of that face, same for those purple ones, hidden by the mess her hair usually became, and there was Jack, also a mess, crying because of such, with the only way found of his on such age to call others. The only word so far uttered from that mouth was ''Pa'', or something alike that. When not crying, or speechless of any attempts of words, Jack usually would be feeded by a breast, soon he would be feeded by a spoon, gray alike Lenneth. Was that really a life to be lead, or a life demanded to be lived? If so, why both insisted to be there, to share of a same house, same bed, same son, even thought one wasn''t even there, only on weekends that had been gone with an entire week of work, and duty that means work as well.
¡ª ...This failure ain''t only yours. To live in failure is something, but to accept it, to admit defeat, is another something. You can be called by coward, but as soon as you accept that you had become such, then it''s over. Life as well, unless you''ve created of a personal goal, still there, not in ruins. Cleyra is still hanging on, even after these centuries, right? So, why don''t you go make a visit there? I wish I could see my home again, even if it was for an only frame, and to be so near of it as well... I wish I could do many of the things I had done back at Burmecia, you see.
¡ª Well, there are many things left for us to do. I wish I could do a thing, for both sides. I have been doing so much for Burmecia, yet it isn''t enough. So much I had done that it became nothing. Everything, anything that means of my efforts flew away, like sawdust blew by the wind coming from many mouths. I have been sending cards to my family, telling them about the places I went, the people I knew like you, and also how much I miss them, as I try to express my feelings in words better than the way this face does ¨C Prescott looked at Bart. So much alike his father, he thought. Yet, only one seemed to be there, alive. If it was the father, or the son, he didn''t knew who. They were both, and not the same as well. Bart looked throught that face as well. There wasn''t a void in there, only shadows, who persisted unlike that brief smirk, which denoted a sort of angst, yet a kind of happiness that could be found even on a child who had lost a tooth. But Prescott hade lose more than something who fell out of that mouth, besides the words.
¡ª At least, you can tell for those you love what do you fell, and in return, they also hear you as well. It took some time for me to understand the words of father, of anyone else, because I was a child. I knew that father would be gone, but not forever since that day. They tried to ease my pain, but how could them, if they treated me as a child? All his riches were taken by the Kingdom aftewards the death... Just say that he is dead, don''t make me believe that he would return, just let him lay in the ground. Those are the effects of words, such words into me. It took me time to speak something, because they all spoke to me, so much that I couldn''t do nothing but listen, and keep listening, growing of fake hopes, fake expressions, and fake words. I don''t know what father would say if he saw me like that...
¡ª ..."Water ripples are known flow into the same surface, althought the directions taken may vary, yet a ripple remains the same"; that''s what he would say, or already said to me. Same goes for you, and those whom he cared about. Bart... You may not be alike his image, but that you are his son, not only in blood, or in name, that sure seems right. I may be older than you, yet I am younger than your father was, and young as I do, I also had made of many mistakes, and good choices, some that I didn''t even had the will, but others do. If by a mistake, a misunderstanding, or a chance to do the good, Cleyra has become the youngest of the places founded by the sentient beings of Gaia. It ain''t even a nation because of how small and isolated it is, but no matter how small, a ripple remains the same, if they are in a puddle below in the rain, or an oasis in the middle of the desert. Restless are the Burmecians, and peaceful are the Cleyrans, and their good vibrations...
¡ª So, why don''t you go there go there to make a visit, Hyuuga? ¨C said Bart, now reaching his hand near the Highwind''s shoulders. With his numb foot still bandaged, he didn''t payed that much attention for such limb, or even cared about both of them wearing nothing ¨C I wish I could do the same as well, but not that the Cleyrans would deny of my entrance in there, they would never do such thing, but it''s because we and Clyde... we are far more occupied than yours. Not that you had been doing too much for us, sure you had been, but this opportunity you have gotten is priceless. Besides being there for their protection, which we seems to have been fighting for as well, you can also meet your relatives, even your sister once again. As soon as this is over, I''ll also do the same, but then, I wonder, still I do keep wondering how much time it''ll take for that day to come.
¡ª ...These alexandrians. They want to achieve the Desert Star at Cleyra, and take it back into their hands, Alexander''s hands. He ain''t even a god, but a knight who became a deity; only a few had of such fate. Seeing how much my homeland had become the main threat instead of a land so far from this Vube, you may be right. To do nothing only makes such aching inside us to increase, ain''t I right?
¡ª Of course. It may be a temporary relief, like the poppy tea I''ve drank to take out the pain of this leg, but a kind of relief is better than any worries followed of more worries, those that soon become of more despair to be dealt with. When we grown up, we start to understand of such things, that we need of the other to make us feel any better, without the demand of loud cries, thought it becomes harder to spot those in trouble. That''s one of many reasons I married a Dragoon Knight, because they know who''s in trouble, or who isn''t. althought they may fail sometimes, but that''s our nature after all ¨C Bart said, so near of Prescott, Hyuuga, a male, he didn''t cared. To feel so near of someone was enough; to talk as well, any better. With Clyde instead of father, less were the conversations alike that, and many were the pushs of those hands, who also cuddled of his, and lips who kissed of his as well.
¡ª Well, Bart... I admire that we both had tried our best to solve of the problems by perchance. We may feel slight better than before, but it seems our worries still persist. They''ll always be there, but as long as there are people in this world, whom we can be related, they disappear, for a short or a very long time, but it''s better they do, if even for a single day ¨C Prescott said, as he turned his head to Bart, looking at him as if he had done something wrong. Not wrong in a way it deserves a punishment, but something off that just happened, as told by the slight uplift frown on his face, and a smile as well. Hapiness? Not by a chance. That is the same smile that belongs to someone about to make fun of another ¨C but, Bart... poor Bart. I''ve never thought that you would be that lonely. Sure, you can kiss me, right at the cheek of your choice, but not in the mouth. Not even a mother kisses her young children right in the mouth, you know.
¡ª Heh... Come on, what are you talking about? You didn''t even spit-
¡ª And why would I? Besides wasting some source of liquid out of my mouth for a silly thing alike that, it may had been, it was an desperate act of yours, I understand it, but you sure kiss well. That may had been another reason of those about why Lenneth decided to be with you. And you aren''t that of a random stranger to me anymore, but you are not enough an acquaintance of mine for so our relationship could harden like that. Sheesh... I''m sure that you''ll miss me in the morning, but not even Clyde would do something like that. If that was an demonstration of how much I mean for you, fine, I''ll accept it, as much as I had denied to spit. I''m half-Cleyran, you already know, so I''m not that kind who holds a grudge against others, but I''d rather let a fly go inside my mouth and chew one of its wings if you had put that tongue inside me. I''m glad that you didn''t.
¡ª It''s not that I wanted to do it, but I had been planning to do it so. So many plans left for the future, and we don''t know which one should we choose ¨C Bart said, as soon as he began to lay his head above the pillow, and to blink more than he does, when looking at the sun, and its black spot. Prescott stood on his feet, as he stood and layed on his own bed.
¡ª We already know the choices. Just don''t be overhasty, like you did with those lips of yours. Good night.
¡ª Same for you.
...
XXXIII: Lead A Normal Life
?Peter Gabriel - Lead A Normal Life?
July 10, 1778
...
Society as a hole. It''s insulting how an alexandrian soldier came right at my back. We fought, as usually we did on random encounters. That''s what happens when you go five or more miles away from your tent. Looking for danger, you street rat? There ain''t no single street on this desert, only the trails and bones left by any animal who lives there, except the Libers, who are known to not let a single relative to be eaten by the desert, alike we all are struggling to not let such thing to happen. I didn''t even knew that fat''s name, or face, since it had been hidden by that helm, unlike me, whom he didn''t knew, yet my face had been shown to his, thanks to the sun, and thanks to this idiot, who dropped same helm belonging to this fragile face in the grounds. That helm almost sinked as it stood atop the dune, alike how he broke my spear as I used its wooden part to protect me.
Heh... It sure worked, though, he broke my spear, but not my claws. I would like to rip that bastard''s face, if he hadn''t fled like a... forget it. Even a young chocobo and its beak are far more dangerous than that shallow figure. Pathetic... then, I threw my dagger on its leg. Sure, he had to fled, but at least, he ended up tumbling on those dunes, letting some sand pour on that wound belonging to his. I''m sure that father is proud of me, seeing how much of my efforts I had brought into such quick battle, alike these same legs, whom I didn''t put to ran away, alike that coward. Before father returned to the army, whom he enlisted with same age as me, althought I only assigned those papers as an easy way to fled from that place, by hobby, he was a timber. To chop a willow down is as easy to cut some grass, with a knife, or with the teeth as well. Mother always told for her sons to eat vegetables, and grass green like that couldn''t had been only used to be stepped by our feet. Bart know it, because he swallowed some leaves belonging to that ground. Against his will, not against mother''s will, ain''t that right, Clyde? Yes, it may be. Bart didn''t seemed to agree with me, even on that age, but he always agreeded for whatever mother said to his, father as well, even thought he was already dead. A tombstone, gray like he was, was ergued, like he used to do every day, from that bed, that sleep he shared with mother, to do some work.
Nipples... they do not have any function on male such as me, besides of making us remind other people than ourselves. A brief carreer as fisherman, that happened to mainly stabilish the amount of gil given to his pockets, as soon as Bart, and other three, were born in sequence. Father needed to feed us, since we couldn''t, no one can eat wood, except those termites who ate our crib. So, he needed to feed as any mouth as he could, mainly those tiny mouths, tiny unlike those yells thrown by little Bart to mother, that poor thing. Me as well, but mother endured more than she could; well, more than I could, if I was the father of that thing. Thankfully, I had been chosen as his brother instead, a sort of father if you''re older than the young one. Of course, I had to be older than Bart, and to take care of his as well. My brothers as well, but mainly me, the favourite of mother, or maybe the favourite of father, whom she missed, we all missed him. That kind of validation of being the main child only increased with his sudden death at the field.
But I knew I wasn''t the only child of the family of Burmecians of my kind; with those pants stinking like shit and pee, even grown up to be five of age, phlegm flowing from that nose, a yell so painful that I''d rather have enjoyed letting the wax grown up to relief my ears, or to let a tomato slip on that mouth, to shut it for good. Maybe it wouldn''t work, seeing how much Bart had been hungry, he would just swallow that fruit, even without the teeth needed, only two instead of thirty and something to make a jaw. Only me seem to have thought about Bart on that way, since mother called that thing, besides the name Bart, by ''adorable'', or by ''cute'' instead. Not even I am able to understand mothers, mine and Cynthia as well. Same also happened when one of my sons, maybe the little one who came... Aoife, right? I don''t care about the name. Well, she cried a lot, but since that thing was my daughter, though I wanted a son instead, but that shared of me, so I and my ears let it pass. It began, it happen and should end soon.
I don''t know if it did ended, since I''ve left home to be here, on this mess they call by desert. There''s not even a single chocobo to take out a single yellow feather from the legs to make a pen and write a card, althought I would also need of some paper, and ink... but, seeing how these moogle messengers only keep sending of tragic news to home, I guess I won''t write anything, just to not scare my wife. Only the mention of the word ''card'' is enough to make someone like her to faint in a second. And what would you write to her, Clyde? These cards are confiscated by thirdies, so you haven''t got a chance to express yourself, like you did in those times. Heh... We were childhood friends, or maybe I just allowed of her presence because I didn''t felt that same anything for mother anymore, nor I did felt the same for Cynthia, only when she grew up, alike I did as well. Not only in legs, but in hair as well. Tied by that ponytail by her parents, until she learned to tie that ribbon by herself, and to wrap some male as well; that is Cynthia, and the sort of hair I like mostly, though I seem to be appreciating of those wooden strands atop those pretty Cleyrans. Sure, I never saw them with the eye, only heard of them thanks to Hyuuga, Prescott, whatever is his name.
That Highwind is gone, not sure where, but maybe he wanted to go to his nearest home. Bart is so sick of that thing that he couldn''t even talk to me in the morning, but now that the sun is almost settling down, and the red seems to cover the skies and my hands, maybe he''ll be alright. But, well, stubborn as he is, I''m a bit like that too, Bart decided to do a walk after the lunch, and he didn''t even ate anything for breakfast; you can''t eat water, or saliva, though. I''m so sick of this too, but everything will soon be on its right place. I didn''t saw anyone dying yet, but many of them, people that I don''t even know, just stood on the beds instead, with those bandagas wrapped around the arms, the legs, the necks... Mostly those injuries had found a way to be there because of ourselves. They keep uttering it was the fault of those alexandrians, but it''s all the fault of those spears, and those who end up harming themselves with such tip, harming themselves, and who wouldn''t, with the weight of that thing, and this dagger who sometimes is carried on by an only hand, but the spear needs of both hands to be useful... anyway, I''m glad that I share of some knowledge from the Royal infantry, even though I despise them, as people.
...
...All roads lead to Alexandria. that''s what they say. The people, the merchants, the stones carved around this continent...
¡ª These alexandrians... ¨C holding of a Gram, the finest sword I''ve ever saw, Sigurd came near me ¨C instead of shooting with those barrel of guns, they now have decided to fight with the old-style, whom Cecil, their commander, appreciates ¨C well, to poison an entire country isn''t that fair, as much as it had been to steal of our powder to kill us with same; who thought there would be some examples of alexandrians that are so stubborn, confident of their own flesh, their own swords, that would reject of their own past, made of the disgraces commited by other''s pasts, that defined us into this now. How much I had been so off of patience... I thought there would be some fights, hand to hand combats, not the ones against ourselves.
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¡ª I wonder why they came to this pitiful place as much as we ¨C I said to Sigurd, still polishing that same sword. I''m not akin to this desert, alike those Libers do. I am a prince that demands of water, althought the clouds used to give it so for free. I want some water to be into my throat, and whenever I am near of some cup, or some glass, I just take it to be into me. I''m sweating, but never that I will drink such. It stinks, and is meant to be like that, though I saw some people in there that don''t mind to drink the own blood flowing from a bitten lip.
¡ª Do the Cleyrans have any defence other than that sandstorm of centuries? ¨C he replied, still polishing that same sword, as much as he used to change my pieces of clothes whenever I dirtied them. Not that Sigurd washed them, we had maids and guards to do it so for us, as much as they had the water of the rain to clean anything. The sweat is the cleansing of the soul, who have found a way to be gone out of this body. Sure, whenever a breeze comes, and with my entire body soaked by this liquid, I feel a sort of relief, but that ain''t enough, since my soul ain''t blown by such air. I can feel the breeze flowing into my body only without wearing such armor, with that heat on these days enough so that I could fry an egg, or even this finger atop such.
That would be funny to see, if I was a child. On those days, I wished I could see the sun on its glory, not that I wanted such to dry me like it did with this desert, but still I keep standing still. Today is a day of movement for these legs. Sigurd and I, we are the few ones who move less than others, as if all the members of our family had the will to sit like a King on its throne everywhere, while others move restless as we don''t. The dinner table is set, but the meals had been struck with our own forks; I thought that I would be killing people with this sword. Not that I never tried such thing, but since the training I had on those days with that wooden sword still hurted like now, but there, Sigurd used to give me a chance to hit his. There is no chance in this wasteland, or any kind of luck, even thought we had been spending all this time elaborating a plan, a strategy to scatter the camps around this place, like the tribes of ancient times...
I''m hungry, but I have to do something, other than ask for food. Sigurd used to feed me with the tip of that Gram, hoping that I could turn into a knight in the future. Well, I''m wearing of its same clothes, and sharing of an only sword, like a knight does, but... there is something missing. A knight can''t harm the peasant, can''t harm the priest and its followers, peasants as well, a knight can''t harm a lady, a dame, a woman of any age... A knight can''t harm another knight, except on a joust. There are a set of rules for everything I do, and sometimes, I am the one who makes of my own rules. Anyone does, but nobody else follow of them, except when you are a King, or a commander, or a father, like Sigurd does. He ain''t a King, but that he ruled over my entire life, Sig sure did. Same for Edgar, my brother, who''s a King as well, but nothing alike father; the father whom I used to share of same flesh, and only.
How did I got into this mess? Sigurd says, and keeps saying that these soldiers need of someone tied to the Royal family to make them all feel recognized by such efforts, a sign of being near the masses, instead of walls secluding us, even if they lead themselves to more than slight injuries. A man I met once lying in a bed inside a tent northwest of here was glad that I was there to see his, and glad as well because he killed an alexandrian with his own claws; though that head of his was almost cut away from the neck, he gave a smile as well. I''m sure that I''ll never forget his, alike the others I saw too. A sort of nightmare that it''ll never be forgotten by this mind...
...
¡ª Weird, isn''t it? They seem to be popping out of the sand, like antlions ready to suck our leg''s blood... ¨C I said to, well, there it is, our Highness, the Prince, whatever is his name, other than Gabriel. The child my father knew about, and so does Sigurd, once my commander, still he is, even into such dry place. I''m not sure why, but I saw a helmet sinking in the sand, same for the person who went through it.
¡ª There seems to be a ladder in there ¨C he said. Of course there would be some, don''t you agree? As our Highness stood in there, like a statue that he should become someday, my head... damn, this helmet is frying my head. I''ll take it out and... no, I''ll need these fingers for later, unlike those alexandrians. Without them, they wouldn''t be able to climb up the ''ladder''; we can''t see it because of the sand siking in the hole, but I''m sure, alike the Prince, pardon, our Highness, that there is something in there that serves as a device of climbing. Like, these alexandrians can''t jump that high, as much as a Dragoon Knight does, or a toad as well.
¡ª So they had been dugging some hidden tunnels into the underground? ¨C I asked. Not even I could dug such hole as big like that. A worm wouldn''t do such thing as well. Damn, these men sure are smart, or submissive enough to do anything for their leader. I''m sure that we could do the same, though many of us are injured, mainly by ourselves, so I guess that would be impossible to do, in time. Time?...
¡ª That may be the main reason of the current water shortage on this area ¨C the alexandrians... they came out of the muddy hole, and now they are stealing our water too? Wait a minute, Clyde. This doesn''t make any sense. Of course it doesn''t. But maybe...
¡ª ...You know, my Highness, that everything takes some time to be done, even bread. So, this means that the alexandrians had been around this desert even before we came in there? For what reason they should do it?
¡ª It may be part of their strategy. ''Deception is the key of winning'', isn''t that the same thing mentioned by Gizamaluk centuries ago? ¨C in a short, yes. That''s the first thing I''ve learned back when I was a Royal Guard. Still I wear of such blue, but once a Royal Guard, always a Royal Guard ¨C I think we should report this to Commander Sigurd ¨C yes, I nodded. So, let''s have a talk with that Sigurd, shall we? It''s been a long time since I didn''t shared of a talk with his. Even when I was a child, he was there, like anyone else, on father''s funeral. I met with his when I went strolling inside the Royal Palace to find Bart, who left the scene without moving a lip, but how much he moved those legs. I also wanted to get out of that place too, but not without mother, or without Bart.
A young Prescott made a presence there, I guess it was his, sure he looks as young as I do, even though he is as old as father was, when he died. But I didn''t knew him already, only when I grew up. Same for that little Prince, this same one there; we never had been friends, still we don''t. He was there, hiding as a silhouette behind the shadow of Sigurd, holding of that leg taller than his, and where else to hold, other than those hands so high alike a vine of grapes? Bart''s finger went slight cut by a Guard''s spear; maybe he could have shouted a single ''you aren''t allowed to be there'', but words are meaningless when you hold of a spear in your hand. ''Don''t put your finger in the mouth''... unless it has been cut. I didn''t had any bandages, maybe Sigurd had, but well, whatever. At least, we were sure that he wouldn''t hurt us, but at least, lead a hand, as much as he led a leg for the Prince, to the nearest exit, our mother, of course.
What a pain of a child Bart was. Even grown up like that... at least, he is quiet as usual, unless when he starts to complain about those headaches in the morning. I had nothing to complain, because ''deception is the key of winning'', right Giza? Who said that he became a monster? Only a beast that knows how to eat its prey without its knowledge knows of those wise words. I also had chosen of many words throught my life, and mainly them lead me to this place, and others places as well, such as the Palace, Mother, Cynthia, and I also tried to visit Lenneth, but a gray stone in my feet blocked my way. I stepped over it many times, and yet, such thing gets stucked with me all the time.
Why is it so pleasant for me to share of a Bart like that? I don''t know. I am older than his, I am taller than his, I am clean like his, yet he''s as kind as I do try to be. Maybe he tries to be the same as me, or father, who knows. Who knows why he had gotten there, on that tent as well...
...
XXXIV: Stjarna
...
¡ª So, how are you doing, Bart? ¨C Sigurd asked to me. It has been a long time since I didn''t met his on this way. Well, there was a check-up made by his and the Prince some weeks ago, as they went throught all the tents, but allow of this closure, and privilege to sit on this wooden chair once again... My head feels like it''s going to explode. This heat, this sweat... this urine; they are drying me as a whole, alike that tea did.
¡ª I''m fine, my commander ¨C I said, even thought I ain''t that much to be considered as ''fine'', or even ''well''. I''m not sick, ill enough to be put in a bed, but I can''t keep walking like I did before anymore for this day. I still wonder when the last day will come, Sigurd...
¡ª You don''t seem that much of fine to me ¨C he said. I expected him to say such thing already. Well, he is a commander, and he knows what each soldier feels with the eye of experience. If they are tired as I do, confused, angry, doing a sort of mockery, even if such is hard to spot at individuals like Clyde, and happy as well. There are many mays to shed a smile, as there are many ways to bring happiness, but such vary with people, althought it''s clear that nobody I saw, or never saw, is happy, or sad. The sweat falling from the faces makes it hard to spot some tears, unless they had gotten the tongue to tell it so ¨C ...you''ve came here to tell me something, didn''t you?
¡ª Of course, my commander. You see-
¡ª I know it already, Bart ¨C Sigurd said, as he did that gesture with the right hand, telling me to stop. Even before he did that, I stopped to talk, as if that hand was there, even when I was a kid. A sort of shiver ran into my skin, and I don''t know why, or maybe I knew why, and I didn''t wanted to knew what that fist could do to me. A slap? No, that wouldn''t be prudent for someone like Sigurd ¨C ''they seem to be pulling out of the ground like carrots'', right? No, you aren''t wrong. Many like you came here to report the same as you did. With enough evidence, sharing of similar results, the truth rightfully arrives to the mind, althought, it''s still not clear yet for me to know the reason why those alexandrian soldiers are running underground...
¡ª This place is a desert, commander. It ain''t nothing alike Burmecia, so everything changes... ¨C I said. My head dazzled, but I didn''t cared. Now I care, because I wan''t to puke... Sigurd knows by seeing this throat, and so, with the look of that face, I refused to do it so. I must be the heat, I would blame if I could speak clearly. I can speak, with the expressions, but they seem to reveal nothing new for Sigurd. who saw many of us reduced to offscourings, or handled of such hand to ease the pain of same process.
¡ª Everything changes... no, things do not change, Bart. Everything seems to happen again and again, althought slightly different than before. I see you, and the name of your father upon you, although you don''t seem that much alike his. Of course, because you are younger than his, a son of his like Clyde, but the blood is the same. You are growing a bit of a beard, as it seems. It may be dangerous to use the spear''s blade to shave your neck instead of the beard, don''t you think?
¡ª Yes... I''ll be more careful ¨C I said, as if I needed to say such thing. Agree to your commander, that''s what Clyde would say. I agreed to Sigurd''s advice, and I would do it so anyway, with words, or with nods made by the head. Good soldier... Sigurd seems strange, and how strange was the way he talked to me. From commander to soldier, it seemed strange, but to closest friends, or even brothers, it was just a small talk. He knew my father, besides the title of Major, so I guess a son of my father doesn''t mean anything else to his. The things do not changed... what does ever that mean? Well, I''m still a Burmecian since the day I was born...
¡ª Sigurd! ¨C I heard a shout, the owner of same name as well, coming from outside the tent. It is the Prince, alongside my brother. The guards let both in, since Clyde shares of father''s blood, and because the Prince was close of his. It was the task given to his, after all. Geez... my head hurts. If by any time I closed these eyes to allow the pain to be gone into the emptiness of the black...
For an instant, Bart closed his own eyes, due to an awful headache. ''Headache'', and ''awful''; others would say these words to simplify of such condition, who only seem to have worsened for Bart. The pain is felt, even after the midday sun had been set in the horizon, but still Bart was sitting there, on that chair, without even falling, or thinking to do it so there, or anywhere he had been gone.
The sand seemed comfortable on his face, until the though of a scorpion being there came into his mind. If Bart ever fainted there, Sigurd would be here, and the Prince, Clyde as well; three options with same arms to be lead. How long it has been since he sat on a wooden chair, he thought. That tea, the least of all the things that Bart could blame it''s lose of balance, ure is something else to feel that numb... a sort of numb, ants crawling the legs, and so gravity began to work again, same gravity who lead a puke out of a sailor''s throat. Your eyes remind me of the sea, because they make me sick... No, Lenneth wouldn''t ever say such thing. How long had Bart been filled by such kindness? And violence... A slap came into that face; Sigurd''s one. No, did he?... Of all the people to deliver such fist upon that face, even Clyde there had enough reason to do it so, althought not understandable, but the Prince? Less so. Everything had a reason to happen, or to be blamed into something so there''s a reason for such to happen. Blame God for the rain.
...
?Depeche Mode - Stjarna?
...
¡ª You... Gabriel. How could you?... ¨C Sigurd asked, or so seemed to had asked, with a voice covered by the arm of his. Foggy eyes, the nose of Sigurd bleeded, althought none of his bones broke, as tiny drops of red felt above the armor wore by his. With the touch of his warm hand upon same warmth of the nose, as the blood who once dripped from its cavity was being cleansed ¨C you only did this because you are the Prince, didn''t you? To share of such power... just so you know, this fist of yours did nothing to me, but your status allowed it so to happen. Lenient as I am, I''ll be awaiting for you to explain yourself... ¨C he said, still erect on his feet, same for the spear
¡ª I hope this doesn''t get any personal between us, Sig, but how could you? Traitor, scoundrel, filty... these words aren''t enough to define you, and your acts, am I correct? This fist of mine who had hitten of your face before means nothing, compared to what you had done... Sig ¨C Gabriel came in this same tent, saw his tutor, a figure, that belonged to then entirety of his youth, and gratefully punched his. The blood seemed to be gone, unlike that frown belonging to the commander, who demanded of more explanation. It wasn''t enough, for both. The Prince without a crown had no reason to cry yet, or to show any signs of being the weak one.
¡ª And who said it so to yours? My Highness, you couldn''t have taken this information, a rumor who shares of this bad taste towards me from the thin air, and to claim such as the ''truth''... That wouldn''t be a wise thing to do, would it be? ¨C Sigurd asked, as the Prince whom he took care ever since he was an infant, reckless like now, stood there, in front of his, instead of the back, on both feet as well, unlike Bart, still sitting on that table. With his eyes closed, Bart still he could hear the talk between them, not as much as Clyde could hear both cleary, standing on his feet, with a mouth sharing of some brief smirks, though he didn''t seemed to be the one who spread of such rumor for the Prince, even after a bit of closure. No, for the Highness to be that upset, Clyde wouldn''t be that enough of a piece of information to be trusted, and besides, he just wanted to see everything burn, scorch like his feet and the sand between his toes.
¡ª As much as you let my fist to be delivered in your face, you showed me of your plans as well. Remember those papers? Trance, isn''t it? A massive power that supposedly comes out of our inner emotions. or so past legends tell them so for us. Suspicion came into my mind, but that wasn''t enough of evidence, maybe you''ve burned it afterwards, but you can''t burn people and hide their ashes so easily. Never you would, because you need of the many soldiers as you can, or could gather with the activation of the patent of those who enlisted in the army by compulsory enrollment, all belonging to the army reserve. You did this before, and had done it again, for the same purpose...
¡ª Interesting. Tell me more... Did you said something about Trance? I admit that I''ve burned such documents after you saw them, there is no need to hide such fact, irrelevant as it seems, but please, look once again to your words. Those are serious accusations, and defamation against me is a serious crime as well. You won''t have your hands cut, because we aren''t animals like the Vastitas used to be when alive, but if you weren''t the Prince, you certainly would receive of more punishment than the capital one. So, what is my purpose? Is it... to achieve Trance, right? Or is it another slander? And who told it so for you? Was it Bahamut, perhaps? ¨C the tone of Sigurd didn''t changed a bit, only the amount of words that came from that mouth. Bart just felt asleep, Clyde thought, not even being close of his own brother to do a check. The eyes aren''t that enough to say if someone feels good, or feels bad. And Clyde wouldn''t miss such thing...
¡ª The ''wind'' refreshed the sweat of mine as a breeze from the morning, Sig ¨C so it was Hyuuga who confessed to his prior the homecoming, was he? And our Highness had been awaiting for this moment all along? Where''s the bread? Clyde thought, and only. That man was miles away from that tent''s distance, and miles away of height as well ¨C by claiming a civil war, you had the right to take all the men needed for your plan. Prescott Highwind, Major Brandford, Arc, Fei... just to name a few. Even father was there, with you. The two wars, counting this one, shared of the same goal in common: Trance. To achieve Trance, you needed to make a war, a place that isn''t a place, where the layers of fantasy mix with reality, confusion into the minds, the Mist blinding the view, same for the light of the desert''s sun... the perfect, flawless state of a deranged person, overexposed by suffering, deprivation, and the innermost of emotions flowing into the skin is enough to make Trance to happen, or so this theory you''ve made states it all.
¡ª Excellent ¨C Sigurd briefly clapped with his both hands. Clyde only watched, without moving a lip, seeing how much the commander had been attent to the Prince ¨C to think you have come this far, only in words, but, it saddens me to say such thing, but there is a flaw in your argument. Now you should be the one in grieve here, my Highness. Sure, with the power and influence I hold, I could have called as many men as I could, but why would I call same men without an excuse? Are you pretending to tell me that I made this war, no, these wars? And against the alexandrians? I hope you can explain it so, or else, I''ll deny them all, and I think you should rest for a while too, my Highness. Covered by dirt like that, it must had found a way to pour inside your mind. You look as dirty as many soldiers here, and I am sorry if I did offended you there, Clyde. My dear apologies shall be grated to you as soon as you take care of your poor brother, if you please ¨C once a Royal Guard, always a Royal Guard; that mantra from before echoed inside Clyde''s mind, besides some offensive words towards the commander. Nobody can read minds, but Sigurd sure can hear faces, so Clyde just moved his ass and came closer of Bart, who seemed dead, but that neck and it''s vein still pumped, a bit slow than usual, but still a beat.
¡ª If mother knew you became so elusive and so filled in by secrets... ¨C the Prince said, with his head still looking front to front to Sigurd. He dared to look at his feet, as he used to do whenever he had done something bad, resulting in a punishment, often that kid would be grounded, but the walls surrounding of that Palace for an eternity, same for the rain who poured outside the window, always seemed to ground his, and Sigurd wasn''t needed to do it so all the time. If Gabriel avoided to look at that face, that frown, then everything would be over, and Sigurd would have a complete, total control, and guess what would happen next? No, nothing of sort would happen against the favour desired by the Prince.
¡ª Elusive? Maybe. Filled in of secrets? Who wouldn''t? I ain''t not the only person here restricted by such. You as well also counts, Gabriel. By the looks you had been giving to me since that day you looked over my documents, an image burnt on your mind until now... I can still see clearly the shock of those pages upon your face. Frightened? Do you know why you are the Prince, to begin with? All the conquests, victories, this easy life of yours, the same life brought to your brothers as well, it was all thanks... to your mother. My sister, my younger sister. She needed to be young, after all. It''s part of our tradition, isn''t it?... You may recall what Mr. Highwind told to us back at Gizamaluke''s Grotto: ''Materia can''t be destroyed''; I never thought that such statement made by his would be so truthful to believe into. If nothing can be destroyed, either it''s transformed into something else, or transferred to another place. From sand to glass, and glass to tiny shards alike sand, the Cleyrans and its descendants are the main proof of such statement. You need to pour some heat to make the gold turn clean, right? Althought the Cleyrans do not accept of a Burmecian identity, they still had been conservating of their natural essence; the essence of being a Burmecian.
¡ª So you... you are a Cleyran? ¨C Gabriel asked. He was shocked, not as much as Clyde was, after seeing for himself the tearing of those thick layers belonging to that matroska doll apart, like slices of onions itching more than the view of both eyes. Bart, on it''s state of darkness within the view, heard of such words, but they didn''t meant nothing for his, because he didn''t shared of strong ties with Sigurd, unlike the Prince there, who shared of same blood belonging to his uncle''s sister. Uncle... he never called Sig by such name, as far as he could remember.
¡ª Yes. I am a Cleyran by birth, per se. So do your mother, Gabriel, or used to be before she came to the arms of your father. When Cleyrans decide to stay at Burmecia, they still kept their traditions learned since children, but most of them disappear and change with the time, and the place to call home, such as the peach dresses once wore by the women and other clothings made to be wore into dry places, not on a Kingdom obscured by clouds. Those who belong to the rain are Burmecians, so do the ones who had gotten outside of it''s refuge, no matter the time or centuries it took for their return. As soon as the Cleyrans like me return to Burmecian, we become Burmecians as a whole once again, as our ancestors once were proud to be. That''s what you call by ''convertion'', ''baptism'' or whatever word of your choice that makes things easier to distinguish between each; even elements that share of a kinship into blood are included as well.
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¡ª Sigurd... How? How could you? You are a Cleyran. Of all the people of this world, and you are the one who proposed a war against Alexandria... ¨C Gabriel said. Still he couldn''t accept many of the things told by Sigurd, as much as he was reluctant to prove it was that same person who began everything; this conflict, this suffering, even the Prince''s own life by the cost of another ¨C you... you, as a Cleyran, had the knowledge of White Magic, and yet, you haven''t used it? I know that mother couldn''t because of her condition, but you, so near of her... For the sake of being a Burmecian, you refuted to save the life of my mother, your own sister?
¡ª You can''t cure mortal wounds, or people at the blink of the death with White Magic, as much as you can''t ressurect the dead with a single dosage of Phoenix Leaves. All I could do was to accept it was all over, same for your mother. If this may sadden you, then that''s fine. Your suffering, same for this this anger as well, are temporary, and they won''t last for a lifetime. Do you know how does it feel for a Cleyran to die and be buried in such a place once meant to be home? To be taken from the warmth of the sun to be placed below the rain, and its coldness, alike the people who belong to same lands? To let you discover the world on your own, to let you walk with your feet in the garden''s mud, same earth she now stands below? My name ain''t even Sigurd, but a long forgotten name that stood in that trunk, same for the long roots still hid in the underground. I do not feel as a whole, but a half of what once was broken. That''s the main reason I''ve ''returned'' to Burmecia, alongside my sister. From single flies to steps above sand scorpions to later be almost swallowed by a Zuu''s throat before I cut it from inside; I, as a Cleyran, was a sinner, but as a Burmecian, such acts were acceptable in order to assure of a self-defense, or so what comes close of the so called ''natural essence of being a Burmecian''.
¡ª So, because you are a prideful bastard that you''ve began this conflict against those alexandrians? And not on your own, but with a hundred men on your disposal, Sig? ¨C Clyde asked. He had been kept quiet by his own thoughts, until he found an opportunity to squeeze a bit of them out in words. Bart woke up, but still he could only hear some words, unlike his brother, who spoke some and was ready to hear them all clearly ¨C that''s what I call by teamwork...
¡ª Betrayal? How can this be considered an act of betrayal, when the King himself allowed of such act? When a soldier lose its hand, but survive for example... to where do you think his life goes on? Answer is dependable of the way it happened. If the soldier had lost its hand on battle, then he is forever regarded as a brave one, but what if he lose the hand by accident? Accidents don''t belong to brave people; these accidents belong to the careless ones, cowards that don''t deserve to attain such glory. But here, on army, even the worthless pile of puke can become a saint for the children to pray of by each morning they woke up earlier ¨C I understood. I won''t pray for you then, or even eat of your flesh to acquire your powers as well, Clyde thought. He only set a blaze, that was already put out, unlike the fire that was about to burst alike the heat of those feets covered by sand instead of rain.
¡ª So my brother Edgar accepted what you had been doing all this time? Father did the same as well? For what reason?
¡ª My Prince... do you why the alexandrian beings fight against the Burmecians? They all fight in order so to acquire a sort of territory. However, there is no such territory, yet humans and Burmecians do want such. And how do an entirety acquires such territory, how do you convince the entirety to live on same territory? A ruler above them all is the clear answer. One ruler, and thousands to follow of such. A ruler can''t make all the people, civilians of his lands, to kiss his own feet. God comes before all of us, but which one below God to rule us? The ¨CKING¨C is the entirety, and the entirety is the KING and its ¨CDOMINION¨C over the lands, or should I say, the ¨CKINGDOM¨C made to be his own. And how do you sustain a Kindgom? With power. And Influence. Power is Influence, and Influence is Power. See, you''ve got these muscles around your arms and legs, this body; given enough training, any kind of being can learn to move their bodies on mysterios ways. And which way more mysterious than an erect being, holding of a spear on an arm? An extra, and sharper, tooth, to pierce throught the skin, the flesh of the soon-to-be meal. Wonder why a King''s crown tips are sharp, alike blades, atop his own head, made of gold, valuable because of its rarity, unique to others by its strenght, durability, same for the fur of argento throught their skin? Do you need any explanation to understand such?
¡ª Ughh... ¨C Bart woke up, uttering a sound as if he was about to puke. His head hurted, being hammered by the unrecognizable noise of a few words he soon would understand. With his face upon the shoulder of Clyde, briefly before he stood on his feet, somehow, althought his column wasn''t fully erect, because side of his had been towards the left, oscilating between the right, the balance of his as an entirety wasn''t alright, neither it belonged to a vagrant on its sleep. Working so hard lately, only to get beaten up not by the enemy, but the words belonging to Sigurd...
¡ª ...However, a King can''t rule on its own. The weak, the fragile ones called by soldiers, guards, knights... they are what sustains the table. Such thing you call by cooperation is nothing but an excuse for another to be equal to another. The Cleyrans are weak on their own, still they are weak as a group, same for the Burmecians, the alexandrians, unless they had gotten of more than their claws in the hands. Not only spears, but drugs, opiates, sedactives extracted from many sources, anything who shares of the purpose of relief, including the poppies stain running down into Bart, and many soldier''s bloodstream. Like a ratio given to a hungry dog after a hunt, these tea had been prepared for those avaliated by their efforts, also a sign of gratitude for the Cleyrans. The one responsibe for it''s exposure was Hyuuga, or Prescott for those intimate of his, and so do I as someone who lived at Cleyra for a far amount of time than his. We agreed that a sort of relief attained by a dosage of an opiate was enough to less the pain brought by those near the death. It was one of the few things belonging to the ancient Burmecian that the Cleyrans had preserved until now, before such tea was replaced by a less tranquilizing, but bittersweet chai.
There are side effects, as you can see on Bart. This Bart. Fortunately, they didn''t passed already, thought they weren''t on the brighest of the days, but still he had the will to fight against anything who became a menace to his family, the Burmecian family. The Poppies, and the sedactive extracted from then, given to yours... or was it only given to a few of yours? While one had been in bed, comfortably numb, dreaming of whatever your mind makes you see, good or bad put aside, would someone other than you also received of such treatment as yours too? Or, would such wounded one had been taught to believe he was given of same tea, same warmth that freezes him as a whole, but in reality beyond his mind, beyond the comfort of the entire crew, who share of same tent, same nationality, same skin, and for all this time this individual had been given nothing instead, but hot water? Water instead of the sedactive... You all are taught to believe in someone, even a deceptive one, because of a thing called by trust. And who more trustful than a soldier like you, or a Dragoon Knight, who is far more trustful than a soldier like you. Unfortunately, they can only be found inside the boundaries of Burmecia while on duty.
If you make a Dragoon Knight, for example, cross into what we call by bad neighborhood, with its raised pike with a sharp tip above, would they still remain bad? Coca leaves apart, well, here is the truth once beneath the ''truth''. Dragoon Knights do more than kill a few Ironites. They do kill people, dragons of our society, individuals who commit of such bad behavior, only for the sake of their own survival, their own territory, themselves. We had been deceptive for a honorable goal, I had been acting and giving some deception to yours because I carry on of such honor, and with deception, however, comes the lies. Truths beneath the truths, now, Bartholomew... should I answer you if those cuts at the back of your wife are the same ones made by the jaws of the Grand Dragoons, Bart? Would Lenneth really tell you the desired truth of her heart for you, instead of avoiding the damage, as Dragoons are taught well to do? And you? Would you really tell her that you only stood on her side, even had to stab on her back before others could do, dirtied by the stain of your portraits, to satisfy your own selfish pleasures? That you both had been living such pitiful lifes all in order to attain such thing you agreed to call by happiness for both, that only lasts seconds, minutes, only you two together, and nobody else?
Many questions were raised after that speech. Bart, Clyde, Gabriel... They just stood there, quietly listening to those words. No such interruption happened, not even the interference coming from outside the tent. There wasn''t any flow on what seemed to be an endless talk, but a harsh stream coming out of that mouth. The Prince just stood like he did before, awaiting for an opportunity already proven, yet incomplete due to the demand of a way for Sigurd to justify of his acts, while Bart and Clyde stared at his. More than the contempt, their faces had been filled in by a blank state; if it was anger, or grief, both, something unrelated, no one knew, same for many of the revelations told by the Sigurd who took a chair to sit. He seemed to be the only on there tired of his own words, whereas the others only sweated, or maybe they cried, but who else to tell other than the man without a tongue? From the cause of the harsh dazzling in his head, to the slight mention of his dear wife; things had gotten too personal, thought Bart. To shout a ''bastard'' wasn''t enough, nothing seemed to work, as nothing came out from their mouths, only breaths, a sign that they were still alive. The words also had some effect on Clyde, a solidary effort of his in relation to his brother, besides allowing of his warm shoulder for that head to be placed. That''s what father would do for his...
¡ª ...This ain''t the end of the trail for today, Sigurd ¨C said the Prince, the only who could move an inch belonging to the lips ¨C there are still a few questions unanswered by you. You are willing to answer them, I know it, it''s your nature as a loyal advisor of father. So loyal of his that you''ve brought an entire conflict, you did it again, only so to prove something. I don''t know what it is cleary, but it is something related to Trance, isn''t it? There is nothing between us to make a boundary anymore, Sig, so put it out.
¡ª Well, if you won''t insist anymore, then I shall tell it already. The feud between us and those belonging to Alexandria had been lasting for centuries, since we met and poisoned of each other. Some fellow members of a sect converted themselves into new people, the Cleyrans, only so they could fled from the horror and taste of blood from another gathered inside our jaws. The sandstorm holded by the power of the Desert Star and the prayers is what protects those people from the outside world. Meanwhile, the alexandrian forces, whom I''ve called upon throught a card, full of hints that guided them all into this same desert by the knowledge restricted by my position, are ready to put an end for those who live above the Yggdrasil, and retrieve of that same shard of crystal once given centuries ago for the Burmecians, unless we do something. Between the pain of a leg to the effects of an overdosage of poppies, between the violence and the inner peace; Trance, my dear Highness, is the perfect state of the living beings. Wealth and surplus, poverty and famine, not an excess, or the fault of what''s needed, but something in the middle, a balance that sustains both. If the Desert Star is either taken by those alexandrians, or by the Burmecians, if the Cleyrans will come to Burmecia to find some refugee, if some may end up dying in the process... I want to see where everything will lead into, no matter the possibility. Though I may not be able to see it happen for too long, in this age, I want to rebuild Burmecia, to make its Reunification be possible once again.
Silence. Nothing seemed to move inside that tent, as everything stood still, alike the furnitures belonging to the trunks of wood, who used to breath when alive. Those who remained there were still alive, as they breathed, though the dead, moribund ones shares of an ounce of air before they are gone, as they rest above a table. Sigurd didn''t left no such question to be answered, but only answers for the many questions raised before. Those were the questions, the doubts belonging to the Prince, and they were over, unlike the look of that face. To call such thing by noble, or pitiful enough to make a swallowed spit share of some flavor... who else to clarify of such matter? Bart and Clyde still stood there, like children lost in the middle of the debris, even thought they were already over for the looks of Sigurd. Suddenly, a horn broke into their ears, and the silence of before was gone, unlike the heartbeats. Outside the tent, the orange sky of the dusk looked red, and the sand was about to turn into same color as soon as the shadows began to march. Gabriel only came near Sigurd to take the Gram with his hand, as he came out of that place. They needed someone with that blood and royalty to assure they weren''t left alone...
As for Clyde, soon as Bart opened of his eyes, fully gazing them towards Sigurd, he left his own brother in there. He may had abused of ours until now, but at least he let our families free of such. Free? Our families, left at home... Isn''t this a kind of abuse? But there''s only a way for such to be over, the nearest of them all. I want to be so near of them, not only Bart, but that one with the skin crawling up, that kid with the gap, damn, I forgot their name... I don''t want to be forgotten by they too; those were the thoughts belonging to Clyde. Bart stood inside that tent, same for his commander, sitting on that chair, hearing the people from the outside as a hymn of victory, or defeat, the chance may answer later.
¡ª Bastard... ¨C Bart said, and only. He had so many things to say, and so many things to think about. The veins seemed to be there, on his neck, and a blade would soon come out of nowhere, only to tear them apart. The thoughts of murder were denied, and reserved for people other than Sigurd.
¡ª Bartholomew Brandford, I am not the only one you do have the need to kill. If you, by chance, kill me, then what will you do next? After all you had been fighting for their sake; for the sake of your people, for the sake of a father not here anymore, for the sake of children you had been awaiting to bring to this world so you won''t be forgotten by anyone, except those who accepted of your higs, your lows, all for the sake of being loved, and for you to share of such love. You would even die for their sake, won''t you? You own something, right? No, you don''t. You, like many Burmecians, alexandrians, those from Lindblum, they own nothing, but borrow it. Your house, your food, your money... Not even families are related by blood, but finances. Your father did died, was willing to die, only because he had a family already raised by his so he would be remembered for generations, and so did the father of his, who instead of dying in the fields, found on a cold bed his way to give up the fight.
¡ª Bastard ¨C Bart uttered, once again, slightly changing the tone. His both fists were kept close, but without any skin other than his own. The sheath were his blade lied all along seemed empty, and dry as well. What such rage would change, besides the position of those vessels?
¡ª Bart, Bart... What does the Mist and the scorched earth had induced you? Was it anger? Sadness? Loss? Anxiety? Either if you kill me with those sharp claws, or anyone else does, I still will be regarded as a savior for all our people, even when I shall be kept resting on a warm grave buried by a shovel made of the finest gold. Yes, they will give me the medals of honor for such honored person I was, and still is as the tale yet to be told describes. Our children will see this same way, even your wife may think this same way. If I killed you right now, guess what would happen? Nothing. Nothing bad for me. Now, if you are a good boy, and if by any chance the alexandrian''s death wing flies into you, I''ll gratefully reward you, given how courageos was you, Bartholomew Brandford, even though I won''t ble able to put a medal in your dead chest. You deserve it, right? With the power I hold on, I can make your entire legacy so far to be written as a tiny scratch of ink in the middle of a black page.
So be it. Everything will soon be over, Bart thought. But nightmares always seem to appear after the dinners watered by fat. And meal.
...
XXXV: Battle Of Glass Tears
?King Crimson - Battle Of Glass Tears?
...
¡ª ...You shall do the ritual dance, Niamh ¨C I said to my sister, as I''ve looked with my eye throught the telescope, who had been made by these people so they could look throught this sandstorm, the same old dust of ages. It didn''t happened already, though if it happen sooner than I''ve expected, I don''t want to see anything. I''m not a mere witness, but someone who is there to give some aid for this people. This sandstorm is the only defense against the invaders, besides some beasts born into this trunk. Ephemeral defenses, all of them ¨C the sandstorm seems to be weakening, and our prayers aren''t enough to make it stronger ¨C their prayers, you mean. I don''t believe in it anymore, but they do, more than I could before. If I believed that this whirlwind of sand could protect my people, I wouldn''t even be here on first place. Not even I am able to fight the invaders on my own if they reach there, even if it means that I am the only one who''s carrying of a spear, a dagger, and sharp claws.
¡ª I know why you''ve came here. You didn''t missed me and mother only, I see ¨C she said. I could see that she was a bit shaken, not as much as I do. Was it because I was the only one there who had a blade lying inside this sheath, or the only one with the intentions to ever use it? This I don''t know, like many of the things into her mind. Niamh may be my sister in blood, and that''s one of the fews I know, or I''ll ever know about her. We are even, somehow poles apart, too much apart. This place seems out of the time running from outside this dusty curtain, yet I have spotted a few moogles delivering their cards, mostly written by the distant relatives akin to father and this me''s lives. At least, you could have written something for your sister, don''t you? I could have done the same for mother as well... ¨C the strenght coming from you and only may not suffice
¡ª I know it. The strenght of Cleyra also comes from you as well, and those who still believe in the strenght of this sandstorm, unlike me... ¨C I said. Nothing can trespass it, except those who are willing to do it so. Animals do no have a will to achieve a dry land, or any other place where there''s nothing or any favourable condition for their breeding. Yet, sailors travel throught the seas, the wastelands like the entirety of Vube only to find what is buried below, but anyway, we all end up buried to reach the above, but some do it earlier than others. That''s what they meant to call by evolution, yet we are still behaving like animals, or rats fleeding from an eartquake. Father''s name may be on a legend, yet what does ever that mean? Only a few succeed, while others disappear, or share of a mutual meaning lost by anyone else. It doesn''t matter the name, just the position you are. Even above this trunk, I am found below the clouds, never that I''ll reach them, only with those moments I shared with Sophia that everything seemed so easy to achieve, like her hand, and her trust, and her...
¡ª If the rain of this Burmecia you had been living is meant to be eternal, so does this sandstorm, don''t you agree? ¨C Niamh came near me, or so did her hand upon my shoulder. They all seem to do this to bring some comfort, only for this body. I didn''t even looked at sis, as I only saw barely a sight of her, or what seems to be a piece of her dress. Kinda like a withered flower, or a blossom upside down, still lively like her. I may have agreed a long time ago, Niamh, when I was a kid. Now that I grew up, I have no one else to believe into absolutely, althought I call some of them by friends, relatives, wife, sons... these are just names meant to be taken by everyone else, as if absolutely the first word coming from many mouths is meant to be ''mother''... That was the last word I''ve uterred here at Cleyra, before father took me to live beneath a steel sky.
¡ª The ceremony will soon begin ¨C in person, the current Priest of Cleyra, Reverend Blaine came over us, or maybe just for my sister. He is as old as father would be today, if alive. And Niamh pretty much looks alike mother, back on those days. Barely I remembered her, until I saw my sister, and her children as well. One of them is called by Ivo, the others one also had their own names, though it''s to recall them all. Six of them, only one that I''ve remembered by pure luck, or just by the look I gave to his mother. He was so close of her, now he''s somewhere else, wandering around the town as much as I''ve used to do.
I guess this will be the only day I had ever been able to see them, not only remember those faces. Faces... The crowd that used to be at the market is gone, but the people belonging to this place, this trunk who never had gotten rotten, fortunately are still there. I recall that on same street, among the crowd, I saw his for the first time. A young Sigurd, or Eithrig as he used to be called by, was there as well. I didn''t knew his, neither he did knew me as well, but as soon as we grew up, we began to grow a sort of relationship only because we were once Cleyrans. Only once, until we became what we were meant to be all along, or so he intended to say. I won''t be able to see it. I''m sorry... I tried to say these words to Niamh, but she''s gone. I decided to follow of her trail, also left by other maidens there, until I''ve reached to the front of the main cathedral. Why am I doing this? I''d rather stay away from this cold, I don''t want to see anyone bleeding, I''m worried about sis, I don''t have any excuse, so I just don''t know.
There are things meant to be remembered when on sleep and to be forgotten as soon as I wake up. How long it took for me to be awaken from this slumber without ever hearing the rain from outside the window? As soon as I enter inside this place, holy grounds belonging to same bucolic ambient, I am able to see it from there. Atop the ceremony''s harp, lies a small shining like a jade crystal. That is the Desert Star, whom the alexandrians are willing to reclaim on their own. Same crystal is what sustains this sandstorm, for a brief period of time. For a thousand years, this dust went flying over this trunk like a spiral staircase, and not even once it had disappeared from the sight of these people, as much as they also have disappeared from this world''s sight as well. These people, not that crystal who once belonged to Alexandria. Year after year, a ritual dance is meant to be done in order to assure of it''s power, since nothing else is unable to control or even generate such thing as the sandstorm of outside, a power subsided by the gods, some would say.
The same dance made on those times when Burmecia was one; maybe it was half already, always had been. A Kingdom made of half people, yet they look all the same, but as soon as we grown up, we become recognize not only because we are alive, but becauses of the job chosen to be done. And also because of the differences between the grounds, some are covered in dirt, others are clean like porcelain; This place is both dusty yet calm, alike that same dance. From left to right two times, right to left once again, middle, chords, a spin, chorus, outro... repeats. So simple it is this way to a sandstorm become so powerful. Gracefully, these maidens do the dance so they can still remain alive. I''m also carrying of a spear for this same purpose, although the results are not as clean as a single steps done by them. Man and woman... they belong to the same pieces of a jigsaw. It may be hard to fit all of them together, but someday, each part may fit with another... I feel complete, yet incomplete, empty. This emptiness may disappear from me, but soon it''ll be all over me, not only in this sight.
¡ª I thought that you wouldn''t be able to see my dance ¨C finished of her duty, my sister came over me. She looked at me, and noticed how I was, as if I was ready to lie to her, or just tell the truth, with speckles of a lie. ''Of course I would be here for you. If, at least, I did the same for mother when she was alive...''
¡ª I wouldn''t, if I couldn''t believe in your own strenght... ¨C I said. It wasn''t meant to be this, but sounded and shared of same intensity. And I wasn''t lying. I may not even believe in myself, but I do believe in the others. Some others, like I used to do with the Major, or his son. Still I do, and that''s one of the main reasons I am there. The another... I''m sure that I''ll miss you, sis.
...
They were friends. Their hands clasped onto another, until all the colors bled into one... Plenty of movement. My legs are already that tired, yet I cannot stop moving. A hundred men, maybe fifty by now. I know only fools set the rules over this squall world. And fools are those who obey of same fools. The image of an ideal father succumbes and vanishes, slowly fading away from my vision as soons as wer''re attacked by our enemies. Something told me to awaken as soon as I''ve stepped into another fool, but I didn''t noticed, because they all sank into these dunes. As soon as the sky changed to a crimson belonging to these hands, their eyes changed into a pitch black belonging to a barrel, or a mouth filled in by tar. Walking around the blood section, as if we had been stepping into the clouds belonging to this same sky, or maybe we became them, by the gray ingrained onto our skin. A world of skin, where wounds are red like the velvet wrapped into our necks. A splinter once came into my hands, like his jaws, his teeth. Thirty two of them, trying to eat of this flesh belonging to me. Twenty five... Darkness covers my view as the Mist of before and noise enshrouds my ears. With this stain in my hands, I see a butterfly, once a giant caterpillar who ate the leaves of an entire tree, flying like a moth coming into the light. Unlike birds, they can''t fly into the rain...
Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain... Ain''t gonna rain...
...One... One, two... One... One, two... One... One, two... One... One, two, three, four!... One... One, two... One... One, two... One... One, two... One... One, two, three, four!... One... One, two... One... One, two... One... One, two... One... One, two, three, four!...One... One, two... One... One, two... One... One, two... One... One, two, three, four!... One... One, two... One... One, two... One... One, two... One... One, two, three, four!... One... One, two... One... One, two... One... One, two... One... One, two, three, four!... One... One,two... One... One, two... One... One, two... One... One, two, three, four!... One... One, two... One... One, two, three, four!... One... One, two... One... One, two, three, four!... One... One, two... One... One, two, three, four!... One... One, two... One... One, two, three, four!... One... One, two... One... One, two, three, four!... One... One, two... One... One, two, three, four!... One... One, two... One... One, two, three, four!... One... One, two... One... One, two, three, four!... One... One, two... One... One, two, three, four!... One... One, two... One... One, two, three, four!... One... One, two... One... One, two, three, four!... One... One, two... One... One, two, three, four!... One... One, two... One... One, two, three, four!... One... One, two... One... One, two, three, four!... One... One, two... One... One, two, three, four!... One... One, two... One... One, two, three, four!... One... One, two... One... One, two, three, four!... One... One, two... One... One, two, three, four!...
...AAAAhhh! WWRRRRAAAAAGHHRRRRYYYYYYAAAA... A wall of noise raing into my ears. Cacophonies... Now I can''t hear nothing, and why would I? I can see the stain, my own, belonging to this stomach, once covered by an indigo outfit. It''s so dirty that I can''t even tell which color is it now, and so dark this place have became as well. Dark like this soul, this desert remains cold without a sun. The rain of home is so cold... So cold is the tip of his blade, so cold the look of his eyes, so cold I''ve became as well... But not dead. The bastards laughs before choking itself with a cut belonging to his own sword, whom I''ve took out of his hands. They still remained attached to such sword, as much as we remain tied into another, by love, or hate. These two ''things'' do not exist in here, althought we are still tied, by something other than the judgement upon our hands. So unfair, isn''t it? The only force who seems to be working here to make us stop is the gravity, and the weight of soulless bodies, althought I, like some of they, still stand, unlike this sweat, and something other than my dirt pouring out of me. She''s leaving me...
I am glowing a sort of light, yet I do not feel pure. Never that I''ve felt such thing, such scent, such weariness, and yet, I can''t stop. What is reality, what is illusion, what is pain, what is strenght, who am I, what I have became by other''s hands... Like chickens without their heads, these soldiers remained alive, yet the look of those cavities reveal such empty vessels. I stabbed another in the chest, and the heart stops. I can''t feel it, but I know it stopped, and this heart won''t be able to beat once again even if it remained inside of his. There is one of them behind me. There are a few ways to take care of his. Most of them will result on his death, but this one''s way... a kick is enough to cripple him. It hurted me as well, besides his bones. He ain''t dead, but maybe he''s wishing to be, just like me... I want to stop, yet I don''t want to die, althought I may deserve such punishment, or some great reward. I am another belonging to such pile of puke mentioned by Sigurd, as it seems; I am sorry, father. I can''t feel anything, but shame. And this stain all over me, blending with this sweat, this stinks. I stink...
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''Your mouth will soon be filled in by honey''... Clyde also stinks. Tasted like fish. My mouth is filled of sweat, or something unbearable enough to make me speak nothing, be silent like the wind. The breeze is meant to be calm, to float over someone''s face, and so do I, and these claws. Who else other than me to climb that tree and catch those honeycombs to later grow a beard of bees? Instead of a beard, this random person now shares of some scars on the portrait once called by ''face''. Multiple wounds for multiple faces... No, I am not enjoying this. I am not enjoying this, Clyde. I cannot do this... I can''t... My abstract father... Clyde... Lalala lalala, lala la la la... Lalala lalala, lala la la la!... Lalala lalala, lala la la la... Lalala lalala, lala la la la!... La la laaa la, la la la laaa lalaaa!... Lalala lalala, lala la la la... Lalala lalala, lala la la la!... Lalala lalala, lala la la la... Lalala lalala, lala la la la!... La la laaa la, la la la laaa lalaaa!...Lalala lalala, lala la la la... Lalala lalala, lala la la la!... Lalala lalala, lala la la la... Lalala lalala, lala la la la!... La la laaa la, la la la laaa lalaaa!...Lalala lalala, lala la la la... Lalala lalala, lala la la la!... Lalala lalala, lala la la la... Lalala lalala, lala la la la!... La la laaa la, la la la laaa lalaaa!...
Lalala lalala, lala la la la... Lalala lalala, lala la la la!... Lalala lalala, lala la la la... Lalala lalala, lala la la la!... La la laaa la, la la la laaa lalaaa!...Lalala lalala, lala la la la... Lalala lalala, lala la la la!... Lalala lalala, lala la la la... Lalala lalala, lala la la la!... La la laaa la, la la la laaa lalaaa!...Lalala lalala, lala la la la... Lalala lalala, lala la la la!... Lalala lalala, lala la la la... Lalala lalala, lala la la la!... La la laaa la, la la la laaa lalaaa!... Lalala lalala, lala la la la... Lalala lalala, lala la la la!... Lalala lalala, lala la la la... Lalala lalala, lala la la la!... La la laaa la, la la la laaa lalaaaaaaaAAAAAAAARRRRR!... I swear I didn''t mean it... I didn''t mean to... Didn''t to... No... All I want to do is to forget this is happening, it already happened before, who else to tell it will begin once again? It began... will it ever stop? I can''t tell exactly when, and how. I can only be quiet, like the harsh wind, and these men are all windows. Their shards are resting on my hands... Clyde''s last shards. I... I killed him. I didn''t even had a reason. Coming from the bottom of my heart, I didn''t. Mother would never hear me, father wasn''t there, but I... I killed my brother, the close I ever had of a father... Even if I didn''t, but the enemy instead, I contributed to his death... He also contributed to my own... this ain''t the ''me'' they see on me, but the one whom I''ve kept hidden, they didn''t even noticed me...
...
¡ª This will be the last one, Cecil! ¨C I said, as soon as I''ve jumped in there, the same hole I''ve found with Clyde. I didn''t knew anything about that person, but I''m sure he won''t go unavenged. Not by my hands, but others may curse the life of the one who took it, even if they won''t know who it was. Maybe it was me, who did nothing to prevent this, or Sigurd, who began it all, even my own life, or there is no one else to blame, only the circumstance that leads to another other than ourselves. This ain''t myself... This may be Trance.
...A phenomenon caused by an intense state of emotion, overcoming this body more than the sweat found a way to be fred from such; the shape, the glow abruptly changes my character, once kept hidden. Only humanoid beings whose reasoning had been taken for emotions to be filled into the void left enter on Trance. With imagination, you can do everything... with emotions, you are unable to do something. The berserkir units used to evoke the spirit of animals, and other beasts such as the Grand Dragons hovering around the heights far away from this desert, and the Mist that surrounds the entire continent, except this desert. A massive energy is growing within me, and like the drips of sweat, it needs to be discharged, and when fully out of myself, it naturally ends. How it have gotten triggered? It can be done with the death of someone, the anger comes next, some may feel sorrow, others fall in despair; anything you feel seems more intense than before. Just a single mistake, like I did for not helping this poor soul before it''s gone becomes an immesuarable failure... It couldn''t happen here. No, it couldn''t.
Somewhere, a mother cries for his sons. On another, the assassin fleds, runs away with the weapon who made such crime to be commited. There is nothing there that is alike a crime, but we are all dead. We are all assassins, but some are more assassins than others. Either way, we are all cowards, disguised as assassins. So much easier it became to kill someone... Things do not get dirty, and there is no hardship or painstaking between. The only pain belongs to the victim, but which one is which there? This will be your end, Cecil, or maybe mine''s. It doesn''t matter... My life could had been taken instead of this someone else, whom I wished I knew more than the face, or half of it sunken in the sand. And I have gotten inside there, on an opaque place. From above me, I can hear their screams, yet I can''t feel them beyond these ears. Even if they were mine, I wouldn''t be able to know how does it feel to be cut. I, besides that Sigurd, am wearing an armour, unlike those men wearing of their indigo clothes. Clothes that can be tore apart with a limb... And spears so heavy that there is no time to use it''s tip, but instead I can hear the wooden pieces hitting in the chests, or any other part of the body that is possible for a bone to shatter easily. Maybe the legs, yet I can hear them walk, crawl as well.
¡ª From rat to man, and from man to rat... it became impossible to distinguish which one is which... ¨C the bastard grins like a jack o''lantern... right there. Above me, so quick as the spell made by his ¨C Climhazzard! ¨C he shouted, as if he wanted those besides ourselves to hear of his voice, as if the triumph of his over mine had already been declared. Nothing is that easy, Cecil knows, and so do I, avoiding of that attack, but not without the costs. I can''t move the left arm, never that I did tried to, only when holding of both of them together. Instead of the water of a lake, only mud resides there, and I do fall, instead of stand still on it''s border. Sparkles in the dark... how I''ve used to see them before I felt asleep. Not now... I can''t fall, or even be asleep, without the knowledge of a morning. I just can''t... I may pretend to give up, because this fight is meaningless, unlike the death that shall come with one of us.
¡ª Why do you insist on this pursue against me? Are you trying to prove something? ¨C Cecil asked, as he came closer, awaiting for me to rise and fight against his, as if his knight code still mattered even for me, a Burmecian
¡ª Then why did you fled to this place?
¡ª ...To lure you here was my intention. I can''t believe how stupid you are, or became. Am I a threat for you to come this far?
¡ª You''ve killed my true father! Your mere existence as an Alexandrian corrupted the soul belonging to Sigurd! ¨C I shouted, as I tried to stand still, but this hand, the left one... it doesn''t allow me to stand so easily. So easy was to shout to that man, only because I am on such pitiful state... He is the reason father didn''t get home, or ever had the time to be there. That''s what I''ve heard from Sigurd when I stood at the tent, before I''ve tried to left, until he told me so. This is messing up with my mind, who doubts that the fact father died at the tip of this alexandrian''s sword tip may be a lie. But I have no one else to believe into, or to justify the matter into something clear besides this same alexandrian...
¡ª The soul doesn''t get rusty easily alike this sword, and did I killed your father? This doesn''t help. They were so many that I''ve lost count, but now that I see you... you''re nothing alike his. I may not know who are you personally, but I see his onto you... he didn''t took so long to ascend and come at me, without any sword. The one from Lindblum who took this ringfinger out of my hand, alike your father, they shared of the same end, just so you know ¨C ... and did I asked you for that? I threw some mud into his face, unable to spit with my own mouth. No wounds left on his, only on others, and those who came so far to reach that moribund flesh were taken away from those who remained into this world.
A bit skeletical if without that armor around his, once silver but now brown like mine, I once heard that Cecil is agile, but not foreversame for those bones, hidden like a turtle when afraid, but his head still remains attached to that neck, and Cecil isn''t a man to put some fear into. He interpreted that pile of mud thrown into his as a sign that I, already standing still in front of his, am ready. I was born unready, it wasn''t the right time, I could have died there pretty much like mother, but he was there, besides my brother. The smell of the dead coming from that mouth... the scent of every word, the desire of throwing out a puke comes right when his fist hits my chest. It also hurted him as well, or the last remnant of a pain that belongs to any living being. By clashing our both swords, or by hitting that same arm covered by thick metal, I can''t finish it yet. Cecil could easily cut my left arm; it wouldn''t make any difference. Only a scream, but I am speechless. You can''t talk while you''re chewing, or when these eyes like jaws are tied into your meat. The sun has already set, Cecil... when will your life go down with it?
That man is strong, so does his sword. I wonder how I am able to hold such heavy thing with an only hand... I wonder how I am still alive. A snake awaits to wrap it''s prey, a rat like I do with her own tail, slowly crushing each bone belonging to same animal. Cecil can''t do the same, but still intends to give me the death penalty, he always did the same for those alike me, even father. The one who left me for some fights on places like these... they are all dark, like the soul of those who had gotten here, anywhere that may be settled a battle. Enough... does this same word have a meaning there? Did it ever had a meaning? If my brother knew of such, he wouldn''t be sick all the time, before and after I was born. Sometimes, Cecil casts another one of his dirt tricks, by allowing of his spells to make an appearance to my eyes. A spark comes out of his sword, and nearly that it came right throught me, only at my vision after I''ve jumped backwards. Same spells are the same ones that makes us be able to see ourselves on this dark, besides the unnatural glowing of that silver tip, and this silver skin of mine.
¡ª Is it that we want?... ¨C I said. I''m already tired, for someone young like this, and I am earlier than Cecil on any aspect, except the patience. All along, besides some usage of magic, this had been a fair battle, a joust where the spears are all made of iron that doesn''t bend. I can''t take this, I can''t let this last for too long... I just want this to be over. As soon our swords clashed, and remained glued by the force remaining on our arms, an only arm for me, I said it ¨C more pain, more suffering, more grief?
¡ª ...More grief? No... ¨C Cecil interrupted me, as that sword ergued before his own face. With both arms tied into our swords, in front of us, swords being uttered, words clashing, cutting and opening wounds as well ¨C I''ll end it at once. As soon as the blade of Magdalene takes away the live of you, the last Burmecian I caught with my both eyes... whatever is the place that you, rats, designed to be the resting place of your souls, your paradise, the Tophet your god made to send their own children into; anyway, I''ll die too.
...As much as you, and your soul, I am lost. No more that I am sure to where should I go, or to whom should I believe, like before. I can''t even believe on myself, or what I have done, or what I am suppose to do. So, without any hesitation, I''ll feel no guilty into putting an end to you... Manfred. He won''t die before I do, but possibilities can be changed by people other than yours. Same for the landscape. There is another between us that had gotten plenty of damage as well: these walls. We are deep into the desert''s soil, it''s so cold... Not only this passage. I felt the tip of his into my tail, and then I don''t feel it anymore. It felt behind me... my own tail. Like a navel string cut after I was born, and yet, I wasn''t dead like that tail. The one who cut it stood in front of me, a bit tired, but with a smirk on it''s lips, while the ones belonging to me were plain. Same for that tail, and the ribbon who used to identify me, or the ones below me. Cecil... So many opportunities you had given to me, and this face of yours. Not only his lips became smudged by crimson, but only half of his face went swollen afterwards. Like a hanged man, I threw him right throught a wall; my left arm may had become numb, but none of my bones were shattered.
I can hear the closing fanfare playing from his moans. Not the last ones, as they slowly fade away and begin once again... He pretends to stand up, but can only stand on his fours, like an animal does. His hair falls out of the skull, besides the blood inside that armor. I hold of my tail, the only loosen limb of mine, with both hands. It''ll rotten, but before it does, I share of my warmth with the same. The energy inside me has been discharged on same fight, so is it over?... Why am I not glad? I may be, but he''s still alive. If I''ve killed Cecil right now, I won''t be any better than his, and his descendants may pursue me to the rest of their lives, privated of their innocence, of their own time to be spent with people other than the ones of same blood. I didn''t wasted my time awaiting for Cecil on that state, because I had been privated of the main truth. Dark as this place, except a small bit of light... coming from the ceiling. The walls are damaged, and like the skin of an old, they begin to shatter, and come down...
¡ª We''ve got to get out of here! This whole place is about to go down! ¨C I said, lending my hand to my tail, and only. Never that I would give my hand to his... We are even.
¡ª ...And you are the only one here who cares... ¨C Cecil barely said, on all fours, bleeding, covered by mud, as everything above seems to be about to fall into us. I must escape, yet I do not want. Because of this same place I am standing. This place, dark, warm, grimmy, almost hushy of the noises coming from outside... it feels like home.
¡ª No. I am not sure to where should I be, where should I go... ¨C I said to his, this man, this Cecil standing on the floor, knees and arms damaged ¨C you too. I want to fled from this place, all my problems, yet, I also want the same as you do...
¡ª No... you don''t ¨C Cecil said. He tried to yell, but his throat couldn''t open as much as mine did, throwing of those words that slashed more than that chest. He ain''t no more a threat for me, but only this quake, this landslide about to happen, at any moment. It already happened, with both of our souls ¨C you... for you... Reason is the only way to be sure, my son. You have no reason to die, as much as I do have some... Your death will become meaningless... you, Burmecians, are all meaningless... But your deaths, your efforts, your... Are you... feeling guilty? After all I had done, for the cost of more than my own finger... my own body... pathetic. What a pathetic revelation that came right now... pathetic, unlike this death... farewell.
That would be the perfect death, but it only came for his instead. There is someone awaiting for me, other than that hand; Sigurd''s own. I ran to the near exit, but not expecting his. I could, at least, run, but not from Sigurd. How ironic, given that he was the one who started it all, and also the one who seems to be sure of a way to end it as well, given how he looked at me with those eyes. He was the least one I was expecting. I didn''t wanted to hold his hand, as soon as one of the steps belonging to that wooden ladder broke, but without that hand, I wouldn''t be able to hold the ones belonging to those other than his. There are a plenty of them awaiting for me, so I had to be there with them. I''ve left Cecil and my tail behind... We saw the debris falling from the distance, so near like the dust who fled into our eyes. The dust of a sandstorm coming from that same trunk, still there, as well. I didn''t won anything, but knowledge, and angst of the unclear decisions I''ve left home, where I shall be soon, instead of the skies.
...
XXXVI: Let The Happiness In
"Knowledge of what is possible is the beginning of happiness." SANTANAYA, George
?David Sylvian - Let The Happiness In?
...
Lenneth... she''s gone.
She said she would come back soon. What is soon? Is it sooner than I can think? I can''t believe, I just can''t that she left me here, on my own. It''s too dark from outside the window, as dark as it is inside there. The only lightning I am able to see frightens me. Besides the clouds, many houses from the neighborhood had been lit by the candles. I wish I could lit some, but I am a kid, and that''s all. I am not tall enough, not responsible enough, not mature enough; this green I wear is the same one belonging by those green apples, but apples aren''t even fruits, so, I am green like a tomato, and the adults are the eggplants... boy, I''m so hungry that I''m thinking about food. Mine and her bedroom''s are empty, unlike the kitchen, resting on that I walk downstairs, without ever tumbling with my feet on the staircase. I had been walking there so many times, with or without a hand or a lap to guide me, wherever it pleased me, and my stomach. If it wasn''t for these windows, I would be in complete darkness, me and my soul. Do kids have a soul? I guess they do. Don''t know how it is like, as much as I don''t know if Lenneth will be back on my concept of ''sooner''.
The rain is splashing towards the window. I can see it''s curves, and their shadows moving down into me. Who else other than those arms to be down to grab me? At least, unlike the front door, the cabinets aren''t closed, and those fruits above the table aren''t that rotten yet. The bread I took with these claws began to crumble even before my teeth had gotten to bit a small piece of it. It tastes like broken glass, althought my tongue didn''t had gotten cut. There is a pretty red apple, stripped by some yellow, in my hands, a bit mushy on it''s sides, and a bit had gotten inside my mouth... SPIT! Yuck! It''s rotten from inside. The cheese is rotten as well, my favourite kind, but it tastes... like someone''s feet mycosis! Oh, what the hell am I doing!? Lenneth wouldn''t even be that late, only if she had been on her duty, but she can''t, because of my brother. Soon he''ll be there, or maybe he''s already there. Sniff Sniff... at least, my nose ain''t that much clogged up. Thanks, Lenneth...
Maybe she went to some relative''s house, but without bringing me? And what if I stumble across a legionary ant''s raid on this darkness? What would I be after they crawl onto me? What if she''s on danger? As dark as these roads are, maybe. And if she ain''t even here, but on the big city, and those big buildings? No, no more ''ifs'', Jack. There is only a truth, and you''d better find it out. Geez, I don''t know where to start. Maybe I could call some of my friends, but their mothers wouldn''t let them in on such hour, and they may be falling asleep by now. I walk upstairs to check the clock... XX-VI. Time for sleep, but how could I sleep without a lullaby told by her? My bed is already made, but my worries aren''t finished yet. They seem to overcome me, like spiders crawling up to my belly. There is a portrait hanging there, on the corridor. It''s Lenneth, but she ain''t here just like that painting, althought her colors are there, but anyone shares of those tones of green. I can''t look at her, as much as I can''t say it, damnit...
I can''t even get out of this house without a key. I''d better check her bedroom once again, because there may be a duplicate inside those boxes, those closets... nothing else, but clothes, and others things that I''m not interested into. I open that creepy wardrobe, creep because of it''s sound, a crackling coming from that wood that no single door there seems to share of same sound, besides the basement one, but never that I''ll get there. Lenneth wouldn''t even be there as well, not even in daylight. Daddy would be there to find some tools of replacement, and only. As this wardrobe is fully open, I can see barely, if it wasn''t for the red, that Dragoon outfit, together with some other clotheswhom Lenneth wears as well. They all look the same, except that red coat. She didn''t took it from there, althought that rag doll is gone as well, and there is not a single key so I can get out of this place, damn. Well, why they had built these windows, you still wonder why, Jack? The window... my head surely fits there, as much as my body does. Well, that''s your chance, and look, there''s a tree too. You sure are that lucky, Jack.
Hnng! I wish I could jump like a Dragoon Knight. I wish I could jump like Lenneth... Hnngaah! Aah! Get out, Jack! Get out! Get out! Get out!... Whew, I''ve made it. I once saw a lightning bolt hitting a tree''s trunk, and that willow never grew up again. Instead of sliding to the grass, I''ve climbed up that tree as fast as I could, until so I''ve reached the roof of my house. I can see the lights coming from the Kingdom; they are some sort of stars for me. Daddy sure is seeing some stars outside there, and I hope he isn''t near them already. Hi there, Bahamut. Had you seem my mom and my brother? I guess you did, but you can''t tell me exactly where she is. I know I had been a troublesome child, but that''s my nature. Soon I''ll grow up, I''m already doing it so by the time I think about Lenneth, my mom... I''ll find her, I''m sure of that. My brother as well. I''ll take care of his too, even if he bit my tail. I had bitten more than tails when I was little. They tasted like any other meat, but who cares, there is a plenty of time to think about it later.
I slide from the ceiling of my house to be back at the road. I recall I already did it above Dan''s house, of course that fat butt won the game so many times, as much as we both won injuries, not because we fell from that high, but because we couldn''t decide which one fell first. Dan and I had been fighting against each other on so many times, by so many sorts of silliness that we even forgotten why, but now that I think he would be a sort of help, he felt asleep, or his mother told it so for his. He doesn''t seem that much interested on me because of that Learie he met on these days. She is one of those girls whose mother is to be afraid of, but a kind girl, unlike the others who just seemed to piss us off. Stop whining already! I would have said, if Dan wasn''t there to shut me up. How gentle was he to tell me it in words, instead of a kick in any place who pleased his... A woman seems to change the entire perception of a man even on such age, or maybe it''s because Learie was willing to kiss that cheek that Dan did nothing for me, nothing to ruin his image.
Either way, who wouldn''t do the same? But I''m not here, walking on these streets, awaiting for Lenneth to give me more than a kiss. And I guess I won''t change that all just for saying a word to her, althought I''ve already changed so much, that I don''t even know who am I. Jack is my name, everyone who knows me reminds me of such, same for this age, where they begin to treat me as a child more than I was before. The rain keeps pouring down, same for the times I heard my name to be spoken, uttered, mentioned by them, people taller than me, kids shorter than my height. I forgot to wear that hat, so my hair is getting soaked, same used to happen so many times I used to take a bath, no, those hands were take to give me some bath, as much as other hands were there to pull me at a pile of mud. Or a water puddle, same one I''ve stepped only to see it''s ripples made by me, and the rain as well. I can see those curves, and what seems to be me... I am all over the place, restless, unquiet, shaking, trembling, soaked, cornered, and alone. Just me, on this puddle, and other people walking away from me, this puddle.
This place is surrounded by buildings taller than my own house. There is also a lot of lights and strangers there, and I won''t talk with them, even thought I might need of some help to find her. Well, wasn''t Fratley a stranger like these people? A stranger, but a kid as I do. As long as this ribbon is with me, I share of some identity between these rats. Yet, I don''t even know if I am a Brandford, or a Crescent, just a Jack, althought this ribbons tell me so and anyone else that I am a Crescent. Half of mother, and half of daddy as well. I''m sure that he misses her more than I do, because of the distances between both, but at least, daddy knows that Lenneth is still there, awaiting for his inside this Kingdom. I hope she is still there as well. I may ask someone if they saw her, but who? Well, Lenneth was a Dragoon Knight, so maybe I could ask one of them if they saw her. Maybe they didn''t, since that day mom had gotten ill, or so they thought she was ill, I also thought the same, but I didn''t bothered, I only felt envy because of my brother, but now I''m glad that he made an appearance instead of a disease, like a liver full of water, or a elephant''s leg, I don''t want to be thinking about the worse anymore. There is still a small amount of hope in any darkened heart.
¡ª Hi, Mister ¨C I said, as soon as I came over a person wearing of a blue coat. I knew it was a Dragoon Knight, because that coat was so familiar, same for that person. Familiar to Lenneth, not me, althought I may had saw his once. He could had been my father, if it wasn''t for his skin. I don''t seem to share of any trace belonging to his, but that coat... I pulled slightly that coat of his, and from that instant, besides my voice, he knew I was a child, not just a wanderer, so he was willing to help me on any way he could.
¡ª Well, if it isn''t Jack... ¨C he grated me, same I did with my hand. His palm seemed cold, but at least, I knew him, and so he did knew me as well. I guess he''s one of mother''s many friends she made when she was a Dragoon Knight on duty. Same friends she made on the time she made a child as well... I don''t seem to feel any grief towards his, or any other Knight, but I feel as if an opportunity to tell it so to her fell from my hands so many times, like a leaf of cabbaged covered by butter that I didn''t ate ¨C by the way, what are you doing here on your own, Jack?
¡ª I don''t know ¨C ...as much as I don''t know why mother left me on my own ¨C have you seen Lenneth somewhere? ¨C I asked, for the only person I could trust here, on this street. I know there''s an answer, and there are many people who speak of answers, but they might sound differently than others. Some have the intentions of helping anyone they can, like the Dragoon Knights, while others just want to help themselves. I want to know where is Lenneth not only because of myself, but because of daddy, and I may feel a bit lonely, so does Lenneth, wherever she may be. Well, if she is lonely, she ain''t anywhere I knew she would be. Even when people met each other, they are still that lonely, not on blood, but something more than a warm cuddle.
¡ª Lenneth? Well, I saw her, not a long ago. She said she was going back to home...
¡ª Home? She wasn''t there, Mister... ¨C I know Lenneth wouldn''t lie to me, or a friend related to her as well. I thought once that she lied, but those were excuses of mine and my stomach. Home... the house I''ve live only had been built because I was born, or meant to be. I wonder if daddy only stood with mother only because of me. He would do anything for me, before I grew up to do anything for my sake. Now I''m doing something for the sake of another. Only a word, you said. I''ll be ready when I''ll get there, somewhere, home... well, unless mom had gotten to her home, where she was born, instead of my own home, where I was born, so that''s it. I may know where it is, if it''s still there ¨C hey! Could you help me find her, uh... whatever is your name, I''m sorry, but I am trying to find Lenneth, and you do know where she had been gone, so would you lead me more than your hand, please?
I don''t know how grateful I am, since that man agreed to be on my side. His name is Ezekiel, but whatever; he may know where she is. Sure, I had been doing everything until now on my own, and to where I am going, no more that I''ll be on my own. And with that spear on his hand, I feel a bit better. I used to not feel the same thing others felt when mom holded of that spear instead of me... I guess I''m beginning to understand; I''m just a child, but what I do feel ain''t only restricted to this age. Just a word, right? Would it really change something? I''ve already changed, unlike this cloth, but still I remain as a Jack. These must be some growing pains, not only I do felt them in the arms and the legs, but inside of me as well. There is something that keeps poking, I can''t describe it clearly, but something is happening to my heart. Is is pleasant, is it angsty; the only thing that it''s clear is that it''s longing. It''s a same kind of feeling felt when I am near the end of my trajectory, althought I am not dead yet. I knew I wasn''t, since I''ve began to cry and cry for those flaccid ears...
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Huff. So hard it is to answer the future and it''s riddles, when the ahead seems so far behind. I want to turn my head to make the pain go somewhere else, other than the bones of my legs. This aching in the chest didn''t stopped, but increased, same for this head, who turned around, for the eyes to see nothing that I have expected to see a long ago. Even if I turn around with the hopes to spot her, that''ll be only my imagination, or a mirage, though deserts are dry, unlike this land of sorrow. The trees along the way and the wooden pieces of that cage by the name of crib shares of same creatures, and I was one of them. Still I am a sort of a filth rat, but without the blood, the feces, and the cries, still I am just a child, torn between the light and the dark. Which one should remain and which should be gone? Neither of them. Huff... I wish that I could have brought my hat, but I do know how to shake away those drips of water from my body. They won''t dissapear, but instead they will be all over the place, instead of me.
That Dragoon Knight is still following me and this trail. The once green grass who stood in the ground is turning brown as we reach near the, well... there it is, the Burmecian graveyard. Many of my relatives are there, nobody that I knew, besides grandma. Lenneth''s mother; she was so old that the fact she was old is the only thing I had ever knew about her. Well, she holded me, not for that far long, same for Lenneth, and yet I can''t remember such thing, but I know this happened, somehow. It always happen with anyone else, so why it wouldn''t happen with me? There are many tombstones, as much as there are small holes dug there as well. Not only the old die but the children as well. It happens with everybody. I can see Schweighofer''s grave from this side of the gates. He was once a piano maker, nobody knew him, until he died, as they built up that statue of his. A beautiful, sorry, handsome statue of a piano maker he was, or not, because nobody knew him, and I don''t see people playing their pianos around this city, this if those bells and their sounds can be considered instruments. Those from Cleyra brought us the Rah-ga, I don''t know how to pronounce it clearly, but only a few times I had ever heard them being played. I guess it''s because I live so far away from the main city in a beatiful place out in the country...
My i-ron ta-il... my bre-ad-cr-ub tr-ail... la la laaaa, la la laa laa laaaa... What an annoying song, though it ain''t as I am the only one singing it. Mother used to sing me it for me to sleep, but now that I can sleep on my own, and I have already decorated every single sentence, sometimes I hum some words on a same rhythm, there is no more reason for her to tell those stories who used to either frighten me or to comfort me. How can I still remember such thing while I forget many others? I don''t know, but what I do know is that I will forget everything as soon as I die, yet others won''t forget me. Now I don''t seem to wonder so much about why Lenneth''s home is so near the cemetery, yet so far away from there. My legs are tired, as much as my eyes are. But I cannot stop already, it didn''t even began to hurt. Only for this stomach, still hungry of something other than my own spit. I could open my mouth to drink the water falling from the skies, but I guess this won''t be necessary since I''ve spotted that someone wearing that same green dress...
¡ª Lenneth! ¨C I shouted. I guess I did, or was it something that I only heard inside my head? The aching on my chest didn''t found any relief, not even when I found her. She didn''t looked at me, but I know she heard me, as soon as Lenneth acknowledged of my presence near her, and my brother as well. Instead of looking at me, she gazed into a mud hole, near what seems to be an abandoned house, This place doesn''t seem to be in rent, or in a good state, wrapped by a lot of kudzus vines around those walls. That Knight didn''t even approached, but he just stood there, some meters away from us, as if he couldn''t be here, and I didn''t knew why. But at least, he was near of us, in case something came out of that house, althought I don''t believe in ghosts, but Lenneth look as pale as one, if I could describe what her face looked like, besides crestfallen.
¡ª Lenneth... come on, let''s go home ¨C I said, for real, as I holded of her hand. Cold hand, and a cold look as well. This place is awful to look at, and maybe that''s why mom decided to look at that same mud for that long. It''s the only consistent thing in there, and she only gave a look to me because I interrupted her from that contemplative sight towards the ground to something stepping over it. I got my feet soaked of that same mud, as much as Lenneth got those eyes soaked, for some reason I don''t know, or cared that much about.
¡ª Jack ¨C she said my name. At least, she said something. Mother looked at me and said something ¨C did you came here on your own? ¨C that''s what I expected her to ask me. Of course, I already know what to say to her, and this ain''t a lie.
¡ª No, Lenneth... ¨C I said, as I pointed with my finger to that Ezekiel there, on her back, unlike me, and that pile of mud. I presume this place was once a garden, seeing how the grass grows on it''s sides, where a rectangle-shaped area resides in the middle, near the walls of those ruins by the name of ''home''.
¡ª I see ¨C she said, as she pulled me out of her way, as soon as I found myself once again at her back. My brother is the only being in front of her, and what was once a garden. The soil is still fertile, althought this odd place ain''t only a garden, given the look of that face, unlike the one belonging to mine. Not only the flowers who once stood there withered away; not even tears are enough to make them grow. This is the graveyard of someone, another one I don''t even know who it is, or maybe I knew him for so long ago. Lenneth is holding that doll so close of her, as much as she close of that soil, carefully not stepping over it. She isn''t even able to walk without feeling that pain, yet I have found her on this place, so far from my home. The pain on those legs is nothing alike mine. I can only say a word, but Lenneth is speechless by result. I don''t know how, or when should I say it, but Lenneth can''t say anything, shaken like that.
Well, Lenneth said something to me. I was there, same for my brother, who also heard everything that she told to his in thoughts. Mom spoke to his about that house, where she used to live, but we are all condemned to be free, so she said. Free of what? I didn''t understood it clearly, because I am her chain. I was once free of thinking about these things, but not free of my stomach, or free of the crib, free of the bath... Some things are meant to kept you locked, while others are meant to free you from something, but they all seem to make you a prisoner. Same goes for the routine, who gets boring because everything is the same. Boring for some, annoying as well; I was both. Bored I was, I kept annoying those around me by throwing screams before I learned to speak, shouts before I learned to speak gently, kisses before I conquer someone with a gentle speech. I still haven''t done that kind of speech for another, like Dan did with Learie, but someday I may be able to do it. Now, what you are meant to do is to conquer mother''s trust only so this aching ends? So easily this sounded, and how hard it is to accomplish...
There are some things that may sound easy to do, and others that are easily to be done. Everything is easy, until you grow up. Then the dusk starts to sadden you, because the gray morning already had been put on rest. The scratches made on that back were nothing, because they soon would heal. Lenneth is currently looking at one of the main reasons why she became a Dragoon Knight. After all the complains I have done, and that thing just didn''t even had the time to do it so, or to be holded as that doll by same name... Karellen. He, she was meant to be my uncle, or my aunt. Just a body, without any soul, unlike me. We are kind of even. I''d want this place to be torn down, just so Lenneth could forget it. But, that would be wrong, althought right for a moment. What is a moment, compared to a lifetime? Karellen only had a month to live, as much as my brother, who shares of more life than he had.
¡ª Mom... ¨C I said. What was I supposed to say other than that word? I would have said it anyway, tomorrow or yesterday, when I attempted to say it, only for myself. Without that sight, but with those ears up, I''m sure that Lenneth heard it, besides the sound of the rain pouring in the ground, makind those ripples flow beneath the muddy waters. At least, I said something,I tried to say, I was willing to say, expected, awaited, and finally I said it to someone else, other than me.
Mom... this aching didn''t stopped yet, and it will never disappear. It''ll only diminish, as I grow up. Soon it''ll become another of those daily words, but the first effect will still remain the same, only for a moment, and later for an entire life. Words may become fray as they are used, everything wears out over time. It''s natural for living creatures to fight to protect their own lives, and the place deemed to be their own. We, as well, do the same, but what makes us more than any ordinary creature is that we fight for others. We live for the another. Some may do things for themselves, and I may question if they do have a mother? Any animal does have one, until they are abandoned to live on their own. But before this happens, I learn from her experiences, the ones belonging to daddy as well, until so I can life on my own. Of course, I may visit my parents once in a time I''ve chosen to do it so, with them alive and still alive within me. I wished that I could feel of this same warmth coming from that arm for a little longer, my bed and those blankets also share of a warmth, but beds can be made, and remade, unmade as well, but they also don''t last for too long, same for the nights of sleep before the morning comes.
¡ª Jack ¨C I heard mom, before she left a yawn. Speaking of sleep, I''m so tired. Lenneth as well, and that Dragoon Knight too. It''s so dark there, my pants are getting soaked, same for my hair... What if daddy can''t return? Well, I''ll be there for you, Lenneth. If I may be gone as well, at least, my brother may be there for you as well. Those thoughts seem to dismay most of me, as much as they clear me like those hands do when I am taking a bath. Not only they clean my body, but something else, maybe it''s my soul, or my mind, I don''t know. I''m still filled in by dirt, as much as I feel clean, the cleaniest I had ever been ¨C I can''t turn my back... ¨C Lenneth took some time to say it, while she was searching for something to be taken out of a pocket. She have found some tiny brown seeds, bean seeds. For some reason, I knew what I had to do, as much as Lenneth knew what I''ve felt.
The bonds that used to connect us may had been severed, but they all seem to tie again, and again. There are some things I know and some that I don''t, while I try my best to know the reason about them. Magic, some would say. There are cherry trees that grow up, higher as they can, to sprout of their flowers and its blossoms to anyone else to contemplate, and there are other Cherries, hanging on at the tip of those spears, Blossoms that also wither away, same for those near it''s range as well. You can pour salt in the land to make it become sterile, nothing will grow in there, but if you pour same salt on the sea it once belonged, it''ll disappear from the sight, as the sea remains. I never saw the sea, but only it''s salt, and I don''t even know which color is the sea, but these clouds are our sea, and this soil I am stepping above is also a kind of sea, a grave for the sunken ones. The rain never drowned those who live there, because there are plants that demand of same water. Some people seem to borrow many beans on the gardens around this place, any place I go. They work as some sort of lucky clovers making many plants grow on grounds with decay.
I dirtied those hands with mud again. This entire land is a land of decay. That''s why there are people like mother who are here to protect me, until I can do it on my own. I''m so confused that my head hurts and it is aching besides this heart, or whatever it may be found inside this chest. Inside that one, here lies my brother, and inside mine, only me. I used to be there too, before I sprouted into this. And this time, no one pulled me into this mess, with both hands. I was pulled there because I''m doing a favour for Lenneth; she already had been doing too much for me, and my brother as well. Finished with these small holes dug by these tiny claws, that other Knight came to mother''s aid. Barely she could be walking, and it''s still impressive for me that Lenneth had gotten there without any complains, besides the one coming from her back. After I let the rain wash these hands, as much as I''ve already let it wash me as a whole, I hold of her hand as well, and I was supposed to do it so, or more than that. No matter how great or how low are given the expectations before and after, at least, I''ve done something meant to be done. Something that makes me happy, and so do others. Mother may not had shared of a smile since then, but happiness isn''t only restricted by the looks of those faces, althought it begins there. Seeing the look of that face, I tried what I could to make a smile appear there. it ain''t that easy as it is to carve some drawings in the wood trunks; nothing is that easy, but everything is possible, althought not only by my own hands.
Midnight is where the day begins... Now I am beginning to understand it.
...
XXXVII: Thieves Like Us (Epilogue)
?New Order - Thieves Like Us?
July 11, 1778
...
It happened there... It ended there? I don''t think so.
From this day and onwards, I know that I''ve learned nothing. Father as well, but he wasn''t alive to tell me it so, and I was too young to understand if he did it so, me and my brothers. I shall had finished my chapter here, my book was meant to be closed there, on this wasteland. As if my body pleaded for more... no, please don''t. This place as a whole is a quicksand for the people or any being to be sunk there. Passing throught the blood section, only a few bodies stood in the ground, thanks to the work of many who contributed to carry them on, with both arms, or an only arm, at least they had been doing something. Always meant to do something, to follow of orders, to be deceived by our rulers, to see the failure within you, and just agree this is your place, and there are no cliffs for those steps to be made. They may be bodies and only, but never that the desert shall take care of them, incinerate with the sun until they become ashes. Gray ashes, unlike the dust of the wind, a warm wind alike the sun of the morning.
Clyde... I could had been that same body, instead of his. If he''s playing dead only to wake up and make fun of those who attend the funeral, such thing will never happen. Though, it would be a bit fun, and I would be angry instead of happy. Either way, I''ll share of a nervous smile, and jokes to make them laugh, as if nothing else happened. That''s what Clyde would want, yet no one will ever know of his dying wish. He died because of it''s people... such a brave warrior he was... yeah, that''s what Clyde would want, and always demanded of others. I''ll be missing you, daddy; not even that is enough for his. His face looks dumb, an awful caricature of a living being, just an idiot expression left by the spear stuck within his. They may let that tongue of his be in the mouth, at least, but not that isn''t enough to make that face frighten me less, this if they don''t cremate his, and put his ashes on an urn. Clyde always liked to put some fire, and now they may burn his as a whole, as much as his name will forever remain burnt in my head.
A few Libers are also willing to aid us, same for those alexandrians. Both sides, since they are neutral, after all, they had nothing to do with this, except the blame I have to put upon some of our ancestors, for making us into what''ve became. We shall do this instead; those carcasses belongs to animals, and for an instant we become them. Still we are the same. In the end, we had all been used on their ways. Goodbye, sun. You dried the most of us. The blue of the sky ain''t the blue of mine. We always had been living on a post-war state, or worse, on a pre-war... anyway, we and our backs remain tired. My mouth is dry for some water, and for some words to be spoken. How speechless I am, and how speechless they became, caricatures instead of faces displayed all over the place. Some may be lucky enough to become ashes so they don''t see them like this, less than Burmecians, or any being. Same for these Alexandrians, who had retreated like we did, though we offered of some assistance to they while crossing that same grotto where Gizamaluke resides. It''s like this was never meant to happen, yet we do exist, so everything happens, nothing lasts... except the memories.
Some may had disappeared in oblivion last night, their last one, unlike the stories meant to be told to their descendants, if there was at least one left in this world. Alone, not on their own words and thoughts. Speaking of alone, never that I''ve felt such thing as soon as we are being guided towards home. Like us, Prescott is also following of this same trail. It may be a different path, but they all leaded his to the same place. As the autumn leaves from the faraway land dissapeared, we had to deal with our own, being holded by our hands. The spears and javelins were threw because of their weight, but they might be taken again, by people other than me, or maybe myself again. Never... never again. Prescott also said the same, so here we are. It may had been a long and past memory, but now I see that this is the same man who came back to Burmecia, same one who had an injured leg, still bleeding as I could see when that white bandage became red. It may not been his who was there, but I knew he was someone related to father, and me as well. The close I''ll ever allow or allowed of a person to be near me... so many I''ve left to be on my side, others I''ve took away, or the duty did it so, while I choose to live like a shadow in the pouring rain.
Prescott... He gave me his canteen, and so I''ve felt the water flowing down into my throat, before I felt it running down into my skin, along my sweat. I thought it has been years since I felt the fertile lands of my homeland with the touch of my feet. The aroma of the falling rain reminded me of my youth days, kids playing with each other, jumping on the water puddles, hiding on treetops, shouting their names... This is our land. Vices everywhere; they weren''t meant to bring us any turmoil because our eyes saw more than their green skin and flesh. Even this Mist became invisible for the sight, irrelevant because we are blind without it as well. We all were awaiting to see our families, not to cause any more suffering, though some will never come back, only in memories. Miles away from the main gates, and so I''ve approached near what Clyde became, only to hide his face with a piece of cloth. They don''t deserve to see him alike this, or ever know already that he became this. He looks like an idiot, and even if he may had been such, Clyde is still my brother.
They did the same for father, who also died on same way. He may had shared of same face if I had ever been given permission to look for this. All in order for me to remain sane, they didn''t let me look his, and thus another wound was left on me, unlike that pale skin of his. So we have reached the gates... My legs are tired, my back hurts, and if it hurts, that''s a sign that I am alive, and these are the gates of Burmecia, not those belonging to whatever I and my soul may be found. The afterlife, or in messages, the ones who didn''t make until here had been gone to these places. Sigurd is nowhere to be found, since it was his who began it all... Only I, Prescott and the Prince know about it. Two of us had been kept in silence, in order for us to remain a bit sane. Like many of us, we don''t know how does the Prince or any member of the Royal blood lives, or what they do ever feel for us. To treat us like this is as far as we may know about them, or not. So, the gates had been opened, no horns echoed into our ears, except the choir meant to be heard by those we''ve left behind. Half of us were able to get back, while others will get nowhere. Same for us.
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We all split up, and that wasn''t an order. Those who were slight injured came back to their homes, or so I pretend they did. The only stones in the middle of the way are these same cobblestones were we step on, furthening our trail to home. The only one who came besides me was Prescott, and a figure who also took a look at me. It came running, unlike these slow steps belonging to these joints once covered by sand, now soaked by mud. My son, Jack, came running to me. I know it was his, it is him, as I can see him, that face clearly after I took him with my arms. Somehow, I could do it, and the pain didn''t mattered. From that distance, so far, and Jack came towards me... He had the energy to be able to do it so, as much as he could shout as well. DADDY! Not even I was given an opportunity to say such words with same joyful tone as his. He had been followed of Dan, my niece, and from that moment and onwards, he would be only knew as my niece. I was about to say ''how are you doing, my niece?'', but how could I, seeing the dissapointment over his face. Shame as well, and so he fled. Nowhere else to hide, other than his own home, wherever it may be the place Clyde used to play hide-and-seek with his hands. I also did the same for Jack, but he was always sure that I would be back, and so do my face.
Jack tried to speak with Dan, yet he couldn''t. Nobody can, nobody that I know. For this same reason, I''ve left Jack to go after him. They know each other far better than I can tell. Same goes for Prescott and his children, or an only child of his we both saw on the middle of same path. He came later than the others, said nothing, but that look of his was meant to be heard more than we could see it. I don''t know his, just the name, it''s a kid by the name of Fratley, maybe I''ve heard it before. Daddy, aro you a ghost, or so I''ve heard him for the first time, wondering straight to his own father. I knew he wasn''t, and certainly Prescott, or Hyuuga, it doesn''t matter the name or the place he had been, althought I still call him by Prescott because of the first impression left by me towards his, well... Prescott wouldn''t ever say ''yes'', even if it was meant to be a joke. That kid may not had been showings signs of being upset, althought his body trembled. Mine as well, and this rain is so cold, but now that I watch me into a puddle of clear water, not only the rain is cold. Prescott took that child with his arms, and that was enough to show the boy he was there, alive, not only an illusion of his sight, and my sight as well.
Clyde could had been here as well, if it wasn''t for last night. I won''t tell what happened to anyone. It didn''t happen, it was just a nightmare... how much I''ve wished it was one. Prescott also have nothing to tell to his son, other that he came back for his, and the siblings, and his mother as well. Same I''ve said for Jack, who went away after Dan, I guess he did. I didn''t ordered his to do it, because I have only allowed his to be fred from my embrace, unlike her... Lenneth. I saw my wife. She is carrying another child within her. I didn''t knew she was, nobody else told me it so. As soon as I''ve came near her, the one who felt less pain, my single presence brought tears into her amethyst eyes, same it happened when I wasn''t there, but nobody else so close to notice them like I did. I saw a plenty of bodies falling, some without any pain, but they all shared of souls. Ghosts also reside within machines, or so I''ve heard Prescott, and it wasn''t me who was meant to hear it, but his son instead. I guess Fratley didn''t paid that much of attention, since he is only interested by the fact his father is alive, not only in a dream, but he was back to listen and hear of his wonderous stories.
You aren''t only a witness of the time. Each one of us makes our personal goals. Now Bart, go create yours... he said. We were already demanded to do something before we came to this place. So Prescott left, behind me, with his son who stood above his shoulder. To be forgotten is worse than death, or so I''ve heard Lenneth saying it once, back on those days she had been preparing herself to become a Dragoon Knight. Anything that resembles the death in itself may be, Lenneth. Anything... Dan kept thowing some rocks at the lake. They only sank in there, same for what remained of Dan and the sea he had been drowning into, or so I''ve heard Jack, soon as he went later to this same house. He couldn''t do anything to help his friend. The only thing that appeared for his was a wound left by a stone threw onto that face. Jack had nobody to blame. He wasn''t old enough to do it, and I am a coward enough. Yet, in this same world, the cowards they refer to such as me are the ones who live longer than others, same for the ignorant ones. We share of a same place, different ideas and notions.
But what it will do if I keep thinking about them? They will always be above us, watching us, so we do the same, yet we can''t step on them. Only themselves... I do have a plenty of things to plan, and think about, like the brother Jack keeps talking about so much. Lenneth as well, though I am the only one who shares of other thoughts. So will do my wife, when she''ll be ready to be back on her duty, but since the damage had been done, and Jack won''t be anymore alone, she is also planning to share some more time with us, and the newborn, whichever it may be its name. Many had lose more than the names as much as I am able to give some for it, his or her. Only his appeared within my sight, until I saw Lenneth. Again. So cold were these hands above that bump, and yet, I didn''t heard any complains. These hands, claws used to be all over her like before, but I''m not interested into this. Many who came back may be, but I am myself, not everybody, althought I may live for their sake, don''t you?
Soon I''ll be back to the routine I had taken over the years, but before, I may enjoy something far more meant to be a reward than any lust, or pleasure. When the evening came, it was me who prepared the dinner, a soup made of some vegetables and fruits I''ve took from the kailyard. Nobody else, other than Dan, had been invited. He and his stomach may be filled in, but as soon as he left this place, he''ll become empty again. This chair I used to sit may not be empty, yet I do fell like I am. Who else, other than these people to make me as a whole, as something more than a thing, an object? I am sorry, that''s what Dan said to Jack, while he kept looking at me, as if I was the closest I could become to a father by his. He still had his mother, yet he missed Clyde, not as much as me, because I knew his since young. We spent the night on that same table telling to each other about Clyde, and the many things he had ever done; funny ones, but not even once I made him laugh. Everyone else did, except Dan. I knew, at the same time I didn''t, how he felt.
After the dinner, as I''ve told Jack to help his mother to go to bed, I was responsible to led Dan to his house. It''s too dark outside here, like inside of ourselves, though the layers of same darkness may vary within us. On the way to his house, he told me about his mother, Cynthia, and what should he had to say to her. Nothing, I said, acknowledging him that someone else did told her the news instead. It''s like those messengers are there, awaiting to speak of my name. Dan despises his brothers, like they all seem to do, and yet they were the only ones, besides his little sister, to be taken care by mother. Besides, he also told me that he loves someone by the name of Learie, just a girl with the same age as his. You are just a kid, Dan, I would say to his, but then, everything changed with a single thought; what Dan said to me is meant to be compared to anything I''ve ever said to a mirror.
...
XXXVIII: The Tenant (Outro)
?Japan - The Tenant?
July 15, 1778
...
It''s another dirty day for those who live in Burmecia, Land of Eternal Rain.
But not for me.
Rain keeps falling, and pouring down, hitting the surface belonging to everything, and everyone. Thunder strikes from a distance, as the wind keeps blowing towards me, and those following me. Their faces seems to express such fear, as if the sky seems to keep falling against us, or so does pretend to. With me alongside then, pretentions aren''t enough to keep us away from this rain, except the demise I had been awaiting to, but they don''t. Too little to understand, and too old to not be able to understand, those with me are the sons of Edgar, my brother, who used to be the King of this Palace, and ruler of the people inside and outside the walls I am entering throught this giant door, supposed to be giant as his ego, or something in compensation to his loss. A shiver belonging to a winter tree being hit by a thunder, where is supposed to be the spider to calm their trembling bodies? I don''t recall their names, but their mother sure do, or did. Even beyond the grave, she cared for them, unlike their father. A figure alike a mother, once a Cleyran figure, stands there, far away, yet close from that door where my brother resides, on a bed, the same where he was born, and where our mother had died, when I was born. Edgar is about to lose the life who once belonged to that body of a warrior, a voracious one, that now resides within a skinny moribund, flat as one of the worms within his stomach of a glutton he once was.
Nobody made any joke about the loss of my tail. Soon it''ll be replaced, or kept hidden like now, same for the laughs of those mocking at me with their hidden faces. The little ones just laugh, but as soon as they made a single step over this palace, the shadow beckons their faces, as if they were forbidden to get in here, same for this one here, the prodigal son already home with it''s rewards, however, they are more than mere coins, but hearts of gold. They also told the same for Edgar, who became rusty with the years... his sons share of a plenty of time to decide for themselves what they''ll become, or what they already are. Sons and daughters, or so I do see them on this way, same for his wife. The current Queen, yet powerless, is grated to see her offspring, and grated to see me, who took care of them when their father couldn''t, and never had, to tell the truth. Always occupied, even for his children. Unlike his wife, one of many, and me, that from these days become from a mere tutor to what seems to be a better father figure than my brother.
We may share of same blood, he may share of same blood like these children, who used to share of a bad blood against me, like their father. Now, they all share of a same look, a kind of look I am pleased to see, as much as they do as well, and this little one shall too. Before, they used to force my eyes onto me, alike the ones belonging to a statue, but now they do not have of this same force anymore, a force that now is vanishing away, falling into the rift where nothing can be seem, unlike the hole dug. They also had no reason to do it besides a sense of protection. A matter of survival, to be fair. They may not be my sons in blood, they aren''t her sons either, except for the little one she''s holding carefully on her arms. She was taught to raise them all alike ones, and I can say she did better than the one who took away mostly than her ceremonial dress, and her innocence within such. I know she is there for far more of being the one to offer of her milk to the little one, Edgar''s little one, negletched as well like the others. For Edgar, this woman is just she, but for me, Eleanor, or Rinoa as she were once knew by her people, once her people, means more than a mere ''she''. I do think this, and these kids too.
These children... Their energy will soon vanish as they grown up, unfortunately. They used to play with each other, but now that the red message come to me, and they also had been informed, not on same way as me, of course. The letter said in words that Edgar was about to die, thought for his kids, they said daddy was about to fly through the skies; for me, he gave up of the fight, but for the little ones, another star is about to shine on the sky. Those who stand below this sea of clouds can''t see stars. That sure is proof that Edgar, even over the edge, is still Edgar. The smell of death dissipated into the room slightly vanished from my sight as I saw the window, and the scent of the rain, the same rain that keeps pouring down upon us, because of the will of Bahamut. In bed, so big for his, I see Edgar, or what remained of his, the same king who keeps commiting mistakes because of his own will. As a single Burmecian, his pain is his, and only. But as the King of all of us, we all share of his same pain. Well, with his skin peeling like an onion, everyone near his cries. The only ones who aren''t there to cry are his wife and sons, who decided on their own to be kept outside, since Spring and Summer are unrelated to Winter, though they all are meant to end up, even a King.
¡ª Hi, my dear brother ¨C I said, for the initial words. As if he still could hear me... any noise could be heard by the skull he became. So rigid it was, like a bread. Now it''s in crumbles, alike a new bread, or a skull of a new infant. The doctors said that Edgar''s lungs had been in contact with pneumonia, and that he should rest for a while, or for ever, as it seems. The sky told me so, and the looks of their faces as well, and those eyes falling like the rain, some more than others, the distress is in the air, as soon Edgar will be there as well. Far more than the lungs of his had been infected by the disease, or diseases. Like birds are gathered within a cage, the diseases found a way to gather inside his already fragile body. One of his sons, Timothy, look at me. He used to look at me on other ways before, when his father was near his, but now that he won''t be near for once, he gives me another view, like an once dirtied window is now cleansed by water.
¡ª So, you''ve returned... ¨C yes, the prodigal son came back. It seems that my brother is still able to engage in a conversation. Well, it''s time to open some old wounds at once, to drop some words of salt into them. I''ll be awaiting for a while, if Edgar is able to endure just a little bit. Who knows? He should had been gone as soon I''ve stepped into the main door.
¡ª I had some promises to keep ¨C I said. Did he heard me or just ignored my words? Not that it would make any difference. Edgar was knew when far more alive than this excuse of living for being someone who had of his own decisions to be decided. Nobody complained, or else he would cut their heads, this if these were centuries ago. The maximum my brother would be able to do was nothing but ignore; the advisors, the council, me as well, and people other than me, who became close, acquaintances not only in blood ¨C your sons... I''ve took care of them ¨C for a moment, I briefly reminded of the day we''ve spent with them. Days, weeks, that seemed so short, restricted by a few minutes in the garden, only a few times we would be outside these walls. They needed of such care to be offered, even when it was you who were supposed to give such, sick or not.
¡ª So you''ve took my place, like you always did ¨C he said. I was the only one there, same for that grin belonging to his face. Only bones, being the skin the only thing on that face that was made of some flesh. Edgar''s main fault is that he shows his features earlier than the expected. He doesn''t even appreciate the idea of awaiting, and why would he, with the time remaining of his being unknown, same for his disease. My brother would blame someone else other than his for that. He would also share of same for another person. For each cough taken out of that mouth, a week I had been ordered to stood on bed. Now he pretends to stand there forever, but nothing seems to last that much of time. His, or my time ¨C each bird has its own feather, but in the end, they are all the same... ¨C he also said, before I could hear nothing else more than whatever was inside that mouth, The teeth were gone, most of them, except the front ones, whom he used to bit me with.
¡ª I''ve used to think and believe on these same words when I''ve looked over them ¨C I said. He already knows to whom I am referring about. Everyone, since my brothers to his own children. With the time, these looks were gone, same for my brothers, killed one after another, not because of the thin air or the food full of parasites. They only kill those below us, though the water coming from the river is drank by them all, including us. Yet, no matter how much I do despise Edgar, to keep calling the people as if they were below me, same I did for his offspring. With the looks given to me, sometimes avoiding me as if they despised, hated me... only Edgar, as I''ve concluded after a time spent with them ¨C these kids do not need a person like yours to be called by ''father'' ¨C these children of his, born out of many mothers... They were just mimics. I didn''t had a reason to hate them. I didn''t had a reason to not see them grow, to even reach them. Beneath all the layers of lies, anyone can be a father; Sigurd said once to me. even until that day, he was like a father to me. He was there to taught me, and to deceive as well. Was it only once he did it so? Only once... Only once.
¡ª You?... A father?
¡ª ...And a King better than yours ¨C I replied to Edgar, soon as I''ve felt that something else was meant to be said, not only for myself.
¡ª That was the same thing I told to my father ¨C to use of father''s name... he didn''t even mentioned his name, he only called his by father. My true father, the organic Stephanus, whom I knew less than others do know about his ¨C heh... Now I get it. What a fool... You have poisoned me, didn''t you? only so in order to reclaim the throne for yours, given that in case I just go away, it becomes your turn to reign, right? Is this... some kind of revenge? ¨C and so my brother began to lose his mind, more than he was losing his own body. He couldn''t laugh, but only show that same grin, I was certain he did, over that face.
¡ª Revenge is not a suitable term, my dear brother. I prefer to call it by reckoning, and no, I didn''t poisoned you ¨C I walked towards the window. I don''t wanted to see Edgar, and he doesn''t want to see me. But his flaccid ears sure can listen to more about his. He always wanted more, and still seems to want such. He doesn''t change even until the last bit of his life is seemingly falling into the depths of the Weltall ¨C no one else did, besides yourself, so why can''t you admit it at once? Even near death''s door, you haven''t changed a bit Edgar, had you? Will you? I don''t think so. So stubborn you are, as a King and as this excuse of person. It was you who followed of this way you are into, with these bones once rigid like your demeanor but now they are falling apart, to reveal who is this last matroska doll beneath them all, the one who was never meant to be shown to anyone, but now I see it.
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The room remained quietly as usual. Only my voice seem to had been reverbered around its walls for a moment. Even Edgar stood quiet, or was he dead already? No, he was breathing, yet he already looks like a corpse lying there. The scent brought by his changed from a bittersweet to a more bitter in the air, as one of his organs failed with his. Edgar puked on a brown and yellowish substance far deep from his throat into the inside of that jordan below his bed. His arm still worked, even if a bit skinny, to take and support the weight that thing out of the place where it once stood, as much as the throat of his could support the sour of the stomach expelled like one of his breaths, and the deceased organ of his. I wonder which one is it, but presumably one of his kidneys, since his pee was more yellow and darker than that puke, but at least, it wasn''t spread over his entire bed, like a children''s bed.
Edgar... His words were already a puke enough to bare with. So far, none of them were uttered to counter my words. Only the leakage of his puke and urine and blood falling from the tip of his nose sometimes was perceived. Tiny of details, Edgar still was there to be noticed, he is the body and soul, the materia and essence of a painting, whose red snooze by the nose paints the sky, and the green of his is the grass where he should lay upon to later be beneath the soil, as brown as the rain of shit to fill in his alcove, or maybe gray like his skin, and the ashes he will turn after being burned by the same fire of his fever ¨C I see you, even when I stand looking from outside the window. I wouldn''t even try to qualify this as trying to live. You''re just being lazy, and pushing your problems onto others. You even used to wore the armor belonging to father, now you don''t wear anything other than this blanket of ours. Only ours, isn''t it? So many queens that have left more than the front door, for your sake, for the love you had given to them all. Same kind of passion, and pathos by result.
¡ª ...That''s my purpose. Our purpose, after all. This is a matter we must accomplish, not because we wish of such, but because it''s part of us. A small essence of our being. Wish, desire... Shouldn''t you be happy more than that? ¨C he asked, as I have just kept listening to his ¨C oh, come on, Gabriel. Won''t you do a thing? Ain''t I worthy of your punch? Or the kick? These things we had done... I had done... those are the same things a jerk like you would do as well, don''t you agree? To feel better? We all feel better, there is plenty of ways to do it so. But we choose the same way, don''t we? Was it right, was it wrong... good or bad, we choose it as one.
¡ª Well, all I did is what you never had done on this life to yours. All you had done, or been doing was to attain of a personal glory, far more than a descendant to be called your own. Look at your wife, or the last so far. She used to be a Cleyran, like mother, or didn''t you noticed such hair as her whole yet? You never did, Edgar. For each one you had, an infant was born, but he wasn''t gone luckily. You''ve needed them before you became like this. You''ve needed yourself to keep up, and who is more alike to be taught to become yourself other than your own flesh? ¨C these doors are so thick that nothing seems to fled from this room, except the air in and out of the window. It wasn''t only the season that made my brother sick, because he was already born like this, on another morning like this. It''s the night, but it''s hard to guess due to how gloomy these clouds look alike, same gray who once belonged to his skin. Besides the skin, he used to wear of father''s armour, now he is as cold as it was by the touch of metal and the tip of my fingers, meant to be cut by that sword. Edgar just wasn''t made for these times, and these people.
Edgar... he stood quiet. Cough, cough... a sign he was still there, so does that disease; many diseases that make a syndrome. These are only restricted to his, and what remained of his. The air we breathe belongs to everyone, but he can''t trespass from that single body with this kind of contact. Besides, I am someone healthy and careful as well, things that Edgar used to be, but never that it had been easy for his to admit ''things'' that belonged to others. For all his sons, he deemed his own face to be into them, not even refering to a trace left of their mothers. Do I ever need to look at his? Mother used to do, and she couldn''t ever look at me, only give the birth. She had so much to leave, so many dreams sustained by the fact she was still young, so did I, and my mind. I can see that Edgar looks like a baby, immobile on that bed, whining, covered in blood, eyes burning, yet a cold body. The blankets are what make his warm enough for his, and same disease, to live on.
Three kids... five of them. He pretended to distance myself from their sight when the whole ''invasion plan'' started, same plan who belonged to Sigurd. Both men had their own goals, so did I. By the fact my brother was the King, and because those men needed of someone with Royal blood to make them feel as if we cared about them, I may have shared of same goal as Edgar. I want to be recognized, but not like this. Not like a carcass, and this was before he came to occupy half of this bed. Yes, that same bed mother also layed for minutes, until they took her to lay inside the earth she loved. As for Edgar, well... there are rules for garbage disposal. He became a shore with only shells as remnants that life once was there, instead of the sand, or the dust as he became later. So woeful was his condition that they decided to burn his, cremate as they call by. Only a few had of this same opportunity to die without someone seeing the face, or anything that resembles a wound carved deep into a wood, so deep that it isn''t blood who gets out, but another liquid, same did his throat expelling of yellow phlegm.
Each detail makes my brother even more sick than he was, so I do not speak anything, same I did when they opened the door to his room, only to find that he wasn''t there, only a cicada''s shell. The ants were working outside, digging and digging... but it was useless. Only for Edgar, since someone else died on this same day as well. Don''t know who it is, because all the ants looks the same. If by any chance my brother had a place reserved to his below us, the grass wouldn''t grow wherever his body may had resided. I didn''t cried, not even once; they understood it as a state of denial, same they used to justify when I began to laugh. People do not only laugh because of a joke or because they are mean, but because they suffer as well, on their own way. Even if this may be my way to show anything I''ve ever felt for Edgar, I covered my mouth, these jaws wide open, to not scary the children, or myself. It was as if my brother tried to take over my body after abandoning of his own, pretending to not reach the aftelife so soon. I resisted, because I had the forces to do it so, same ones I''ve shared within his last moments, or else, a knife would be stuck on his chest.
A knife, or anything sharp than these claws. Only the words were enough, only words... The Dragoon Knights, all of them were supposed to stand in there, except those who had passed away, or are out of commission. I''ve heard from them when asked about who is missing from there that Lenneth Crescent, one of the few Leviathan Knights, is on labour. If they do kill people, why do they insist to give birth to another? That''s why I respect the first male hunter who dared to swallow the head of a mushroom, as much as I respect the first female who drank of a pennyroyal tea on her pregnancy. Same words I''ve said to the Priest, holding of a scepter as long as my sword and those spears being holded by the Knights with a hand, and an orb showing the world knew by us. Only a continent, surrounded by the Mist, as much as Burmecia is surrounded by these same people. Burmecians, Cleyrans like that shallow figure... Behind me, standing on this same floor, same palace he used to raise me to become this.
It was Sigurd, I knew it was his. Wearing a cloak belonging to those who wander around the desert, same who may kill his instead of my sword. Not steel, but only god to forgive his. His, their... it doesn''t matter. They all share of the same principle of being sustained by our prayers, and the belief that they might forgive our acts. Sigurd had commited so many sins, yet that is part of our nature, nothing is as pure as the water falling from the skies. Not even that is pure enough to take a gulp before warming up it with the fire. For Sigurd, any attempt of his to live as a being, a member of any society is impossible, as much as it is to bear of this crown of thorns, with tips alike spears on it''s top. I may have inheried this empire of dirt, as much as Sigurd may had betrayal me, his own people. A fate certainly worse than death is the unknown means of your own demise. Was it painful, was it harmless, no wounds left on the skin... that cloak, as much as it kept his hidden from our sight, also was meant to hid of his own wounds, his own death. I could tell that he was already dead, seeing that it was only me who noticed his.
¡ª ...From this day, and onwards, I, Gabriel Ekkehart Gerhold, by the name of my father Stephanus, my brother Edgar, and Kain, our first ruler and savior, I become Kain ¨C with those words uttered as soon as they brought Kain''s heart; that''s what remained of his, besides the legends and the name. That heart, althought a bit yellow, not as pinky as one belonging to someone alive as me may be, is well preserved in a glass cointaining the many embalming fluids, mainly vinegar that is replaced year after year.
I can feel it''s scent with that glass opened for a few seconds, at the tip of the Priest''s finger, and later at my forehead, not in my mouth where it used to be after a dinner. Father got stabbed in the chest, while Edgar stopped as a whole, but my heart still pumped. So do the ones belonging to them, these children, my own descendants, but I don''t see them only with my brother''s sight. The heart of those who are on this table are pumping as well. The smoke rises in the air, and so a new King had been chosen and proclaimed already. I shall rule not with an iron fist that becomes rusty with the time, but with this crown of a gold that becomes clean with the heat, the heat of the living. And so I''ve cried... without even letting a yawn come out of my mouth. I ain''t tired yet, same for these limbs. The left? the right? They are awaiting for the decision to be taken. The dishes are already prepared, but everyone here, sitted on their chairs, laying on the porcelain, waiting for someone to take the napkin, if with the right or the left hand...
Is it wrong to take it with the left hand? To sneeze this nose with the same? Not when I took it first. Was it arbitary? Of course not. Where is the balance to tell us it so? I am the balance, and they are meant to be measured by me, this left and this right. Once one like me makes the first move, anyone else follows of same. Once I make of a move without I share of some respect or any fear towards them, then this is over, for me but not the one who may come ascent to my place. And in return, it doesn''t matter if he is a friend or enemy, but I shall give him this same dirt, and offer of the scent of the same Kain into my forehead. Forever I am meant to be the King of pain, as much as anyone in my place shall be able to take the napkin, the first of many things meant to be taken besides this power, and these people who also began to eat of same shrimp as I do with a tiny fork, tiny unlike this influence I''m exercing over them. This ain''t only a table made of cherry trunks and the sacrifice of souls deemed to be ''poor'' only done for the sake of the noble ones to enjoy of their meal, as much as they may enjoy to do nothing but sit there, without any sweat. No, this table is the entire universe, and not even I am allowed to change it, only the directions lead by these same people, with the laws that work alike this same napkin, meant to be white for everyone, but the dirt always get stuck on they, that''s their purpose, no matter how clean they may look for the eye, and then I remember that Kain had to kill people in order to become a hero.
So did Edgar, lying on those blankets, burned until he became ashes, to be scattered by the wind, like they did for Komakino, far more healtier than his. It''s better to be feared than to be loved; though, I may share of my love with some who deserve it. Same did Edgar... until his idea of love had gotten his into a hole, a void that he was awaiting to be sucked into, slowly disintegrating his as this delicious bread, warm and crunchy.
...
Under The Crescent Moon
Power, Corruption and Lies
FIN
...
Please insert Disc 2...
XXXIX: Red Velvet Corridor
?Swans - Red Velvet Corridor?
July 15, 1779
...
..BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT...BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT...BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT...BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT...BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT...BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT...BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT...aaaaaaAAAAAAAAA...EEEEEELOOOWBAAAAAALELOOOOOWBAAAAAAL...EEEEELOOOOOOWBAAAAAAAAAL...AAAAAAAAAAAAAL...BAAAAAAAAALLLLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWaaaaaaaaaaaaalfaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaldooooooooooooooooooown... TAKKTAKKTAKKAAAAAKK-TAKKTAKKTAKKTAKKTAKKTAKK...
...Sigh. Where was I?...
UUUUUUUU... In the pub, in the field, at home... AAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHAHAHHAHAAA... B-RR-R-R-R-RR-R-R-R-RR-R-R-R... These places are the same ones because of their purpose: they had been made for us to forget. Forget what happened there. Forget what happened to Clyde. Remember what will happen here. It sure ain''t a special day, isn''t it? The new King has already been crowned, or so that smoke still rising in the air tells me and everyone else, even the blind in eyes. This darkness outside makes everything else hard to see, still I can listen to the rain falling into the grass, the tree, the path of cobblestone, everything, except those who shares of lifes with homes like these. Home... you''re back to home. Fine, isn''t it? I pretend that everything I felt before that day was just an awful nightmare, but that isn''t enough; not even calling such thing by ''nightmare'' is enough of a try.
Yet, same darkness, that appears even on this morning, is comfortable for the little one there. bbrrtrr-r-rr-b-zzzbbbBBLUUUUUUU...UUUU...bbzztzztzzznzzzntzztzZNTZNNZTNZZNZBBZTZZBZTBZTBZT
ZZTBZTBZTZZZZZBR-RR-RR... I remember the day it has been placed outside its mother. This happened once, on this same house, on that same bed. It can happen anywhere, but some like Lenneth are lucky enough to share of some comfort prior the labour comes. A bit of, but some slice of ''comfort'' may be a relief to such painful experience. I ain''t rich, even after all I had done, but there are millions within me. Only one, or two, or five children at once are able to get in there. I couldn''t hear anything coming from upstairs, except those tiny steps further taking the whole of my ears. It''s Jack, my first son, and I wonder what shall be the name of the second one...
Hjartaehamastsvohlj¨®ttbzztbbzztzzbbzztbzzztzbtzzaaaaADADAAAAAAAADADAAAAALSDSAIDADSALEEEEENNNNNNTEIIIIIIIIIAAAAADSADSSAGBASDSADADASDSASDASDSA...CUUUUUAAAARRRRRAAAAWLLLLAAAAAAAUUUUUUIIII...Daddy... that''s what Jack said, as he came near me. Lenneth and I just call this child by Jack, as he just call us by daddy and ...won''t you be there for mother? he later asked. Mother... I don''t recall him saying those words, but anyway, he would learn to say it so. He is already born to do it by himself, and growing strong as much as I used to do. He seems hungry, and worried, as much as I, but less tense. Those legs of him aren''t that tall enough to be shaken as mine. The blood of that meat I cut didn''t belong to me, or Lenneth.
brrr-r-r-r-rr...AIEOUUU...AIEOUUU...AAAIEOU!... AAAGH-... heh, why the smirk? It ain''t funny when you tumble just to fall into the ground. The cartilage on those knees makes it easy for such thing to crawl around this house. Someday, I won''t even be able to catch you up like this. Wait... what is it in your mouth? Is it a strand of hair? A cockroach''s leg? No, my dear, you cannot eat these things. They aren''t tasteless, but they won''t do any good for you. You can''t say anything yet, so I''ll let it pass. Currently, I am preparing some meat. Lizard tails. Used so, before I took you in my arms. I would never try or attempt to cut your tiny tail, and this ribbon. Let''s see... your mother seems to be the one who puts her surname on the children. I don''t mind, though. EEEEAAAMCCCGO
OOINGOPUyouiiintehgGOURNDSSSSONTTERAAIEEETOEEEAAATTANHGCUR-R-RALINGGGGEEGJNUHFG... I won''t be able to do it so easily when my back hurts.
TAKK... Consider it as your lunch, Jack, and I''m sure that she''ll be hungry too, so I didn''t poured any spice on it. Lenneth... Jack didn''t wanted to see it for himself, even thought I heard that he had been spending his time when I was out by killing some Basilisks. Why the fear of blood, maybe it''s because same blood belongs to his mother, not a creature, althought they both had been made to share of same purpose. But Lenneth... she is more than that. She shares of her own purposes, as much as I do my best to make my own goals to happen. I was made to help others, and to create others to be helped. The existence of this kid I gave the name of Jack proves such argument. I sat on the chair, same one whom I occupied most of the times. I was a bit tired, seeing how much I blinked, maybe it was because of how dark this room became, alike your eyes there. I seem to be bothering you with details, don''t I? Whatever.
aaaaaaaaaaaabbghabhaammbr-r-r-r-r-r-r... Let''s see... dry carnations, oats, dishes, and... there it is; a pair of candles. That is a candle, my dear. AAAAAANNNN-N-N-N-BBBBbbb... Please, don''t drowl on my shoulder. So, why the need to put those in there? Maybe it''s because we can''t allow our children to play and be burnt with fire, althought I''m sure that Jack wouldn''t do that. This house can''t be burnt, only half of its wooden inside, mainly the kitchen. I just took them, and lightened one''s tip in flames, as I attached the remaining candle so light could fill in this same room. It used to be quiet in here, alike on that same night, before you came to be here. I could only hear my breath, and now yours, besides my few steps, I can''t ever hear you crawling in the floor; even the burnt of the candle didn''t seemed that strong as before. I''m more attent to the noise, as it seems. I wish my ears developed when I was out, or before such events of the past happened. They happened, and still they happen to have left some remnants, as a candle who melted leaves of it''s melted part wherever it had dropped.
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A candle remains a candle, even when melted. I''m smelling like fish, but still I remain as a Burmecian. I think I should had taken a shower, maybe I could go outside, where it''s raining, but I don''t wanna. I am preparing some meat, and I don''t want such to be rotten. All flesh is meant to rot someday, or to be eaten before it does. This night sure seems cold, even with the window closed, and the clothes dry, and the candles set in the table. Lenneth is covered in blankets, and the nursemaid arrive in there within time. She is the same one who helped to bring Jack to this world, on a same night like this one. A night without stars, obscured by the clouds, gray as we; I saw the stars shining as I bleeded on that night, althought the tip of my spear shared of same blood, of an other person. It''ll take some time to eat of this flesh, raw like this. Jack sat on the table, still he is there, only looking at me. The joy on his face that came days before, as soon as I returned to this land ain''t there, but a single line of that mouth. Jack had the doubts of what he had to express on such moment, as much as I had my owns. It seems that we are even, even with the discrepancy of our ages.
Daddy... I heard Jack, with eyes open like a fish, before he left a yawn out of that mouth. AAAAAAAAAYYMMM-M-M... yes, like thaaaawm... this sure seems infectious, as they say. The time for Jack''s sleep had been already passed a long time ago back on that day. Even my own time for a sleep is gone, same for Lenneth, and for you as well. You seem a bit tired, my dear. Did I bothered you enough? m-mmmmmm-mmm-mmm... what is it? AAAAADAADADDAAAAA-A... AAAA... OOOOO-OO-oooo-oocoomom-Omooo-ooo-ooo... are you hungry? Your stomach seems empty. Soon she''ll be there, don''t worry... Why don''t you try to sleep? I guess my shoulder''s bone ain''t that much of comfortable for your head. Althought I couldn''t hear anything coming out of that room, the less the noise, the better seemed that night, but these worries always seemed to came into this mind. I holded of Jack in on my arms, still I could do it somehow, but with you is more easy to do it so, and I didn''t blew the candles, since I would be walking in the dark without them, and I didn''t let Jack fall on its sleep, until I reached to its bed. Same for you, and that crib upstairs.
AAAAAAAAaaaaAa-A... UUA! UUUuuuun-nhh-guuuaaaah... aaah... UUA! Daddy, please stop yelling... Jack said, but I didn''t even uttered a word to his. As we reached the stairs, this same ones there... You''ve learned to go up and down on these stairs already, don''t you? I guess not. Either way, Otterley, the nursemaid, stood there, atop the second floor, where a corridor leads to Jack, Lenneth and the toilet room. Her face didn''t seemed to express any kind of worries, but they didn''t showed any smile whatsoever. Maybe it''s the darkness, or maybe because it''s too blight in there, who knows... Mr. Brandford... Otterley spoke, on such formal tone, like she does with anyone else. We are not that much related to each other, even if the existence of that Jack here in my arms became possible because of her. Yours as well. I guess everything lead into that, it all began with this ladder, and I already expected the words about to be uttered.
...ummmm-m-m-m-m-m-guuuuu-u-u-u-u-Aaaaa... AAAA? U-uuuuu-mu-mu-m-uuuu... Lenneth ain''t there, I she''ll be back, and that''s not a promise. It''s the truth, my dear. She only stood for a month with you entirely, and with another month with you outside of her, and after a month, she came back to become a Dragoon Knight once again. That''s something by the name of routine, my daughter. Daughter... I thought, same for Jack, that you would be a boy, a brother for his. You sure look alike your mother; not a split-image, besides this hair, but you also share of some things that belong to me, alike these eyes, and-AARGH! Careful... Well, maybe the front teeth as well. AAaaaAaa-a-a... I see you are a bit happy, althought not fully as before. They were closed, but I knew that your eyes were as green as much as the ones belonging to me. And this tail too is short at the tip... ATAIL-I-I-I-IAEEEEAUAAAasaaa-... b-b-br-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-rr-r-r-r-r-rr-r-r-r-r-r-r-r... Don''t worry. I knew my shoulder would be soaked, anyway... aaaaaAAAAAAWWWNnnnn...
You are tired, my dear. I''ll need of this shoulder and those hands, even if you have already put your head there. You can use my shoulder as a pillow, althought I''m not that soft to anyone else, besides your mother and Jack. Soon you''ll be laying on your crib, and later on your mother''s arms. It was the first thing Otterley did for you when arriving on this place. Cold, isn''t it? It was more cold before, my dear, when this gray fur of yours was just a pinky skin, covered in blood. Your heart pumped so much, more than now, that it seemed to want to be out of your body. My heart is slower than yours, though I am still alive, and warm. That blood belonging to your mother was the same one who let you alive, and comfortable inside her, until the contact with the thin air began. Your tiny lungs burned, and so you cried, I know you did it so. Was I so tired that I couldn''t even hear the cries of my own son, your echoes? Maybe, until I came closer of that room. An eerie sound, a screech belonging to a puppy born out of an offspring, who had wounded one of its legs, and left away from the breast of its mother, I don''t know, I can''t describe such song anymore, once uttered by the infant here in my lap. Yes, you there. The lights here seemed stronger than the ones belonging to that darkness left by the wind, althought I did closed the main window of the kitchen. No, there''s still an ounce of light there, but now that I am here, after I crossed the staircase, allowing my ears to contemplate of such sound, not loud enough to make me feel headaches, or comfortable enough to cease these shivers of my skin.
So dark is this room, and any kind of noise is denied by the nursemaid, and those gestures made by the waving hands. Jack felt asleep already, althought I can feel his head shaking, and see his ears cuddling to avoid any mosquitBZZT!BZZTAAAABBBZZTBBZZTBBZZZZTTTTZZZZzzzzzzBBBBZZZZ-T-T TbzzzztbbzzztbbzzzzaaattbztbztzzzzzztzzzzbzzzztztzttttzaaaaababaBAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA...AKIDTJHJWYHERTUJRHKUYKI5FVSDGSEGRGSAWHJOP?AVORDHOSBNRTHEDHDQATERHNAASSS/AAAAAAA/RFRGEGEDDFBDADASHNJRJHTWTGFJH/ftgedsyhredhrdhgwg/AFSFASRAGRTHWFASFDASSAFDSAFSAREWGWEADASRDAWBNTEHERT/dasdebtbbregwf/SFEDFDSFBTEHTHJAASAAAAAA...AAAAAA...AFRRRRRRYYYAAAAAA! aaaaaAAAAAAAaaaaaa... BUUUUUUAAIEOU...AIEOU?...AIEOU! BBRRRT... BRRRT...B-R-R-T... B-R-R-T...AAA...AaART!... BAaRaT...B-R-A-T B-RAT...RAT... B-A-R-T... B-A-R-TD-A-T... D-A-TDA... DADAA... A-DAA-DA... A-GAA-DA...DADA...DADADADbzzt...brrt...bzzt... BZZTRTHumhouUUUAAARUDUIIINFRIJAAAAFRIJA...!AAA... !AAA... AAAAAAAaaaaaa... f-f-faaaaaa-a-l-l-l-l... Theeeeeeeeaaaaa... aaaaaAAAAaaa... AASS-S-S-STEEEH... EEEEPA-AA-A-PAAAAAssssshhht... AAAAaaa... PA-A-A-PAAA... ADADAGAFADAADADADAEiou... AAAA! rAIN-te-a-AternOOn...hUUUm... drum... d-r-um... d-r-U-m... D-R-U-M...br-r-r-r-t...BRRRT...HUMDRUM... HUMDRUM...H-U-M-D-R-U-M. HUMdrUM...hhUMdrUM...BRRT...bRRRt...TAEIKAROLDWNGETHR...ExcuUEmEnbUt...BYEEeejaaa...FRRYHJIAAAIII!...LLIIITLANGIAALL?... h-UM-d-r-UM... h-U-m-d-r-U-m... U... U... d-r-u-m... h-U-m-d-r-U-m... h-u-m-d-r-um...drum...drum...drum...drum...mum... mUMO...mom...MOM...OTHER...OT...HER. mum... MOM... otherm-o-t-h-e-r... FyrstafyrstafyrstayrstaF-F-F-F-F-R-R-R-E-E-E-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-AAAAA-A-A-A-A-A-A-aPPYAPPY!Happy?ouldouCoshpyPappyPattyAPATHYappya-a-aaaaA-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-AYAAAAAAAaaaaaaawwmmnnn...
...
XL: Coke Babies
Coke Babies, Pt. II
Easy pain, easy touch
Easy words, easy code
Easy notion, easy doubts
Easy motion, easy shout
Easy call, easy ties
Easy listening, easy lies
Easy agony, to easy comfort
Easy talk, easy laugh
Easy above, easy below
Easy faith, anywhere I go
Easy walk, easy half
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Easy sleep, easy sight
Easy colors, for easy nights
I woke up scentless
I know easy questions
I demand easy answers
Don''t bother if they are pointless
Easy need, easy relief
Easy clover, easy luck
Another kid in love, behind the wall
Easy pluck, easy trust
Easy tumble, for easy fall
Easy lover, easy letter
Easy lecture, come easy pleasure
Easy stealing, easy thievery
Easy practice, easy fun
Easy shell, easy bells
Easy feelings, easy heart
Easy victory, easy won
And I get up in the morning, autumn falls
Another day goes by, all you do is cry
There are no answers, no single questions
You feel better, you feel stronger
Counting weird numbers, you began to wonder
A thought that never changes into your silence face
When you leave this home filled in of empty spaces
Nobody lasts until kingdom come
Everyone succeedes of empty thrones
¤ÎÈýÈÕÔ¤ÎϤÇ
Under The Crescent Moon
Book Two:
Laughing Stock
A love story
by Janet K. Wallace
XLI: Lemon
?U2 - Lemon?
July 15, 1794
...
Yaaaawnnnngh...
It''s another of those days, isn''t it? We live in a beautiful world, don''t we? The rain and its scent poured down onto me as I got outside home, on my own. It''s your birthday, and shouldn''t you be happy about it? The days had become gray as the clouds above the skies, same for this fur who grew into my skin. Many things grew as well, besides my height. I am tall like a wood plank, sharing of a lime dress alike green leaves, and the eyes of those kids covered in mud tell me so that they want to climb onto me. Not only kids, but everyone who shares of those claws, and tails wants to do it so, now that I''ve reached the age of consent. To be fair, they all had been awaiting to see me like that, even thought I wore of dresses like these when young, and ponytails tightened at the back of my hair and tail as well. My tail... someone stepped on it, and I couldn''t scream, or even shiver. I did trembled, and the result was that I let some white porcelain to fall in the floor. ''Don''t get in the way, Freya''; ''why are you standing there?''; ''Freya, could you bring the tea to your aunt, please?''; my house has become a turmoil of legs and humdrums to bare with. Since mother got ill, all the near friends and relatives of her family branch, the Crescent, are standing in there. They aren''t that much akin for those who share of white hair, unless it''s someone old. Mother ain''t that old, but she is as young as me, beautiful as well, althought the purple of those eyes seems to have disappeared with the time, unlike father, who died once.
...KNIT, KNIT, KNIT, KNIT... ...dad, where hid? ...KNIT KNIT KNIT... Dad is sleeping, my dear... no, dad no! dad not sleep. Yes, he''s sleeping... ...knit knit kNIT KNIT... ...mom, you lying. why? ...I am not lying, Freya. I told you the truth... ...what is truth? you lie, not truth!... I''m not lying, my dea-NO! you lie! liar! LIAR!... That''s enough, Freya! Your manners are boorish... mom... sorry. you taught me not lie... not lie... Not lie. I was only five years-old. It was the first time I shouted to mother, and so she did the same. That hurted. I still didn''t learned how to control myself in order so to preserve my identity, same one I had been building up since I felt of your warmth, mother. For you, and my sake, I stopped doing the many of my drawings on the walls, they were so wonderful to look at, but what they only saw were ugly scratchs. My brother Jack didn''t minded, or bothered about them, althought I used to bit his tail with my jaws, and ears on his sleep as well whenever my bed had been soaked alike the jordan made of clay.
Besides the bed, my face had also been soaked by tears. They were so easy to be felt, and to be shed by me as well, but I couldn''t make them appear on my own, still I don''t. I shouted to mother... how rude I had been towards her, and towards father. If by given the task of pulling the stone up the hill, only to see it slip to the bottom, and do it again, or back to the fields of war; anyway, he died as a miserable, who couldn''t even bleed elegantly. A miserable, but a good father. I knew how much of a father he was, but not enough to call him by more than a good person. For mother, he was more than a good example of a pair, of a lover, of a husband. When she stood away, due to her routine as a Dragoon Knight, father was there, sometimes it was Jack, grown up enough to be able to take care of me, even if I refused of his sometimes, but an only brother is a fine, and rare gift to be given.
Before I came, many called my mother by ''infertile'', because she only brought an only son instead of an offspring. Incidentally, they never said anything about father, but gossips always seemed to surround my mother instead. Still they do, and by ''they'', I mean my own relatives as well. ''She couldn''t even take care of her own children''; this statement is a clever lie. If it was right, or if it was wrong, I guess mother didn''t minded, but she knew what to do, instead of letting me on that way, without a hand, or a cloth to wipe my eyes. ...mom?... ...mom, why cry?... ...the truth... Freya... ...mom?... ...do you... still want to hear the truth?... ...Jackie tell truth. truth hurt me and Jackie. mom, you hurt... ...tell truth feel better. mom... ...oh, my dear child... My child... I am still a child, even grown up like that. We live in a pitiful world. My relatives are all children as well, seeing how they laughed to any joke to find some relief for that bad atmosphere, as the tea was still being prepared by me, of course.
''Life is great. Without it, you would be already dead'', that''s what uncle Clyde once said to my father. I wasn''t even born, but those people at the room were, still they are alive somehow. How great that now both are dead; my uncle died before he could come back to Burmecia, and father passed after five years of my existence, and mother is currently on the blink, even if I tried to deny it so. I can''t lie, but you already know that the truth hurt, althought such truth to be told is meant for me to feel better, but I look worse than a puke. Too much of me had been threw away out of my throat, in words, or had been withheld like the blood inside of me, but those wounds always seem to open, in days like these, or in months like the ones who came weeks before. Because of my blood as well, I ain''t that much of a child, althought I''m afraid, yet I couldn''t admit such easily for them. They wouldn''t listen to me, or they wouldn''t care about me. Or my birthday, who doesn''t share of any ''happy'' on its name, unlike the days that came before.
¡ª Happy birthday, Freya ¨C I heard a voice, belonging to my cousin Dan. He was on my back, wearing of that Royal Guard suit. Though today is my birthday, there is nothing of happy to share. Happy was I when together with other children, of same age, some older than me, but on any age, I always seemed and looked more older than those ten year-old boys, still stucking their fingers on their noses and doing of some nasty stuff. Jack, my brother, ain''t alike them, but still I seemed more responsible than his, like Dan does. We both lose our fathers, but Dan lose his own first.
¡ª Well, thanks Dan. Hope you have a good day ¨C I said, as I turned my back to his. I had my own destination, and less time for small talk. Dan had been the only one who remembered, or had the audacity to call such day by ''happy''. Only for the children, as it seems. I saw some of them, belonging to my relatives, outside that house, playing with wooden bromsticks, like future Dragoon Knights. Mother was one of them, but now she doesn''t seems to share of any future anymore, since the uncertainty of her life turned out to be the certainty of death.
¡ª Are you going to the market? I''m sorry, but there won''t be anything in there to help Lenneth feel better ¨C Dan said. He already knew the news who came out of that house like a fly''s noise onto his ear. A gray fly, spreading of its disease. Dan still shared of that gap in the middle of his teeth, even though he shares of ways to fix that thing, but it''s still in there, to define some part of his. He didn''t smiled, but even if he did it so, that gap would foil his to me here.
¡ª I know, Dan. I know, but I want mother to share of something else other than her last meal... ¨C I said. The rain is cold, but since I share of these clothes, and mother shares of warm blankets, there is still time to do it so. There is time for many things to be done, and I wished that mother could do some of them. To drink of a last chai... that sounds fine for an entire life spent until that now. I''m searching for some ingredients to be prepared as a chai to be sipped, before it''s all done. I''m sure that I''ll be there, with the chai, to give mother some warmth. She is so cold, like ice, even thought she didn''t melted, yet.
¡ª Maybe I can do something for you, and Lenneth as well ¨C Dan said, as he followed me to the market. This place is a maze, as this people keep moving in circles, squares, rows, threw into any direction, but since Dan is here to put some order in the row... Thanks again, Dan. At least, you didn''t had to reveal what lies inside this sheath.
Well, I need some dry carnations, cinnamom rolls, cocoa, ginger... It must share of a spicy, yet sweet taste. Mainly these ingredients can be found on the kailyard outside home, but I didn''t wanted to be there for too long, smelling fennels, and listening those voices, kids throwing tantrums to each other, walls of people crying, heads filled in by headaches, the withhold of blood... I couldn''t stand in there without being here, not a silent place, seeing how much those people talk, but a place without that kind of noise, and pressure that kept crushing me like a bug. I was crushed on that bed before I woke up. A single bed, same one I began to slept above, a substitute for the crib, but instead of others awaking because of my cries, I woke up because of the cries of a crowd. But I would be awake anyway, since I couldn''t be there, without doing nothing, as mother has already done enough for the sake of us, and this kingdom as well. I saw no member from the Dragoon Knights at my house, not even the close ones related to mother. I guess Dan won''t be able to be there as well, but at least he did something so I could share of a moment with mother, before she''s gone.
¡ª So, how is Learie doing? ¨C I asked to my cousin. Not that I did minded about his personal life, as much as I am not someone with a cold stare on the face. Cold as that tea I''ve prepared, everyone on that house was so cold before they even sipped a cup... Only because it''s an iminent funeral, not a marriage like Dan''s, or a birthday, as it should had been. The pleasure of seeing both of their hands and tails tied to another can''t be related to this day, except if on a memory. Dan, Learie... I envy them. At least, I''ve brought them a gift, a pair of spoons, metallic ones, cold as much as I had been with both.''She is into one of those days'', that was the major excuse brought by many of my relatives to justify my behavior back on that day, as if those cramps changed the whole of me, or that they became me. Freya Crampscent... Ever since I was a child, I was the one who tried to put some order, by any means, and so began the comparasions between me and mommy. The gift I presented to them may not sound like a thing, but at least it was something, other than a look of an innofensive disgust, unlike the times I had bit of other''s tails. I used to taste the entire world and it''s flesh with my mouth, until I learned to feel it coming from inside of me as well. This rain, unlike me, didn''t changed, only the intensity of it''s fall seems to vary.
¡ª She is fine ¨C he said, as if ''fine'' could be the best way to describe his wife''s situation after a painful labour. It wasn''t his who had to bare a swollen belly for a month and later give birth to two brats, after all, and I hope they don''t turn out to be such, because those children don''t deserve such thing. One is called Adam, and the other has been given the name Jack, same belonging to my only brother. I even had the opportunity to hold them, even if I didn''t wanted to. They think those arms are only made to hold of those children with phlegm and lices running around their body, althought I was once this kind of kid; itchy due the gathering of chickenpox I had gotten from another kid. It was only a kiss... a straight kiss that almost became the kiss of death. Besides the scratching of those eruptions into my skin, anyone else seem to have fled from my sight, unlike mother, who treated me with those baths. Within a week, I felt better, and no more that I wanted to tear apart my own skin, or any hopes. How long mother will be awaiting for me, if I never had the reason to await for her instant aid?...
...And out of the houses the rats came tumbling... As I cross this bridge washed by the rain, and this basket I hold in my hand gathers all the ingredients needed for the chai, I am about to go home, again, to see mother. Back to square one, throw another stone, and walk again into the hopscotch... Jack once pulled a sharp stone, and so I''ve stepped over it, as if I was willing to do it so. Who else to blame, other than the rock that cut my feet? They can''t blame the objects, but people instead, and since Jack was, still is, older than me, he got grounded, same for that stone who remained on that same street of cobblestone, alike this one; the children here look all the same, yet I can see myself there, on the middle of them. Maybe it''s just a tiny water puddle, but still I can see a bit of myself. How could I and my brother had kept playing such games, while mother didn''t had the time to do it so anymore, same time relative to the one she used to spent with father?
Dan has some work to do, so I left him, but not without saying goodbye. He said it for me, clearly a goodbye, for this day. We''ll meet again, on any street, unlike mother, who can only be found lying on that same bed I was born, my brother Jack as well. What we thought to be just a few coughs turned out to be the beginning of the winter fever. She and her lungs had been suffering from the pneumonia leakage, and since them, those coughs had no more reason to be threw out of that throat, besides making everything worse to see, and feel. If, by any chance, they worked to make mother feel better, I wouldn''t be covering my ears with the pillow on the nights, but even that is useless. I shared of some good moments on that place, on that sleep, and mother is one of the fews ones who ever saw the plenty of father''s green eyes on me.
Jack also shares of same eyes, though mother had noticed them mostly on me, her second child, the last one of the family meant to be more than both of us. Sure, mother could have adopted an orphan, but we became orphans anyway, since she couldn''t be there all the time. Only the weekends seemed to stretch the time and ties between us, besides the diseases strong enough to put me on bed. Lenneth Crescent... I don''t seem to recall ever calling mother by such full name, just mother is fine. When people are close enough to each other, there is no demand to call they by the title given or the full name, but it may get sick for someone to keep calling their wives by ''love'', ''sweet'', ''heart'', anything that reminds me of sugar puke. Father never called mother by such things, and if he did it so, it may had been faithfull to what he truly felt for her. That''s another reason why mother didn''t married anyone else, not because it''s wrong to marry another after a beloved''s demise, but because it takes some time to estabilish relationship between people that shares of same closure from the one that came before, and and those who are desperate, anxious in heart, always seems to commit the harshest of the mistakes. That''s something father would say; his daughter as well.
...Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins... Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives... Many see mother on me, in my hair, my ears, my arms, my feet, and even my tail; still I am a child for their children eyes, not because of my innocence, if there was one, or because there are vermins inside me, but because of my attitude. They still see on me the same Freya from ten years ago, the one who used to spoke of broken words. Father taught me well many of the things meant to be learned by me on his short time, before he left this same front door, to never come again. He didn''t abandoned me, only that weary body of his. That couch, now occupied by some of his relatives, only a few, unlike the ones belonging to my mother, is the place were he used to sit, or fall asleep. With me, he only could do a single lap, before I cried, demanded of his attention. Now, everyone who''s here cries, and nobody pays attention, and why would they? Most of these people are here because of mother, not because of themselves, though I am here because this is my house, the place where I belong, same for mother, and Jack, who''s also here, pouring the tea on those empty cups instead of me. Courtesy, or just anxiety, they soon became empty again, unlike the source of that tea; the rain falling from outside offers a plenty of water to be collected and boiled into a warm slurp of chamomile or pennyroyal.
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¡ª Freya... Where had you been, sis? ¨C Jack asked, as soon as I came into that kitchen. Not a mess that it is outside there, with people comically sniffing their noses, making those angsty faces without shedding anything but an embarassment that is the reason some tears may be found on some faces. The only one who isn''t akin to any exxagerations there is my aunt Theresa. She doesn''t have the need to do it so, anyway, althought she is another of my aunts who is sharing of a cup of tea. This ain''t a tea party, though I wanted such to be... ¨C are you listening to me, Frida? ¨C wait... what did he said?
My brother, that jerk, uses to call me by that name. What was once a misunderstanding that I could bare with when I was little just became a sort of unfunny joke, althought I can see him, only his, sharing of a smirk. Not even a laugh would be enough to understand it, or a brain surgery, if there is such thing. Mother gave me this name because of Fr?ja, founder of the order of Leviathan Knights. If it wasn''t for her, mother, alike many belonging to her family, wouldn''t become Dragoon Knights. Fr?ja... I share of her same exact name, though ''Freyja'' is a variant that came after the second spelling reform of centuries ago, and it''s more easier and less strange to pronounce, so mother gave me a name, as much as the relatives and other kids gave me of same name, on the way they use to spell such, and hear as well, like this Jack.
He insists to call me by ''Frida'' sometimes, which means ''peace'', only to mock me as it seems; I, somehow, pay some more attention to Jack when he spells it, as if this word was meant to pull my ears and sight to his. Maybe it''s a sign that he really appreciates me, on his own special way. I''m being related to his far more by the blood running throught these veins, her veins as well... She is above this ceiling, isn''t she? I can imagine some blood leaking from there, though it only does out of that mouth, far more bigger than any wound left on that body, alike those scars on her back, a bunch of textures belonging to a painting losing of it''s substance, though the portrait remains the same. That mouth, any of them, are also the same places where many wounds happen to appear, in words... I shouted to her once. Only once, because I couldn''t take it. It was like shouting to a mirror, until it''s shards broke, and so I''ve stepped over them.
¡ª Freya... I thought that you wouldn''t be back ¨C he said. Only a person, besides me and Jack, had been given a chair to sit. It was Otterley, the same nursemaid who helped us there to be received into this world. She was there, holding of what seemed to be an infant wrapped around some white blankets. They aren''t that white for those who are younger alike it... I have also left this same basket I had been carrying on all the way above this same table, containing my last gift to mother, or the ingredients needed for it to be complete.
¡ª Me as well. But I knew that I needed to be here... ¨C I was born here. He understood, even if I didn''t finished the sentence, as silence overcame me so suddenly. Be quiet. Hush, Freya... never that I''ve felt so quiet like this. I would whisper to someone else on the left or the right of my shoulder, like I did so many times with another child as we had been gathered on the middle of a crowd. Same group of people isn''t between me, and I didn''t cared about their noise, but now, it pains me to belong there, now that I understand them all. And so they began to understand me; not only mother holded me with her arms, but she also taught me with those as well. She had the will to educate me, but her force wasn''t enough, like the one belonging to father, who was dead. Soon mother will be with his, travelling throught the Weltall, but not before her moments there become unforgettable, on the best way possible.
¡ª What you''ve brought from the market with you, Freya? ¨C Otterley asked, still holding of that infant. I wonder from who this child belongs, but it seems to be her own. That woman always holded any child she had been able to give birth like it was her own, so she does for this one. That little thing... maybe if I looked to that baby, I could know who is his. I offered that wooden basket to her as soon as she gave me that same infant to be holded with my arms.
At first, I thought I was holding of some doll, far bigger and heavier than the ones filled in by rice that I''ve used to hold with an only hand, not both at the same time. Carefully, I didn''t let it fall, because it wasn''t like a doll, althought both are fragile, dolls are easy to ammend a loosen limb, and who else would let such thing be taken by the pull of gravity? It was still sleeping; it couldn''t even open his eyes. With a more clever sight than the one spontaneously given before, I can see that it isn''t a newborn, but someone who surpassed a month by being alive. I could feel the warm air coming out of his tiny nose, and that wasn''t the only sign of his presence there with me. He, or so Otterlay said to me, could hear us as well, but not understand clearly as we do to each other. To understand in the manner of how they taught us to do it so...
¡ª From who is this son? ¨C I asked to Otterley. It didn''t took that far for me to get an answer.
¡ª You mean who is Freyr''s father? ¨C instead of Otterley, Jack asked, looking at the infant in my arms. He only went to this table to take some of these ingredients to prepare the chai for mother, thank you very much for doing your part by the way, as much as he also went here to take a look to this child, his own. It was obvious it was his son, listening to the manner he asked to me as well. Freyr... that is the name of the child. His child.
Sure is an old name, alike mine; I already could hear him uttering ''aunt Freya'' already, but not ''grandma''. That seemed a bit unbeliavable to happen for Jack, given the life of his, and as far as I know, he never came to this house to show mother any of his affairs. If Jack is the father, then who is the mother? Not that I''m interested in any kind of gossip, just basic information. As much as I know my brother, I don''t know nothing about his, only by the words coming from his. I could say that Otterley is the mother, anyone would, but she is a nursemaid. If that was the truth, it would be rather ironic. It ain''t a son in blood, but an adopted child instead. Mother always wanted a third son, but she couldn''t. She was still able to, but without father, she felt sick of thinking about it, I knew she felt this way anytime I''ve asked to her about it. Mother could had adopted a child as well, since there are many who need to be taken with the arms instead of the streets. While working as a Dragoon Knight, she once told me that every child she had ever been protecting was deemed to be her own.
I never heard from her that she wanted any grandchildren, like Freyr here, but maybe she would like some of us to share of a life to be called our own. When my brother said that he was adopted, I thought for an instant that he only saw that child as a gift, and only. In fact, he seemed a bit worried, now that he had the need to take care of that infant. Mother did it so for both of us during the time she spent healthy like before. Only in appearance, because I knew she was far more sad after father was gone. Like a wall peeling out it''s painting, yet a wall remains the same in substance; mother protected us before and after we were born, so did Freyr''s own, whenever she may be, if given up of taking care of this child, or if given up of a life. A chai takes some time to be prepared, so I''m not wasting my time, mother. I''ll be there soon... if Jack was there, so do I''ll be too.
Vermins... rats... the babies on the cradles... the dogs on the streets... But before, I''ll be awaiting for this chai, still boiling there. On a same way they prepare the silkworms to be sunk in, many cravats once tied in her neck had been done because of their demises. I''m not only serving this chai to yours because you''ll soon pass away, mother. Understand it as a sign that I love you, and so I''m glad that you had done so much for me to be able to do things on my own. Freyr Crescent, your only grandchildren, the only one you ever saw in your life, the last bits of same; Jack gave you his own kind of proof, the last gift sent by his to you, so do I may serve this same cup to yours, and me as well. I''m not even there, on that same room, but I know that I am prepared to be there, and to do what I should.
The cup is so fragile, same for mother and her bones, wasted between the first years of my life, and the last ones she will ever be able to see. The porcelain being holded by my hand isn''t as white as it was, so does that hair, or what remained of it. Like a willow tree, there is a plenty of hair on that head, so does mine, whom mother used to comb with her sharp claws whenever I had been itchy of some crawlers taken from the hair of a child other than me. White were also the nits, the eggs, the seeds of same creatures atop my head, whom mother also took care as well. On those days, I''ve smelled the many scents belonging to the amount of oil above my head and those claws scratching my skin, and it was better than being bitten by someone else feeding of my blood like a Muramasa held atop me. I do bleed, but I cannot die yet.
¡ª Mother... ¨C I said, as soon as I''ve opened the door, only to look at that figure lying above that bed, covered by thick blankets, where I used to be hid from the storm. Thunder and lighting aren''t that frightening... Mother ain''t bleeding, though her coughs are far more menacing than any wound or scar found across her skin, yet I can''t let this cup fall. To come this far, from the wall of people surrounding one of my aunts instead of mother, they still keep sobbing as if their tears went dry, to walk across the staircase, where the possibility of same cup to fall and tear part was higher than here, on this same corridor, the painting that resembles what remained of father, and what shall remain of mother, unless I don''t go there, opening this same door kept locked, understandable when father was here, not on those lonely nights mother spent on her own, unless I''ve caught her asleep. How often I did... Not on this morning, but on nights that she was awake like it was morning. So dark it was this corridor, and those globes instead of eyes; she was out of her mind.
¡ª Well... if it isn''t my daughter... cough... Cough! ¨C she said, before she went coughing. Lenneth Crescent, my mother. She is happy to see me, so do I. Far more happier than I do, given that joyful smile upon her face; a child''s smile. I don''t know if that may sadden me further, or if it''s meant to bring me some comfort, like a mirror does. So cold is the touch, yet the one you see there may be fine, some days not. This is the last of her days, but this doesn''t mean she has no time to give the unique impression hid below the layers of those belonging to a Dragoon Knight, and a mother as well. Any frown, any tear, any order... all ended up with a smile.
¡ª I''ll be always here, mom. Never that I would let you down ¨C I said, sitting next to her. With those blankets around her body, she seems to share of more weight she should had, but in fact, she is rather skinny when looking at her arm. Not as skinny to show any sign of the bones into her skin, but that body is the one that belongs to a dedicated Dragoon Knight. A bit stiffen these limbs are, but mother seems weak on the breathes she''s taking. So many of them... and then she coughs. An attempt of her lungs to be fred from the leakage, done so many times, and none of them worked as they should. Instead of feeling better, mother felt worse, so she does, yet she is still sharing of a smile, as if she accepted her end. The cup of chai is lying a few centimeters above my waist, being holded by these fingers from the left hand, same hand mother used mostly. Instead of giving it to mother, I decided to drink it. She needed of far more than the heat belonging to a chai. My presence here, and the days she used to prepare of same chai as I stood on father''s place is enough of a gift.
¡ª I wish that I... I could be here... all the time ¨C mother said, before she coughed, again. As a Dragoon Knight, she had to be away from here, while Jack, my older brother, had the need to take care of me, even if I was able to take care of my own already, not that I did missed you, mother. Now I shall miss you forever, but not the moments we have spent together. With father, only a few ones, yet this doesn''t mean I must discard his from out of my mind. I still remember the day I went with his to the market, and how awful was the smell of those codfishs, and ironic as life is, I had to eat them. Their flavour is great, but same couldn''t be said for their stench. Jack caught a cold back on that day, and the only complain of his was that he couldn''t taste anything. I wished that I could had gotten a runny nose like his own, but I have gotten my fingers instead.
¡ª Nobody like you can, mother ¨C I said, as if this was meant to be said by me. I have a plently of things to be said, but time is short, or worse, the clock that belongs to each one runs unknown, even to the person it belongs. So, we do our best to spend it as we should, on any way meant. Mother had a duty, as much as she had us to be taken care ¨C this proves that you are human, not another giant among this same Gaia ¨C and the same could be said about father, Jack, even me. For all the struggles taken to make our mark far more than the one we left on the soil we step, notihng can compete against time, and the death. In just a few generations, we will all be forgotten, so does our accomplishments, only retained like memories, not the same experience it comes alike the contact I do when I hold of this same arm, not even the nearest I can reach of what belongs to mother. If someone tells it''s cold, they know it really is, but if someone tells you that years ago a huge winter came, like a talk between father to son, the little one can only imagine, or guess how it happened. The details may vary, but all you can do is think about it, and what you do feel ain''t the same.
¡ª Freya... ¨C she spoke of my name, before she slightly coughed. I could see that she, as much as me, was tired of those. So tired... There is a time that everything is meant to come assunder. Nobody knows when it may arrive. Father didn''t, yet he kept pulling the rock up a hill and saw it fell so many times he didn''t cared or bothered to brought it back from where it felt to the top, again and again. So did Lenneth, mother, whose colors are fading... and I know my name won''t be the last thing that will come out of her mouth, and mind. Barely, she turned her against the window, while still laying down on same position, her last. I can see the petals over her, same for that look who stood. Again, she looked like a child far more I recall ever being. It happened so long ago, but I know it happened, as much as I know I had a father, I also had a mother. Still I do, but I won''t be standing here for an eternity like the rain pouring from outside, same direction she is looking at ¨C do you know how does it feel?
¡ª Yes, mother... ¨C I asked. To be fair, I have no idea what did she just mean by what I do feel, as we both look at the window, a bit smudged, yet we had no other complains. A feet is meant to get dirty when stepping above the soil, cold as well if it stays there for too long. Crawling around this house seemed so easy, now it hurts whenever something fell under the table. I can''t even fit in there, like I used to do, used to hid as well. Until the day father couldn''t be find, like many who lay. Still mother had a duty, and she saw a plenty of people once at her sight and no more else to be seem. Mother had no time to miss these people, only a person, Bartholomew Brandford, my and Jack''s father. Still I don''t know what mother meant by ''do you know how does it feel'' when looking at this same window. I just agreed, but now I see that I am wrong, or just hurried. I don''t need to be in a hurry, I don''t have anywhere else to go, not even mother here, for now.
¡ª ...Touching the skies. To feel... so light. So... so free ¨C she began to talk without any kind of organization in her words. Either way, I could understand her, I''ve learned it so within the time we and father spent together. Mother looked like me trying to talk, excited about something that caught my attention. Nothing there outside this window but the city and the clouds, where mother used to be most of her time, wearing of that same Dragoon outfit, the red belonging to the Crescents that came before, and those who may come afterwards ¨C over the city, flying like a bird... almost flying with leaps... yet, I knew I belonged to same ground same people keep walking... no matter how high were the buildings, none of them will ever reach the clouds, only those who fell... like dreams. I had many of them... some that I''ll never be able to realise... only those near me, like you here, Freya. One of many dreams I had... is that I wished to live a bit longer...
And then, mother stopped. Talking, hearing, listening... yet, I could feel the warmth of her breath slowly coming across the skin of my hand. Her eyes stood open, like the ones belonging to a fish. I had to close those pupils on my own. Instead of a hug, I just opened this same claws belonging to the left side of mine to run it through her hair, like she used to do whenever I was sick, pale of those crawlers taking out my blood. Later I would eat some beans, prepared by her, but mother ain''t hungry. Won''t be anymore. She is still alive, only sharing of her last dream, and then, comes the black. I have said to her so many goodbyes, but I knew she would came back, sooner or later. She will be back... only in our heads. Triangles may not exist, but we do everything to see them everywhere we go, that''s what father, if I may recall, once said. Lenneth Crescent, once a Dragoon Knight... and a mother as well.
The place where... for the last time... they were seem... Follow me out of the town... Come on rats... Come on children... Happy birthday, Freya Crescent.
...
XLII: Your Name (Has Slipped My Mind Again)
?Ultravox - Your Name (Has Slipped My Mind Again)?
...
So cold... Cough. Unfortunately, it ain''t only the air I breathe.
It''s snowing outside, but nobody cares. Cough. They don''t have the time, and the patience to see the layers of white slowly coming one above other atop the ceilings, rooftops I once stood instead of this bed. The people keep moving, children keep playing, and nobody stands still alike the trees, sharing of green and white leaves, or nothing at all, only bald branches. When dry, they are used to warm up the fireplace, mainly at night or days cold like this one. I''ve always came late at night, so late that it was already another day, so the clockwork''s arrows told me so. Blurred was my vision like now, when I feel my skin, not only pale but without any sign of wrinkles upon the face; but when I touch my back, I can read an entire manuscript of a life. The greater the scar, the painful it was for me, less for others. My arms and legs are numb not because I am weak, but sincerely what else would I do with them? There are a plenty of ways to wave a goodbye to someone.
Cough cough... Once with these hands so near of fire, of danger, so do other people and the centimeters and miles kept away from me. This happened before, twice. Not counting my own birth. When I thought it would be my end, so it began two lifes, unrelated by days, age, and the state of my mind. I didn''t cared that much for Jack, my first son, because I was far more interested to come back as a Dragoon Knight to rather be taking care of a child other than I when younger. I am still young, but diseases today are spread for everyone to each one. Cough... I don''t deserve any of this... nobody does. I am able to hear their conversation as much as I tried my best to understand what those little mices were trying to talk to me. Jack and Freya had an excuse to speak nonsense instead of these grown-up people. Cough... and I was advised to talk less, but that won''t change anything. Nobody, except me, to be here. So full of people this house became, yet I''m alone. Cough.
At least, some of them gave me gifts other than singing me a melody of sobs. Cough... The duty I''ve spent over years of the life I once had is already a gift enough for them all. I thought I would never be gifted by them on a way like they did when these weeks came to brought my curtain down. It didn''t happened yet, maybe I am already dead. I died twice; fifteen years ago, ten years ago, and this makes the third strike. No more that I can cheat life, I don''t have a reason to do it anymore. I spent some time with Jack, as much as I could do the same with Freya, and their father. Bart... if you could answer me where they had taken you, I would be living for another twenty years. No, I don''t need any potions, they don''t have any effect as much as Regen only makes me glow like a firefly, for a while. A life can''t be spent like that... just glowing. When will I be able to step into the sunlight? The rain doesn''t allow that amount of light in this land, so does me who do not accept of any medicine.
The drugs... they do not work. They just ease the pain. They just make me talk with a voice that doesn''t belong to me. Cough. It ain''t only the walls that are secluding us, or the free will. It''s the fear... Remember when you used to lay each night on a bed smaller like this one, so does this world you''ve believed it was about to explode, or implode... either way we all would be gone. Scared I was, but the others were only afraid, as if it was nothing else. They were adults, just like the Dragoon Knights restricted only to walls like these ones belonging to my room. I felt the same when I became a Leviathan Knight, surrounded by tides of Bahamut Knights, or in sort, male knights. Except that javelins aren''t alike people, because they hurt everyone in the end. I''m not scared, or afraid anymore, because I''ve saw so many tragedies that became banal, people becoming shells of any knowledge, the language being told in slang words, the duty devouring me into pieces throught the time I was beginning to surpass each obstruction with a jump, but I didn''t knew what to do next, because I''ve did the same once. Two. Fifty-hundred times in a row.
Why did I... Cough!... why Lenneth? Why you''ve insisted to do this? I ask for myself, but that is the wrong person to whom are you looking at. First came Jack, holding of an infant in his arms. My only grandchild, but his father isn''t my only son left. If by the tradition who keeps telling us that a life shared with many sons is a sign of happiness and prosperity, or just because I was still young like now, only later, far later but not enough so I could take a nap, not yet... How much time is left for me, I ask, but there is no answer. If there was one, I would be upset instead of smiling. I did it so for Jack, so I did the same when that door opened, allowing of the presence I''ve been awaiting to como from Freya. This long. Cough... She looks alike me, but way better. That''s only the appearance of any water, whose surface may share of plenty of ripples. The white hair of mine, and the eyes of father... she ain''t only my daughter, but yours as well, Bart.
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While Jack is pretty much alike yours, not only because he spent most of his time with your custody, Freya is a split-image of mine, but she now shares of her own life, althought she ain''t willing to leave this house, so do I, but I am not her. Cough. I can see, feel that my dear trembles a bit each time I do not talk in words, but coughs up like these ones. What else do I have to talk? A plenty of things to be done, and to be allowed to do it so... I want to go to the bathroom, yet I do not. There is no use for doing that, because everything stops someday. Spears get rusty, clothes get tore apart, spiders drown in the sink, books get eaten by moths when children, while the ones belonging to me only listened to its words. It''s all but a memory, but everybody remembers the name of someone close. How many times they repeated the name Lenneth and only to me, without being followed of a Crescent? That would be the same as asking how many breathes I''ve taken within a life, how many times my heart pumped in relation to how many times I had to feel it inside my chest...
Throught my entire life, I had made or came across many questions, and no answers. If someone alread answered them instead of us, this would be a rather boring life. Why would it? Is it something related to experience? Because one already surpassed you, something above that isn''t even human, or material? As much as I was born in a blank state, I''ll leave this same world with many questions left unanswered. I could ask for someone to solve them for me, but I wouldn''t be here to hear it. I can hear anything. Freya always seemed to be the type to wake up in the middle of the night, so suddenly. Later we would taught her to talk instead of shout, you did it so for a short amount of time, enough to be remembered by them both, Bart. Sometimes, I would ground these kids, and that was only the sort of punishment I could find for them, not that I ever wanted to do it so. Only an assassin, something less than an animal would make an infant lay with their stomachs down. Cough.
Freya... her white strands look alike a tree full of tussock moths, and I was the only one allowed to touch it without getting hurt. Same for Jack when taking a bath, but in the end, they knew I was doing it for their sake, not only mine. Cough. Unlike the others guests, some belonging to my family, Freya came with a gift unlike another. I thought her presence as a whole was enough of a gift, just like fifteen years ago, with my arms and legs numb not because of my own will. The name I choose for that child came to my mind within the days Bart was gone, but I knew he would return. Just like when heroes does inside the novels, or in words decipting our legends. Instead, Bart only came back, and nobody else knew of his, other than the people whom he had made his ties. Cough. Often we would drink some chai with each other, sometimes I would drink a cup on my own, but he always knew how to make a presence even when he wasn''t there anymore. Sitting right at my side, there she is... Cough, cough!...
I''ll be always here, mom... then I wish I could have lived a bit longer for you to accomplish such, but then I remember that I don''t want to. To live like this for so long didn''t meant anything worth of a life, if there wasn''t anyone like your daughter. I knew she never enjoyed the kind of cup I''ve drank, by watching her cheeks grow in size. It is almost as if she was willing to throw it away, but couldn''t to make a good impression. It was worth a smile, after all. I began to speak something out of mind as soon as I''ve looked at someone other than Freya. The window... there it lies the visions of an outside world, whom I''ve used to protect, and to feel cold. But, like Freya said, I ain''t no giant to be stepping over these lands, thought I once could feel the touch of the clouds, the true giants that don''t even belong to this earth we''ve step. Cough... Yes, I''ve touched the skies, I could feel it, so light, free as a bird, but they always return to their nests like a salmon jumps a waterfall to be back at home. Back to this bed I am, frozen is the waterfall. No matter how high were the buildings, none of them will ever reach the clouds, only those who fell... like dreams.
And then I looked up... I looked up... up... and all that I had put behind were dreams. I wish... I wish I could had lived longer, instead of a dream. I wish that I could have... stepped into the sunlight... only a few fires that I kept putting out, where the rain couldn''t reach... so does my own. Only your own?... So cold... Cold... The cicada only sang at the summer, and when winter came, she shrunked inside its shell, and she never came out... Same also happened to the ant who worked hard... because they were both insects, and winter, unlike people, doesn''t forgive anyone... One potato... two potato... Potatoes, Jack. Potatoes...
...
XLIII: Some Small Hope
?Virginia Astley - Some Small Hope?
July 16, 1794
...
I woke up on my own. I heard my own noise, same silence left after her departure. Mother used to come back, now she won''t, as much as father, and Jack as well. This house, where I was born and raised to become this, remains mine. Due to mother being a Dragoon Knight, me and Jack had received a significant amount of gil for consideration. All the lives mother had saved and time wasted to prove her power was enough to suffice became money into my hands, and the food I may buy to not live in starvation. But nothing lasts, and money slips from the hands to another, tying up our hands to each other, as if love was just, or became a matter of survival. I recall father wanted to call me by Ren¨¦e, yet my rebirth is provided every day I spend living on many ways. I didn''t bothered about these things, I shared of my own world sustained by father and mother, until I''ve shared of their own world. The gray didn''t just remained into my skin, or only grew over it since them, but this same fur I share isn''t enough for me to bare of a cold, so I am still sleeping, I was until I found myself asleep over the night covered only by these blankets, and my own arms.
Lying on this bed, watching the ceiling, nothing there but another hollow space... You only want to sleep again because this place became so dark for the eyes, and you only got used with such thing within the time. The room is dark, so I should fall asleep, but I can''t, I won''t, then I cried. Before I could even talk to mother, I just yelled at her, and maybe she would come to me, mostly father. I remember this because it happened with everyone, only a few moments that I had with father to be deemed as unique still flows into my mind. Since he was gone, I spent most of my time with mother, even when she was away, but she would return. The only piece of mother that stood besides this house and her sons is that red coat, the Dragoon outfit she used to wore all the time, even when standing there at home. Before she took a bath that mother would take out same coat, and I knew why because of its scent, same who once flowed into one of my fingers after a cut. Never that I had to take a bath to make same scent to go away, because nobody scratched my back like that. A Dragoon did, or maybe it was a person... Mother sometimes used to refuse of father''s hug when she came to this house sharing of same scent, and it wasn''t only me who smelled the same.
Even with the rain falling outside, I knew that mother was there because of that coat''s scent. The times she used to sew same piece of cloth, whose scratches used to vary between each day, yet she used to hid those from us. Jack said to me that mother is strong, that I didn''t had to worry about her because she worried about us, and he was kinda right. It could had been me instead of her... It could had been my skin who had to be sewed as well. Soon I''ve woke, as I came to her room, empty as usually it will be for once and for now, I see many things that mother left behind, a sort of inheritance other than money, but a set of materials bought with same. To think that she was lying on this bed yesterday... and I, like now, was sitting there, the only one belonging to this room that could walk, As I open the wardrobe, I watch those many green clothes alike the one I share, or I am meant to wear besides this nightdress, green as well, like everything that is sour as a lemon. Besides that same red coat, there is also a set of white cravats inside one of the nightstand''s drawers. I remember that I''ve used a cravat once to clean my nose, and that was the same mother wrapped around her neck...
Besides the cravats, mother sometimes wore a set of white bandages, found in the second drawer of same nightstand, same ones she used to wrap around her wounds. The thought of someone choking her until she bleeded never came into my mind as much as it came to mother''s as well. I remember when a splinter had gotten into one of my fingers, it wasn''t that big, unlike same pinch mother once used to take something out of her back, where marks alike a jaw were left again and again. It was an ironite''s tooth, or what remained of same. Black tooth, unlike the white ones who fell out of my mouth. White alike the porcelain I''ve once broke... Mother also drank so many cups of chai sharing of intentions other than mine. The taste didn''t mattered for mer, as much as it mattered for me, who liked of some cocoa''s flavour instead of the bitter I''ve tried to replenish from same tea, and the dishes prepared with any watercress. Thankfully, my brother told me to eat those leaves without touching it with the tongue, which is kinda hard to do, but I needed to eat those leaves, not feel its taste.
Jack... he ain''t here. Somewhere, he is taking care of Freyr, an excuse to be out of this house, not out of any responsibility. When mother was away, sometimes he would be there to take care of me, because he is the older brother. Jack wanted a boy to be called by brother, but I came instead; It was hard to play with his, since he, like his friends, denied of my presence. This ain''t a thing a girl like you can do, that was mainly their excuse, and yet, they allowed me, as much as Jack did all the time, of my presence, or else, I would call for mother, but I''ve stopped doing it so with time, seeing how she felt throught the years after father was gone forever, and she gone on any normal monday, or each day of the week. What really killed her wasn''t her ill lungs, but years of a duty she must had to accomplish, or else I would be killed instead. Someone like me, living somewhere else, everywhere.
Follow of your dreams... mother only dreamt on her own, never that she demanded me of following her more in her footsteps. How big they were, how small they became; unlike these claws, that had gotten bigger with the time they don''t get any polishment. Not that they were meant to stab anyone in front of you, only those who share of the intent to harm someone other than yourself. Mother, instead of the claws, not that she ever used same, mainly that spear was her choice. She was a Dragoon Knight, everyone wants to become one, or most of the kids when asked by their fathers. They thought it was cool to be flying around the city, to keep stabbing each ironite or any other beast as easy as it is to stab a fork in a meat over the dish... I don''t even know what I wanted to become, so I just said I wanted to be any bigger, mainly because of Jack. Now I am taller, but even I can agree that between 73'''' and 74'''' is enough of a height, even for men. It''s those legs, my dear, that''s what mother would say, looking at the mirror I am.
And there it is, a box of needles found in the last drawer, meant to sew more than any of mother''s clothes, but mine as Jack as well. When she took the long needle to sew a severed limb belonging to one of the dolls she made to me, it was like she was sewing her own arm, not only the few major open wounds hid inside that thick fur, who fell like her hair as well, as mine just grew with gravity pulling it to the ground, and so it did pulled mother into that bed. When I was tired, it was hard for me to be, I was guided towards my sleep, only so I could sleep to restore of my energies, while I wasted of mother''s one, so I did with the one who remained into father. Jack wasn''t that much tired either, because he kinda of shared of an age near mine, we were children anyway. Still we do are, only a bit grown up, while I only became this tall within the time, like mother.
Down the staircase out of these empty bedrooms, lies the living room and the kitchen. Nothing else to talk about it, only the same ''hey, father used to sleep here'' or maybe he tried it so, because besides him, there was me. With the time, I''ve learned to not wake up his, until he never woke up and from that day and onwards, father finally found some rest, pretty much alike mother. They weren''t lazy, not even I am, as I keep moving to somewhere outside this house. The window shares of a view to the street, and so my eyes, but my feet are still touching the surface belonging to this house, as they did fourteen years ago as well. Agaves... those were mother''s favorite kind of plants. Nobody could hold them with the hands, only the ground, same for the many seeds lying into the soil of the kailyard. Besides plants, mother and I used to spar in the garden outside, behind this clothes line. It rains outside, but the wind is what makes those clothes clean, on a land without a sun on its plenty...
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Of course, mother wasn''t silly enough to spar with me, or Jack, with her own spear. She took off the blades and so we sparred with only the wooden tips, belonging to spears, broomsticks, or with the trunks of trees. I''ve always won her on these matches, so I did when against Jack, but within time, I''ve began to lost these rounds, not only for Jack, but mother as well. That wasn''t merely an act of piety, seeing how much tired she was to do it so, but because I have been training with someone far more experienced than me. Besides, we never had hitten each other so hard with those tips, I did it once with Jack, but then I felt sorry for his. It could had been a blade stuck on his chest instead, mine as well. There are a plenty of points in the body that Dragoon Knights are taught to protect, like the neck, where a single cut is enough to make you bleed to death. The more you know... That may be the reason why mother whore the white cravats, as much as she shared of a long white hair not wrapped in a ponytail, like this same one belonging to me, and any other girl who shared of that same age.
So does this ribbon, orange alike the wrapping behind my hair. They are part of my identity, because the blood shares of the same color like any other, it just varies the tone, between clear and dark, so there is the red, the crimson, the amarant... only variants, not fakes. Never that I was fond of raisins, no matter how much they were dry or enough to fit inside my mouth. Mother always wanted that I''ve eated those, same whose complains revolved about that all fruits shared of seeds, and so do I spitted them. Now I swallow them, so did the earth to mother and many who met the end like her. Some felt pain. others felt nothing but a need to ''stop''; I won''t ever know what mother felt, seeing how she just smiled at me. Now I may know why she kept smiling at me before she came to be laying under far more the blankets belonging to her bed... It''s the faith. Meant to be felt, not understood.
With the cemetery empty today, I can finally see her, or the grave that was once surrounded by a circle of people, composed of many parents and unknown people, whom only mother knew as a Dragoon Knight on duty. Only Jack to be there to tell me it so, since I felt it wasn''t right for me to be there, with that same noise... I couldn''t even sleep, not because of the noise, but because of the silence left after mother was taken away. Her body, before the soul was already gone... I didn''t even cried, had no time to do it so. That wasn''t mother... just her body. I talked to her when alive, now she wasn''t. Anymore. Yet, they all kept crying for her body... as they did before, when sitting on the living room, besides laughing to any joke. When I say cry, I don''t mean that tears where shattered, but grimaces instead, sobbing as well. I am the only one who shed a tear, because I yawned... and then I slept, because I remembered that I had a life to be spent tomorrow, like I did with those yesterdays that came before. Mother would do the same, so she did after father was gone.
Some believe that only humans cry due for being sad, whereas animals only cry because of the pain they feel. Then, I''ve learned to cry for both reasons. Unlike other Burmecian children, I wasn''t born out of an offspring, so did Jack who came before me. How long it took for me to be here, I don''t know. So does the way they hanged on that corpse... this I don''t want to know. My mind may be on a blank state each day, like the holes in the sky, yet the painful moments remain. Good moments happen again and again, no matter how much I forget about them, and when bad moments seem to be near, I am prepared to take them as soon as they come far better than I did when younger. Sometimes, rarely as it seems, the sky opens up, and we are able to see a bit of blue, as if someone up there is tired of making us look to these clouds, gray as we, so does death, but we are know to do our best to preserve of the past and its colors, not only restricted to the green grass, or the brown soil beneath it.
When you die, the tapeworm that lives inside you die as well, but in the end, we all end up becoming blind without our eyes being torn out, as the vermins keep eating us instead of what we used to believe we ate. Remember when you used to spit those seeds, Freya ? Yes, I do. I didn''t wanted to eat anything, because no matter how much I ate, still I was skinny, unlike the days that came prior, when I shared of a weight belonging to any healthy child. Mother was strong enough to hold me with both arms as much as she did holded of that spear with an only hand. She never left me fall... only a few times mother would force me to eat something, putting a spoon inside my mouth instead of covering the meals with salt. Same person who ended the life of many dragons by stabbing them in the heart is also the one who made the life of anothers progress, including my own as well. Only a few pumpkin seeds were enough for me to acquire the taste for anything, because it was truly me who had been eating that same food. And to think my first meal was served at the tip of her spear...
A Dragoon''s customary... so old-fashioned of your part, mom. In regards to your passing, they say the Dragoon Knights are buried inside the Palace''s walls, yet they buried you there, near father. That was one of your lasts wishes whom they fulfilled. Dan is also here, but there is nobody for whom he''s looking at, only people whom he failed to protect somehow. I wanted to talk with his, but then I had nothing to share with his at the moment. We may have spotted each other, but we didn''t wanted to talk to each other. I did it so when father was gone, just pretending he didn''t by acting as a kid befriending another, a way I found to fled from the truth, besides the boundaries made by those people who always seems to attend any kind of ceremony, burial as well. If Dan wantes to see his father, then he will need to travel far more miles than the distance between his house and this cemetery, but that would be useless. Not a waste of time, for someone who had lived a plenty of years, and an only father, lost.
Not only his, but his siblings as well. Jared and Ranaldo... I didn''t knew them that much, but they both left this place to live in another country, by the name of Lindblum. Only his sister, Aoife, is stepping on this same land. She is as young as Learie does; neither of them are here, but certainly Dan will do his best to make their time with each other endure the most. You did the same for me and Jack as well, mom. This ain''t the end of the day, just the morning. I have a plenty of time to be spent, just as you have spent all of them on the way you could. While others had a life, you had the duty to preserve life, a life that seemed to sparse each day your words began to slur, to turn into coughs. The rain from outside never kept us dry, but each day it paased, you began to feel cold. Sometimes a fever coming from the forehead, but it was hard to distinguish if you felt better, or not. You lied, but for a good cause, while most of us lie without ever saying a word.
What should I do to go onwards like Chocobos over the hills instead of letting the days pass away, you may ask... so do I. As far as this brand new day is still on its beginning, I''ll be following the path to dawn, until I''ve accept to be the twilight instead of watching it. Before, you wore of same dusk... you''ve became the dusk for the dragons and any kind of creature found found through and across these streets. They may seem invisible for the majority, just like father and many other''s legacies. Not only I am the daughter of Crescent, but also I am the last remnant of someone left unknown by the general history, as each one of us may become someday, just like how the sky and the sight becomes dark at the end of the days. Instead of bringing any flowers, I''ve watered those you left at home. No, I''m not referring to the plants growing at the garden, mom. You wish you could live longer, don''t you? You are already living inside me, as much as I used to live inside you. I''m not read to let someone else sow of its seeds, but rather I would prefer to see the ones you''ve made sprout.
Winged are the sides still belonging to your helm, metallic blue wings that reminds me of when they turned purple... I''ve already accepted the risks by seeing you coming home each day of the week, so I''ll be able to endure any refusal, anything on my way that your spear alone won''t be of any use. Just for you to know that I mean it, no holding back, I''ll be taking out this ponytail out of hair. I am as freed as you had been when locked on that pattern, efforts unrecognizable for the people who wear of this same green clothes as they pray each day for a god that doesn''t even have an only shape. Mother... this ain''t only a childhood dream taken out of the collective I''ve lived, something I''ve felt growing when we began to spar with each other, or a matter of your family''s blood running throught my veins and that coat meant to be wore once again; neither an attack nor a declaration of war against who I am, but I, Freya Crescent... I do want to become a Dragoon Knight.
XLIV: Long Promised Road
"History is not the soil in which happiness grows. The periods in it are the blank pages of history." HEGEL, George Wilhelm
?The Beach Boys - Long Promised Road?
...
The doors of Weltall are always open for those unfortunate enough to die with a knife stabbed on their chests, and those fortunate enough to die without any suffering left, thought they kept stabbing knives at you anyway, following the rule of sparring nobody with a life. Clouds of eiderdowns surrounded you, your ears softened by the sound, as you''ve awaited for your eyes to become mere dark globes while laying above a pillow of winds; now the entire earth does the same, thought you can''t feel any warmth from any external source, as much as you can''t feel any cold, or the rain dripping at my skin, slipping down from a piece of fur to another. To where your substance may had been gone, the body you''ve once shared is now meaningless, thought same is the first thing I recall into my memories, or anytime I look at the mirror, or any water puddle I step, distorcing my own image with the ripples flowing alongside my nails.
Before I leave, since I do not have anything else to do here, besides looking at what you''ve became for them... Lenneth Crescent... 1757-1794. Prepared for battle. Those were the words inscribed on your epitaph. They aren''t even the scratch of the surface that describes you in a few words... Mom. They don''t call you this way, but instead, throught your entire life ever since the day you were born and they looked at you. Besides a mother, you had been tasked to become something else, other than what they had been telling you to become it so on their vision. Attractive... yes, not only by the sight of the men. You were so beautiful, but then I remember that I was one of the few who ever looked at something more than your own body, to be listening to your true voice, same one whom they choked with far more than sharp claws.
Do I deserve the same as you? Someday, someplace, where a warm hand holds mine... From the birth, to the marriage, to the labour and death in itself; life is sustained by a cycle of rebirth and a pain that looks the same when compared to death, but it only looks. To be forgotten is worse than death... to be rememebered by something other than yourself as well. A woman isn''t born out of the flesh. It''s just another man who becomes a woman throught a life, so does the Dragoon Knights. A job that comprehends a group of skilled warriors trained by a same Jugend of centuries, by common definition. Common... ''I want to fly and touch the clouds, so I can eat them. There is a whole lot of clouds''; a kid said. It was me... the true common definition of what it meant to be a Dragoon Knight. A life of pleasure, as much as those nobles ones from the past deemed it so to be, when exploring the heights surrounding the world, not this world we call by Burmecia.
In these times, a horde of ironites still happens to be found on some streets, unlike before, when they could be found anywhere you went, flying atop any corner, in groups. So did the Grand Dragons; to control these invasions, half of the population became part of a militia, using whatever they could as weapons. Broomsticks... we used to spar with them when on the garden, don''t we? Some may believe in the legend concerning the foundation of Burmecia or not, but nobody that I know denies of its outcomes, as much as I believed that I could fly and touch the clouds, even when you agreed to waste some of your power to do a jump so high that all I could feel was the joy of being there, next to you, besides a need to puke, but I could hold it onto myself, unlike the love I shared for you. Given the implement of poor defenses, and the disbelief of people after Kain''s death, an assembly of peasants to make a sort of defense against these creatures was better than none after all.
The explanation for such primitive techniques of defense could be explained by the fact some people, mainly followers of Bahamut, believed that the rain could protect them from any harm coming from outside. If the rain really protected us, then there wouldn''t be any Basilisks wandering around the corners of the houses, but then I look at the sky, who is darknening, just like my bedroom when the night came, and the candle died, instead of me... That''s the only kind of protection borrowed by the rain, besides its water being clean enough to be drank, but it''s part of our nature to keep suspicion with everything, so we do not mind to boil same water to pour it down our throats, pure or in a cup of tea. The rain as well may had gave us prosperity, seeing how fertile is the soil of these lands, and how many crops grow there. Bamboos, eggplants, ferns... but there are also plants that take more time to grow inside Burmecia, given the sunlight who can be barely spotted from atop those clouds.
Floating rivers... that''s how many call them by. Some cereals and other plants that grow where there are sunny days only made the way to our tables due to the rediscovery of our kingdom centures later, with Lindblum and other nations estabilishing their trade routes, so did Cleyra after centures of negotiations between the parts, or halfs as they are deemed to be. You may know this story already, knew it before I was even born, but I don''t have nothing special or important to do, besides going home or at the market, so... given the improvement of the militia groups into trained pikemen unitis within time, some trained by the Lord Gizamaluk, the only son of Frigg, said to have the knowledge of the Dragoon skillsets, like others who were once Vastitas, what would become the main concept of Dragoon Knight today was born. Some say that Cyan, grandchild of Kain, was the one who came up with the idea of Dragoon Knights at first place, thought only nobles were taught on the school founded by his, same one who endured with the time, unlike some of the traditions accepted before.
Not only you had been telling fairytales to your children, as it seems. Lullabies too... now they are scary too, knowing that they are meant to be told by us when young, not grown up like this. Rememeber a person by the name of Fr?ja? She was your favourite writer, so much that you''ve choose her name and its meaning to be mine. Prior Fr?ja, only Burmecian males could become Dragoon Knights, and before the arrival of alexandrian emissaries and their betrayal over this land, humans used to have the job of a Dragoon as well. There are far many stories to be told and discovered in regards of the Dragoons, and the majority of Burmecia, like a fair explanation of why do they ''jump'' such high heights. Is it due to magic? The way the bones are enlarged? A sort of ripple flowing throught their limbs? Nobody will ever know.
All we do know about are only variants of same tale, but enough about ancient history, since it''s time for me to create my own. Constantly I do it so, since I was born. So did father, mother, and Jack, who is doing his own history. Someone else had built his new home, in the main city. These houses are far bigger than the ones belonging to the neighborhood where I was raised... Anyone can jump with the feet, but they always end up falling. Mother, who once fell from the skies... I didn''t knew it was because of me. I wasn''t even alive, but in an instance of between the death and the life, just like mother, before she agreed to stop, cease her job for a while. The cost in gil and respect for other people wasn''t enough, never that would meant to be compared with my priceless life, or what was meant to be one. I had to grow up, interact with people and objects other than mother, to call others by ''you'', and to learn each day and agree as well with a nod that those fairytales were creep, despite the sweet and raspy voice telling them to me. That same voice changed to my own with the time...
I don''t have any farewells to be said, mom. I know you are within me... yet, I''ll have to struggle a bit if I want to be a Dragoon Knight.
...
Leaving the main gates surrounding the grounds for those who lay, without ever looking behind, knowing that she''ll be there awaiting, now walking throught the path of cobblestone belonging to each street of Burmecia, Freya left the main entrance of the public cemetery, sharing of a plenty of intentions other than ending up on that same place. The ground can be found everywhere, where anyone can step into, thought the path leading to the mountains is taken only by a few people. That may had been one of the mains reasons why our ancestors left the desert, in hopes of stepping on grounds less dry and far more fertile than the hot dunes belonging to the desert. Same could be said about the cleyrans as well, althought there are a few of them who ''decided'' to return to their wet homeland.
Either way, whatever is the place you choose to be called by home, you''ll be buried inside the earth, or have your remains be scattered across the lands, sharing of the same scent brought by the rain, or burnt like any being lost in the desert, frozen by the thick layers of snow falling upon the limbs suffering of frostbite... everyone, everything, anything who can be touched isn''t meant to last forever, thought Freya. The rain, pleasant as it is for a few, is also responsible for the decay of many structures. Throught centuries after its date of foundation, the Burmecians had to figure out a way to prevent leakages coming from the ceilings, and the walls as well with the use of a rather advanced masonry, or just primitive enough compared to the easy-made bricks from Lindblum, and other nationsWhen an only house is burnt, thought the fire doesn''t last that long, it takes a lot of time to build an only house according to the damage suffered on its inside.
This used to happen plently on the early days of Burmecia, who suffered from the invasion of Grand Dragons, rarely they are seem flying around here, just like the butterflies. The least that can happen of a damage inside a house may be the infiltration of water throught the layers of a painted wall, leaving those dirty stains or some eruptions that can be peeled off. Gray is the color that resides within the houses of Burmecia, so does the dust inside of a swollen wall. This may be the reason why the children do often play outside... they don''t have the time to keep looking at the skies, or themselves. Instead of laying above the grass, they step over it, running away from each other before they are touched, and... Gotcha! Freya heard a shout, and felt the same as if it was her own. She then looked to a tree above, still taller than her, where the little Freya used to be hid when playing those hide-and-seek games. All they do is to seek for other kids, or a place to be hidden, but they all get bored or are found instead.
Small layers of snow accumulate above the leaves, the grass, only to be dissipated by the cavities made by the pouring rain. It ain''t fun to play with snow, thought Freya, because it burns the skin, and the amount of snow who falls at Burmecia seems to be only used to preserve meat, so does the salt from the sea. A cherry tree... Freya stood beneath it, recognizing such tree even when same didn''t went throught any flourishment, yet. She stood above same tree before, where many cherries to be eaten could be found, and to be put inside the cap she used to wear above her head. The same clothes of Jack, as well. At least, they were comfy, thought Freya, who remained still, looking at what used to be a cherry tree, dropping of it''s blossoms withering, petals in the pavement, which others deem to be something beautiful, althought other trees and their leaves and flowers also fall in the ground as well.
Freya never had been fond of cherry trees, despite their fruits. She prefers the trees belonging to the Handroanthus genre, know by their yellow or purple blossoms. Now they all stand as an only green, or nothing at all, seeing the many branches without any leaves, and many trees without any trunks, people without their heads... why the need of chopping down a tree, if the thunder from the skies is enough to burn them naturally? Of course, because we grow with less patience throught the years. Also, the fire doesn''t last for too long on a land whose rain is eternal to be found, to be used, and to be taken only as a sign, a feature of Burmecia, despite the violence of centuries. A taste of war, the other nations say, from times and centures before Freya only had been enjoying the taste of those cherries, appreaciating of the food given by the tree instead of its organs.
How do a tree grow fruits, she asked once to her father, who replied that only a few trees can grow fruits, and seeds as well. Why? Freya reluctantly asked. Well, it was better for the trees to grow fruits that protect the seeds, who can resist for a long time before someone puts it in the ground. Why it was better, Freya asked again. Was that the meaning of being alive... to be better than the generation that came before? So why the others came before? That was beginning to be interesting, like many other questions made by her. How I was born? Lenneth replied instead, since her father was gone, not before leaving a seed to be grown and to raise from above the soil it had been planted. At least, it was better than telling a Chocobo brought you here... when younger, Jack used to look for a moogle, as if those creatures were the ones responsibles for the delivery of any brothers, but he got a sister instead. He didn''t wanted a brother in a way that same could overlook his, but a brother to estabilish a relation between himself and his mother, or so that''s what he told or implied for Freya.
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Though many decided to live in the countryside, either due of less job options, creed, or just boredom, they move on to the main Burmecia, where the market and other guilds resides between the taller buildings, aqueducts and other structures meant to denote strenght, sustain, surplus, anything for the life spent on structures that were once part of same borough, and the castle above where the seigneur rules; now, centures late, they just changed the name with the time, just like Freya''s own. Same meaning, other name... The Dragoon Knights, despite their title, are seem as slaves of the Kingdom, and who else isn''t? Even the children, slaves of being freed from their homes, enjoying a life of pleasure instead of a life with a duty. Young is the night, so does the barrels full of tar extracted from the woods.
There is a huge amount of time, or ''gap'' as it is meant to be by some, before midday, which means ''lunch'', arrives. For a land whose sun is almost inexistent, it means nothing to be looking at the skies to know which time it is. The water clock used to be there, but now it became just another relic from past times, since Lindblum invented the geared clocks. They created their own time, as much as Alexandria created their own Gaian calendar, which means this ain''t the same 1794 they enjoy, thought Freya. Anything which meant inovation came from outside, and the duty of a Dragoon Knight being a tradition of centuries... it is part of many''s dreams to become a Knight with same title someday, but for Freya, that''s only a goal, and what comes next? What if she failed to become a Dragoon Knight? Of course I wouldn''t, the Crescent thought, in regards of those times she had been trained by the best Dragoon Knight she knew about.
As for father... he was taller enough to climb up a tree, courageous as well to do it with lightning being struck at the sky. Never that he would be interested in a fixed job, like mother''s. For father, it was better to choose a job ''B'' or ''C'' instead of an only ''A'' than to fell in despair because of an only choice. If life gives you a lemon, an orange, two tomatoes, three peppers, pineapples, cherries, acorns, then you should make a salad, or eat one at once. So healthy he was, and to think he would be gone weeks later. I had a father, I had a mother, now I have both where I need them most... Throught the seemingly endless street, because of the few steps taken, it was beginning to hurt, not only the pain could be felt in the feet, but same had been felt before by same Freya, recalling of a faint memory...
...
¡ª ...I don''t believe that dragons should have any pinky scales ¨C said Jack, replying to his sister. With his father resting after an entire life spent, the max as he could, and with mother on duty, Jack once again had the task of taking care of Freya, his sister. That''s what any older brother would do, even if he didn''t wanted to. But seeing how much their mother had been working for them, and everyone else, Jack had to do it so; at least, it was one of the few things he was able to.
¡ª Why not? ¨C Freya asked, as much as she could answer questions as well, besides being able to walk with her both feet. Good for her, and Jack as well, since that such half-dependency meant that he would never be hanging on a weight with his both limbs. How could she be that heavy with such small height? He thought once. Gladly, daddy spent most of his time holding his daughter instead of giving it for Jack to do it on his place. Only when he was tired, very tired, that he would left Freya to be crawling around, instead of letting her secluded within the crib, and often within Jack''s sight, like now.
¡ª Well... I mean, they are supposed to be menacing, and pinkish ain''t the certain tone to be considered fearful ¨C Jack answered, trying to find some logic to counter his sister''s supposition, a rather small talk they had been sharing while wandering throught the neighborhood, with their hands attached, just like the pair of ribbons belonging to their tails. That was one of the main reasons why Jack didn''t liked to be taking care of Freya on his own... because it wasn''t fun. It was rather boring, dull, unless Freya came up with something interesting to be done, like these silly questions, but nothing is silly for someone who doesn''t know that much of the world, or in regards of the dragons and their skins What does make a dragon menacing anyway? Is it the teeth? Their size? Their scales? She is only five years-old, isn''t she? Jack doesn''t recall ever making such questions, or having an idea of answering them.
¡ª Daddy once told me that the colorful baits are the ones with the biggest chances of catching a fish ¨C said Freya, remembering the day she had gone fishing with ''Bat'', one of the names she used to call her father by. Within time, she learnt that many people used to call his by ''Bart'', but daddy was enough ¨C the intent of their colors is to make the fish lower their guards to something attactive, ain''t I right?
¡ª Of course ¨C Jack said. She had a point... though father only had been gone fishing while in daylight, if there is a single one at Burmecia. Watching the clouds belonging to this morning, they shared of a tone of gray blended with white, which reminded his of Freya''s hair; ma''s hair, pa''s eyes, Jack thought again, a sort of thought that always seems to come into his mind each time he glimpses to his sister. Like a curtain of silk, it''s hard to look at her eyes when hidden by those strands, and I have no time to guess what would happen if he stared at them for too long. She won''t bite... When Freya used to be aflicted of an irritation coming from an only eye, without nobody nearby to notice it, she used to close same eye, while keeping the healty one open as usual, until the itching ceased.
Like a cyclops... If because of a piece of her hair stuck inside the pupils, or any other kind of mote, and if closing same only eye worked, only Freya to know for sure. Reluctantly, she had been trying to deny of Jack''s presence, but in the end, she agreed to be stuck with his, because of mother. Lenneth always knew when her daughter felt ill, as much as she saw her lying and trembling with her legs, but it was cold back on that day, so did Freya justified. That was a white lie after all, harmless as a bath, althought some pretend to be drowning on those wooden tubs. And, to think the same water from the bath is also the same water falling down, in the ground, and into these children''s stomaches ¨C it''s rather silly that a meat is far watery than a puddle of mud, don''t you think? ¨C that was one of the first absurds Freya came with throught her life. Unlike jokes, she never laughed when knowing them. And so it began another pointless talk, now concerning if the stamps attached on those letters sent by moogles are made or not of toad mucus. Jack didn''t knew for sure which way found he should answer that question, but he couldn''t let Freya on her own
Sound formed in a vaccum seemed a waste of time, unlike their hands glued onto another, and they didn''t needed any mucus to make them together for sure, this if same could be said about Dan''s one when holding of Learie''s own... althought Jack a ton of friends other than his own cousin, he somehow felt that it wasn''t right to left him on his own, even thought all that Dan''s gestures and pulls told him were the same ''leave me alone'', except with Learie, only because she is a girl. I am only taking care of Freya like this, even holding of her hand because of same reason, Jack thought, and yet, he didn''t came up with an answer, only the rain and the steps above the thin surface of water could be heard. This awful silence... It''s strange, because the reason why Dan had gotten like that was because he didn''t wanted to be on his own, and now he denies me, as if... as if I was better than his. But now that daddy''s gone, no more that I am, never that I was any better than his, Jack said, but the words still remained inside his head, accumulating like the dirt beneath his feet, inside his as a whole.
¡ª No, I don''t think so ¨C said Jack, coming up with an answer. It wasn''t what Freya expected of her brother, seeing the gap between her question and that kind of answer, a rather shallow one. At least, he was a good listener, not the same as daddy, but it was better than being on her own, with nobody expect herself and the doubts. Same goes for Jack, who also needed of someone else to be part of his company. They both missed Bart, as much as they didn''t wanted to be alongside each other, so close with a tie of their hands, but if mother told it so for her children to be close to each, then so be it.
¡ª Hiya, Jack! ¨C and so the kids came up across another boy. It was Neal, one of Jack''s friends, or so Freya deduced his brother to be a friend of his. He had a funny accent, maybe just because he was a kid, or because he was someone other than Jack, who kept growing and developing a raspy voice, instead of the acute Freya is sharing on its plenty.
¡ª Hi, Neal. How are ya doing?
¡ª A''m braw, Jack ¨C Neal said. Besides having a funny accent, his words were strange too. Only for Freya, as it seemed to be, since Jack didn''t bothered about them. In fact, it seemed that he understood his a bit clearly, far more than Freya could ¨C mither is clammed oan kip, fayther is workin''... ay wha is this cheeld-vean? Pyth yw dha hanow? ¨C Neal them looked to Freya, who didn''t understood what he said. Nothing, except that the boy said those words, in a tone of question. Only the tones, not what those words meant, althought they seemed harmless, so Freya had no reason to follow them as some kind of offence. How could she, if they didn''t knew each other before?
¡ª Well, this is my little sister, Neal ¨C Jack said. He was the only one there who could understand of Neal''s words, besides the tone ¨C her name is Freya, by the way.
¡ª Dydh da, Freyja ¨C Neal said, raising a hand to greet Freya''s own. At least, she understood that kind of gesture, done by everyone once saw with the eyes, including father, besides the hugs once given to mother. Both hands were used by his, but Freya just needed to trust her left own on these kinds of situations, and gestures, Neal''s hand is cold... or maybe it''s just her own that is cold to his. Not that much to be considered ''often'' that the Crescent heard her own name, spoken in an old pronoun. All the words coming out of Neal''s mouth shared of same effect. They all seemed to be words spoken by the burmecians before the invention of a fixed alphabet. Sure, she could hear an ''A'', a ''B'', a ''C'', who sounded like a ''X'' or a ''Z''... that''s the problem with the words, because each one sounds different for a person and another. But for Neal, everything who came out of his mouth sounded different, as if he didn''t belonged to these times. He lived on another neighborhood, as much as he had been living with another family, but Jack knew his, and with the time, he learnt to understand what those words meant, besides how odd they sounded alike.
¡ª What did he said, Jack? ¨C Freya said, whispering to her brother. Certainly, he would be useful of being a spokesman, a translator, whatever that counted to understand Neal, besides being a longtime friend of his. How much time did it took for Jack to understand Neal, only his to know... but that didn''t mattered for Freya.
¡ª Well... Neal said ''hello'' for you, Freya ¨C Jack said.
¡ª And before? I mean, he looked at me, and said something. I didn''t understood, honest...
¡ª Before? Oh, you mean when he called you by cheeld-vean? It''s not a big deal, Freya. Neal said that you are a cute girl, and asked for your name, that''s it. I strongly disagree, but you are one of the few who shares of an arghansek blew, I mean, a silver hair, sort of, just like mamm ¨C and so, Jack began to speak almost like Neal, whose language and speech are also blends, in a way. For Jack, speaking like that, it was his way to prove and show to Freya that he is smarter than her, or just someone that doesn''t care to whom he befriends. At least, some of his friends are polite as Neal, too polite to be a friend of a Jack like his.
¡ª Izz... zarrafact? Ya wee as a brit... ay of corse I dinnae... ¨C the more Neal talked, less Freya understood his, unlike her brother, who began to talk like that other boy. There are some words spoken between Neal and Jack that the second don''t bother if they need to be translated or not, as Freya just keep hearing them talk, not understanding a single thing, besides when Jack decides that it''s right to share of their meaning to his little sister. That''s his concept of being polite, as it seems ¨C ...ay a-dro dhe ma chi, ah hud hansel. Th''day is dreich, dinnae ya think?
¡ª Aye. Not a particular nasty weather as drizzling is, but yeah, it''s better than staying at home. Mom''s not there to take care of us, but at least she prepared us a nice breakfast, right Freya? ¨C Jack asked, on the instant his sister nodded. Freya''s head began to hurt, not only due to the cold, or because the pain belonging to her feet was enough to be replaced, but that speech... it was like learning maths without ever knowing how to count. It needed to be logical, it needed to make sense... it did, only for Jack. Without holding of his brother''s hands, Freya could had been gone to somewhere else, where people talk less strangely as they do, and what else? ¨C ...and that''s enough. Farewell, Neal.
¡ª Duw genowgh... Jack, Freya ¨C Neal said, before he waved his hand
¡ª Hah... can you believe it, Freya?
¡ª Believe in what?
¡ª Before I left, Neal said to me that his father saw a bucca.
¡ª Bucca? ¨C Freya asked. Like many of Neal''s words, she didn''t knew what was it, or if it truly existed.
¡ª A bucca, buccaboo. It means a ghost, a spirit, a hobgoblin... It''s hard to tell exactly which one Neal''s father saw, like many of his words.
¡ª I wish that I could understand his as you do.
¡ª You want to? It ain''t goint to be easy, Frida, but since you aren''t a dummy, I am about to tell ya the basicis. Now, for practice, say ''aye''. It means ''yes''. Come on, say it.
¡ª Aye! ¨C Freya said, as if she wanted someone other than her brother to listen to her words. An only word, but that was enough for her to feel a bit better.
¡ª Great. See, you''ll get it all with time, if you keep with this same spirit. Now, count with me. Onan... dew... tri... peswar... pymp... hwegh... seyth... eth... naw... deg... ¨C and so, Freya learnt how to count on Neal''s language. It was funny that others learned to count on same way while playing hide-and-seek. Before, they were confused by those words, but since they recognized of same pattern, the game became the same thing as usual.
Until today, Freya hadn''t learnt all of Neal''s words, or his own dialect, currently endemic to Burmecia, so does this rain only a few notice. It just became so common, so homogeneous, unlike the many customs and traditions left by the ancestors. That''s all they could do in life... to left something in this small world, for only a few people. Few of them became Dragoon Knights, recognized as such as well. What I do could be turn into something universal? Only a few things become part of everyone. Only the children learnt how to count from onan to deg, because their relatives had been instructed to count from one to ten. The Crescent''s of each generation became Dragoon Knights because of the blood, but Freya and those who came before her do shared of a plenty of reasons to do it so, but only those who are alive to tell exactly the why. ''From smiles to frowns, cries to laughters; If faith is what driven us together in search of ourselves, then we must try to do it on a leap'', these are the words who once belonged to Lenneth, now inscribed on Freya''s mind, who will someday make their meaning avaliable to someone other than herself, also leading its way to the trail of dawn.
...
XLV: Footprints In The Snow
?Isao Tomita - Footprints In The Snow?
...
Rain and its scent pours down. From the window pane, cold is the sight. The touch and smell of a distant fire... Green were once the leaves, and trees once still are falling down. So long ago, they lose their glow, and from their hands came the scythes. Rain pours down, the smoke is gone, the work is done. Gray remained into the clouds, translucid is the curtain, a child shares of doubts, and the rain is the only one who remain. Not only the branches suffer, there is nothing else left for this rainy decade to offer. Home. At least... home.
Not a sweet one, because only the taste of the rain is enough. It tastes like stone. I already knew it, so did my tongue. On those times, I''ve used to put anything I knew inside of me, literally. The finger, the food, the dust, the cracks of the walls... eventually, I spit them all as soon as I grew up. I''ve used to knew the world this way, tasting it with my mouth. Now an only sight is enough to discover something that either gives me chills, or surprises me. Only a few times I am allowed to shed a smile, due to nothing impressing me that much, or being too sad for any laughter to come out. So did the words, some secluded into my mind, for good or for bad. Nobody else, watching me with those eyes, speaking to me as they look at me... they aren''t alike you, mother. Not alike father as well. Or Jack, who was patient in regards to my doubts, somehow.
Mother, you knew when it was the time to say ''no'' to me, but at least, you and father knew how much of a ''no'' it was enough for me to bare. A single ''no'' was enough to save my life a bunch of times, while many of them were unnecessary, almost never heard by me, only when I was found into a distance, which rarely happened. To be a Dragoon Knight... not as easy as it is to enlisten the males ones to the army. I don''t have anyone, except myself, to decide whether I should become one of them, or not. A door knob that can only be opened by someone else''s hand... ain''t I old enough for this? I said, but I''ve heard no reply other than ''no''. I was only seven years-old, now I am fifteen. Nothing changed, except that no more I could be sat above mother''s arms, rarely I could do it so on first place. How easy it was for a ''no'' to be told, and to not be spoken in words, to be understood not only by me. A ''no'' followed of my name, which came after or before same order, usually an exclamation, unseen alike the danger revolving around each corner I''ve avoided with the sight, and the voice of someone else.
Some didn''t even shared of any voice, only primitive roars. Basilisks, Vices, hordes of Ironites; you have fought them all, mom. Each one taken by your spear meant a decay of your time spent with some other activity, with someone else to hold on of your hand, while they felt your claws instead. How come a pair of knives found at the tip of our palms and feet be this sharp, and yet we are so careful when it comes to touch someone, without leaving any harm? To take a bath with this rugged loofah, flaying this skin of any dirt, transferring it to the water inside the wooden tub... I remember how tiny it was. I''ve used to take a bath like this, while inside a bucket, and either you and father used to bath me anywhere. In the kitchen, in the room, near the bedroom; outside, rain keeps falling, yet that same water can''t be used to clean ourselves. Nobody can walk naked when on the street.
Everyone wears clothes, and decorations, garments which may tell on a first look what same person look alike. Each burmecian wear gaiters on their both feet as well, except a few stubborn children, who may never had suffered a pain alike the one coming from the tiny rocks under their feet. If a fisherman, hanging on a rod on its back, or a butcher, whose clothes are far more covered by blood than any soldier outfit, whose cyan outfits are polished as their helmets, whom I never saw being in a use other than stay atop their heads. Mother never wore that helmet to cover her face, and her entire outfit wears tones of weight. Buckles to hold on the escutcheon on her front and the metallic jambs atop her shoulders, a red coat who would became crimson sometimes, smelling like the flesh of something else other than mother... it must had been a nightmare to bare of such weight on her first days, besides the one coming she bared it throught her entire life.
Mother also wore those orange trousers, which only reminded me of this ribbon at the tip of my tail. They share of the same color, but this ribbon tells me who I am. ''Cr''... I belong to the Crescent family bruch, mainly. Father was a child born from another family, the Brandford, whose members have assembled into another, and so it goes on. Usually, the name of the male one''s family persists into his children, but there are other factors, like the importance of a family over another, not only secluded in the surname, but riches and history also counts. The ''B'' comes before the ''C'' ain''t that much enough of a factor, but who even cared about logic when it comes to naming your child? Some do not even have a name, but they are deemed as numbers instead. First, Second, Third... I have a bunch of cousins with these same names, reason is because they are young, and unfortunately with more chance of passing away, if they aren''t lucky enough.
Luck... was the love mother felt for father a thing that happened by chance? Did she became a Dragoon Knight because of any chance? To be born with these tiny claws, only so to approach the enemy, before he or it comes from behind... how many of them caught your front as well, mom? I didn''t even had to ask, only count the scars left at your back, naked or mostly covered by this coat. How many times it was sewed, how many times your life was spared instead of my own, how many Dragonnades were organized centuries before to hinder the only way out of the gates of Burmecia for those who called themselves by Cleyrans, at any cost. The Dragoon Knights are forbidden to kill any civilians, but those who didn''t believed in Burmecia anymore were deemed as a threat, and the first principle of being a Dragoon Knight was made in regards of protecting Burmecia at any cost.
Those who attacked it were only animals, beasts, dragons... I want to believe that something changed, but I have always carried on the thoughts of mother, and that same blood which appeared, almost unseen due to that coat, but the once white cravat wrapped around her neck shared of a blood alike mine. Glowing in a red neither dark or either bright enough to be called by orange... It wasn''t something who tried to kill her, but someone as well. With the bare hands. More than once. How many wounds are needed to kill someone until they are dry of any blood? None. They can''t be seem, and this land will never run dry, alike this rain. Sure, Dragoons are also tasked to contain any kind of riot, coming from a horde of dragons, and a crowd of burmecians as well. Rarely they appear, to be fair I never saw a ''Rat King'' outside the legends told. I never tried to enroll my own tail with someone else''s tail, because there are a plenty of ways to make ties ammend.
Sometimes, a warm flash of light appears from a gap beneath the skies. The clouds briefly open up, and only a few there to be impressed. Children or adults, they still keep stepping over the water puddles... A rainbow disappears, unlike its colours brought to this gray. And those limes, clothes and dresses... the orange at the tip of their hairs and tails. I have never dared to take this ribbon out, not even when taking of a same bath like this. Only once... Now, look at the mark it left. How tightened to me, like my own name, a name that remains my own. The name as old as it was my grandma, so does the tradition of a Crescent to become a Dragoon Knight. Is it a tradition, after all? Because everyone wants to become one of them. I''ll have to go to the market, yet again. Just like the mark left by the ribbon, it became part of me. It intends to, on a way it satisfies my pleasure, my hunger, my anxiety, anything that is part of me.
How much time it took for me to get out of that tub, wear these clothes, wrap that ribbon at the tip of my tail, comb my hair... I forget to wrap these strands. Now they are getting in front of my eyes. This hair will get soaked anyway, so I won''t share of any complains related to this matter. Fr?ulein... I''d rather be called by Frida instead. Even Jack knew how to make me angry, with a charm. It ain''t polite to punch a woman, father was right, and so Jack obeyed his. Father said nothing about words, adn the way they affect us. Any word, like fr?ulein for example. This name pisses me off, but people think that''s such a cute way to refer to a girl. A rather archaic way, I would say, but I have just remained quiet. Soon all of that would be over, but sometimes I wished it wasn''t. Those parties, the marriages, even the funerals; these were the times I would be close of mother. She was dressed like a Dragoon on each of them, except when taking a bath. Instead of muddy, the water became red, and the wounds hid by the thick fur, but not by the scent they brought.
Geez... do I really want to become a Dragoon Knight, if I remain thinking about these things? That job shares of other virtues, so does the people. I can eat as many vegetables i may find, but they won''t belong to me forever. Like the sources of fuel, they need to be supplied from a time to another. Like father once told me, when travelling on the seas or these lands engulfed by a sky, sailors and explorers suffered from scurvy, who would rotten their jaws as a whole unless they brought a lemon, or some orange with themselves. I was never fond of the taste of any lemon, but I need to wear a cloth with same color. It smells like lime, but it may be because of its color. These were the first things I saw, and felt as well. Now I don''t feel anything else alike before, when I smelled a chalk instead of eating it for the first time. The rain dissolved it instead of my own salivating mouth, and my hungry stomach. White alike milk... I don''t know what I may have thought, because I was just a baby, but mother had a good memory. I brought her one, a plenty for a change, so did Jack.
My breaths can be seem, a thick fog comes from my lungs, but the pain within the chest won''t stop. I disguise it, but after a few attempts, I perceive that I have failed to do it so, yet nobody seems to notice, or care about it. They do not even know how do I feel, how I wanted to feel any better, instead of dying each day on a week like this. Eggs... they are so fragile, so easy to be thrown away, to be eaten as well. Mother used to not afford any waste coming from those eggs and the price they carried on. She used to poured the shell coming from any egg, rotten as well, above the soil of the kailyard. They worked as a sort of beans, refreshing the earth below, increasing the growth of many plants. What I''ve once tought to be a sort of magic, or part of the Dragoon skillsets learnt by mother, it was all but the result of a work well done by nature. We may not be able to understand of its forces, or even care about then. A random stranger can tell me that the sun sets at the horizon due to Gaia''s movement throught space, but like my father used to say, the sun is meant to rise and be set at the horizon because it needs to. Done.
I never saw the sun, only its light. I felt it as well, only briefly. Then, the clouds began to move, and only the rain could be felt, as usual. I just ignore it, because I already felt it throught my entire life. No matter the amount of ripples flowing throught the surface of each street, the droplets hitting and falling somewhere other than the ceilings of those houses, the clothes getting soaked by something other than sweat... there is just silence for me. Apples, eggs, oranges, cinnamon rolls, bread and cheese; I don''t know if whether I shall eat one at once, or all of them together. Have some variety, at least. Back at home, only me to be sat on a chair, to prepare whatever it may be cut by this single knife. I wash it when cutting something else, because a bread can''t share of a same taste alike a strawberry. Did I''ve bought them too? Well, I''d better eat then today, because these pretty strawberries aren''t knew due to their taste, or the high price they are sold to us. They already seem to be a bit rotten, anyway.
A single touch over one strawberry, and a mark is left on a softer place, which means that this ''fruit'' began to rotten. Not prepared already, and this strawberry wants to return to same earth its seeds once belonged. I understand... nobody knows when to give up from a good shelter, when most of the life had been spent, like this house I''m into. Nobody else, but only me who remained, unlike these clothes. Why the need of hanging on those clothes into lines found outside their homes, if they will get soaked anyway? At least, they will be clean of any dirt, except the one who shall wore it. Mother''s ones at least fit on me, now, which came first: the orange color, or the orange fruit? That was one of the many kinds of questions made by Jack, and neither of us knew how to answer it. Not even father, who once said that the sun rises from the horizon because that''s how it happens. People do not give up from living because that''s how life is, because they now share of a plenty of reasons, arguments, doubts that fill in their heads, and before they pass away, some of them had already been dead for so long ago.
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Instead of creating life or destroying it so easily, mom sometimes just let it grow, and I had been tasked to create my own life, if by digging up the past on such moments like this, or by growing up to live outside the earth... and the people who step over earth, mom?... they not want to give the seeds any chance?... The seeds are well protected by the earth they reside within, Freya... uh... and the streets? the seeds won''t grow with stones above earth... See that grass over there? Below your feet? No matter how many cobblestones you build to fill in an entire street, there are always gaps in the middle of them all... grass grows anywhere, mom... You are right, Freya... gaps can be found anywhere too... mom, will grass grow inside Dan?... Well, why do you ask?... nothing big, mom... Heh, so you say... I can see that something is growing within you, my dear... It may not be grass, but no matter how many try to step over you, it will resist within time... It sure did, mother, whatever it may had been.
...Knock Knock... someone suddenly appeared, hitting the door with a fist. I know who it is, just by hearing of same knocks. I could have looked outside by the window belonging to this same kitchen, but I share of other senses. I hear no voice, but when I heard the wooden door being hit like that, I could already hear his infant voice... Hey, Jack!... aren''t we going to catch some bastardliks?... Jack ain''t there... ¨C good morning ¨C I said, greeting Daniel Brandford, a cousin of mine; also know as Dan, and ''Gappys'' by the closest ones. His wife doesn''t call him like that, only Jack used to, so did I when being close of his, due to mother''s demand ¨C I thought you were on duty as usual, Dan.
¡ª I had been patrolling the surroundings from midnight to this morning, Freya ¨C Dan said. I could see that he was tired. Besides the trembling legs, his pupils didn''t ceased to blink. These Royal guards all wear light-weighted armory, but this doesn''t mean they don''t have any weight to bare with ¨C don''t you think I need some rest?
¡ª You have your own house, Dan. And don''t you think your wife isn''t awaiting for you?
¡ª I know, I know. Learie is taking good care of the kids as usual, they don''t cry that much like before, but I''m tired. Really, honest. Also, I''ve wanted to see you... I mean, now that this place is empty... ¨C I already let Dan come inside, as soon as I have noticed his weariness. Dan didn''t showed up the day before due to his duty, but he was willing to help me the way he could. I know Gappys is good on the job he does, since I never saw his on the need of raising the sword, if there may be one there, to show the blade lying inside that leather sheath. Rocks to be thrown can be found everywhere, and so do the children that Dan used to be part of ¨C you have been prepared some chai, as it seems. Mind if I-
¡ª You''re welcome ¨C I said to Dan, who took a seat already. Dan is sitting on the other side of the table, same place Jack claimed to be his own. We used to stare to each other, before enjoying of some meal. At least, I had some fun when painting my own face, but that happened so long ago, and only mother to tell I giggled each time I painted my face, feeling as well the scent of the beans. One of the few things I do remember is that often I would be able to see Jack making those grimaces, sometimes I would mistake them with his face of boredom. Never that he was bored when playing outside, but the kitchen was the only place he could eat.
¡ª This chai... ¨C Dan said, after taking a sip. Some people are able to drink it when it''s so hot, but when I do the same, my tongue gets burned. It always does, so instead of sipping it immediately, I decide to await until this chai cools down ¨C those from the outside world call it by burman coffee. It ain''t the same thing. I mean, there are those who can afford a high amount of gil to get some quality coffee, while the main population of Burmecia is supplied with the worthless of the coffees and teas as well. There is nothing else left for us than to improvise, to mix other spices in order to give this chai a taste... Lenneth knew which one to choose and blend ¨C well, thanks, I would say in her place, althought I was meant to drink this chai on my own, but Dan made a visit once again. Since his father''s demise, the uncle I never saw, Dan began to visit this same house, and Jack ignored of his presence. Later they would ''befriend'' each other, since Jack and his began to hunt some Basilisks, so did I, just a witness alike Learie.
¡ª Mother knew many things, and only a few were taught to someone else other than her ¨C like the way the way she could jump... the basic of the Dragoon skills. Sometimes, she returned to this house not opening the front door, but the window found on her bedroom, and then, she lied on that same bed. So tired, but I was hungry. To eat some yellow apples instead of awaiting for them to became red, fully or in a half as many of them came to be.
¡ª Our heads shares of a plenty of things. To each thing I see, I am able to recall the name of same object, its color, maybe the last one is the hardest to deduce, since there may be a plenty of useful things to be done with something alike, well, a spear for example. Some may think a spear only kills dragons, while others can use a spear to free many lifes from death, or use the ones with large blades as shovels to dig up the earth. It all depends of the person... and the people as well. Mainly the people. Like Lenneth, whom used to share of a risk job alike mine, yet nobody ever asked for her to become a Dragoon Knight. They do not pay attention for the children who wants to become them, not even when they grown up to fullfill their dreams.
¡ª I wonder how you came to become a Royal guard, Dan. Your father was once part of them, right?
¡ª To be fair, Freya, I didn''t wanted to become a Royal guard like dad was, but I liked to hunt some Basilisks. Still I do it so, yet never that I ever harmed someone or something with this sword. It''s only there to serve as a sort of symbol, so does these hands. It would be so cool to cut one of their heads with a blade, or so that''s what Jack said once, but we instead kept throwing rocks over these creatures. Which way was the most painful, none of us knew... We hadn''t been searching for these Basilisks to cause them any pain, but to avoid our own. So cruel, and so honest we were at the same time.
¡ª ...and so deceitful as well ¨C after taking five sips of chai, I had some words to be spoken. They do act as a sort of reply towards Dan''s own, and a reply to myself too. How many times you have been laughing to someone who slipped with his face kissing the floor when jumping rope? How many times they laughed at you as well, and so did Jack... but he was the only one who followed me home, and the one who changed its face and the curve of that smile, no matter how awkward it looked for both of us. Only us. What would Jack receive after another day taking care of me, if we already lost something that couldn''t be replaced? ¨C remember all the children who wanted to become Dragoon Knights, Dan?
¡ª Yes, they still exist. Only a few of them become what they ever wanted, or what everyone wanted. One of my brothers became a fisherman, the other is gone to some other Kingdom, and Aoife, my little sister, is a seamstress. She is kind enough to repair the holes of these outfits. Learie had been doing so much for me and the kids, as much as I had been doing this all for the sake of them. I mean, we are all born with claws, but it takes some time to await for them grown, and some do not want to use them this way, not even I do want to. That''s why swords and javelins were made, and only a few to take care of them.
¡ª Only a few are able to carry on of such responsibility. To be honest, I wanted to become a Dragoon Knight for many reasons, Dan. So many reasons, but one detachs from them all... I was the only one in this neighborhood who had a parent that worked as a Dragoon Knight, one of the few who sparred with someone who acknowledged of those combat techniques. And, by result, I was part of the many kids who had to await for their caretakers who worked from a distance. I once thought that, if I became same Knight alike mother, then I would be close of her.
¡ª But you are ¨C Dan said. I''ve awaited, and nothing else was said. He took another cup, and I awaited for him to sip it. I am already done, but this sensation always comes afterwards. Somehow, I feel empty, so does Dan. He could drink it all without ever opening his mouth, and be able to spit on my brother''s face when showing of a smile but since his teeth and maturity grew up, he doesn''t have the need to do it so ¨C Lenneth worked so hard to follow of a way to the top of the world, and then she had to break her life in two. That''s how things are, but we do our best to improvise. We can''t cheat death, or to force time to slow down, not everything happens on the way we want to. I mean, I didn''t wanted any children, but now I''m glad that someone else wanted them. I have learnt many things with Learie, I live to learn something new, alike my kids ¨C for some reason, Dan is able to take it easy. He became a Royal Guard, is married, has a family to sustain, he is older than me, he shared of some time before I had to live my own... these are cold, hard facts, yet they are saw as a goal for many.
¡ª We all struggle for something, because none of them are insignificant... only the dreams, and the way they stand as dreams, if we aren''t able to believe and make them into something else. Dan, I know this ain''t just a dream, or something flowing or tampering with my blood, but I... I don''t know what to do next. I know where to go, but I have my doubts in regards to the slightest of the requirements, if there''ll be an audition awaiting to see me, if I''ll fail with them, which other job should I take instead...
¡ª Don''t worry about these matters, Freya. The weather isn''t affecting you only ¨C said Dan. Unlike his, I am sitting on the direction the window wasn''t at my back. I could see the sky, the white of the clouds, Only white, and the transparent water pouring down as usual. Only the light coming from the window enlightens this dark kitcen, and the warm smoke coming out of the teapot... another of many views I saw so many times. I don''t share of the same feelings I had with mother to Dan, or Jack, or maybe father, if he lived a bit longer .
¡ª It''s so cold outside, and only this chai to warm us up... ¨C even the apples taste cold. It''s like I am eating snowflakes, but they don''t melt inside of me, like they used to with a single touch of my tongue.
¡ª Well, as I said, you don''t have the need of carrying on any of these worries. I know how it feels to lose someone you had been living with, and to feel the need of doing something, but you can''t. The second one is the worst I had to bare with, because I couldn''t accept that I was unable to do something. Well, I did, but it took time for me to raise this sword with an only hand, they are so goddamnly heavy... but you, Freya, you had been training throught your lifetime with someone who shared of an exact experience as a Dragoon Knight in a sort of child''s play. Lenneth sure knew that, someday, you would become strong as a Dragoon Knight, not because she needed someone to take her place, but to make your own instead.
¡ª I don''t know for sure if mother wanted me or Jack to become Knights alike her, but to be stronger like one of them... certainly, that may had been her intention all along.
¡ª Good intentions, from a good person. I''ve heard many things about dad, the way he acted and saw others, but I didn''t cared about these things. He was my father, after all, and as much as I cared for his, he also cared for me, and mother, my siblings; dad just had not time to express these things, and I was too young to understand what he was talking, and remember of his words. Huff. Well, I guess I should be back to my routine as usual, so thanks for receiving me, Freya ¨C soon after finishing his cup, Dan lifted from the chair he was sat, so did I, and then we shaked our hands. I wasn''t expecting his visit, but I am glad that he made an appearance. Someone other than me ¨C Freya... if you feel any better, I''ll be awaiting for you in front of this house tomorrow. This if you need someone to follow you to where the Dragoons hatch...
¡ª Thanks, Dan. I know you would be able to do this for me, but what about your job?
¡ª There are guards other than me on these streets. It won''t make any difference if I miss this job for a while, only a small discount of my payment ¨C and then, after saying those words, Dan closed the main door. He didn''t said goodbye, not because he had no time to such formality, but we will meet again. Dan may be left away from his job, but not from the duty he still carries on. After all, to help people on the way I he is able to is Dan''s goal, as a guard, with or without this outfit. They look all the same, except those wore by the Dragoons...
I''ve spent the entire afternoon doing what mother used to, before going to her night routine. The clothes were already taken out of the line, I have buried some holes in the ground and put the seeds there, as much as I began to sew each hole I''ve spotted with my clothes. Sometimes, mother would spend an entire day working as a Dragoon, while others she would come back, only to sleep over that bed, and when the clouds began to darken, she would be gone. Now I am the only one sitting above this bed, where I used to sleep with her, sometimes as well. Only Jack would be there to take care of me, on father''s place. He would never be reckless towards me, but only a few times that he shared of a place on his bed, when my own was soaked. If when afraid of the lighting saw from the window, or the sound of a thunder strucking a tree nearby, a nightmare I dreamt in blackest night... I couldn''t control myself, my impulses, retaining it all inside of me, and so this just appears to happen again.
The same circumstances... same goals, same results. Now I know when I should or shouldn''t relief myself, when it''s time to feel clean, when it''s time to behave, but nobody knows when it''s time to do a leap of faith. It just happens, and I ain''t sure to where I should be landing upon. It must be the weather, or so Dan said, or I am just trying to convince myself it is. I look at the clouds from the window, and all I can see is darkness. Some lights had been lit, but they are nothing compared to the sun, barely visible, but enough to make a dawn become white. I touch my forehead, and I can''t feel any heat burning me, only the same heat I had been living with. Then I remember I lived to share of my heat with someone else, the first contact I had with mother wasn''t with words, but with her skin. Only later that I would be able to understand what she had been talking about, instead of trying to eat her white hair. ''Don''t eat this''; that may had been one of her first words, and one of the first rules I ever heard. At least, I was able to hear and feel something coming from her, and from father as well.
Instead of one, I lightened two candles. These are my only sources of light... and warmth before my own is gone.
...
XLVI: Djed
...Only the god of lightning to burn the trees, the goddess of love to make mortals ammend... So many gods, and they lived on this same Gaia, their home. There came a time when the old gods died, and only Bahamut remained as one, so did I. Yet, nothing can take me away from this sensible world. Not even death... I don''t fear it, but instead I take control of it. Control over my shape. My direction. My own history. Along the way, came the sins. Monarchy may share of other virtues, but it failed to protect the people from people. And the beasts from the beasts. Only the faith to sustain their lifes a bit longer. For many, god became a mortal, and died a long ago. Only the hopes are meant to die. Only the flowers are meant to wither. Only half of the offspring of rats survive the harsh winter. Only the humans threat each other with weapons further away from their jaws, but both sides get bitten anyway. Poisoned. Injured. Harmed. Killed...
...Today is the big day. You shall find the world, said a father to his son, beneath the doors secluding the Jugend from the outside world. Courage for the upcoming fights. And then, he left. I only felt the truth of such words later on. No matter the way I found to be back at home, instead of living inside this academy, I wasn''t the same anymore. I was eleven years old, but my interest for this job grew on me since I learned, not only with my family, but with this world I began to hate, and in change, same began to threw everything over me like a stream pushing the water together with the pieces of a mountain down ever since I learned about it, but only now that I do care. I live for it, same I do for the people who either believe that we are the solution, or part of the problem. It''s so easy to blame those who are alike gods walking over the earth, and so easy it is to create a power alike the one belonging to the gods with our own hands...
?Tortoise - Djed?
July 17, 1778
...
Today is the big day... That''s what you wrote in your diary as well.
All days are big, though they all seem to last for a while. It depends on the way they are spent. For mother, a day may had lasted only an hour due to her duty, but for me, it lasted for an eternity, but nothing lasted forever. Including my patience... On winters like these, any season that comes and goes, I had spent a time looking throught this window, belonging to my bedroom. I would be here to contemplate the morning and most of the times, I would find myself outside, to feel it further than the touch of my fingers over the glass surface. So bored that I was to lick this same glass as well, and never that my tongue got stuck. Only my feet upon the chair I pulled to be near this window, unlike this bed, whom I used to jump above, but now that I grew up, I might hit my head on the ceiling above, or maybe I''ll feel dizzy and I don''t want to cause a bad impression, even if they only last for a while, like my childhood.
It''s the first impression that gets stuck on their heads, but within time, it''ll soon be gone, but I don''t know how much time I''ll have to spend, or how much time I''ll feel passing throught. The clock only tells me which hours are, but people share of their own time. Like father, mother, Jack, Dan... me. The youngest of them all. Some are far younger than me, like many of my cousins. So young that they don''t care. So quiet they are, thought many of them keep running, because they are bored as well. So bored I was, that I began to listen to father''s stories. Some of them were real, others weren''t, but only me to tell if they were, or deduce. No such thing as a truth exists, and I agree with you, father. He said Truth as a person name, not truth as a object. A name is given to objects as well, but names are written with capital words, because they refer to proper names.
Capital words had been used in the beginning of sentences, and giant spears were given to the lords of war... In sort, nothing happened because of an only person, althought people on their own think by themselves. Instead of speaking out of their mouths, we keep many things meant to not be said on our heads, where we may hear them, and decide if we can, or can''t speak them. I never learned any slang with father, but I knew he despised other people. I loved his, for a change. I listened to his words, even when I was unable to see his, and he looked throught me, carefully he holded me, alike those who took care of me later on... I know he did, because I am still alive. Freya Crescent; that''s my name. Did I ever asked to be given this same name? How many of the children born had been given the name ''Freya''? How many born before me share of my same name? How many are still alive to live with the name they had been given?
It''s part of all families traditions that a child grows up with a grandfather''s surname. Some sound silly, while others are what kids struggle for, without their fists. Crescent... like the moon, but nobody here in Burmecia ever saw the moon. Only those who went outside, and were able to come back. All that we know to this day is that the moon shines alike the sun, but you are able to look at. And it may be gray, like these clouds some watch moving in the sky above. I am a Crescent, a Brandford, a Van Houten, an Ironheart, a Miyajima... the families that have dominance, who subdueded others throught ages, and things far more valuable than names chosen by the words of another. Mom choose my name instead of father, as much as she had chosen to live days unlike any others. Hours... I mean. This won''t take an entire day. As soon as I get it all, a thing I never did. I was only interested in the fights, I want to engage into some, yet you can''t solve this with your fist. Or a bite.
You were able to wake up from your bed, to prepare yourself a breakfast, and then you find yourself again, sitting on this bed. You are asking for a sleep, yet I am not tired. Maybe I am tired, of living like this. I didn''t expected that mom would get ill weeks before my birthday. I thought she would get any better, and then... then she would came back to her duty. She will, like always. You insisted for her to be with you, and once again you realise that a Crescent is always with you, not only in blood, or at the tip of your tail. How many times shall I carry on of same thoughts, instead of creating new ones? Before, I had an only thought, that became a wish and disappeared like one. I wanted mom to get better, and seeing how she kept smiling at me in the end, I can say she was far any better than those who refuse to die. She accepted it, when already down on this same bed.
From the window, only white can be seen; into the streets, on the clouds, and my hair. It wasn''t painful for her, neither for me, who had already been awaiting for such to happen, because I couldn''t do anything to prevent it. What really was painful back then is that I awaited enough for a realisation, instead of overcoming it myself. What else could be done when on a bed, besides speaking to each other? Well, I could listen to her coughing an entire day. All it took for a monster to be born was a terrible day spent by what once was his, or her. I only seemed to have been sharing of my own worries, legs trembling for each tea prepared, a water who shared of the warmth mother had been losing each day, but the flavour was the same, for someone who had been experiencing it for fifteen years. Someone who went inside these blankets only to feel the knees instead of the pillows on the head... You aren''t only here, at this room, to be sobbing at someone who isn''t there, right?
The sky does it so, however nobody pays attention to its sounds. Who else, other than you, to be paying something and awaiting for such to be paid? You do not share of an only voice in your head. You do not call yourself by Freya on the same way you used to, a name that inspired many things gone like your childhood, and the way you felt the same. Today is the big day, isn''t it? Only if you wake up, once again. You didn''t only came here by opening this wooden door, did you? Anyone can open these doors, as much as we are to close some of them forever, but even walls are breakable, gaps can be found on these same doors, glass can be scratched like our backs, and mother had no reason to lock her wardrobe with any locks. If there is a thing I do need to become a Dragoon Knight on a first place is that I need to look alike them.
I had been trained to become one, but the difference between the garden and the training grounds is that the first was fun, both for me, Jack and mom. I learned a few things, of a bunch I had forgotten. You will have to learn these again, and you won''t forget this time. Instead of the stick, you will be given an entire spear. A javelin, to be fair. A Dragoon knight ain''t defined by its weapon, though one of mom''s spears was a father''s gift. I don''t know if she only took it as a gift and only, but as far as I knew mom, I guess such gift wasn''t only meant to be called by special. I wonder where that spear is, but maybe it was buried together with her. That''s one of the things she would want to. I wasn''t there to see it, because I already saw enough of my mom, far more than her own body, and those expressions she used to make with that face. Anyway, with her scars exposed or not, nothing could prevent us from knowing that she didn''t felt any good, but that she choose to live this way, I agree.
Knock Knock... I heard them so many times. coming down that same door. Dan said that he would be there to lead me to where they train the new Dragoons. I could already be there on my own, if I felt any better than this. I don''t want to go there on my own, even with these clothes, wearing orange trousers that only I do pay attention at, fortunately. And my tail began to shake, but it already does. I only took notice of how it moves, from left to right, and then right to left. It''s a waste of time. And to go there only in thoughts, to believe that you will fail with them, fail with the unknown... What about those heroes who had fought many battles, destroyed empires in the past in order to show something far more than shear strenght commited by their hands? I''ll make it know, then I''ll be able to endure it. It may be boring, but it ain''t a frightening process. Only their looks, and why would I feel any threat, if all you had to do was to hold one of their hands? Her left hand, the one who also holded of any spear, javelin, but unlike these weapons, I never brought my hands to any harm.
...
...Only the claws, but I felt shame to use them. Anger is the most primitive of the sensations. Besides fear. The audition is the first of the senses that alert any kind of danger, and the first of the feelings we all feel is fear. The adrenaline runs throught the body, the mind tells you to escape, and the experience may prevent you from stepping above a nail or hitting the wooden counter when in the dark. Some creatures live in the dark, while others evolved to step into sunlight, and only a few to look at the sun. They have no time, they have no need to look at the stars. It burns... It hurts. The human is the only animal who ever deemed an existence over his own needs, an immortal being unlike his. The burmecian is just another human, and only humans to feel any love. I didn''t had the need to spend my time reading these books to learn about that. It comes by experience...
...
Tsk, tsk... That was a nice breakfast I had as soon as I woke up. You did it before me and your mom, even before your own brother. Tsk... But a leaf got stuck between my teeth. The front teeth. That wouldn''t happen back when I began to lose them like the leaves falling out of a tree. You will lose them too, but I hope not on the same ways I do had lost them. For each time your father got in trouble, all I could do was to fight back, instead of fleding like a cockroack. Only my teeth got broken instead of my jaw, and any bones, if I recall. This if I had not lost my memory yet, or if I replaced such with a good moment instead. Like your birth... no, that was an awful moment, to be fair. Not that I had been awaiting or I didn''t cared for you on the same way your mom still does, but... well, there are moments that are meant to be carried on, althought for each coin comes two sides.
Don''t try to eat any coins anymore. But then, you are barely able to stare at me, anything with these little blue dots, and then I feel something in my chest. You are above my chest as well, same who is covered by this leather plate. It took some time to wear these, and how easy it was to wrap up you in these clothes. Now, why is Freya taking so long? Had she woke up yet? Freya... She had been living into a Niflheim these past few days. I know how she feels, but not on the same way she does. Your grandpa had passed a long ago. I won''t say that he was that good of a person, nobody is. But there are those people whom I care about, no matter how they are treated or treat others by. So, I became a Royal Guard, because it''s nice to show some respect to the people, yet some don''t show the same kind of respect I brought to them, besides order.
That''s how things are. You can''t force other people to make you like something. You, for example, prefer to be toying with the food instead of eating it, but you do have a reason for that. It''s because you are growing up, knowing what should or shouldn''t be done, in order to let people see you with a sight other than the first one they had of you. So little you two were, still are... A boy once came near me once, to ask me something. He seemed lost, but given how he looked at me with those eyes, I thought for myself he could just look around, that the view he shared was enough to find people a mile away, while I would only see silhouettes. It was just a silly guess, I know it, as much as I knew I had to help that kiddo. And what I did next? Well, I kneeled over the kid, who spat on my face. A spit, and then he just fled with those short legs.
He reminded me of Jack, who also dared to punch me as well, on this same face. Both sides. Jack... that''s your name, isn''t it? At least, Jack didn''t laughed back that day, because I knew how silly of a laugh he had, despite that infant voice. I''m kind of eager to hear your voice too, no matter how it may sound. I do shared of a voice worse than Jack''s own, and only now I am able to realise it, without feeling sad, or being mocked by that. As if the gaps I had between the front teeth weren''t enough... Why would I feel down with these things with Learie Profumo on my side? Your mom had a sweet voice, althought she wasn''t allowed to eat any of them, and after hearing that, Jack made a joke about her teeth being yellow. So did the apples she began to ate. But I didn''t cared about it. A girl isn''t only defined by her teeth, though Jack''s sister used to bite his.
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I feel a scent coming from the barely open window that leads to the kitchen. I guess you did felt the same as well. Maybe Freya is taking a bath. It works each time I feel my head is about to open, or when my skin began to feel itchy, and my mouth dry of any words, unlike Learie'' own... I know Jack felt a bit of envy in regards to me because he felt something for Learie, but then it was him who said that she had rotten teeth. At least, he only offended her with words alone. Only a coward punches girls, and only a girl to punch cowards, I hope you learn that. Of course you will. Learie never did such a thing, and she hated how I fought against Jack, or any boy. What a waste of time, she said, and how long it took for me to agree they were right. It took a week so I was able to talk to her. To talk with Learie was the easy task, but to kiss her... I never did it so.
Was it because I believed in what Jack said to me? Was it because only I wanted to feel that kiss? How could a child kiss another, if I didn''t even know how relationships worked? Of course I knew how, but only with my brothers. Father was gone even when he just didn''t became ashes unseen in thin air, and mom created Aoife instead of my two brothers, who created themselves, so did I as soon as I got someone like Jack to be called by friend. We are cousins, but seeing how far we were of each other, I don''t think that we saw ourselves as cousins. Yet, we used to fight each other like boys, suffering from the boredom and whatever it was that used to make us amused as always. Then his sister was born, and with my father gone, I went to visit his house often than before. Like now, but Jack doesn''t live here anymore, nor does Lenneth. Only Freya Crescent, another cousin of mine.
Here she is. Wearing that red trench, a white and clean cravat along the neck, covered by those same garments, same shoulder pads, the belt tightened above the chest, where the same coat of arms, a bit rusty and sharing of a few cracks, is still able to shine alike the edge of a spear, if there was one for Freya to hold. She is already bearing enough weight, far more than I could in the first days. She doesn''t wear any leather, that''s why. Her days of harsh training didn''t even began, while the child''s play of before ceased to be brought ¨C it takes courage to go in there dressed like that ¨C I said, as soon as I looked to her, with the door opened at once. I could say for sure that Lenneth came back. She did, fifteen years ago...
¡ª It ain''t courage, Dan. Just a guarantee.
¡ª Aren''t you going to wear the helmet as well?
¡ª I don''t think so.
¡ª Does it fit your head? ¨C I brought a brief smirk, and I know Freya noticed it. Back on a certain day, she once tried to wear her mother''s helmet, and it was so heavy that not only her head did fit it, but then she got stuck inside this same helmet. Jack and I laughed first, but Freya laughed last. Jack knew that having a little brother would be fun, and painful as well. The way she kept staring at me, then and now... ¨C nevermind. Do you feel any better?
¡ª Just a bit nervous, Dan, althought I do share of the basic requirements. Since father went to the field and was able to came back, the State have brought an insurance to his, so they did with the other soldier''s families. Yet, father worked hard like mother throught the short life he had, with half of his lost before I even was born.
¡ª At least, to have a half is better than nothing at all, Freya.
¡ª I know. Alright, let''s go...
...
...Clay can shatter at any moment, or can be brought into shards with a single pull. I know Bart became a shell since that day. Somehow, he is still alive, so you did. He didn''t knew anything about my disease, because there wasn''t none. A plenty of attention was given since then by father to daughter, not only because most of the time I''m out of home, or because Freya is far younger than Jack, who already knows the basics of living, but mainly due the eyes. Those little peridots have found a way to trespass out of Bart into her, unlike her hair that keeps growing, unlike my doubts. While Bart keeps staring at everything with wide eyes open, only my dear seems to be able to blink far more than his. While our daughter is beginning to look and wonder why such things like spoons exist, Bart sometimes just went looking somewhere, and nothing at the same time. That stare remained on his life as much as you...
...
Dan is wearing that same outfit given to the Royal guards. Despite the title, these soldiers can be found everywhere, and anyone can enlisten easily on the army. The King shares of his personal guard, but with the title given to people such as Dan, they all seem to be that important and close to such a thing as royalty. I mean, they are important, because only a few that are meant to become Dragoons. This if you have enough money, which I do have, yet mom and dad decided to live at the countryside all along. Only a few move to this half of Burmecia, where I and Dan are heading to. He is currently off duty, but that doesn''t mean he is no more able to help people. Many call this part of the kingdom by city, and that''s fine for most of us. There is no official name for that place, as much as there isn''t a crest for the flag. Only the Dragoons to share of a crest, and only Burmecia to share of same Dragoons.
We walk together into the same street, following of different paths. I see that he is also taking care of one of his and Learie''s sons. So, that''s little Jack? He can barely look at anything, but I see that he is struggling to. And then, Jack falls asleep. This place quite feels alike another, when compared to the countryside. It''s still part of Burmecia, but I do not live here, unlike Dan, or that other Jack. My brother is somewhere within these buildings, who do not have the shape of bells, only in the vaults found inside, alike the ones belonging to the church. I only went there once, when father was gone. He wasn''t even there, neither did my mind when playing outside. People can pray to Bahamut anywhere, but food can only be purchased here, in the market district. Same can be prepared by some kind neighbor, but it''s easy to carry on money than any friendship.
Across my way throught the main city once again, I stumbled across a kid, a rather odd one. Skin brown as a caramel, he is wearing rags assembled into clothes, each piece sewed onto another, leather and just rags. He wore a carpet bended with another unrelated piece of cloth. There are no holes, except the one made for his neck, arms and legs. The kid''s fingers look as if they were about to melt, just like that large and limpy tail, but I saw an apple being holded by his, until he put it inside the mouth, chomping it in a single bite. He doesn''t look hungry enough to do it, but he did anyway, even with the backpack behind his. Yet, these are only small details, in regards to the feature that striked me at the first sight I gave for the boy, so he did with his own eyes. Beneath the hat with the shape of an acorn or shittake, next to his flaccid dog ears, what was once a stare became a glance of eyes that resembled those belonging to the fish.
These layed above the counter of a near fair, unlike the kid who stood like me and Dan on the same street. I mean, the boy could blink, but the way he kept staring at us... he looked dead. Frightened, perhaps. The way that eye seemingly popped out of his ¨C what are ye lookin'' at? ¨C this until he said it. He had no claws to scratch me. Neither on his hands, or on his feet. But that he can talk... It wasn''t enough for his ¨C hey! Ye up there, shrimp! Ain''t ay nothin'' for ya!? ¨C and then he came near us, with his tail being dragged like a worm out of the ground. The gaiters on his feet weren''t even gaiters, but red socks tore like the tattered clothes wored by his. At least, he wears something.
¡ª Is there any problem with paying attention to where we step upon? ¨C I asked for his. I do not know anything about this boy, except that he sounds a bit mischievous. He looks alike that too, but I can''t trust the first sight taken forever. On a same way, I can''t begin with the left foot, but I did it so anyway. So many times that a bluff sounded as if I was on the top, no matter how silly it was. Now, what remains silly is that I do it again, from a time to another.
¡ª Nah, there isn''t none... Hey! Hauld yer horses a minute! Ay ain''t that small of a stane for ye to almost trip over!
¡ª Then you are the least of my concerns, kid ¨C I said, putting him aside, avoiding to look at his, but I couldn''t. He was still in the middle of the way, and no matter how much we deviate from his, the boy always seems to get in front of me. A kind of invisible force that keeps pulling me backwards. I look down, and there he is.
¡ª Ay dinnae know ye, shrimp ¨C then, he put that index of his inside the nose. As if he didn''t cared for what he said, the boy doesn''t seem to care about his hygiene as well ¨C but ambition makes ye look pretty ugly, by th'' wey ¨C the way this kid threatened me was far more funny than a threat is meant to be, yet I didn''t shed any smile. At least, he really tried to be harsh, even when showing those little claws.
¡ª Excuse me, but do you know what you''re saying, kid? To who you are saying it? ¨C I may not be a Dragoon yet, but I don''t tolerate any lack of respect. What an inconsiderate fool. To leave him behind, while wearing of this armor that doesn''t even belong to me... no wonder why the kid seems so pissed, to be treated like this by someone who isn''t even a Dragoon Knight properly. A Knight wouldn''t treat any person on this way, though I''m still able to ignore his. The boy does the same as well, eating an apple taken out of that backpack.
¡ª MUNCH... Ye should be canny, or else, ay wull make another air hole in ye neck... CHOMP! ¨C these were the last words I heard from his, before I left from a distance.
¡ª Do not strain yourself, Freya. He is just a bored kid ¨C said my cousin. The boy didn''t said anything to Dan, althought the same somehow knew about his. Dan knew many people as he served the role of a Royal Guard, a sort of Dragoon Knight that only carries on a sword inside the sheath. They all wear this same light blue outfit, like we all wear an orange ribbon. That boy had none, yet he is a burmecian too. I don''t have a kind of people that needs far more protection than any other group. That''s what I should know, for once. I may serve the King later on, like Dan does, but not everyone can afford of its wealth, like that kid. He may be a thief, but he only stole my attention instead of my patience. He may had stolen that same apple, but who else was there to see and witness it other than the sneaky one?
Kids... the true owners of the world.
...
...I heard knocks on the front door, and as usual, I didn''t expected for his. Otterley went upstairs to see my son Jack, lying on bed, burning on fever. He went alongside Dan to find some Basilisks. Near the marshes, seeing those red spots all over his skin. Jack already caught chickenpox once, but fleas can bit anyone, no matter the age. He keeps scratching his skin, even after I told his to not. It ain''t useful to say no to a child, or someone ill. They always complain. I already gave Jack two cold baths, which only brought a short relief for his. The door opens and then I saw Otterley, the same nursemaid who showed up at the labour of my two kids. She brought some aloe vera leaves on a basket, after hearing about Jack''s condition. A Dragoon Knight that can''t even cast the healing skills learnt within the years on those you love mostly...
...There are some wounds that can be treated fine, like small cuts made on a skin. Scars can still be found at my back, and when I am able to touch them, it is as if I could read my own history. There are the family recipes, but never that I would allow these kind of medicine be swallowed by any of their mouths. Not yet. On this age, they can''t be put in a deep slumber. Besides, the kids here kinda like of Otterley''s presence. They don''t tolerate her because I ordered them to, but they just like her. I already asked for Otterley to take care of Jack and Freya when I am out, unlike now. My dear came near me and asked if we could spar together in the garden. What else could I say? I mean, I was tired, so did my head, aching a bit even until now, but I don''t care. These are poor excuses for someone who already witnessed so many of them. Father is gone, but that ain''t an excuse for nothing. Duty calls, now that''s an excuse that still works, because none of us cry afterwards...
...Freya is faster than me, and from a single gap of the front door opened by me, she is already outside, awaiting, and just awaitng until I could open the basement door to find our weapons. That was a rare rare opportunity for us to be there, at the same time, at same place. I remember the first day I sparred with my daughter. I explained to her that we would use the broomsticks instead of any sharp javelins. Why javelin is sharp, Freya asked. I said that javelins need to be sharp because they are made to stab deep within the dragon''s scales. Why stab dragon? All that I could say was that they needed to be stabbed before they ate people. Why dragon eat people? Because all they want is to eat, they don''t think my dear. I am hungry mom. I want to eat tomato ''cause dad liked it. Freya may have got tired of walking with her own feet, bored of sparring with the same stick, but if there is a thing that some kids on this age don''t get tired of is that they are far honest than those who take care of them. Only a few words are enough...
...
A bell rangs. The front gates opens. They are wide than my sight, taller than my height. How much I wished anything could be done with a single step into this place. As soon as I blink again, we are inside the Jugend, a city within a city. The legendary academy that brought many ordinary figures into Dragoon Knights. There are the richy sons too, but it''s hard to distinguish who is who, since you need to afford a plenty of money to be into this place. According to Dan, the payment is done montly, but first you need to pay in order to register your name as a Dragoon Knight, then you start as a grunt, but that doesn''t prevent me from attending any kind of mission. Once a Dragoon Knight, always a Dragoon Knight. It''s better follow of this motto than giving up of this job, since only a time later that you begin to be paid instead of paying them to be remembered later on, but you can still pay this institution if you care about charity, because nobody manufactures spears, clothes, shields, helmets, anything made in quantity for free.
Aqueducts of water run beneath our heads. They are filled in by the water of the rain, but that doesn''t mean this stream of water is any cleaner than the one coming down the mountains. It needs to be boiled, as usual. That''s why many burmecians drink tea or chai instead of any water. Others prefer to taste a mug of beer. I never drank any of these, not because I''m not allowed to, but because it sucks, tastes bad. It smells bad, but given that some of these are already drunk, it doesn''t matter. Once I drank wine, thinking it was grape juice, and my head began to twist. It was so cold, bitter, yet it had a charm. Anything mom prepared had some, even when it was a mistake. She commited them, but who doesn''t? At least, she learned something, so did I. Under the sparring seasons, I never saw her using any Dragoon techniques other than the way of carrying a spear.
Not that she wasn''t able to summon Rei''s Wind to treat some wounds left on us, but like everything that exists, it had a cost. No wonder why mom always came back at home tired like that. Bandages are better to hid the cuts left on the skin, because a harmed body can be treated fine, unlike the soul. From where she took all of that energy...I only know to where mom discharged it all. This street I''m stepping into may had been a place where she fought against an ironite, and what about that square? She stood upon these rooftops, watching the people walk alike ants. Not only Dragoon Knights work here, so does the window cleaners, so if you gave up you still have the opportunity of working on a risky job, but they don''t pay that much for these cleaners as they will do if you are a good Knight. At least, you are able to live in there, by an additional cost that''s enough for someone such as me to afford, though this place may share of a nice view for someone up there.
It''ll be easy to reach the top of these buildings as soon as I learn how to jump like a Dragoon...
XLVII: Stars Are Cold
?Cleaners From Venus - Stars Are Cold?
I - D?gun
April 11, 1783
...
Rain rain, go away... Come back on yellow monday... Rain, rain falls again... Comes on each blue tuesday... Despite the synchronization, none of their voices sound any mellow. But they do not care. Add some music to your day, and that''s it. These kids are playing on the yard, where the tall grass becomes clouds, and each square they jump when playing hopscotch is a path closer to heaven. Everything is perfect on heaven, but they live on Gaia instead. Below the cotton clouds, dirtied of soot as they do. It ain''t funny when someone throws a sharp stone, as if any of these kids were willing to step over it, but injuries come anyway. A boy pulls another, and a tooth fell out of his mouth. Jack remembers how silly where these fights, because he never fought for a reason other than his sake. He still do fight to protect his kind, and someone else''s as well. Not that his sister isn''t weak. In fact, Freya shares of hard bones, but that doesn''t mean she feels pain anymore.
Weren''t you there to give assistance to your sister? That''s what Lenneth would ask to Jack, her son, as soon as he came back at home, followed of his sister. Mom never said such a thing, though Jack, because he never allowed her to. He is willing to take good care of Freya, even when she doesn''t want of his presence. There is a line in regards of a a life to be called your own, and a a place to be called home. Burmecia is the home of Burmecians, and Gaia is the home of Gaians. Everyone is part of Gaia, but same Gaia isn''t part of everyone. And not only Burmecians live at Burmecia, despite how similar both names sound. A glass of water, a window glass that is watered by the rain, a glass of glass... No wonder why standard english is one of the poorest kinds of languages. Same reason to why it''s used by everyone, and integrated to all nations as well, alike the alphabet.
Why an ''A'' is ''A''? Freya asked to her brother. Not all ''Jacks'' are the same ''Jack'', he replied. So many Jacks, and Freya only knew about one. Hey, daddy''s name is Bart, isn''t it? Jack... Bart... they share four words. How nice logic sounded to Freya and her both ears. Something so trivial, banal, but everything was new to her. Why not care about it, if soon you won''t? To find out there is a basement, and the most fascinating of the treasures found there to be a broomstick. Only a broomstick, but within a child''s mind, it could happen to be anything else. The ''teeth'' belonging to the brooms are said to be taken out of whales mouths. They lie deep in the sea, a place none of Freya''s relatives ever had been. Seeing the clouds above, moving like ships, and middays that become darker suddenly, tidal waves are made in front of a street, manholes become maelstroms, and paper boats are sunk. Paper gets wet, then it sunks on manhole. A hand is tiny to grab them...
Airships of paper, swans of paper, chocobos of paper... and nobody cares to write any letters. Freya can''t write, despite knowing her own name, and the name belonging to many things. A tiny beetle becomes a HUGE BEETLE, a ladder turns into a
L
A
D
D
I
E, and nobody else writes the word ''rat'' with same ''r'' backwards.
Many of Freya''s friends live so near, only a few squares and steps are taken. Dan''s house is only four quarters. Voss''s home just happens to be found down the street. Quick! Bring the eight wine cups! Orochi must be sealed right away, Crescent!... Voss is a good storyteller, althought many of her stories seem a bit frightening. Those who are old alike her doesn''t seem to care that much. In fact, all of Voss''s stories sound exactly the same when it comes to bring fear, and hope as well. Yamata no Orochi; the great serpent, born out of Gaia''s will. One of the last old gods venerated by the civilizations before they became a single Burmecia, and Bahamut the only god found upon the skies, and Leviathan to rule the seas below. Orochi still lived, so did the clan who followed of his principles. As long as nature and humanity had an equal balance, Orochi had no need to intervene, but centuries later, same nature who granted its powers to Orochi began to crumble.
He could no longer await to fulfill its goal of cleansing this same Gaia of all burmecian lives Bahamut tolerated, grewing in numbers, so did many of their sins. Those who obeyed Orochi waged on war against the followers of Bahamut. Dragoon Knights and all people avaliable for combat were tasked to protect the boundaries of this kingdom. To bring everything to nothingness was Orochi''s goal, before he was sealed away by the three sacred burmecian treasures, holded by Cyan, grandson of the first King of Burmecia, who holded of the Kusanagi sword forged by the great Leviathan; Suzaku, descendant of a former Orochi''s follower, who knew the recipe of the eight wine cups meant to drunk the serpent; and Leviathan Knight Reis, daughter of Fr?ja, who holded of a mirror brought by the great serpent''s own tears. With Orochi suspended, he could no more bring of its onslaught to this world. Some say that the souls of the warriors that followed Orochi now reside within the Grand Dragons.
Some stories were less epic, but still fascinating to be heard by Freya. Yet, they always shared of the same mood, and the fact that the sun always settled down when arriving at Voss''s house didn''t helped. Neither the fact that there is no sun to be seem, only a few of its warmth to be brought into tiny sunrays. A fireplace is a good candidate for being its substitute, but after hearing the story Voss told yesterday, the flames of each fire screamed alike the Cumacanga. Legend says that the Cumacanga happens to be the last daughter of an offspring of seven sons brought of a Priest''s forbidden love. During the day, nothing else happens, but when night arrives, the Cumacanga reveals its true shape, as soon as the head leaves the body to fly around the meadows, a flaming ball that stuns those who hang around late at night.
¡ª Wait a moment... Can''t a Priest have any sons? A boy by the name of Marco asked. He was the middle son of a local Priest.
¡ª We''re dealing about forbidden desires stuff ¨C Voss replied back then. A quick relief had been brought, until ¨C there is a punishment for each one of them ¨C Voss added.
¡ª I don''t think laziness can be deemed as a sin, because same prevent others sins from happening... ¨C weren''t for Labatut''s appreciation for soft meat, Marco would already fell asleep, no matter how much a floor seems cold.
¡ª Excuse me, Voss... ¨C something bothered Freya, in regards to the tale told ¨C how a fire head glows under rain?...
¡ª Magic, I guess.
...
II - Fyrsta
October 06, 1781
...
Once, giant birds lived on this earth. Think about chocobos, but three times higher, and faster. And menacing too. Not that a chocobo isn''t all these things, but... well, their peck hurts. It''s like a nip brought to a skinny arm. These chocobos, at least, they do not share of any fondness for meat. Only grass. I wear green to this day. Maybe Doyle though that I was a moving grass. Grass doesn''t scream, althought I heard once about Mandragoras, and if you pull them out of the earth, well, they scream at you. Very loud. I and my throat and these ears don''t like screaming. Daddy says that a person only scream to be heard by another. A dog howls at the moon, but the moon won''t hear his. Now, what I was talking about... Oh, giant birds, that''s right. Sorry. I got lost, so many things happened when I was crossing Gizamaluke''s Grotto. I also got lost in there. I''m not lost, ya see. Well, about the giant birds... Daddy only showed me their bones. They are all dead. Extinction only comes for those who are big enough to this world. That''s why diseases still exist, daddy said.
Fratley... I miss his. He was a funny guy, though Jack. Years passed, and the last time I heard of his was, like, three years ago. His family must be living outside these lands, since his father is a traveler. How time passes... Guess we won''t be able to recognize each other. I still recognize the place I live, but to feel of same rain is something else. Now it''s time for snow to pour at the ceilings, at the leaves, atop us. White, thick snow. It''s so cold that my skin burns, so I won''t leave home. Stay near the fireplace, mom said. Careful for not letting your sister play with fire, she said it too. Why would I let Freya leave a burnt mark into one of her hands, I thought to myself. I would never step at her tail, never again. Fur can unfold what lies beneath the skin and the many marks left. To tighten a fierce belt is Freya''s only solution for not letting her pants to fell out. My pants. How shameful for this to happen near the relatives... I and my legs used to be so fat back then.
Only in case I disobeyed or didn''t accomplished what mom told me to do and not to, she brought Otterley to take care of us. She is the nursemaid that brought us to this world. Guess she is part of the family, kinda. A bit younger than mom, older and taller than me. I heard from mom that Otterley was born and raised at Cleyra. Fratley once went there with his father. It''s a tradition that those who were born at that trunk may return there someday. I asked to Otterley if she ever came back to her home. Only once, she said. Do you miss Cleyra? I asked too. Maybe Ottis does. She doesn''t even look alike a Cleyran. I heard that they wear peachy and flowery dresses. Not that a dress makes any difference, because Ottis looks beautiful on each way for me.
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The only thing that remained of her home, besides memories, was that hair. Also found upon that head. Face, I mean. A beautiful face, as well. Why am I drooling, if lunch had not been prepared already? I feel like I am sweating, but the heat doesn''t come out of me. Instead, it grows, and the fireplace isn''t lit yet. It''s hard to describe what I do feel for Ottis. I like her, and that''s weird enough, coming from a kid that used to spit on those walking below a tree. I am not a kid anymore, same for Ottis, and that pretty long, and well combed hair. The girls who grew of long hair are qualified to realize the ritual dance back at Cleyra. To sustain the strenght of the sandstorm, or so that''s what I''ve understood. The storm is so big and strong that I have gotten sand inside my pants, Fratley told me as well. He even brought some sand from that place, which became a pile of mud when back at Burmecia. A sand soft as a pillow of clouds that even my feet sunk into a dune... I heard nothing coming out of Ottis, only from my sister.
I''m hungry, Freya said. She is always hungry, and always heard. This ain''t normal, only if you have a vermin inside you. Her skin doesn''t look any pale, so that''s just a guess. Expectations hardly surpass reality. In fact, I thought that I would never adress Ottis on this way, alike mom, or dad, who are always here, and they are part of me too. She was just a caretaker, like any other. All I could do was to behave, to bare of random people into this house. To put a finger on the nose, no way! To be fair, I''m also getting sick of it. Just like lil'' sis used to be crawling around, before her knees began to hurt. At least, Freya can stand on her feet. This means that she can kick my butt instead of biting my tail. To think it all of this seemed to have happened yesterday, and only I and mom and dad to rememeber... Geez, when have I gotten so sentimental? Guess I always had been.
Don''t know where to stock grief. I don''t need to, only at the moment. Only a fist to be delivered right at their faces. Then, I feel bad. At least, I feel something other than satisfaction. I know already that I''ll be punished too, soon or later. I do not bare of Ottis presence, but I just accepted it. Same for Freya. I also accepted that mom won''t be back at home soon, and that dad will be tired, just alike mom. Same can''t be said for Freya. She''s still young, althought a bit taller than someone with that age. Five, alike her fingers. Fingers, claws, feet, pawns, fur, skin... so many words, for a few things. Ottis is taking care of us, but for what reason? Mom and dad are willing to pay her, because nobody works for free. Dad works everywhere, and gets tired anyway. I do not work, I only offer of help. And I thought I would never clean any dishes, just because of Ottis... I like her. Freya too.
My sis once called Ottis by ''mom''. It must had been a reflex act. You get so familiar with someone that it happens. I mean, Freya''s writing is a bit ugly, but she knows how to write. Her thoughts are quick, so does many of her words. Sometimes, Freya reminds myself when I was young, but I wasn''t a girl. And my mom ain''t that kind of person to be feared, only by the dragons. To think I once have gotten so unfamiliar of mom that I didn''t even called her by, but I knew Lenneth was here. There, by now, wearing that Dragoon Knight outfit as usual. Dad once brought and cut a pumpkin, and those eyes he made on its shell reminded sis of the holes belonging to a Dragoon''s helmet. They are pretty heavy, unlike an empty pumpkin. Freya used to wear it upon her head, until it began to rotten, and fruit flies lied and hovered around it.
Mom smells worse, Freya said. Mom is always here to give us a goodnight kiss, though.
...
III - Myrkur
August 17, 1784
...
The Kingdom of Burmecia is found on another of its frost seasons. Mean seasons. Drips of rain falling from the ceiling becomes sharp stalactites. Dragoon teeth, as it''s usually referred to. Even the thick air breathe changes from fog to ice. There''ll be a plenty of these stored inside the underground cabinet. The river Kinneas found beneath the many bridges became a slippery sidewalk. Bahamut can''t freeze this entire kingdom, because beautiful days do not last forever, someone complains to the skies. Someone awaiting to be heard. All adults seem to do are to complain. Daddy never complained, no matter how tired he felt after the job. He won''t feel tired anymore, won''t lay over that couch, or will ever be brought back at home. Only the cries for his name. Freya despises the raining seasons, because they''re wet like bath. Her tears aren''t enough to wash her face, or to make the world around her any clean. Ashes already burnt remain grey, so does her skin.
¡ª What''s up, Jack? ¨C Dan asked to his cousin, standing with the feet upon a wooden chair, near the window. Rain keeps falling atop the mountains. Althought it is a piece of cake to climb upon a tree, or to even stand atop the ceiling of his home far from sweet, Jack never went there, yet the boy gazes at that same distance. For a while, it''s fascinating how a few don''t even share of a time to gaze at such distances, then it gets boring. Dan talks bullshit, and so Jack looks somewhere below the highest of the mountains, just so to not forget he''s living on these same layers of reality where the once seasonal crops of a golden autumn are gone, and now only fallow lands remained. Mom is preparing soup, Jack though. At least, he won''t feel any empty as his stomach.
¡ª You know very well how do I feel, Gappys. That''s why you came here, right? ¨C did he needed an answer to be brought? No. But to realise that someone else was there was enough of an answer, for many whys not explained. To carry on secrets until the grave... Nobody is flawless enough to deal with these kind of things. Days dragged away, moments spent with someone else, time slipping away from the shore wharf before it all sunked; once, Jack almost lost his father. Now, Jack misses same father, for sure. He lost half of what he was, but suffering can''t be divided. Only shared by same people, those near and away, out in their homes. No distance is known by death. The time when it happens can''t be measured.
¡ª Well, to be fair, I only came here to see your mom ¨C that same sentence would piss off the old Jack, something worth enough of a punch. But Jack had no need to do any of these things. He felt off of his self. At least, Dan was being sincere, something once unrelated to his kind. Or Jack''s own. Just a boy, that''s what he is, despite being a burmecian. So did his father, Dan''s uncle as well. Bartholomew Brandford only fought a war when on the field, but same wasn''t enough to kill his. Jack remembers each time he demanded something for father to accomplish. There are no tears shed. They happen to appear easily when yawning. Jack needs a bit of air, and less pressure.
A breathe comes and goes, but the awful silence remains. Dan doesn''t even have time to tell his cousin about Learie, who was willing to pay a visit for Jack. And Freya too. She lies over her bed, inside the same room she shares with her brother. This room used to be Jack''s own, before Freya grew up, enough to walk on her own, and to talk something other than noise, but the first thing Freya ever did on her own... was to cry. It needed to be her, or someone else would force her to. That''s what the infant later known as Freya did, even before those around it were aware that the ''it'' was ''she''. Would it make a difference if Freya had been born as a boy? Only the name would change, but pain remains the same, throught all ages. The pain doesn''t only belong to an only gender, or even bothers to know what such is.
Pain is pain, who doesn''t have no reason to be brought any reason. Same pain couldn''t be defined as static in nature, or in motion alike tears coming from inside her eyes. They are still green, a lively color. Her skin is pinky, covered by grey fur. Someday, both will share of same color. Dad is sleeping, but soon Freya will have to wake up. No matter how much she attempt to close her eyes, and given a plenty of silence coming from same room, Freya knows that there''ll be soup, only by feeling a faint scent coming from the kitchen below. The skies turn dark, and there are no stars to shine upon the skies. On Burmecia, they are already dead. The only brightness comes from the lamp oils lit outside, and candles are melting inside the houses. Wooden piles burnt on a fireplace, smoke rises from the chimneys, disappearing from the sight and flair... even the wind refuses to blow each one of the candles lit by Lenneth.
The Crescent didn''t had to work today. How could she, after being told that her husband just... died. Only a word, threw straight on her face, still unsettling her alike a cicada moving towards an object, unafraid of those being faced by its ugliness and maladroit flight. A bad joke that nobody laughed at. Bart didn''t fainted on midair, or had the blade of a warriot struck in the heart. He didn''t even asked to be killed. It was a worthless death, belonging to the worthless of the men, caused by same as well. Far worse than dying on sleep, or by being struck by a butter knife in the chest. The circumstances, how many shards of a broken glass were found, shattered alike the jigsaw his skull became didn''t mattered. Nobody was there, nobody was punished. And who else should had been? Nobody should ever been brought of same suffering, even if they deserved some, though Lenneth.
She thought about many things, some unleft to be done for this day. How easy it was to shed a smile just by curving her lips, and yet, Lenneth still had something to hide. How come others were able to smile and to not bother about their teeth, faces that became grimaces, exaggerated looks that don''t fit with someone as serious as a Dragoon Knight. Lenneth tried once, but the mirror always show how uncanny her face looks alike, how that idiotic expression changed into nothing, and how plain those lips became. It was the shock having its effect, finally. Not that Lenneth was expecting for it to happen, or for Bart not coming home. He won''t, nevermore. Lenneth swore that she would prepare herself to a hunt, beginning with tomorrow, but then a dish slipped out of her hands. Sip of teas were meant to calm down a person, not upset one further.
But a Dragoon Knight ain''t cold-blooded as a dragon does, said Ezekiel, a longtime friend of Lenneth. He came in as soon as his duty, same as Lenneth, was over for today. It all became a personal matter, and these are the most dangerous to be dealt. Despite the amount of work to be done, nothing prevented Dragoon Knights of making their own families. Even Ezekiel went there followed of his adopted daughter Hrist, falling asleep upon his lap. Even dragons kill Burmecian children to sustain of their offspring, though Lenneth. The only kind of emptiness meant to be filled in that night was the one who belonged to each stomach. Warm unlike each of their hands, bowls of soup were served on the table. Only the scent was enough to call the kids upstairs to their descent. Do not eat too much, or you''ll suffer nightmares; this family was already living one, and only when morning arrives for all of them to realise they''re awaken. And alive, on the other side.
No matter the strenght of impulse, Lenneth needed to stay close of those whom she cared about, instead of being further dragged away by such moments. At least, the Crescent still have the opportunity and time to share some with Jack, and Freya. These would not disappear out of her life, unlike a third son, that died even before it was given birth, or though a name, or even conceived outside of a though, gone with time.
...
XLVIII: Tha
Nine Years Ago...
...
¡ª Sit on this chair. Lift your head, please. Name?
¡ª Freya.
¡ª Surname?
¡ª Crescent.
¡ª Age?
¡ª See these fingers?
¡ª Five... Alright. What is your purpose?
¡ª I don''t know.
¡ª What do you like to do?
¡ª Singing.
¡ª What purpose does singing have?
¡ª I like to sing.
¡ª Why do you like to sing?
¡ª I felt like music.
¡ª Which kind of music?
¡ª Don''t know.
¡ª So it ain''t music that you do sing. It''s a song.
¡ª What is difference?
¡ª Well... a music is composed by instruments. A song can be composed by your voice alone.
¡ª I did not knew that Mister.
¡ª Okay. So, what will you be when you grow up?
¡ª I''ll be an adult.
¡ª I mean, what do you want to become when you grown up, Freya?
¡ª I want to be a Dragoon.
¡ª Why?
¡ª Mom is a Dragoon.
¡ª Do you want to become a Dragoon Knight because that''s your mother''s job?
¡ª I know mom.
¡ª Yes, you are... let''s see... Lenneth Crescent. Is that your mom, right?
¡ª I am a Crescent.
¡ª Fine. Wonder why you are qualified to become a Dragoon Knight, Freya?
¡ª My mom is Dragoon.
¡ª Right. Who or what inspired you to become a Dragoon?
¡ª I''m not Dragoon. Mom is. She is strong.
¡ª Do you believe in your own strenght?
¡ª I can kick butt.
¡ª Does kicking others, eh... ''butts''... point is, do harming others make you feel any stronger?
¡ª For a while. A dragon don''t feel regret. I do.
¡ª Do you have any other direction to take if you are unable to become a Dragoon Knight?
¡ª No. I want to.
¡ª To be a Dragoon costs too much of a burmecian, so you know. The time spent by Lenneth during her job lasts more than the average working hour...
¡ª Duty.
¡ª You know what this means to her, and you.
¡ª I do. Mom speak a lot about it.
¡ª Right. Do you remember which other words Lenneth had spoken to you, in regards to what a Dragoon must follow?
¡ª The D''s, you mean? Uh... Discipline.
¡ª Yes. We taught the Dragoon discipline here on the Jugend. Which else?
¡ª Devotion?
¡ª Yes. Each Dragoon must be devoted to what it means to be a Dragoon beyond the title. Anything else?
¡ª Defense?
¡ª A Dragoon is tasked to protect, either those who were victims of a crime, or the ones who commited it.
¡ª Uh, Mister...
¡ª Yes, Freya?
¡ª Do... does a dress count?
¡ª Dress? Well, Dragoons wear distinguishable clothes, so... that''s fine. I guess that''s enough for today.
¡ª ...Despair.
¡ª What did you said?
¡ª No, Mister. Nothing important. Be Dragoon is really painful, no?
¡ª If I said no, I would be lying. If I said yes, however...
¡ª It is hard to describe pain. A song alone ain''t music. Easy to cry, but Dragoon don''t cry.
¡ª Of course we do.
¡ª Why?
¡ª Because we aren''t only Dragoons. I''m a burmecian as you do. Yaaaaawnn...
¡ª You are tired.
¡ª A tired body means nothing to me.
¡ª Dad was so tired. Mom gets home tired too. Dad won''t get home.
¡ª I''m sorry if things have gotten too personal, Freya.
¡ª No, it''s okay. When mom get home, she dreams. Only time mom is allowed to share of same thing I have plenty all day.
¡ª And what that would be?
¡ª Imagination.
¡ª Fine then. Lenneth must be awaiting for you outside. Seeing how many kids prefer to play in the yard, it''s a surprise that you, out of a few, were willing to share of this talk. Bye, Freya.
¡ª Bye.
...
?Aphex Twin - Tha?
Years Later...
...
There you are.
Finally. Impressed? Not that much. I had been here once. Twice, but now that I am on my own, and this coat to make me feel there is someone with me, before he left. Dan followed me to this place, but couldn''t stay here anymore. Only for a while, before duty called his. A silent duty, unnoticeable by the sight of many. To be a guard is just a thing, they can be replaced at any moment, just like the dreams these people shared before. Those who attempted to become Dragoons and didn''t even had a chance to fail... many became guards, only to wield of a blade. But to be a guard isn''t Dan''s only way to give a meaning to his life. He doesn''t only wear blue. Outside of that outfit, tarnished of sweat unfelt when under the rain, I can see that he is also a good father. And someone who cares, who follows of its words spoken. Most of the time, mainly these. When Dan was a kid, he was just like my brother. And I didn''t knew who I was.
Younger, tiny, cute, and other names. Words that were fit, others that hurted instead. I also hurted them, with kicks. With a mouth, and its bites, like a dragon. An ironite, the main type of these reptiles. Pinkish skin that devours those who haven''t grew of fur. Never that I saw them, only their heads, empty alike their stomaches. Only the bones left, and their meat taken by mom. It was hard to take those scales off, to not feel their taste, or to prepare them alone. The size of that knife, sharper than any of my claws, these you have learned to polish. Not bite, and spit instead of swallow. Now when it comes to a job, it''s better to take it. To clean dishes was one of my first jobs, and I didn''t earned anything else. Not even mom''s trust, already there, but that we began to knew each other, and with father gone, she couldn''t be doing all those things on her own. There isn''t only me to serve as a Dragoon there.
Unnoticed by a few, and noticed by same few. Only the mouth to speak, and the mind to speak without having to deal witl the consequences immediately brought by any of your words. It''s silent there, weren''t for the rain, and my steps. It ain''t polite to step on someone''s feet, or to yell on quiet places like these corridors. Not even the fountaing and its stream are allowed to be as loud as the rain falling outside. Only outside. The ceiling doesn''t share of any holes, and now you realise you are so far from home, far from a kitchen found at the other building. I could catch my breath, if it wasn''t so cold, or if the rain didn''t vanished it, unlike this scent of onions. When I felt this scent, it meant that my nose wasn''t stuck anymore. Now you are stuck as a whole, wondering to where should you go. Nobody knows you, but this coat they do.
I hope these people don''t turn out to be my enemies. It would be unnecesary for a Dragoon to fight each other, unless there is an acceptable reason for the fight to happen. You can even break someone''s teeth when on training, as far as excuses, and circunstamces as well, are taken. Now I wonder if all mother''s injuries were not only made when she stood outside this place, whose only color is the same one belonging to this city, and the clouds above. As far as an excuse goes, what had been acceptable for you to be so pissed before coming here, Frida? Yep, you said it. The excuses of before won''t work here, I guess that they never did. I just didn''t liked how my brother treated me most of the time. In front of others. How Jack tried to take care of me, when I already knew how... But he tried anyway, and you''ve accepted it.
The rain washes the streets, and the manholes take all the dirt to reside below. Some kids are playing football in the yard. Green grass grows instead of muddy puddles. They don''t get as any dirt or wounded as my brother did on weekends. These must be the children of those who work here. Engineers, cookers, gardeners, masons, healers, tailors, and only a few to be born in a family of Dragoon Knights. I used to be one of them. Dreamt of same. Now that I am able to realize of same dream... to where are you going, exactly? This place seems like a maze, yet I can see the exit gates from a distance. Shouldn''t there be someone to follow me, as a guide? Only the wind to tell you this place doesn''t hold of any fresh air. Althought flags are spread everywhere, none of them share of a crest. Only the Cherry Blossom, deemed as the official crest of the nation, yet only the Dragoons were able to yield its power.
No matter how powerful the skill, it doesn''t last for too long. Just like the cherries, and their blossoms who falls. These are the only kind of petals that, even withered, are able to caught the attention of folks walking around. Anything colorful is enough to be deemed as something beautiful, on a land where everyone is born gray, alike the clouds, and the ashes rising out of the dead. Buildings made of same ashes, or those who came before they came to be ashes, like dad. Not everyone is gray, and that used to be the enough of being treated differently. Not even a burmecian, but to be deemed as a dormouse, as if being called by wasn''t enough... A few subdued by the majority, and the majority subdued by the few, of something. Only a hundred Dragoon Knights, compared to a hundred thousand burmecians, and this number doesn''t even measure half of the population of Burmecia.
Half of us aren''t even adults. We are born as halfs, only to be fit into another half; father''s words were like this. I wonder why his life had to be taken too earlier. Mother''s one too, but at least she did too much, far more than any person could do. Nobody does anything on their own, except I, sitting on a bench. Instead of going somewhere, you decide to await for someone. And something else to be said, other than your thoughts. No, you''re not on your own. We''re in this together now, These cramps told me. Ugh, the pain... nobody deserves it. Honest. It ain''t that much of a pain, but unlike wounds, they come inside you, unseen. Only felt, and what comes out it''s the same blood, as usual. While cheers and smiles come from others, and the eyes who once told you were a girl changed, like pupils in the dark, fur growing inside a nose.
To feel the skin below your hand touching your own, underneath the coat. A massage brings a sort of relief. A tea and to lay over a bed could solve it, had I been at home. It''s forbidden to lay on the bench. Who lays in a soaked bench? You used to lay on a bed soaked by yourself. The rain doesn''t stink, only the people. As far as I can tell, dad didn''t had a bad credit. Anywhere I went, I played, instead of doing something else other than being a company to my father. He carried on the weight before I was able, or interested to. Only after carrying enough that I tried to bare of any weight, instead of grief upon this back. Dragoons do not live on their own, and they do not have time to share of any grief. How do they feel up there? Ask me. I was the daughter of one. Once I holded tightly at mom''s back. Was it risky? Well, not that much. She was aware of what she was doing.
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I did nothing, but see with my eyes. Only mom''s bare feet to guide us to this kingdom, as she jumped above each one of these rooftops, sliding on the verge of parapets, and I I got queased. My head ached. To this day, I wonder if that was a dream. Now it isn''t, yet all I see sliding above is the rain. Below, my mouth salivates, eyes blink, lungs inhale... and exhale. When did these things have gotten so boring? Since I''ve been awaiting here. I hear the rain changing its shape, to nails falling out of the skies to ripples beneath my feet. Scattered across my body, running into this coat. My skin doesn''t sweat, but it becomes itchy instead. An urge to scratch my skin suddenly comes, but there is nothing there. Nothing I am able to see. Have I cleaned this coat of any mold? They all seem to grow when near moisture, and living on a land where rain falls all the time favours their existence.
¡ª It ain''t polite to poke yer nose in public, you know... ¨C I heard someone near me. Right side, and another Dragoon, maybe the only Dragoon here, stood on its feet. Like that spear, a sharp blade on its point. Sharp alike her.
¡ª Uh, sorry... I feel an itchy, but now it''s gone ¨C I said, with the need of being sincere to a familiar voice ¨C well, maybe this itchy doesn''t exist. Only a kind of imagination, you see ¨C except that same never brought me any harm to this day. Until I acknowledge this world harms, and that my own had been gone, for a while. Same I thought about my friends, if I ever had one.
¡ª I can''t see anything but a Dragoon I''ve never met before. You must be new here. Though, this coat, and this hair... a Crescent, right?
¡ª Yes. Not that one you have expected.
¡ª Don''t try to fool me, Freya. I already expected you to be there, someday ¨C that voice and mine... ain''t the same. Same for that hair. The care she had for it ever since a long ago. Curvy like pasta, or so I once thought to taste alike. It happened a long ago, yet I can''t forget her name, and that hair, and that attitude as well.
¡ª And you are Hrist, right?
¡ª That''s who I am. Who are you?
¡ª You already know me.
¡ª Yes, but... your name. Aren''t you going to say it? I said mine, now-
¡ª Fine. Freya Crescent, at your service ¨C I said, as if she haven''t spoken my own name before. Or if I didn''t knew how to grate someone.
¡ª Ask my father for service instead.
¡ª Hah, funny... Are you there to help me or what?
¡ª Any kind of help is better than none at all, don''t you believe? ¨C I believe. One of the few things I do, coming out of Hrist. Two years younger than me, and she already saw the sun, instead of feeling its warmth, while I feel this same-
¡ª Feeling cold?
¡ª Why do you ask? ¨C that was fast. Hrist had eyes for that, while the ball always hitted my face, leaving a purple mark.
¡ª Been standing there like a stone ¨C she wears purple, spread over that coat and nails. Naked lips, who do not stop talking ¨C doing what, other than letting water pour over you?
¡ª I was thinking.
¡ª About what?
¡ª How times change... ¨C I know when a day becomes the night. There are the bells, the clouds who become darker, and the moms. Only a father to take care of Hrist. Ezekiel, or Zack, was a friend of mom. Maybe he can be my friend, or more than. In fact, he is.
¡ª You''ve changed, Freya. I never saw you this taller.
¡ª I didn''t grew that much.
¡ª I wasn''t talking about your height.
¡ª Oh. Quite attent to details, don''t you?
¡ª Devil is in there ¨C before evening came, Jack used to stay most of the time outside home, and with mom on her work, we had to hold hands. Most of the time. Dan used to put his finger on the nose and ears, then the mouth, so... nothing to complain about. How these things have changed, and how some remained the same.
I was full of health, compared to the skinny ones. Bones instead of kids, and some of them felt alright, despite only being served of rice and beans. On ancient times and sieges, there were no sign that our people would eat for the next week. Eels instead of blueberries for the pies, and Jack''s legs grew so thin that his gaiters were all taken for me, so did many of his clothes. With less meat than bones, it hurted each time he kicked a ball, or someone in the butt. And as for me, not only my legs hurted. As for Hrist... I took a brief look to those legs. The word ''hideous'' appear in front of me, same can''t be said about Hrist''s eyes. Nothing can be said, since they''re hidden beneath that helmet and its shadow. The shadow lying below her feet, found upon mine, unable to scream at someone younger than me. Hrist is the quaking one, in a way.
¡ª To where are we going?
¡ª To where you should go. Afraid?
¡ª No. It''s just... have you felt the same chill on your stomach?
¡ª I once felt a fist coming into it. Get used to it in time.
¡ª I''ll do.
¡ª Don''t you dare to faint, Crescent. You haven''t began anything worthy of a faint yet.
The corridors within the Jugend are gray. Nothing new, other than the pillars who sustain the ceiling above, portrais belonging to old figures, none of them knew by me. Dragoon Knights, that''s what I know about them, despite the name written below. August, Fratto, Jeriah, Luneth, Brynhild, a Bartholomew other than dad... they all share of same looks. Drew and painted by same artists, who had been left to wonder how they looked alike, in time for receiving their montly wage. A blue hue for the walls and its tiles, curtains of silk whose wind coming from outside was the only thing I felt, other than a chill on my bones. The spine alone can''t take it all. Steps taken after another, the wall getting smaller, water dripping and falling into my muzzle, running into my skin slow as our walk above this carpet dyed in red, a color so strong and easy to be noticed, even out of the field.
¡ª A Dragoon must be on its shape, but a spear shares of its same shape since it was made. That''s what father told me ¨C soon Hrist began to get bored, and started to talk. I could hear her voice, between so many silent rooms, and the noise of papers being signed, one after another.
¡ª It must be really hard for Ezekiel be here all day.
¡ª What do you mean?
¡ª I mean, it must be insane for your father keep signing its own name all day. If he had someone elese to fill in the blanks of each lawsuit taken by his...
¡ª If people stopped complaining abouts bones broke, blaming themselves instead of us.
¡ª Well, someone has to take responsibility.
¡ª And money in exchange ¨C Hrist''s words weren''t meant to be taken by me. But that''s their purpose, to be tackled to another. Even if the one whom she directed these words by wasn''t here. Only me, and her father, hidden by those doors unlike the noise of its pen. I remained in silence, because I had nothing to say. No opnions, no movement, an only breathe... I changed looks with Hrist. Was I ready? If not, she already opened the door. Her hand was glued on the handle, to begin with.
¡ª ...One more, and this row should be done by late afternoon.
¡ª I thought that you had plans to see me in training, dad ¨C Hirst came near the table, and sat upon it, as I stood near the window, unnoticed.
¡ª Well, guess not. Sorry, my dear.
¡ª Duty calls... I know ¨C Hrist then looked at me ¨C it''s okay. You may deny making presence on my traning, but you can''t deny an opportunity to my friend here, can you?
¡ª Good morning, Sir Ezekiel ¨C I said, followed of Ezekiel leaving that chair, and only his to wonder how much time had he spent here in this room. Not even a minute passed soon I arrived in there. We holded hands, shaked it, and the only thing that changed is that I''m tall like his. And wearing of a Dragoon coat, other than standing near one.
¡ª Good morning, Freya ¨C Ezekiel seems tired. The windows are open, to let some cold air in, and the noise of rain as well ¨C it has been a while since I''ve saw you.
¡ª Not quite a while since you saw someone else, dad ¨C said Hrist, who briefly looked to both of us, before she began to fil the rough edges of her nails. They used to be so sharp, and how tight were those holds of hands. The marks were gone with time, unlike the memories.
¡ª So how had you been, Freya? ¨C I don''t remember anything that much of Ezekiel, other that he wasn''t there most the time. This ain''t a memory, because it''s happening to this day.
¡ª I''m fine, despite... ¨C well, in a day you''re healthy. On another, you get sick. Then you get better soon. You always get better, hope to be able to feel the scent of flowers, or any other gift received. Those where her last ones, that was the last day. No more hope left. Half a day spent on bed, another on a coffin. Once shy, now in silence.
¡ª Sorry if I have not attended Lenneth''s funeral. I was occupied, you see ¨C yes, I see. I didn''t wanted to attend it, only in the next day, when everything seemed to be empty, only the grass to grow and be feeded by what was left from mom.
¡ª It''s okay. Mom do not have anything else left to offer this world. That''s why I came here.
¡ª With my help ¨C Hrist can hear well. She still have ears for eyes.
¡ª Yes, of course ¨C I said, before sitting on a chair, same for Ezekiel. As for his daughter, Hrist stood on the table, doing the same nails. She ain''t included on the matter I''m about to discuss with her father ¨C well, Ezekiel... that''s it. Do you need something else? ¨C I could only say these worlds. Like if they were trapped, or weren''t thought at the moment. The moment where everything changes, the rise and fall of... what I''m talking about? A thing that means so much for you, and you don''t know how to describe it.
¡ª Other than your name? Yes ¨C said Ezekiel, taking a piece of paper, filling in that feather of more ink ¨C you seem to attend the basic requirements. We won''t have to sew a new coat or forge a new helmet and blazon to you, that''s fine. Given medical assistance, life insurance, damage insurance, age of consent, the acknowledge that each of your words are yours, but a Dragoon speaks for a whole, works for all, a Dragoon ain''t above the law...
¡ª It''ll cost an eye, ya know.
¡ª I need both ¨C I said, looking to Hrist, who stood on her own corner, now doing her hair.
¡ª Do you want a room reserved for you at the Jugend, Freya? ¨C said Ezekiel, to whom I looked
¡ª No, thanks.
¡ª We could be roommates if needed, dad.
¡ª Thanks, Hrist. But I already have my own home.
¡ª Anyway, you''ll have to pay for where you live. When will Freya''s first wage come, dad? ¨C shouldn''t I had been asking for it? No, I''m not doing this to only get paid in money. Not only I am investing same on it.
¡ª If good enough, soon. So, is that your decision, Freya?
¡ª I already took it a long ago. Don''t you remember?
¡ª Of course. I''m sure that you know what to be a Dragoon still means.
¡ª Uh... ¨C you have forgotten, don''t you? Improvise, at least. That''s what you did before, right? ¨C everyone wants to be different, wants to improve their skills from another, and that''s the only thing we all share in common, to be deemed as same. Yet we still have a tendency to fight against each other. But a Dragoon doesn''t fight against other people. It fights for people, all of them. To be a Dragoon means difference.
¡ª Which kind of difference? ¨C other than my own, there is one. Not that this is necessary, but it ain''t correct to end a conversation by leaving another on vacuum.
¡ª It''s easy to say.
¡ª Hrist... ¨C briefly Ezekiel looked to his daughter. He couldn''t see her face, only hair, despite the helmet laying over that table. Neither I could see Hrist''s face, or knew what she felt. This before she spoke.
¡ª I mean, everyone has a definition of what it means to be a Dragoon, dad.
¡ª A Dragoon, no matter its strenght and power, ain''t a murderer ¨C Ezekiel began to look serious. By serious, I mean that he changed abruptly the topic of our prior talk, only to focuse in what Hrist said ¨C yet, there are reports of someone disguised as such. The guy doesn''t have a name, but its attacks are all written over these papers, Freya. It''s a mess...
¡ª That''s awful ¨C I said, not that I wanted to know more about that. I didn''t came here to be told of news, or to be afraid ¨C don''t you think that it must be someone trying to tarnish the name of this institution?
¡ª That''s what others think. But these are isolated cases, and they aren''t related to this academy in no way.
¡ª I hope they aren''t ¨C then everything stood in silence, except the rain. And my teeth, who began to creak. As long as I am within this coat, I do not have nothing to worry about. Though this helmet is so cold, so do these hands. Better for hands to be cold than a heart. I can hear it beating, while Ezekiel writes on the paper, and Hrist combs that hair. She doesn''t face her father, neither he faces himself. Only the paper, yellow instead of white. An old document, left in blank to this day, before the ink touched its surface. Ezekiel''s hand moves, as if he was drawing instead of writing something important.
These minutes are boring, painful as well. It''s worse when there isn''t anyone to scream. Like a round table, when all you can hear are the chews coming out their mouths, and slurps of coffee to wake you up and listen to the symphony. Dissionance for a few who have lost control. When anxiety is gone, and arrive at instants of expectations, reality takes a turn to appear, or change at a minute. You can''t swallow your spit with the hopes of hydrating yourself. Funny how someone living on a land it rains everytime can die of dehydration, or consumed by the fire. Things supposed to be ironic, but if they can happen on your thoughts, so they can happen, but who to be there to see them? Who to not be accused of have done any of them? If I had someone else whom I could talk with, at least. There is a clock hanging on the wall, that marks 9:00 am. When I leave this place, I wonder which hours will be marked there.
So, my mind slipped once again for a while, before ¨C well, I''ve finished.
¡ª ...and that''s only the beginning for you, Crescent ¨C Hrist followed the words meant to be said by her father. It doesn''t matter, as I feel the flow coming out of my eyes. After a yawn, tears are left out of my sight, blurred unlike my hearing. My head hurts, but I feel better, that''s what matters ¨C better let tears of joy flow out of you than keep them within your eyes in moments of agony.
¡ª Hrist, please... don''t discourage the Crescent.
¡ª I''m only telling the truth, dad. Besides, Freya ain''t the type who gives up easily. And with a plenty of money invested on this dream, better not give up for real.
¡ª Who said I would? ¨C soon my eyes were washed by this cravat I took out of my neck, I can see again. A smile had been brough to Ezekiel''s face, maybe the only one he shared to someone this day. Someone other than Hrist, who is standing in front of me, smiling on a way unlike her father''s own.
¡ª Nobody.
¡ª Nobody harmed me. That''s the only thing a cyclops could say, after having its eye poke out by a man who called himself Nobody ¨C that''s a thing father used to say, before I had been put asleep. One of the tales Voss told on its place. I''m sure that Hrist understood what this excerpt means.
¡ª You''ve won. Tomorrow will be your first day, Crescent. Know that it won''t be easy - even if dad knows you, or because you are the daughter of a Dragoon Knight, or so that look told me. And the way she said my surname meant something, alike that same smile of before.
¡ª Thanks for offering me this chance, Ezekiel ¨C I said, shaking those hands cold as mine. Only his hands are cold.
¡ª Now all you have to do is offer what you''re capable of, Freya. Have a good day.
¡ª Have a good day too.
¡ª Don''t dissapoint us ¨C then I left this room, but not before standing between the door, after hearing Hrist on my back.
¡ª You know that I won''t.
¡ª That''s why I said it, so you don''t forget ¨C And how can I forget? This day is another one of my achievements. Another day I''m alive, a day in which everything changed, for worse or for good.
The good is that there is an entire day meant to be spent, for others to hear of news coming out of me. For they to see that I am a Dragoon, not only someone disguises as one. Who dreamt to become one. Well, dreams are forgotten, turn into pitch black, so will do these clouds hours later. What should I do? I do not even known how to jump like a Dragoon. Heck, I''ve slipped on the floor each time I jumped rope. Those tumblings weren''t funny at all. Jack laughed sometimes, but he knew when to stop. And I didn''t knew when to stop kicking his knees. When you stopped crying, that gibberish of spit soaking your mouth, dried by your hands soon as you were able to understand that someone was trying to understand you other than mom... I was wrong to consider my brother the vilest of the kids. But that''s all water under the bridge, depths that I''m not in the mood to be sunk at.
¡ª Hey, Crescent ¨C I heard Hrist, who followed me to the entrance. I didn''t heard her footsteps hitting the puddles of water. Althought my head hurts, it''ll pass. Too much happened in a matter of minutes. Too much is still meant to happen.
¡ª What''s up? I couldn''t hear you approaching...
¡ª Oh, that? It''s called surface tension ¨C said Hrist, equilibrating a single water drop with the tip of her index. Looking down, I saw her both feet barely touching the water ¨C it''s one of the first things a Dragoon learns while on training.
¡ª Really? Doesn''t seem that tough for a first try.
¡ª Watch yer mouth. You''ll see in which try you''ll learn it ¨C Hrist is putting too much of future tense in those words. No one is able to predict what will happen, though she have felt the experience of being a Dragoon in training prior me. Experiences that can''t be same as mine.
¡ª So you''ve only came here to show me the result of harsh training sessions, or ¨C before I could talk anymore, Hrist grabbed and put a paper on my pocket. Carefully, I took it without wetting, and the words Aragon Street, 125, Brooklet Garden, were written on the face I looked at ¨C what''s that?
¡ª Here is the adress of Fratley.
¡ª Who''s that?
¡ª Oops, sorry. I mean, Sir Fratley Irontail. Dad is a friend of his, and he forgot to say that Sir Fratley will be your mentor, since you are new here.
¡ª A mentor? That''s fine. But why are you offering me his address?
¡ª Because he is my mentor too. Also a good person. I gave it to you, before you get to know his rigid side ¨C then Hrist propelled herself in thin air and dissapeared out of my sight, with a single jump. The water below her feet also ''jumped'' and I got soaked, but under the rain, all things get soaked anyway. Don''t know to where she is heading, but someday I''ll be able to follow of a Dragoon''s footsteps. Not only your own, mom, but to get the raw experience of getting above a building without climbing a ladder is something. It means something. Still I wonder who this Fratley might be, but that he taught Hrist well, sure he did. If people like Hrist got under its tutorage, he must be very good.
Only tomorrow to tell.
...
XLIX: Alles Klar
Every legend has a beginning.
So do many of the lives I''ve met. Only a few of them attempt to become something else other than common people, but in the end, they all become the same as they did on beginning. A crib or a bed doesn''t know or bother for how much time it''ll be standing until the one who used to be there leaves. Meanwhile, she''s lying there, staring with eyes that already know too much, except how they look alike to me. What I''ve felt, what did it felt for me, when I holded that hand, a weakling''s hand...
Be stronger.
I couldn''t keep telling it to myself, so I told to another. For those who departed, and those who came. Nobody is born to change the place of another, despite sons sharing of our appearance. But their personality doesn''t come already there. Sometimes they scream, others not, like all animals do. And to think even the worthless of the animals had a mother. That even a dragon who kills shares of a family. It''s a kind of thought that comes and goes.
Stand tall, like your ears do.
And so I''ve kept telling the same, wondering if Jack could remember when I wasn''t here. Same I do for Freya. What can I do? I''m a less perfect who lives in a less than perfect world. Everything is perfect on heaven, but that only matters when you get tired as I do. Walking upon broken glass, watching burning buildings, remembering what you''ve done. And what you were supposed to do. As for your daughter, well... she sits there, then gets bored. Puts a finger on that mouth, doesn''t care if its clean or not, unlike the one who holds her and tell that what she does is wrong.
I wanted to show Freya the way, but since I am lost on my own...
Like clocks showing the wrong hours, but since you lived with one so near of you, slowly you''ve accepted that''s it. Sometimes, to be a Dragoon is as if you were fighting the symptons without the cure. And most the time, you are the disease. My dear doesn''t know what is a disease, or what they are capable of. Her nose drools alike that mouth covered by spit. This time of day, when I back at home, and Freya already knows it''s time to be feeded. Learned to, of the many things she''ll learn.
That there is only you and I.
And that I''m scared.
And how much this love I feel hurts.
?Ultravox - Alles Klar?
...
¡ª Hah! Ah knew tat ye would fail at th'' test! ¨C geez... that boy again. How he came to be sitting on that dragon''s head above? Well, it doesn''t matter. Even a child can crawl there, without being noticed by its parents.
¡ª Just so you know, I''ve passed.
¡ª Yeah, tha explains how come ye look pale as a ghost.
¡ª No, I''ve passed the test.
¡ª Ye won?... CHOMP! Awright, dae ya wannae this apple?
¡ª For free? And coming out of you?
¡ª Ah made an offer. Ain''t that kind enough fur ya?
¡ª Not even a vermin deserves to eat this apple.
¡ª Huh!? Amurnay a vermin! MUNCHMUNCHMUNCHMUNCHMUNCH...
¡ª Don''t you have manners, boy?
¡ª Wha urr ye tae ask? Th'' table? ¨C now that there is something wet other than rain falling on my shoulders, more horrifying than my own dandruffs. At least, they used to belong to my own body, unlike that spit ¨C as a maiter o'' fact, ah will tell ye wha a''m! Hey, whit yer doing?
¡ª I am thinking, a thing you should do more.
¡ª Ah dae not think, ''cause a''m th'' Prince ¨C sure. The boy even stood on his feet, as if our Highness wasn''t above yet.
¡ª Yes, the Prince of fools.
¡ª Mibbie ye could be mah Queen... Chomp! Ye''r beautiful, Lassie.
¡ª Oh, thanks ¨C I''ll consider it as a kind of respect. A bit of, as it seems for us both, but to have a bit is better than nothing at all, though.
¡ª Dae ya have a rainbow fur yer wardrobe? ¨C now is this kid making a pass on me? Not the first time... ¨C know whilk color ye git whin ye mix a'' colors?
¡ª Brown? ¨C soon I said it, he looked at me with that stare of dead fish. But fishes do not smile like that ¨C forget it.
¡ª Hey, aren''t ye a Dragoon Knight? Hey, listen tae me! Mah foot git stuck, and ah cannae git oot!
¡ª You''re lying ¨C his cries weren''t convincing enough.
¡ª If ah jump, then ah will break mah bones. That''s na lie, Lassie ¨C he wasn''t lying, for sure.
¡ª Well, since I can''t jump there, you''ll have to jump ¨C the boy was afraid. Didn''t believed in me. Maybe it was all but an act, but I won''t get anyone hurt. He seems so near, despite that height. Five of my height, standing upon each other ¨C I''ll hold you, honest.
¡ª Ah... braw. Be sure tae haud me tight, ''kay!? ¨C the way he said that, though. Better than letting the street hold its stains before they get washed away. The boy jumped, and I grabbed him just in time ¨C Heh, yer so cold-AACHHOOOOOOO! ¨C yuck... then he sneezed on my right shoulder. Not a single sniff, but it was like he took every inch of dirty within. Phlegm and spit drooled out of its dark orifices, as money had been taken out of my pocket.
¡ª Why you!... ¨C now I see that his tail isn''t so limpy at all. An extra limb, which took out my bag of money. At least I have this cravat tied on my neck to clean the mess that brat did
¡ª HAHAHAHAHA! See ya! ¨C and the last thing I heard from that boy was his laugh, before both faded from a distance. Well, Why do mom used to wear this helmet, if her head didn''t fitted? Not only to make her ears dry, as it seems. On my head... That''s where I keep another bag of gil. What that kid stole was just the wood out of a forest. This could be prevented, had I not given a chance to his, but I did anyway.
¡ª No wonder why they call that kid by Puke... Uh, Puck, I mean.
¡ª Jack? ¨C I can''t be hearing my brother''s voice all of sudden. Not that I ever had an appreciation for it, or that it mattered much for me. He had the same voice of every children, althought a few of them shared of laurel strands ¨C where are you?
¡ª I''m comin'' at you, sis ¨C yet, I can''t see his. But feel a scent other than the rain''s own... yuck. Then I heard his voice coming from below. Later, from within a hole in the streets near the sidewalk, rises my brother. More brother than whatever he had been holding on those hands. Other than my own hand with a shake. At least, they won''t be attached like glue as they used to on the good old days.
¡ª So that''s your job, Jack?
¡ª That''s only half of it.
¡ª What do you mean?
¡ª Well, you see... pops worked a lot. He had no fix job, so he took opportunities before others could.
¡ª As far as I know, only you to travel down there for the sake of finding a job opportunity.
¡ª Nah, don''t say such a thing, Frida ¨C there, he began it. The equivalent of ''sit down there and listen to my story'' ¨C not only I do it for getting some gil, but because I care for other rewards. I am a Dragoon too, Freya. Well, a kind of. I clean the mess nobody sees as mother used to. Guess I always wanted to clean the mess when hunting basilisks on my youth.
¡ª If you care that much, then why did you ¨C ...uh, did he really? Soon I heard cries coming out of Jack''s back ¨C I can''t believe it. Have you brought a baby to the sewers with you?
¡ª I can''t leave him alone. Besides, he already stinks ¨C Jack said it soon as he took his son on his arms, as if he was taking something out of a backpack. I mean, he carefully holded that little, of course. As much as he used to hold me too, a thing I thankfully do not remember, neither Freyr will do ¨C but that''s what being a father means. At least, an only son is an only son. Now, think about a father with a family of eight, all born at same time, pinky like sausages, and to keep changing their rags constantly, feeling the same scent all day...
¡ª To work on the sewers was a better choice than raising a whole family, I see.
¡ª Not exactly. I have plans, sis. A plenty of them, but unlike my jobs, it''ll take some time, and convincing someone, for them to realize. So, how was the test?
¡ª Just a sign of papers. I haven''t done anything yet.
¡ª Well, that''s a beginning, don''t you think?
¡ª Yeah, sure.
¡ª Do Dragoons really have to say goodbye for familiar faces?
¡ª I don''t think so. Hrist was there.
¡ª Hrist?... oh, that''s the little girl who used to follow us. Well, anyone is little when near you, as a matter of fact. And with this pointy helmet...
¡ª Enough, Jack.
¡ª Fine then. To where are you going, sis?
¡ª Back at home ¨C though, there is this adress Hrist offered me. I took it out of my pocket and showed it to Jack ¨C but there is this place I would like to pay a visit. Not today, but for some reason, Hrist gave it to me. Don''t know why.
¡ª Neither I. Hey, wait... Fratley? Sir Fratley?
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¡ª Yes, that''s the name of my soon-to-be tutor, and this is his adress.
¡ª And that''s the name of an old friend of mine as well. Since there isn''t a lot of Fratleys hanging out, it must be his. Though, Irontail... wasn''t he a Highwind?
¡ª How would I know?
¡ª Oh, you were too young to remember.
¡ª I still remember who was father.
¡ª Sure. I mean, you haven''t even born yet when I knew this Fratley. I wonder why the change of name, but guess a lot happened since he left this place years ago. And so, I haven''t saw him since them. A funny guy, albeit a bit strange. Well, we were kids, after all. But it''s all shit on the bridge.
¡ª Speaking of strange ¨C other than the fact my brother somehow knows my tutor even before I did ¨C are you wearing a pajama, Jack?
¡ª Try to get a night of sleep with this prick.
¡ª He''s a split image of the father, indeed ¨C in other aspects. So I know, Jack used to sleep well, without making a noise. Guess that same can''t be said about me, or Freyr.
¡ª Why couldn''t he take someting other than mother''s hair?
¡ª You haven''t told me who''s the lucky mom yet.
¡ª Have I? I mean, that day... you two met before.
¡ª Have we? ¨C why do Jack looks so nervous. As if he''s unable to spit it out, and to think he was the champion of a spiting contest. This is so stupid to see.
¡ª Of course.
¡ª And how do she looks like?
¡ª Well... older than me.
¡ª How much old?
¡ª She was... I mean, she is... beautiful. Right, beautiful.
¡ª Not enough information to make a stand out from the rest.
¡ª Yes, she stood out from the rest. What I felt for her was something... a bit unusual.
¡ª It''s called love, so you know.
¡ª No. I mean, there is a plenty of ways to love someone. Like, I love you, sis, as much as I loved mom, pops...
¡ª Did you loved Dan?
¡ª No way! Uh, well... we were just friends. Cousins, but still friends.
¡ª You had a crush on Learie, right?
¡ª And Hrist used to crush your feet.
¡ª Don''t drops the ducks for gooses ¨C why am I insist on this? Is it because I have nothing else to do? Nothing, but have a talk.
¡ª To be honest, I felt something for Learie. But not the same I felt for her. She took care of me, know what I''ve felt coming from my heart and chin, and most of all, she always seemed so near, more than mom ever did ¨C okay, that''s it. I already figured out who, and... did he?
¡ª I knew that you liked Ottis, but not this much.
¡ª She likes children.
¡ª We all grown up someday.
¡ª To only see another grown like we did before. I wonder how do every mom knows what''s right and wrong to do...
¡ª Because they had been told by our grandmas what should and shouldn''t be done, that''s simple.
¡ª Yea, but this means that one of them shared of proper experience ¨C thanks, Jack ¨C well, that''s it. See you later, sis.
¡ª Bye.
...
The proper experience...
To be a Dragoon Knight. Wearing fancy clothes. Looking like a triangle, though mirros tend to distort image instead of providing the real thing. If there is one, at least. How do I feel? Okay. It didn''t hurt. It will hurt, but I''ll do my best to not share of any complains. Mom was a Dragoon Knight, and could afford many things with her duty and wage received by same. A plenty of money, yet they lived together breathing of country air. It smells like the city, but the only dirty to be found are piles of mud, or a piece of grass in your clothes after you took a fall. It used to be funny to keep rolling down a slope. It wasn''t funny when we hitted the wall of a ha-ha. They keep putting these walls arounds, which became houses with the time. Fortunately, I only broke an arm in one of my adventures, but I couldn''t save that world I lived into. Didn''t cared that much soon as I grew like a tree, flourishing of its flowers, while still tied into same roots.
I don''t have anywhere else to go. Nothing, but await. Now that I''m sure I''ll be working by tomorrow, to do something that means... something. Nobody is forcing you to, but they do. This coat I''m wearing is heavy like a sword, unlike that green dress in the wardrobe. Soft, light as a feather... feather is stronger than the sword. Anyone can carry it, and rarely get hurt. Instead of wrapping my hair, only my tail is wrapped by this ribbon. If it shares of a meaning, or just a small detail largely unnoticed unlike the hips, I''m not sure. They can identify me, but that only worked when I was a child. Less than a child, but a pinky creature that squirmed alike a worm throw in sunlight. For so I couldn''t be kidnapped by an envy mom, or in the worse way, for my little corpse to be recognized by authorities.
Orange is a color like tangerine. It depends of your taste to like it or not, to know more or know less. Why can tangerines be open by the thumb while oranges need to be peeled by a knive? Only adults to hold of knives, burn their hands on our places. With money, mom could afford of health for the family as well. Dad also worked a lot, and sometimes he received a thing. Didn''t cared for money, but needed it like water, except that money, coins, gil doesn''t fall from the skies. So do friends... Learie, Learie... What''s the story?... All the boys think ya borin''... Was it bad to do sum lemon corin''... Come on, let''s do a pretty pie... Dan ain''t here to dry your onion eyes... Childhood friends... how some keep following you to this day. I mean, Hrist wasn''t my friend, but still, better befriend someone than make enemies.
It takes a lot of time for your name to be remembered by others, byt the perspective of a million others, counting those who cross those straight corridors, filled in of portrait and statues. On my neighborhood, despite the size of a large street who divided the houses as a river crossing between both sides of a land, we made bridges to cross to another island. A thousand islands in the sea, for a thousand people just like me. Then I got tangled by those curly locks, tight alike the tentacles of a nasty octopus. They seem to grab you even after they got cut, and swallowed. It''s like when I saw a chicken ran without its head once. Hah, look at those people walking on the bridge, so Jack pointed out, before he told me a joke. And for some reason, I still remember it as I walk on this same road, heading somewhere else. Rain covers the empty streets with a curtain of water, like that day.
¡ª Hey, sis! Know why the skeleton didn''t crossed the road?
¡ª Don''t know.
¡ª It''s ''cause he had no balls! HAHAHAHAHAH...
¡ª Which balls, Jack?
¡ª Uh... I mean, he had no guts, that''s it.
This was before dinner came, so did Ezekiel and his daughter. Mom invited only a few friends for dinner. Parents do not count, except aunt Theresa, or some other sister I haven''t heard about, like aunt Mitchell, who lives in Lindblum, or aunt Clarice, who only seems to appear on funerals. There is aunt Squeak too, a tender name I gave for aunt Virginia, who seems to squeak rather than cry. This fact doesn''t change the overall mood of someone who''s departing. No, I''m not talking about you, mom. Something in me remains unrest like these legs, traveing to distances and they do not get tired like Dan. Remember when he used to pay a visit to your house, because mom and dad were there? And when dad wasn''t, Ezekiel paid a visit with his daughter, that same Hrist. Smaller, but the same of today, though she couldn''t speak.
Nothing at all, except a breath, or a deep stare, if we could see something growing out of those curly locks. So tall that Hrist seemed to be stepping over their tips. She stepped on my feet too, as Jack told with a statement that didn''t sounded that painful, except for me. Maybe that''s why nobody wanted to dopt her, but maybe I''m being too harsh. Even without speaking, Hrist was harsh with me, and that smile kept carved as wood on her face. And with the weeks, Jack began to formulate and speak some nonsense, uh... ''Hrist wrist twist feet kiss''; an overly complicated flow of rhymes, hardly a tongue twister, but if there was a way to unwrap Hrist''s tongue, we had to find out. Not that I wanted, but if that girl could walk on her both feet earlier than I did, maybe she could talk as well as I did.
Now you know the results. Yes, Hrist Chardonnay came to the Jugend before I did, made a name to herself, speaks and thinks on her own way. Oglop... she said. I thought it was the sound of a cough, but no, it was her first word. An oglop is repulsive as a cough, or anything getting out of you, but anyway, the first of many words I kept throwing at her. It got better when Hrist pointed to her father, and began to call him by Oglop. Mom though it was cute, but if I called her by oglop, well... It dependes the tone of your voice. Now, anything said today seems like an offense. Except if you''re an young child, whom you can blame an older child for what you''ve said. When pissed, Jack began to call his friends by ''mee krob'' when he holded of my hand. Don''t pour lemon on your hands, unless you want to see them turn black forever, so he said too when selling lemonade.
That was his first business. To help daddy, he said. One of the few times he was being too sincere for his kind. As for Hrist... Why did she gave me this Sir Fratley''s adress? I thought she would like to see me handle practice training by myself. Not by myself alone, but with a tutor to inspect me. Us both, since this Sir Fratley is also her tutor. Don''t know how they are, or if they are the same in and out of duty. Maybe Hrist likes him, and wants me the same. As I said, better befriend someone than make enemies, though some say to make your enemies closer of yours. Since I had nowhere else to go, or for the sake of curiosity, I headed to this Fratley''s location. Sir Fratley, I mean, and what a house. One of those who have a rooster-shaped girouette spinning in the ceiling, a willow tree whose drops of waters fall in a puddle where white and orange carps swin... how fancy.
But the why of those weather chicken, this I can''t understand. They are always pink. And look, they still sell this green syrup for today. Same children, standing near their homes, althought I''ve only saw that one near Sir Fratley''s home. A kid with a spiky hair like cactus which reminded me of Jack. He prepared a bunch of cups, sold for a price cheaper than sawdust. Maybe it tastes alike same, because nobody seems to be there. Not that there will ever be a row for those who want to drink lemonade like they eat bread in the morning. Lemonade doesn''t get hard to chew and you need to buy it a day after another. All you need to prove a lemonade is a mouth, a gil, and a tongue. Sometimes, you can chew the little bits of lemon not squashed by the feet, or so the boy told me. He''s sincere too for revealing it''s production secrets.
Oh, what the hell, they also squash grapes to make juice too. But with clean feet, for sure. Maybe not, so I took a gulp. Delicious... tastes like plum... chewed plum... my face is red like plum... Argh!... I already expected for lemons to be bitter, but this TASTES bitter, more than usual. How many lemons had been gathered together, and why can I feel their seeds. Wait... seeds? This ain''t lemonade. It''s rangpur syrup. My throat is burning. How ironic for a liquid to dry up within me. That''s the sensation I have, and maybe someone felt the same. I won''t be that harsh with that boy. Don''t know who he is, neither he knows who I am. An advice can be delivered by anybody who''s interested to see another improve. They''re that young, with more chance of getting better. I was young, heard many words, and only a few remain to this day.
¡ª Hey.
¡ª Did you liked it?
¡ª Do you like what you do, boy?
¡ª For sure.
¡ª Well, has someone told you this is made of rangpur?
¡ª What is that?
¡ª Did you prepared these cups with something alike a lemon but red?
¡ª Yeah. A lemonade is made of lemon.
¡ª Not all kinds. There is the green lemon, the yellow lime and reddish like lemons called rangpur.
¡ª Oh, is there a blue lemon too?
¡ª Not that I know.
¡ª Fine. Maybe I can crush some blueberries to make it blue, or purple...
¡ª I don''t think that mixing all kinds of fruits into one will be good for your sales.
¡ª I don''t do it for sales, miss. It''s for fun.
¡ª Do you have any friends?
¡ª Yes, they all ran away instead without paying, except you. Want to prove another?
¡ª Is it lemonade?
¡ª No. It''s pineapple which tastes like spearmint which looks like tamarind, but I''m not sure ¨C I hope I do not get sick drinking these. Spearmint... It''s cold, refreshing. I do not feel neither I saw any tamarind, other than its color. As for pineapple, there''s only its yellow lints floating alike spearmint leaves ¨C did you liked it?
¡ª Yes ¨C a lot better.
¡ª Want more?
¡ª No, thanks.
¡ª Want something else?
¡ª I would like to know if this is Sir Fratley''s adress ¨C I asked to the boy, to which after cleaning a cup with a red tourniquet, which made hard to know if it was dirtied or not, taken out of its pocket, replied
¡ª Sure, miss. He lives here, so do I ¨C it must be his son to whom I am talking to. Not that a son reveals that much about how a father is alike. They aren''t supposed to be copies, but how he looks alike Jack. Must be the hair, and its colour, or because I saw Jack and now I see him everywhere, like its name.
¡ª Is Sir Fratley here at the moment?
¡ª Nah, he ain''t. Do you know him?
¡ª I would like to.
¡ª My name is Raymie.
¡ª Hi Raymie. Why do you live here?
¡ª Mom says that this is a beautiful place. Don''t you agree?
¡ª I agree. Well...
¡ª Already leaving? ¨C asked Raymie, quoting one of those annoying words coming out of every host I ever met. I already paid this boy, and we hardly know each other. But they all want to know another, that''s part of their nature.
¡ª Know when will Sir Fratley be back?
¡ª I don''t. He does not seem to have a clock. Sometimes he is, others not. Must be working, so I am.
¡ª Okay. I''ll be back soon.
¡ª See you later.
And so I left. Well, only tomorrow that I''ll be able to see this Fratley. The Sir, I mean. Raymie is standing there, still selling his orange lemonade. This reminds me of the time I also sold lemonade like my brother did. We were so close of each other, but that time was one of the few I could lend my hands free of his. While Jack catched them, not bothered by the size of the tree and those spike, I stood down with a basket, awaiting for them to fall in the right place other than my head. When mom went out the market, I used the cap to collect them instead. Some rolled down the path, to never be saw again, or be crushed like bugs. Dad was a recurring client on Fridays. Sometimes, he seemed to be the only one who appeared often to pay for a drink prepared by these tiny hands. They haven''t got black, since the sun and its light is almost rare to see. To be brought of light, on other way...
...
¡ª Want some lemonade, dad?
¡ª Sure. Let me see...
¡ª Don''t you mean prove?
¡ª Oh, right. Well... It tastes like water.
¡ª Water doesn''t have taste.
¡ª Then there must be something wrong with this drink, my dear. What is this supposed to be?
¡ª Lemonade.
¡ª It doesn''t taste like lemonade. You''re lying.
¡ª No, dad! I did lemonade, I swear!
¡ª Can you prove it?
¡ª With these hands. I did lemonade with them.
¡ª I don''t feel any scent.
¡ª So this means you cannot feel any taste.
¡ª You got me. Fine, I''ll give it a seven out of ten. Nice presentation, but there''s too much water, my dear.
...
L: Out Of Phase
?Yoko Shimonura - Out Of Phase?
July 18, 1794
...
At Burmecia, there are no shooting stars.
If you look at the sky, you can see the clouds and the rain. Rarely, the sky changes its colours to a sepia or a green like pea soup. And, if you are lucky, you can spot gaps where sunlight pass throught. Or, if any luckier, a skyfish. Faster than light, you can pray for him if someone is ill. They are said to be the angels of Bahamut, wheter or not you believe he is a dragon or a sea creature. Leviathan has been tasked to protect the earth, by ruling the seas. It can''t be trespassed as heaven does, but men found its way to populate this entire continent, and wonders whether or not there are others. While my home doesn''t have any shore for a sea, my people do not only live here. Spread around the world, in search of better opportunities. Mainly job. Many boats were sank and believed to be the work of Leviathan. If there are any rats on board, all their families can do is pray for their safety.
I saw a skyfish the day before mother passed. I couldn''t wish for her to live any longer, because a bit of her is already in me. I may not have inherited her money, and I''m not only doing this to make my own. More valuable rewards await for me, even when they do not get any attention. This ain''t a circus, despite the acrobatics, the work with the limbs, the way they spin and act while inside that coat. I woke up a while ago, and still I am lying on this bad, wearing nothing for a day that means everything. So, will you remember this day? Will there be another July 18 for you to enjoy? I mean, a Friday 18th like this one? The first day, the beginning of year one. And yet, I''m still lying upon this bed. The only force which''s acting on me is gravity, and nostalgia. They drag you like backwater, and sometimes youi are unable to get out.
I need to. Not tired at all, but after this day, I''ll have a reason to lay there. Rain washes my window, and I can barely notice a thing from a distance other than the tree, whose leaves and fruits fell down. And we were there to collect any of them... It was better than going at the market, and the lenghts it took were just from that garden to the front door. Still an effort taken for father to me, so do the swing he built a long ago. To swing up and down, down and up again, with someone behind to pull you higher and higher; it ain''t there, none of them are. Not even a reason to bring it back again, other than in memories. "Don''t leave the swing ''till your speed slow down, or else you''ll be thrown at the streets and lay there like poop", so my brother said. He and his head were stupid enough to stay behind once. Or maybe I was reckless for not stoping when I could.
It''s hard to say for a kid to stop, because legs do not have ears, and with so many voices heard, one or two had to stand out. Food and its taste do not matter, only that it brings energy. Jack taught me how to eat something I didn''t liked by trying not to touch it with the tongue, only with the teeth. With time, I began to like tomatoes and carrots without the need of putting them at the sides of my mouth, as much as I began to wear clothes other than the ones belonging to my brother. For a long time, I inheried all of Jack''s stuff deemed as old, except his friends. They are meant to be made, not threatened by fists, but guess that a man''s mind since young works in a different way as mine. Needless to say, I also had been the kind who relied on punches and kicks and bites a few times, so why complain?
Clothes mean status, and something more comfy than your own fur to bare the cold outside. Well, try to say again that this outfit and those belts tightened are comfy. This helmet who doesn''t even fit your head, so small that it could crush an infant''s skull, and maybe that''s the reason why mother forbide me of wearing it. Only when I grew a bit more that I was able to bear of its weight, and I mean the broomstick. Only the stick, but to this day, there''ll be a sharp tip on it. As if this helmet wasn''t already sharp... anyway, only the gaiters left to be wore. This pair of gaiters looks like a pantyhose, made of a very resistent material. I can''t even tear it apart with my teeth, or with a knife, so a stone won''t do nothing but bring a bit of discomfort. Many perils are awaiting me, to this journey I shall travel in order to...
Just the beginning. The beginning of what, other than my career? To be a Dragoon Knight doesn''t mean that much. I mean, speaking of legends, where heroes fight against deity-like beasts, stories reverberating for generations, such as mine. For mine. Well, if I don''t like how things are, then what it will be? To betray your own words is something unforgivable. For them to be spoken to justify something that matters and you don''t know what it its, because it''s a thing higher than you can understand about... is something natural. When a story comes to an end, and everyone smiles as if nothing that happened before will happen again, but it does. Who I am? My name is Freya Crescent. Other than being the daughter of Lenneth Crescent and Bartholomew Brandford, mom and dad respectively, I am a burmecian. A woman who took the place out of the girl of before, though a seed of what I would become was there all the time.
Funny how you await for them to sprout for many reasons. Never that I was tiny enough to want to become tall as an adult, or that I wanted to marry someone because only adults can marry each other. Mother married with father, and duty for a long time, ''til death did them part. She felt proud of what was done in life, while I search for a reason to feel same. To keep smiling when it''s all over. It''s natural to feel this way, so Learie told me about the jitters she felt before making ammends with Dan. Was it the right choice, the right moment... What would he feel if I said ''no''? Father knew what I felt when he said ''no''. But he said it so, no matter the cries. They would be over, soon as I realized how meaningless it was to keep commiting same mistakes. I haven''t done anything, and yet, I feel that I have failed with someone.
The crowd doesn''t cheer for a fallen one, and it does nothing for an unknown at its middle. Everyone wears green on a gray land, guards wear cold blue, and Dragoon Knights are strong in every way. Everyone can see their colors, and only a few to hold on of their strenght. Like mom, who trained to become one and succeded, and dad, who did what he liked to. To offer help, no matter how much they paid him. He had a lot of time to be spent, and I could see that he felt well even when he returned on its worse shape, with only a bit of gil on its pocket. Then, one day, he never returned, but a bit of his is on me too. Knock Knock... someone hits the door, reason enough for me to leave this bed at once. Another empty bed; soon there''ll be nothing in front of the door. A beautiful and magnificent view of the outside world being washed by the rain.
¡ª How are ye doing, apprentice? ¨C then, Hrist spoils everything soon as she talks.
¡ª Didn''t noticed you there ¨C though, I''ve noticed something. Hrist is dry like a leave coming out of a desert. Drops of water stand on her, instead of falling down as they do ¨C also, you are as much apreentice as I am, Hrist.
¡ª Not as a first-timer ¨C when will she stop to show-off her surface tension abilities? Soon as I begin to do the same, presumably. Or when she gets away from the rain, which she does immediately by stepping into my house ¨C this place looks the same as before. How many times this wall had been washed away?
¡ª Given how much time and pieces of chalks you have wasted on it...
¡ª Wonder how many times have I mistaken your hair for a tree of chalk? ¨C asked Hrist, poking my hair. Pulling the strands falling out of my helmet, then I pulled her hand away. Couldn''t pull her mouth out, though ¨C don''t know? Neither I.
¡ª Does it really matter?
¡ª Well, guess not ¨C said Hrist, before eating an apple out of the kitchen''s basket. Eating with a single bit, followed of pauses, and ¨C it''s a thing I can barely remember, out of what I''ve learned during my training sessions. By the way, did you''ve paid a visit to Sir Fratley yesterday?
¡ª He wasn''t at home ¨C and so I am left to wonder how he looks alike.
¡ª Burmecia is his home ¨C said Hrist, taking an apple out of the basket found upon the kitcken''s table. A kind of dead nature sucked in by the tiny fruit flies, brought alive by the touch and disturbance of a grey claw, sharp alike those teeth ¨C CHOMP!... to think he takes such words seriously.
¡ª How does this Sir Fratley looks like?
¡ª Like me, you and father... he is a Dragoon Knight. Except you, he''s a skilled one like the rest.
¡ª If having skills on something else other than surface tension...
¡ª Dare to compare me to a mere insect in a puddle, huh? ¨C said Hrist, who had nothing to say, other than a choke which she advisely avoided.
¡ª If you don''t moisturize your hair, you''ll be bald like one ¨C or before I do.
¡ª Said the cicada who''s about to burst inside its thick shell.
¡ª This shell belongs to my mom ¨C I said, to hear nothing coming out of her. From Hrist, I mean. You can''t talk while eating, and when you dot not talk, you are left to hear the noises around the table. There is only two of us... me and the rain.
¡ª I know ¨C below those strands, I heard Hrist, who was now sitting backwards on a chair, looking at me and mainly this coat ¨C do you miss her?
¡ª A lot.
¡ª Same. I would like to make a presence that day, but like father said, I was occupied too. I really wanted to be here, and...
¡ª I didn''t wanted to be here at the moment, Hrist ¨C when I said it, Hrist turned in to the ceiling.
¡ª Why not? You had the chance to ¨C and when I turned to the ceiling that day, I could see blood.
¡ª I didn''t felt well, Hrist. Felt my body heavier than usual, even without this armor I would wear a day after ¨C I couldn''t even hear the chews followed of pieces taken out of that apple. Then, we both looked at the window. Outside, it rained as usual ¨C there are things that go, and things that do not.
¡ª The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh ¨C Hrist said, leaving the chair and walking near me ¨C It must be a really sick sense of humour, but that''s how it is. You can''t change these, but that doesn''t meant you can''t change your mind.
¡ª What do you mean?
¡ª Here ¨C soon as I asked, Hrist offered me something other than an answer.
¡ª What is this? ¨C it has a nice smell of green tea, for sure. Must be the scent coming out of Hrist''s pockets.
¡ª Consider it a last hour gift.
¡ª An armlet?
¡ª It''s a luck charm made of Lapis Lazuli gems ¨C radiating of same color as a monarch''s robes; I don''t know how to wear it, since there is no space left on my neck, and in which arm should I... by chance, I choose the left one.
¡ª Thanks. Where did you''ve got this, Hrist?
¡ª Don''t ask me, ''cause this gift ain''t mine alone. Now you must know why I gave Sir Fratley''s adress to yours. Since he wasn''t at home yesterday, he asked me to bring this charm to you.
¡ª Why Sir Fratley couldn''t be here?
¡ª He is occupied as father does with that sea of papers. Lawyers do not care that much for appearance. After all, they rely on words for their best.
¡ª Is he a lawyer too?
¡ª Yeah. In case you get in trouble, you can hire Fratley to do the work. But nothing comes for free, ye know ¨C then Hrist threw away that piece of apple out the window. The garden and grass outside will be feeded by it ¨C Uh... before we go out, I would like to ask you a thing, Crescent.
¡ª And what would it be?
¡ª Well, it ain''t personal. I mean, it its, but... could you lend me some of your panties? ¨C for a while, I did nothing but stand still ¨C it may be a strange request, but I know that you have a sparring piece of nightdress hangin'' around.
¡ª Nothing comes for free, Hrist.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
¡ª A bit of solidarity isn''t asking for too much.
¡ª Why don''t you ask it for Ezekiel instead of me?
¡ª Oh, this matter is so embarassing to say to father... ¨C and why it isn''t for me?
¡ª I thought they all are proud of hearing that the little girl became a woman.
¡ª They do not have to deal with the pain.
¡ª Would you have prefered a fist in your chest, perhaps?
¡ª Hah hah... quit the offensive before I do my own ¨C with your arms crossed, I really doubt you can, Hrist.
¡ª Humour... it brings relief to these kind of stressful situations.
¡ª There is nothing funny about cravings in your chest. They hurt like stones in your kidney and migraines bursting together with stepping upon shards of a broken glass. It''s a silent pain. Or, have you left a grunt out of your mouth? You do not want anyone to notice it, and when they do, it gets worse. Treating a lady as if she was a dog with an injured paw, and they keep pushing it...
¡ª Any descriptions left for a pain that can''t be described? ¨C as much as freedom can''t be shown by the release of arms, or by staring at someone''s face.
¡ª Have you ever wanted to take your eyes out with a spoon?
¡ª That''s gross.
¡ª Can you give me a piece of cloth now? ¨C well, since Hrist is being so kind with yours...
¡ª When a gift is delivered, the owner expects it''ll be clean for a while.
¡ª Except when it comes to tissues. Hey, nice cravat.
¡ª Thanks.
¡ª I saw you wearing a white one yesterday, but this one is blue.
¡ª Mother kept a set of cravats on her drawer.
¡ª It must be a really nice set of cravats. So...
¡ª No ¨C these are supposed to be tied on your neck.
¡ª Shucks... well, I can''t convince you to do nothing but walk outside. Come on, Crescent.
...
And so I followed Hrist to the door, closed it with the key, and we found ourselves in the streets. Our helmets work as umbrellas, since we do not mind the rain as strangers do. We grew with it, was one of the first things we saw. I see it each day, but I do not feel the same when I discovered it. Something that happened a long ago is meant to be forgotten, except when you really do not want to. To keep insisting for something to happen, and it does like a house out of a few stones. Instead of who I am, I may ask too: What shall I become? A rock remains a rock, until someone takes it with the hand to turn it into a wall. Walls that surrounds houses, and houses within neighborhoods, within cities, within the kingdoms, and the people as well. Only a few are really trying to make what dreams tell in visions happen to become true.
¡ª What a beautiful tree ¨C said Hrist, looking to a cherry tree ¨C it is still beautiful even with its blossoms withered ¨C blossoms that are dragged away by the water to the manholes in the sidewals, or down the street to somewhere else.
¡ª These trees are one of the few reasons why outsiders come to this place.
¡ª And none of them ask for free water ¨C with its head watching the clouds, Hrist opened her mouth and drank a bit of water. This if I can call it by drinking.
¡ª It''s because the water that comes from the rain ain''t clean enough.
¡ª It''s cleaner than the water coming out of the river, in fact ¨C with that said, Hrist and I kept walking, somewhere else.
¡ª I thought we should have been at the Jugend, Hrist.
¡ª Father ain''t there at the moment.
¡ª Where is he?
¡ª Father is with Sir Fratley, solving a case at the court. Sometimes, problems can be brought to an end outside papers. Speaking of action, today you may be able to receive your first javelin, Crescent.
¡ª Really?
¡ª I said maybe. Or, would you rely on your claws alone to do the work? ¨C I would, had they been sharp enough, and had I time enough to afford a change of tips.
¡ª The javelin alone doesn''t make a Dragoon ¨C I said, and soon we were walking above the bridge. The river and its emporary beauty passed unnoticed, except for our ears.
¡ª I have noticed, with time, that you keep holding things with your left hand, Crescent. Is it one of your family''s cachoethes, perhaps?
¡ª Why? It''s just a small detail...
¡ª Which doesn''t mean that it can''t be a crucial one. Know that all spears are made to be holded with the right hand. Some are so heavy that you need both of them, but mainly the right one.
¡ª You say it as if I didn''t knew anything about spears yet.
¡ª I''m giving you advices, and that''s the way you reply to me.
¡ª Funny...
¡ª What''s so funny?
¡ª Mother once told me how she knew father.
¡ª Does this have anything to do with what I''ve said?
¡ª Kinda of. Since that time, father worked with many jobs, and one of them was being the blacksmith''s assistant. When father saw mother for the first time, he had nothing on his hands. And she was a dragoon, with more than a spear in hands. It''s like he couldn''t convey what to say when near someone of more importance, and mother couldn''t convey what she learned on training. Her right arm broke when she felt downstairs as a child, so with time mom learned how to use the left hand, and kept using it even after her right one healed.
¡ª You never broke an arm, Crescent. Not yet...
¡ª Can I continue? ¨C since I heard nothing, but our footsteps... ¨C so, in a world that you are imposed to use your right arm for everything, well... how mother tried. To be a Dragoon meant so much for her, and for father too, who a day later, came with a gift. He made her a light-weighted spear, which could be used for the left-handed. Since that day, mother used that spear, as she began to improve on training and on the streets. Later, they began to knew each other, married, and had two sons. Mother wanted a third, or a fourty, but could only afford me and Jack.
¡ª So... Uh, sorry, but what you said before... didn''t made any sense. No matter the weight, all spears are for right-handed. There are no exceptions.
¡ª You can do anything when you''re in love.
¡ª And for the sake of loving someone...
¡ª I wonder how this Sir Fratley looks like ¨C I said, looking to his gift in hands. A nice bracelet, which can''t only mean something to offer me luck.
¡ª Soon you''ll know, and won''t be that impressed. He''ll make your skin draw more than sweat.
¡ª You are exaggerating, Hrist.
¡ª Am I? Say that to the scars on my back, this if you can count them all.
¡ª By the way ¨C I said, almost ignoring what I heard from Hrist. She have a point, but I don''t even have my own ¨C is he handsome?
¡ª Uh? Who asks those questions?
¡ª Nothing is that silly to be questioned ¨C I said, looking to that silly face.
¡ª Yes, but we are speaking about your mentor. You hardly know each other.
¡ª My brother knows him.
¡ª Well, everyone who lives in the countryside knows each other. But this doesn''t mean that out of a child poking its nose comes an adult who still pokes its nose ¨C as much as this Hrist do not step on my feet in a literal sense.
¡ª How long have you known Sir Fratley?
¡ª I know him even before I began to train as a Dragoon. He was a nobody, beginning its career, just like you.
¡ª Is there something in me that there isn''t on him?
¡ª Despite a lack of noble title, you can''t say a man is beautiful, unless...
¡ª So you think Sir Fratley is handsome too?
¡ª A bit, to be fair. But know that I''m not speaking it as a student to tutor.
¡ª Ain''t he our mentor as well?
¡ª Tutor, mentor... One teaches, the other listens.
¡ª We are doing the same things.
¡ª Times change. Before, a student and a teacher were separated. Now they walk together as if they were married, except that I''ve learned how to hold my breath for a long time.
¡ª Instead of holding your words...
¡ª I do not like to be hearing my own voice as well, Crescent. It would drive me mad had I been in a room with only my voice reverberating wall after another. Guess that you also feel the same, don''t you?
¡ª I also appreciate a bit of silence, if that''s not asking too much.
¡ª Oh, you''ll appreciate a plenty of it during training. This if you do not count the grunts coming out of your throath.
¡ª I''m sure that Sir Fratley will be nice with me.
¡ª Will you be nice with him, on other hand? ¨C I didn''t knew what to say. But Hrist says a lot in my place ¨C know that he isn''t only a punchbag.
¡ª I know.
¡ª He''s our mentut.
¡ª What?
¡ª Yeah, mentut... I mixed both ''mentor'' and ''tutor'' as same words. What do you think?
¡ª Guess it ain''t the time to be giving someone nicknames yet.
¡ª Not your time, Crescent.
...
Not a while ago, Hrist and I went to the court.
Given her father''s help, we were allowed to come inside. A place filled in of people, and ugly carpets. No wonder why these statues had their eyes covered, so said Hrist, whispering to me. Barely I could hear what she said next, only take notice of a shy laugh. Even if I listened to what she had to say, I wouldn''t find it that funny at all. Despite the colors, a plenty of them compared to outside, this place sheds of a boredom as staring to cobblestone without blinking. I shouldn''t had been here, but that''s one of Ezekiel''s jobs while outside the Jugend. Other than signing papers, he is still on shape to save people, without relying to a spear. Only a partner, standing there in the middle, sustained by a cane and a strong will, speaking with words sharp as the scratch of claws over a flat wood. There are other ways for a Dragoon settle down the end of a battle, as shown by his.
¡ª ...My client here is a victim of one of the cruelest and vilest lies treated as normal by common belief. That a living being is incapacitated, if not, less a being than others due being handicapped. That a society is constituted of those who suffered accidents, and those who made it happen be left in impunity. This woman, unlike the statement of majority, was born with alleged ''accident''. Yet, she can speak very well, and as it was demonstrated to this court prior, my client can perform any activies outside a home where she had been secluded within, due an inability to walk. A pretext that doesn''t prevent this lady from doing whatever she wants, for the sake of her children. Now, the defendant''s chair may be empty, which''s not the case of the sight shared by many. Except from Justice, who doesn''t evaluate by looks that someone like my client can''t have the right to live, or a duty to live with like everyone else.
With his final speech, Sir Fratley Irontail wins the case. Following the hit of a wooden gavel, claps of hands are heard throught the entire room, including mine. And to think I only heard half of his speech... Meanwhile, as we moved in to the lobby, Zack and his daughter came near Sir Fratley to congratulate his, As for me, I don''t know what to say, or what to do. If I should hold on a hand colder than mine, other than being lead by respect. Dragoon Knights are so easy to be found, given the color of their outfit''s. Ezekiel wears blue, Hrist borrows purple, mother didn''t wanted anyone to know her wounds shed of red underneath, and Sir Fratley wears a green like moss for its outfit, thought it looks more like dry moss, which''s a thing you can hardly spot around. Speaking of it, Sir Fraltey didn''t seem to have acknowledged of my presence yet, even when I am standing outside the shadows.
_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_
¡ª You were great once again ¨C said Ezekiel, to Sir Fratley.
¡ª Everyone deserves our best effort.
_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_
¡ª How had you been holding up, Fratley? ¨C asked Hrist.
_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/\_
¡ª With a cane ¨C he said, while holding a hat with a single hand. Flaxen strands fall out of his head, now covered by that brown hat with a fancy feather on its top ¨C well, besides your father, is there someone else at this room?
¡ª It''s me ¨C I said. Sir Fratley couldn''t see me, for a reason. Maybe I haven''t granted my presence yet, so ¨C my name is Freya Crescent.
¡ª Glad to meet you ¨C he said, as we shaked hands. His hand isn''t that cold at all.
¡ª And you must be Sir Fratley, right?
¡ª Oh, just call me by Fratley, if you please.
¡ª Fine. Know why am I here?
¡ª Why we are here? That''s a question I ask for myself everyday.
_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_
¡ª No, that''s not it. What I mean...
¡ª Don''t feel nervous, Crescent. You are looking like a ham ¨C and Hrist had to find a way to interrupt, if this can be deemed as a sort of conversation. Well, at least I''m trying.
¡ª Does she? ¨C besides asking, I could notice a smirk on Fratley''s face ¨C well, one of us may disagree. Right, Freya? Now, tell me how do you look like ¨C he said, with its two hands on the cane, eyes staring at me, yet unable to look anything at all ¨C given your voice, you must be a woman. A very tall one.
¡ª Really? And what else?
¡ª You look unsure, unpatient, and slightly tired ¨C I don''t know what''s up with this guy, and what made him stand out of an ordinary person.
¡ª Can''t you see yourself at the mirror?
¡ª Well, it''s really hard to, but I try anyway.
¡ª Freya... ¨C said Ezekiel, looking at me with a bit of dissapointment. Same for Hrist, I guess.
¡ª It''s okay. It ain''t everyday that you bother to ask someone who can see how they look alike. People only begin to care about a thing when they lose it for real.
¡ª Right. So you are blind? I... I''m sorry.
¡ª Do not feel sorry at all. It ain''t worthy, since you didn''t knew I couldn''t see. This is, like, the first time we met, right? Outside mentions, and voices belonging to another. Now, I would like to speak with Freya, not with the helmet ¨C soon as he said it, I lifted my head up. I heard once that those who have lost a sense develop other senses, beyond what they used to be. A vision can be replaced by audition, smell, touch... these are the ways Fratley knows I am here.
¡ª I hope I haven''t left a bad impression...
¡ª First impressions tell more than afterthoughts. You can''t judge a book by its cover, but you judge it anyway. What you can''t do is judge a book by its cover alone, and keep doing it so as the only kind of reasoning to be put in your head.
¡ª Do you read any books?
¡ª To this day. It depends on the ink, for a better experience.
¡ª You can read a page given the ink words were wrote it? ¨C that''s interesting. I never heard about someone who can do it.
¡ª You seem amused, Freya. I wish I could see a smile as something other than being a curve of lips. And, if you could keep it as we progress...
¡ª So, what Hrist said...
¡ª Do you believe in what she said? Truth or not, that''s her opinion. What about yours?
¡ª I don''t have none, yet. So, you walk with three legs.
¡ª I couldn''t bring my spear to court, so I brought this cane instead.
¡ª Can you walk without them? ¨C I asked, given the way Sir Fratley walked there, and here. As if he was about to tumble on air, or its own tail.
¡ª Without falling? ¨C he asked, on a way its own question said yes, in a way. Besides losing the vision, Fratley lost his legs too. But he stands stilL ¨C unless I give up, which''s a thing I do not. I truly would be in bad shape, had not been for the Dragoon and its techniques. That''s why you are here, right?
¡ª Well, this ain''t the right place to do ¨C before I could say something, Hrist came in, after disappearing for a while. I thought the world just became a bit quieter, but it was just that.
¡ª Where had you been, Hrist? ¨C I asked, noticing that, other than harsh breaths coming in and out, Hrist was soaked by drops of rain. She must had been in a hurry to reach here.
¡ª I went to the Jugend with father. Back and forth, since you two haven''t followed us, or ever heard our footsteps to begin with. So I came back, wasting energy that should had been wasted on combat.
¡ª Don''t you mean training?
¡ª Training or not, it''ll be for real this time, Crescent ¨C said Hrist, with a heart on the mouth, which ain''t the best place to keep it ¨C well, father left to the Jugend. So do we, I expect ¨C and so Hrist left and stood at the front door, crossing arms and concentrating in order to control the surface tension ability as before.
¡ª She is the kind who doesn''t like to take a backseat to anyone ¨C said Fratley, after hearing the noise coming out of the door.
¡ª I know Hrist as well as you do, even before she began to speak ¨C with something other than her feet, I mean ¨C also, thanks for the gift.
¡ª You''re welcome.
¡ª I wonder why you made this bracelet. I mean, of course I liked it, not that my taste in regards to it was the intention at first place, but-
¡ª Lapis lazuli gems are said to bring good luck ¨C I heard Sir Fratley, near a window. It''s a day of white clouds, but for him, there is only darkness ¨C they are easier to be found than four-leafed clovers or horseshoes without being kicked. Aside from that, not everything is arbitrary, since our lifes can''t be lead astray, as much as our choices can''t be decided only by the flip of a coin. But where there is luck, there''s hope, and I wish both for you, Crescent.
Sir Fratley Irontail... I wish I could have knew him before. It''s not everyday that you meet a nice person to talk with. He ain''t that rigid at all, but guess that everything changes while on training, like Hrist did.
LI: Mariette
The joy of our heart has ceased; our dance was turned to mourning" EZEQUIEL, 7:18
?Cleaners From Venus - Mariette?
Past Tense
May 1773
...
When I knew Lenneth, she was still in shape.
I was in shape too. Wearing a Knight''s coat meant something. Without it, we were almost nothing. I was nothing, a nobody. Near that woman, I felt complete. Something in me was empty, very unquiet. I stood quiet all time, didn''t knew what to say. How''s the weather? Well, it''s raining, so Lenneth would reply. I felt something in my chest, despite a childish fear. A Dragoon doesn''t feel fear, but sometimes we forget that there is someone inside, other than a shell left behind. I felt like inside of a shell, hearing my own echoes, before I came to be and after I became a Knight of respect, or have some respect in hands. I wore a skin other than the one I had been born with, and yet I still relied on my fists. On training, I talked with same. I never could hold that hand without feeling a need to puke. It was too much.
Too much that someone took my place. A man by the name of Bartholomew, of the Brandford family. He worked with everything, since artist to potato carrier to blacksmith, the last which he used to make a spear for Lenneth. A light weighted one, made to be used by left-handed, given that all stabbing weapons are meant to be holded mainly by the right one. For some reason, Lenneth heard it all, accepted the gift, and each day they met each other. That was Bart''s first lie, and I never lied to her. Only to myself. I never saw that lady improve, but it wasn''t alike the first days where she almost lost her toes. And I, well, tried my best so she used her right arm away. Lenneth refused, said that she just got used of it. I understood. I was there to give advices, solve problems, hear her voice... ignore the sweet of her voice and hear the pleas instead.
Not that she could solve them on her own. How she could... Formidable, agile, a bit spiteful yet kind at the end, didn''t smiled very much unless you made it to, but I wasn''t there for it. I didn''t became a Dragoon so I could receive some cheers and feel amused for that. Well, a side of me wanted. I wanted someone, other than being something. If the sun let a sparkle fell out of the clouds, it would shine alike this hair; it could had been me who said that. It would be against the rules, the moral and my sanity. Though, I saw many couples around the Jugend, Dragoons new and old building nests to this day. I had nobody, not even a family member. They usually do not help either, only put the blame at your shouders. Guess I was doing the same to Lenneth, for doing what she done to me, but it was only me. Only me.
Lenneth... We would never do right to each other.
...
August 1778
...
A new King was crowned.
I don''t see any change, besides appearance. And a plenty of stories to be told later on, around the table. A place reserved for Kings, Sirs, Counts, or someone very important, worthy a title. Our majesty lost its tail in war, and got a new one made of steel. I saw many boys without a home, or a tail to take care, and none of them could afford such privilege. What makes Gabriel related to them is that he lost its father, and the way he died always sounds a bit heroic. Well, not for me. The dinner was great, althought something in my mouth tasted bad. No wonder they call me by brown nose at my back. Also, Lenneth wasn''t there. Well, a few other Knights weren''t, but Lenneth... not that I cared for others, but mainly her. Well, why she would be there, wearing such heavy armory with that unconfortable bump?
A Knight would dare to cut its own hand to prove its loyalty, but these are other times, older than I. I heard that Lenneth stood at home, still fulfilling her duty of bringing life instead of death. She brought it for herself, and a new member for the family. I came to pay a visit, and I was grated by Bart, now her husband, cooking meal at the kitchen. I talked to him briefly at the table, we discussed about the new King, we laughed at some jokes so we felt better to ourselves. I also asked what did he prepared for Lenneth, it was a nice meal, this before I knew it was Lenneth''s own. To think I ate her own placenta... no, the placenta belongs to the baby, is shared to its mother. Yuck. Oh, and the newborn''s name is Freya, so I heard, and saw too. A pinky, almost jelly being, bitting its mother while asking for milk, instead of blood.
To think I was like that. Lenneth too, before she came to have a name, or to bring names. While she took care of dolls, I took care of her, but she already have a name. As for me, I was knew and called by dormouse, as if I was a kind. Now they know me as a Dragoon Knight, a Sir, and someone you can''t talk whatever you want on its face. I said nothing, feeling discomfort with a mother feeding its son. Guess Lenna was the one who felt less comfort, exposed like a chewed plum, unable to move her legs, but I know she would get out. It happened once, and I saw Jack out the window, playing with its friends. Well, he hanged on a dead salamander, which wasn''t dead at all, crawled on someone''s leg... kid''s stuff. I never found myself feeling like them, or even sharing of my feelings or a bit of gratitude for Lenna.
Without her, I wouldn''t be what I am. With her, I feel weird, a reminiscensce of when she took a bath on her own, and I stood on the other side of the door, with my thoughts alone. I was sort of a imaginary friend, whom only that girl could hear, but most the time, I was only a creature raised from mud, while she was shaped in clay. Each time I think about it, I might feel sick, and relieved as well. I once fought in the garden in front of her house, before I knew it was her house. A boy hurted me so bad, but I was happy because someone cried for me. I stood below the cold rain, while a warm tear went on my face, belonging to another face. I saw myself on that face. You in me, and me in you. We were children, seeds awaiting to grow into same trees. At the exit, I said goodbye to Bart, when I could have said ''take care of her''.
Freya Crescent... shouldn''t had been Brandford instead? Well, I always knew that Lenneth had dominance over other''s lifes. A month later, and I see her around the market, carrying the little one in an arm and a basket on another. I took the basket full of bread in hands, but still I couldn''t take away the pain in the middle of legs. Surprising how Lenneth could walk, despite feeling such pain and the amount of blood lost. Her skin was pale as that hair, and the milk that came out to feed her daughter. I couldn''t even look to her face, but when I did, it looked like she sucked a lemon in disgust. Her eyes were still purple, and I never said anything about them, how they looked like gems, nothing. I wondered which color the little one''s eyes would become, when I only knew that her skin would be gray, and that the ribbon at her tail is orange, alike the ones wrapping her mother''s hair.
I once wrapped them when she was a little girl. Was too close of ears to whisper, but I didn''t wanted to say what I felt when touching her hair, comb with my claws. Lenneth said what she wanted to with a kiss, the only one she ever gave to me. It''s because I didn''t asked afterwards. Didn''t insisted to take her out to a dinner, but I already knew her, so much that I didn''t wanted to stay forever. But fate makes us cross paths, like when I got my arm and nose broken, near that house, where this same woman used to live. Now that place is in ruins, a former shell of its glory. Accidents happen, but sometimes, when you want something to happen, you have to make it happen. At the way home, I was still carrying that basket while Lenneth carried her daughter, who only felt its mother''s heat instead of her pain. And when I was about to feel my own, Lenneth said:
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
¡ª I still feel pain. But this also means that I''m still alive, right?
I''m glad that you are.
...
December 1780
...
Fog.
Hot air coming out of the south collides against the cold walls of Burmecia, resulting in the worst of the fogs to cover my sight, and everyone''s. Children are nowhere to be seem, and heat comes out of candles and lamp oils burning in yellow. Lenneth is with her children, and Freya grew enough to see, but with this fog in the way, she sees everything as it began. Her life is already a gift brought outside yuletide, which this fog makes me forget about. I shouldn''t worry for them, but myself. I hear doors being open at my back, and no lights at all. Must be burglars, who only appear at night, or when unseen. I hear a couple discuss, and no fear or bluff on the voice of the man who threatened to not allow her to leave the door. Should I interfere? Then a window cracks and some shards fall on me. I step over, seeing the water turn red beneath my feet. Beneath that body, fallen and broken alike brick.
It''s yuletide, and I broke the jaw of a man. Before, he came out the front door, as if nothing happened. Well, with me on the way, something did. I also felt my arm disjoint when it collided against the ground meat face. Just a feeling, whom I can''t blame the fog for. I walk unafraid, in the middle of thick curtains of cold air, to a specific place. Yes, the corner where I was born and the borders outside, where I was raised. Before I came to knew Lenneth, and when I did, I never told to her or anyone that I was a thief. Imagine the turmoir of someone like me, a Dragoon Knight, once a thief in a past life? As if being a being of another color was not already a target of calumny and difamation, both I can sue someone against. But I didn''t came here to punish anyone, or myself. Or even say that I miss this place, that I was lucky to get out.
Then I hear a cry, not mine. I didn''t came here for it too. I don''t even know why, but that cry gave me a reason why. It has been two years since Lenneth gave birth, and half an hour since someone abandoned this baby. In flesh ahd dirt, it screamed as if its skin was set on fire. Only the skin, pinkish and irritated. At old times, before Burmecia came to exist, a tribe of warriors that came to be part of our heritage only raised warriors in the family. When the newborn seemed weak for their sight, what they did was to abandon them at the pit of a mountain, so it was devoured or died of hunger; anyway, that thing shouldn''t exist. But nowadays, everyone has a second chance. A Dragoon lives to make others live, yet what I felt on that moment wasn''t what a Dragoon feels. I took my escutcheon out, so I could open my coat, and place that thing near my chest.
That thing still screamed, but I felt better with myself. What I was doing was the right thing to do, out of the many wrong paths I took. For a moment, I didn''t knew where to go. It was a girl, with no name, or a mother, or a father to take care of. Just the streets to teach, and to learn with. She''s still young to learn something, but she knows that something was wrong. That''s why she cried, and that''s why I began to call her by ''she'' instead of ''creature''. I didn''t had a name in mind yet, but following the way outside the alley, I came in to Lenneth''s house. Jack was playing marbles with Dan, while Freya was on sleep within the crib, and Bart was somewhere, guiding people throught the fog like a ferryman in change of a few bucks. That should had been my work, so said Lenneth. I said that she was already following her duty by maintaning these kids inside.
What happens in the fog doesn''t stay only at the fog. But that girl didn''t only stood at my mind, but my arms. It was her, or the coat of arms. I can only borrow one. Besides asking for a ribbon, I also wanted to know which name would I choose to her. She is pretty strong to have survived this enough, like a warrior. So, I already had a name in mind, a gift for someone I cared about... a warrior by the name of Hrist.
Future of Past Tense
July 17, 1794
...
¡ª For how long had you been doing headstands, Dan?
¡ª Headstand, you mean. Not for a long ago, but I''ll get in there.
¡ª Is that what you do on your free time?
¡ª There is no free time. When the body gets tired, your thoughts do not. I just cut a man''s arm''s off. I should had been feeling bad by now, but I do not. It''s part of my training, like a surgeon who ignores the screech of its patients. How do you feel, Freya?
¡ª I don''t know what I feel. So many things...
¡ª Like what?
¡ª Longing.
¡ª Someday my kids will long for me too. It''ll take long to get in there, for sure. You see, I used to do headstand without wearing pants...
¡ª With someone watching?
¡ª Not only the rain puts out the fire, so you know.
¡ª I didn''t wanted.
¡ª Well, live and learn
¡ª I''ll just life to know. There are other things to learn.
¡ª A lot of them. Did you''ve mentioned something about surface tension?
¡ª Yes. Hrist does it a lot when near me.
¡ª I heard that they force Knights to walk over spikes.
¡ª Spikes!?
¡ª Well, kind of. Don''t worry, Freya. I had been throught worse, and believe or not, I once found myself inside an Antlion. A pretty huge one, at the desert while on training. A friend of mine lost its arm, and that bug lost its life in return. I got myself covered in green blood, and it ain''t less brutal than the red we both shed. Have you been at the desert once?
¡ª No. I had a nursemaid by the name of Otterley. She was born at Cleyra. Now my brother is with her, and they had a son.
¡ª And what?
¡ª Well, didn''t I said she was my nursemaid?
¡ª So Jack fell for the woman who took care and grew with him throught its life? And she''s a cleyran too? Well, each one of us always dreamt of sleeping together with a cleyran as a boy. Like, they wear those flowery dresses, share of huge strands, golden earrings, exposed bellies... uh, sorry if this may have sounded nasty to you.
¡ª It doesn''t. Unfortunately.
¡ª Guess you always knew how our heads worked alike.
¡ª And there''s nothing that can fix them.
¡ª Only time to tell...
¡ª Goodbye, Dan.
¡ª See ya.
Freya Crescent...
Now, at the year 1794 of our Lord Bahamut, you''re officialy a member of the Dragoon unit.
Congratulations.
...And so I thought they would say something alike. Nothing at all can be said by papers. A lot of them, with the same signature of Ezekiel. I don''t even have my own, despite the name of many families in me, with the Crescents who stood out of the rest of being Dragoon Knights. I changed my clothes to something more comfortable a while ago. Mother used to say that I never learned to walk, but run instead. Run like a boy, wearing same clothes. It takes a while to sew a dress, or for your birthday to come and for you to receive clothes from relatives. If you want a toy, make your own, or ask for your father to bring some wood. A twig can become a fishing rod, it naturally is for some fishes who dare to jump outside the surface of a lake to eat some berries, but for it to happen while you own a twig, you must have patience. A lot of it, which I couldn''t afford.
As much as father wasn''t there to follow me to the lake. Jack was, but instead of fishing, he and his few friends swimmed there, wearing nothing. Can you feed a fish you a strawberry? I didn''t understood, but now that I do... sigh. I just got it, like all dirty words mom never told us, even when suffering of such pain. Dan didn''t liked how she felt, outside her offspring of two. When I wore clothes like his, he and Jack used to hunt basilisks, which can still be found around if you have a keen eye, or misfortune to stand near one, unable to run. They bring shivers to the spine, and after you look at their eyes, you feel nothing. Stones do not feel, despite being watered by rain and bird poo. Well, a basilisk can''t look to another, so they hunt blindly for preys when in groups, which''s something rare to see.
You can''t kill a stone, but you can use a stone to kill. Jack had a slingshot on its pocket, and Dan had the stones. As for me, I was a witness most the time, like Learie. My brother joked that her bad breath could kill a basilisk in an instant, which Dan replied with a slap on his face, and only one to be kissed by the end of the day. It''s so silly how boys behave in front of a girl, or in front of each other without anything on their way but themselves. Jack used to call Dan by piece of shit most the time, yet they were friends despite cousins. Try to understand... to this day, I''m trying to. The heart ain''t easy to be understood, but same can''t be said when it''s broken. When Jack began to kill birds at trees, mom forbide him of using the slingshot, or ever attracting basilisks on that way. It was the first time mom called my brotehr by fool. She said something like a wise finds strenght on himself, while the fool uses another''s strenght.
Well, Jack had Dan to use, and Dan on the other had my brother to follow, instead of its own. How he hated them, not because they were older, but because they began to live by themselves. Dan lost its father before I did, and knew how I felt when I lost my own. Then I lost my tooth when I ate bread at morning, the least of my worries. With the tip of my tongue, I felt, besides lips covered in cocoa butter due cold, the cavity where my tooth once stood. Soft, fleshy, pinky, and empty like the chair he used to sat upon, and the baby''s chair with no more use other than bring a feeling of what if. What if my father had been alive? If mom had been there to save his life? Or to say a goodbye? If something so horrible and meaningless can happen to anyone, what does prevents it from happening again?
Only men can shave their hair and become soldiers, while women let them grow and become something that doesn''t have anything to do with death, but life. To be a Dragoon is to bring life, whether or not you do not live enough for it.
LII: Cipater
?Autechre - Cipater?
July 18, 1794
...
The grandfather clock at the hallway marks IX.
My breakfast was algae biscuits and frog eggs, one of the few signs of a cultural legacy resisting like the stones of a mountain. But even those are dragged down by the water. At the way to the Jugend inside, I saw springs, fountains, waterfalls of concrete... On a land whose rain is eternal, liquid people change of states at any time. I look cold, but warm inside. A red dot in the middle of a rainbow. A rainbow where only a few colours belong into, outside portraits of the dead, and old enough as dead warriors. Aqueducts are spread across the entire kingdom, upon our heads and the streets we walk into, connected one to another like the sewers below. It takes a while to clean these aqueducts, with the risk of those who do it so falling from such heights. At least, they have something real to deal with, other than stories of burmecians being devoured by zombie dragons living at the sewers, or so they are said to live there.
If they really did, why my brother is still alive? Maybe he''s lucky, or didn''t saw anything at all, other than dirt outside its face, or Freyr''s. A kind of homage for Jack to have given his son that name, I suppose. He doesn''t look alike me, but rather Jack himself. Someday, that kid will grown up and wonder what he will be, instead of sucking its finger with the mouth. A bit of Jack, and a Dan that exists on everyone. Now, when I stand in here, there''s only me, and lives outside who need of my care, that I shall be instructed how. I know the basics of first aids, and by that, I mean covering wounds with something that do not let air to be exposed, and that manuever done when someone''s choking. No, I don''t know how to ressurect someone, outside thoughts. Speaking of dragons, they live far away from here, and I wonder how they are hard to be noticed. I mean, they are like giants, and we are so small, but an ant holds on its back a leaf ten times heavier than its own body, and some are know to devour flesh as well.
What a wonderful world...
And you know you are bored of same when you begin to think about water. The one splashing at the window, leaving drops sliding down together with the dirt.
¡ª Nervous? ¨C asked Hrist. Well, I should be. It''s my first day, I have been here in this corridor, sitting on this chair...
¡ª No ¨C I said with the mouth, unlike what my thoughs said in mind ¨C why do you ask? ¨C I wonder if you felt the same as well, Hrist. If you began to taste the tip of your fingers like now.
¡ª Been chewing your nails for a while ¨C I said, while I noticed my legs shaking. I''m just a bit anxious, to be fair.
¡ª What would you say if I kept them sharp? ¨C the Hrist of usual said. As for me, though...
¡ª Nothing.
¡ª Those who faint do not speak, after all.
¡ª You keep saying that I''ll faint as if I had been awaiting this long to do it so.
¡ª Who choose to be a Dragoon, Crescent? Deal with it ¨C it''ll be hard to deal with the likes of you, as it had been since childhood. I thought Dan was the worst, given his sense of hygiene, but he never treated me like this. Sure, he wanted me to be a boy, and fortunately saw me as the same.
Though, here are some cousins around that blame the distance and grade so they can kiss you, not in the cheeks or in the forehead. Skin doesn''t have taste, this unless you are sweating, but the mouth, well... it has the taste you want to have. Whether it''s meat, cabbage, sweat, ear wax, anything. I wonder if Hrist doesn''t have any trouble with that hair when it gets insider her eye. I mean, there is a lot of it, enough to hide herself from this world. Maybe she was inspired, and I can''t blame me. I grew like this, just like mom. Someday, I''ll die too, but that will happen later on. I hope... It would be very unfortunate if I took a fall and ended up in a wheelchair, in the first day! I wonder what crossed fingers mean, but they sure bring a kind of discomfort. It seems more discomforting for Ezekiel standing in that room, holding same pen all day along.
And Sir Fratley''s in there too. Had him be able to see a thing, maybe he could help Hrist''s father with the papers. Instead, they just walk, since one''s hearing is better than another. Now, I wonder how come he''ll train us. Sure, he can still do a lot of things, but... I hate to expect when you are so near of it. It can be a day,lLike a birthday, and then a relative gives you a pair of socks. I mean, burmecians do not wear socks, but gaiters instead. To this day, I still hold on my first gift, at the tip of my tail. Besides my name written on it, the initials of my family, and an orange that will follow throught my life... guess I was lucky, not because I am the daughter of a Dragoon Knight, but a daughter who cared to be one. While I am lead astray by my thoughts, Hrist playfully rolls her tendril-like strands with her fingers.
¡ª How long does it takes? ¨C I asked to Hrist, whom presumably had been throught it too. Maybe not, given she''s the daughter of the one who signed my name in paper. Fathers do anything to their sons, when they really care.
¡ª Be patient, Crescent ¨C Hrist saying it so? Okay... ¨C besides, it won''t take that long so I can make you shut up for real.
¡ª Don''t you think the way you keep saying it so is kinda annoying? ¨C did she at least heard me, while doing nails? Hrist ain''t doing her ears, taking the wax out with a spoon like the old warriors before battle.
¡ª It''s the fighting spirit. I have it on name.
¡ª Your name doesn''t mean much.
¡ª Not alone, Freya ¨C only a few times that Hrist calls me by the first name, as much as I can see her eyes, purple like her coat ¨C I wonder what father had in mind when he gave me this name.
¡ª Everyone deserves one.
¡ª As much as everyone deserves of a home, which was granted to me by luck. Well, rats fled when there''s an earthquake, but when the sky cracks at burmecia, everyone stands still. Not everyone, but a few... geez, understand?
¡ª I understand very well how its like to live in a land without sun.
¡ª A land that burns a few seasons in year. With the rain, it''s like it''s always summer in here.
¡ª Mornings are cold and the white skies tell me it''s always winter.
¡ª We get used to it, Crescent. That''s why many strangers feel sad when they arrive to Burmecia. They were so happy with the sun, and now that they miss it... well, why am I talking these things to you? They do not have any sort of relevance.
¡ª When you have silence like this outside your head, anything said is relevant ¨C well, we are just throwing words away, consuming time like an ice cream. You can''t eat it all quickly, or else your head hurts, but if you don''t, it melts. See, even my thoughts are melting...
¡ª If you say so, Crescent... remember when it was fun to play patty-cake?
¡ª You never missed an opportunity to slap in my face.
¡ª And you to have a mom to spoil all fun.
¡ª Was it any fun to hold hands and make a circle with your friends, then slap the hand of the one in your left so hard until he yelled a very loud ''OUCH''?
¡ª Perhaps. This if you weren''t the first one to leave the game.
¡ª If you play with hot potato enough, you''ll get burned ¨C funny how much you try to say something, time moves at same speed in here, as if this corridor slowed down time for anyone who crosses it. A bleak corridor that makes you feel better for coloring past moments, even if there was no rainbow in the skies at all. I hear voices on that room, barely I can understand them. Are they talking about me? I did nothing yet but enlisten, sit here, share of silence with Hrist. But in the end, I hate it. A bit of silence is to be admired, but this is too much.
¡ª Know what''s burning in me? My butt ¨C so Hrist agrees with me ¨C I''m tired of sitting on his chair.
¡ª Then why don''t you stand up?
¡ª Because I know that I''ll sit back. Besides, this may be the last moment of rest before I make you drown in my own sweat.
¡ª You are kind of dramatic sometimes, Hrist.
¡ª Was it supposed to be a ''thanks''?
¡ª Maybe ¨C another ounce of silence is followed of my word. It''s not the absolute kind, which would drive me mad for real ¨C you were the one who laughed whenever someone said poo.
¡ª Yellow chocobo ¨C when Hrist said that, we stood quiet for a while, once again. This before we couldn''t resist, but burst into laughs. Timid giggles of a lady hidden by a fan at first,who now echoed throught the corridor afterwards. The closure of eyes, hands in the chest, followed of an unplainable kind of agony, and yet we were still alive. When Hrist began to pull air into her throat, grunting like a pig, fueling our laughter further...
¡ª Alright, quit the tomfoolery ¨C this until Sir Fratley came out of its room, followed of Ezekiel. We ceased to laugh, as an awful silence disrupted by the rain outside the window filled in the corridor.
¡ª Don''t you have nothing better to do? ¨C said Ezekiel. Even the echoes of before became quiet with his old voice.
¡ª I know you are doing your best, father ¨C said Hrist, who unlike me, raised the chin ¨C meanwhile, we are just waiting to do our own best. Don''t you want to see me in training?
¡ª I cannot this time.
¡ª Oh, please...
¡ª I really cannot, Hrist.
¡ª You never can.
¡ª Almost, you mean. Remember last week?
¡ª I don''t even remember what I ate back then. I do not care, to be fair ¨C but if there''s something Hrist cares about...
¡ª I have things to do, my dear. You know that I''m the least person who ever likes to sign papers, but who else would do it so in my place? That''s what it means to be responsible.
¡ª And to be old.
¡ª Hrist... ¨C while Ezekiel watched its daughter with a serious look, Hrist avoided it with a barrier of hair around her face.
¡ª That''s the true, dad. You had been put here because you have no other use in force.
¡ª Even the smallest pieces of a clock are important to keep moving it on.
¡ª With your strenght drained out of you like an orange whose pomace is the only thing left, no wonder you put someone younger to do the job.
¡ª The true strenght of a Dragoon Knight doesn''t come from age, but spirit.
¡ª And the javelin as well. You do not even use it as it should. In your hands, it''s just a cane with a blade on its tip ¨C I thought about saying something, but better be quiet. I don''t like when the world seems to be vibrating in waves other than the ones splashing at the window, making a shadow upon us.
¡ª Oh my... why are you behaving like this? ¨C for Ezekiel to have said it is the same as to ask why fruits rotten.
¡ª So what? Are you going to ground me?
¡ª No. You are too old for any punishment.
¡ª Except this ¨C said Hrist, whispering before she had something else to say. I know she had ¨C geez, you can''t even let your job aside for the Crescent here? It''s her first day ¨C is it? I did nothing, but hear father and daughter talk to each other, while I stood on my own. Guess Sir Fratley agrees with me.
¡ª I''m currently doing whatever I can to not only make this the only day for Crescent to be here. I can''t be everywhere, not even for you, Hrist.
¡ª I understand ¨C said Hrist, soon as her father went into that same room, closing its doors ¨C but his name is written on all papers. White, yellow, green... even when I became his daughter, the first thing he did was to sign its name.
¡ª At least, he gave you one ¨C Sir Fratley said. He didn''t followed Ezekiel to its room, but instead he sat in the middle chair, between me and Hrist.
¡ª Except for a purpose. But inspirating be plenty of. All my life, surrounded by Dragoon Knights... barely a sight of father while he wore that helmet. Too bad you can''t see me, Fratley.
¡ª But I can hear very well.
¡ª And smell too. Sniff sniff... Why haven''t you said that I was smelling awful?
¡ª I do not care that much about sweat. It means you are clean.
¡ª Same for tears, but I haven''t shed none ¨C and by this, Hrist means that she''ll make me shed my own. I know it because she looked at me with those eyes ¨C mind if I show the Jugend here to Crescent, Fratley?
¡ª I don''t ¨C neither I. Hope Hrist doesn''t show me the training field yet. I''m still unprepared ¨C you learned to crawl on this same carpet, did you?
¡ª How would I know?
¡ª Your father knows. He also cares for you.
¡ª If he only said it personally...
¡ª A Dragoon doesn''t have preferences, Hrist. They speak for all.
¡ª Yeah, right... see you soon, Fratley. Oh, my bad.
¡ª It''s alright. I''m used to this sort of thing.
¡ª Whatever. Come on, Crescent ¨C and so I got out the chair I was sitting, and hearing it all. Like Sir Fratley, except that he has more important things to do. To be a Dragoon is something important for me, and I have awaited enough. This must be the trial of patience, which follows me everywhere, not only when I am here.
...
The worst kind of death is the one you do not even know you had been dead all along.
Why this appeared all of sudden? I guess that''s the reason why I followed Hrist to the showers, because I also feel something dirty in me, and these walls I touch. If I could read more than her eyes... Child''s eyes, alike mine, but instead of asking ''why things are like this?'', they just said ''it''s okay'', even when mom was at her worst. Hrist was beginning to sweat, and haven''t engaged in training already, if threatening to punch me is a sort of training. I didn''t wanted to go here but since I began to sweat too, why not? It''s better than chewing putrid nails. These can''t be washed, unlike your skin, alike what lies inside, but I''m sure that I''ll feel better. Besides an arc at the top, this room has holes for windows, so there are no delinquents to spy. The holes are found up in the walls, where only the light from outside can reach.
¡ª We burmecians were the first ones to discover that bath is good for health. In fact, our medicine is superior, compared to those alexandrians who still cutted their soldiers head''s to pour salt over them... whew. That''s one of the benefits of being a Dragoon, Crescent. You get a shower before, and after training ¨C so, after Hrist said it all, as we took out our helmets, the escutcheons together with the belt who holded it in our chests, the bucklets that stood upon our shoulders, anything metallic was taken and placed inside a wooden chest, whom she locked with a key ¨C remember, winners do not steal.
¡ª I know what''s mine and what''s yours, Hrist.
¡ª Sure. Don''t await for a medal in your neck. So... what are you awaiting for? ¨C so Hrist began to take off her coat before than I. For some reason, I kept watching, as if I haven''t already learned how to walk.
¡ª Ladies first ¨C I said what I could. It''s my first time in here, and even if it was only Hrist to be here, wouldn''t change that much.
¡ª Oh, please Crescent. Don''t feel ashamed.
¡ª Shouldn''t I? ¨C oh, Freya... come on. You didn''t became a Dragoon to feel fear, did you? A voice in my head says. Must be my own bit of Hrist, not alike the one who''s standing in front of me, wearing a green frilly camisole. At least she''s wearing someth-no... forget it.
¡ª Just so you know, our coats and undies will be washed and dried up at laundry ¨C said Hrist, before she placed both her clothes inside one of the cabinets she pulled out the wall, which had a hole where both slide down, presumably to the laundry she mentioned before ¨C in the end, they will smell as if they were new. But keep in mind that this ain''t a life of luxuries, Crescent. You are paying for it.
¡ª You say it after you dropped your clothes in a cabinet that said ''lavender'' upon it ¨C only now that I noticed, since Hrist stood near it.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
¡ª Like I said... you pay for it. This means you are also left to choose ¨C and I choose to hear Hrist by the voice alone, since I couldn''t look at her. Or stare long enough at that body, whose curly strands couldn''t cover it all, despite being long enough to cover her face ¨C what''s up, Crescent? Your face is red like plum.
¡ª Is it? ¨C I had no mirror to notice, but a kind of shiver at the skin should had been enough.
¡ª Yes, it is.
¡ª Fine them.
¡ª It ain''t fine, Crescent. I haven''t made your face red for a reason yet ¨C well, guess you already did, Hrist. Now, I think I should look to her face ¨C also... are you going to take a shower with your clothes on?
¡ª I already do while on the rain.
¡ª Same for crying, I suppose.
¡ª What do you mean?
¡ª Feeling shy all of sudden, Crescent? Please don''t. Feel free instead. Sure, this is the place where you can drown your sorrows at and nobody will notice. I do not care if your singing is awful, or if it''s the least awful thing in you ¨C well, that was enough, Hrist. Cravats aren''t usually that tight, as much as Hrist''s words aren''t usually sharp.
¡ª I need privacy, please ¨C I said, only wearing my orange trousers. Not for too far long.
¡ª You already share enough of it ¨C at least, Hrist is kind to hold my coat with a hand ¨C the pantyhose, please ¨C oh, my bad... and now I''m completely who I am inside. Vulnerable, at worst. The only thing I kept in me, besides dignity and that orange ribbon wrapped at my tail, is the lapis-lazuli armlet Fratley gave to me. I wonder if there''s something lucky in it, or just a gift to take care of.
¡ª How do you feel? ¨C naked, perhaps? No, I should be less subtle for Hrist.
¡ª A bit better, I guess ¨C and now that I''m alike her, guess I can look without deviating sight.
¡ª Lavender, cherry, vanilla, aloe, sandal, cinnamon, carnation, lime or orange?
¡ª Uh?
¡ª I asked which scent do you want for your clothes, Crescent. Well, it''s optional, but since it''s your first day here... just saying.
¡ª Okay.
¡ª Since your coat must be together with your undies, you can only pick one cabinet.
¡ª Fine. Is there any difference between lime and orange?
¡ª One is bitter, the other sweet ¨C kinda like me and Hrist. Except that I''m not that sweet too ¨C which do you want?
¡ª What about cherry? ¨C I said. It''s my first try, and my only option.
¡ª Cherry?
¡ª Yes.
¡ª Right. Anyway, you are a vanilla ¨C Hrist isn''t the kind who waste opportunities. So she took my clothes and put them on ''cherry'' cabinet, and I wonder if they''ll be back soon. So we went underneath the stream of water falling out the walls.
I never had been in a public bath. Here, at the Jugend, there is one for males, and females; or as they say here in academy, Bahamuts and Leviathans. There is only one of each kind, and to be fair, we all wear same clothes, but in a world that everything looks the same, we give different words for each thing. Not everything can be decided by whether or not you do or do not have in the middle of your legs, if a pair of tails, or an only tail in the back. Hrist began to explain how this place worked, by pointing out that heat comes out of furnaces fueled by coal in the night, while hot air is chanelled throught hypocausts, found under the floor. What I can say is that water comes warm like a sun ray touching our skins, soft fingers sliding from the top to below our feet. The strands of my hair became sharp like knives, dripping of water on their tips.
¡ª Feeling better, Crescent? ¨C I looked to Hrist, soon as she said it. The tendrils falling out of her head blended into smooth and plain lines attached to a soaked skin.
¡ª A bit strange ¨C it ain''t everyday that you can afford a stone to flay your back, or a lavender soap to cover your body into bubbles that vanish with a blink, unlike the flowery scent.
¡ª Is it because there are others than us? ¨C Hrist''s words sounded alike a whisper, given the water falling upon us.
¡ª Maybe.
¡ª Don''t look to their faces. Well, since we are here, the best you can do is look to their faces ¨C but I didn''t. Instead, I took attention to Hrist''s back. When she took her undies out, the first thing I noticed where those scars left. They reminded a bit of mom''s. Guess seeing those scars made me a bit nervous before ¨C to what are you looking at? Oh, these... don''t feel pity for me. I was threw against a wall.
¡ª Walls do not leave scratches like these.
¡ª Well, let''s just say it was an unusual wall, the kind covered by spikes. I was just an apprentice, like you ¨C Hrist says it as if it was nothing else. More like a kind of achievement ¨C hey, know why many failed to become Dragoon Knights, Crescent? ¨C so Hrist stared at me. I mean, she faced me front to front, and yet I couldn''t see her eyes standing out of those curly strands.
¡ª Because they didn''t liked what they did?
¡ª No, that''s not what I mean. Well, torches do not scream when lit by fire. Had not been for the rain, though...
¡ª What''s your point? ¨C I said, feeling a kind of relief, which may not last for too long.
¡ª Metal attracts and conducts electricity. Careful to not become a burmecian lighning rod, Crescent.
¡ª You know that this won''t happen with me ¨C and I do not even think that Hrist wishes for such to happen. She ain''t that mean at all. As far as I know...
¡ª I know. It would be a really stupid death, considering your family''s name. Now, with Sir Fratley''s training, your chance of survival will slightly improve. Then, it will be up to yours.
¡ª For hearing advices coming out of you...
¡ª Know that these will be the only ones I''ll give to you ¨C as if you ever had made a silent vote, Hrist. If she did, there wouldn''t be that much of hair upon that head...
¡ª Fine them. I have a tutor for this reason.
¡ª Uh huh. Scared?
¡ª You are the one scarred here.
¡ª And someday you''ll be too ¨C and I hope it won''t be because of Hrist. Then she looked at me, to my face and below ¨C nice pair of legs.
¡ª Thanks. Are these earrings? ¨C I also looked down on her ¨C aren''t you too young for these?
¡ª When you are a Dragoon, you can''t be young no more.
¡ª Only the young to cover their bodies in tatoos...
¡ª And the children to wear ribbons on their tails ¨C said the Hrist who''s wearing a ribbon too. Orange, but with another name written on it. A ''Ch'' instead of a ''Cr'' belonging to mine.
¡ª You were only a child when you became a Dragoon, Hrist.
¡ª A child ends being a child when it bleeds for days.
¡ª That''s not the only moment in life when we learned to be strong, Hrist.
¡ª Strong, and patient. You can only be one.
¡ª If you strain hard enough, you can be both ¨C said someone else, from behind. Of the few other women around the room, one caught my attention, besides Hrist. Pitch black like tar strands falling into a back covered in scars made by dragons, some made recently, given the red of one wound to another already regenerated. That back looked like a page of a book, whose ink could be felt by anyone who touched it. When the woman turned in to us, A face devoided of any emotion happened to be here. Maybe it''s because she looks serious, a thing even I try hard to.
¡ª Where have you been, captain? ¨C asked Hrist, to the woman whose only thing I knew about was the name. The title, I mean
¡ª I was outside, proving to myself and a few that dragons indeed exist ¨C said the captain, someone older than me. Mature than yours, given the voice, and that body ¨C if you do not mind, I would prefer you to look to my face ¨C she said to me, with that face whose emotions were all stirred out. Maybe it''s the lips, plain like horizon, always plain.
¡ª There, I said it ¨C yes, I know you said it, Hrist ¨C she''s new here, captain.
¡ª Well, sorry if we haven''t been presented to each other. What''s your name? ¨C the captain, looking at me. I''m tired of calling her by captain, so...
¡ª Freya Crescent.
¡ª A Crescent? No wonder you looked so familiar. Are you the daughter of Lenneth?
¡ª The only.
¡ª Lenneth... she was one of my apprentices, for a long time. Do you remember me? ¨C I looked to her. Besides a dark hair, the captain''s face had no details. No expression, and I don''t recall seeing someone like that.
¡ª Guess I don''t.
¡ª Oh, well... you were too young. And I''m not the kind who stays here for too long.
¡ª You know my name, but I don''t know yours
¡ª So, if this is the first time we are presented to each other... my name is Edea Faraday.
¡ª Pleased to meet you ¨C not the right place to know people, but here I am. Though, this Edea already knows me ¨C what do you mean by not staying here too long?
¡ª I belong to the frontline which prevents the dragons from arriving at this kingdom ¨C so that''s the why of scars, but still, that doesn''t explain why that face looks so polished. Somehow, I feel strange near her, and it ain''t because I''m wearing nothing. There is nothing on her face, but I keep staring to it. Water flows, and like the stones of a mountain, I wonder if it was responsible for taking Edea''s smile, or if this is just a bit of overreaction because she is serious. And with people like Hrist living around, too...
¡ª So, Mrs. Edea-
¡ª I''m not that old, girl. Just Edea is fine.
¡ª Right. So, Edea... do you fight against dragons? ¨C I asked, breaking the silence of words. The noise of water prevails.
¡ª Isn''t that exactly what the captain told you before, Freya? ¨C so do Hrist''s own. But she have a point, a rare thing as the chrysoberyl bracelet in her hands.
¡ª Guess I didn''t paid enough attention ¨C other than the one I gave to her face.
¡ª You''ll need it when dealing with a Dragoon. Those tails aren''t only there for decoration ¨C so Edea said. She also stared back at me. Guess that we are both unrecognizable to each other, but seeing those scars...
¡ª Why did you came back, Edea? ¨C I don''t want to talk about them. Soon I''ll have my own appear in skin, anyway.
¡ª I''m here to pay a visit.
¡ª To whom?
¡ª I have nobody in mind, Freya. Well, I didn''t expected you to be here... and, since you''re here, could you bring me the pumice?
¡ª The pumice?
¡ª It''s on your left.
¡ª Oh... here ¨C so I grabbed the pumice stone laying on a hole in the wall. I holded it, felt its rough surface for an instant, before I threw it at Edea''s direction. Didn''t knew why, but I know she holded it. Good reflexes, I see.
¡ª You could just lend it to my hand ¨C said Edea, holding the stone with a hand, then she turned her head and frowned at me. Briefly, before she turned back and began to exfoliate her skin. I guess it''s just the lips that bothered me ¨C not so many come back from the field. But I''m not here by mere luck.
¡ª Neither I.
...
¡ª Name?
¡ª Freya Crescent.
¡ª Crescent... It''s one of the moon''s phases.
¡ª I know.
¡ª Age?
¡ª Sixteen.
¡ª Height?
¡ª I believe I''m above 180cm.
¡ª Fine. Weight?
¡ª Don''t know. Wearing all these things must make a difference... Also, it ain''t polite to ask about a lady''s weight.
¡ª Sure it ain''t. Sniff, sniff...
¡ª What''s up?
¡ª Uh... is it just me, or is there something in this room smelling like cherry?
¡ª It''s me.
¡ª Oh, that''s you. Well, back to the real questions... Hand?
¡ª I have both, but I mainly use the left one.
¡ª So you are left-handed... look, it''ll be a bit hard for you, but given your heritage, it shouldn''t be that much of a problem.
¡ª If you say.
¡ª Sex?
¡ª Uh? You already know.
¡ª Sorry. Could you say again?
¡ª I mean, why are you asking all these things, Sir Fratley?
¡ª Just following the standard.
¡ª Oh... right.
¡ª Alright? Well, sex?
¡ª Female.
¡ª Sign?
¡ª Is it any relevant by standards?
¡ª Perhaps. Sign?
¡ª I was born in July 15th.
¡ª Cancer.
¡ª Sincerely, I don''t believe that my personality is defined by the sign of the month of my birth
¡ª So you do not believe in fate.
¡ª And you know how to write. Very well.
¡ª Thanks.
/\_/\_/\/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_/\_
No wonder why Ezekiel has so many papers to sign. Poor of him. Despite being an only person, this seems to be taking an eternity. Fortunately, Sir Fratley writes very fast, and like I said, well too. It''s kinda surprising how his writing is that good, given he can''t see those words. Not before they dry up, so he can read them by the tip of fingers, while I eat my own. Had I been desperate enough, I would eat sand to fill in my empty stomach, but it wouldn''t be enough to fill in something empty in me. As time passes, and Sir Fratley writes on his notebook, we both sitting on chairs and only one of us doing something important, I stare at Sir Fratley, knowing that he can''t stare back. But he knows I''m here, that I should be here no matter if I leave. I don''t know if he''ll bother if I leave this room for a while.
¡ª There is a drinking fountain crossing the corridor, near Reis statue ¨C I just raised from the chair when Sir Fratley said these things. I''m shocked, don''t know what to say.
_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\/\/\_
¡ª Uh? How did you knew I was going there?
¡ª Well, you were leaving the room.
_/\/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/\_
¡ª So, that was just a guess?
¡ª No. I heard your mouth drying up. So I thought you must be thirsty ¨C he''s coming up with these things, isn''t he? Though, there is something in Sir Fratley''s voice that makes anything he says convincing enough to be truth.
¡ª Really? I know that blind people can hear well, but my mouth ¨C yet, half of me disagree with what he said.
¡ª Surprised? Had not been for the Dragoon, I wouldn''t be able to do it so ¨C and half of Sir Fratley is still convincing as his whole.
_/\/\/\/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/\_
¡ª As a lawyer, don''t you know what privacy means?
¡ª Don''t worry, Freya. I can''t read minds. If I did it so, then I would be able to see everyone''s fantasies, including yours.
¡ª Heh. Sometimes you are quite a strange guy, Sir Fratley.
¡ª That''s the nicest thing I ever heard from someone.
¡ª Uh huh. I don''t want to be mean with you, but how come you became a Sir?
¡ª Why do you want to be a Dragoon, Freya?
¡ª Well... I don''t know why. I just feel this is the right thing to do. I don''t have a clear answer, you know.
/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_
¡ª I understand. Are you feeling okay?
¡ª I am. Why do you ask?
¡ª Well, I suppose that, given the loss... Sorry.
¡ª You don''t need to feel sorry.
¡ª I mean, it happened recently, and here you are, a new Dragoon.
/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_
¡ª You mean that I only became a Dragoon to take mother''s place?
¡ª No, that''s not what I mean. In a way, I believe you feel the need of doing what Lenneth haven''t done, despite all she had been doing for you.
¡ª Maybe. Am I here to be studied, or to study?
¡ª You have awaited enough, didn''t you?
¡ª This chair is killing me.
¡ª It ain''t enough as a heart attack. Also, I''m finishing, so don''t worry.
¡ª I have nothing to worry about. You seem to be a good person, Sir Fratley.
¡ª And you have a good heart, Crescent. You should listen to it
¡ª Listen to my heart? As if you could...
¡ª But I can.
/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\/\_
¡ª You say it as if you weren''t kidding.
¡ª If I can hear your mouth, so I can hear your heart too. Also, you are the kid here.
¡ª Hey!
¡ª Don''t be scared, Freya. A heart alone doesn''t tell much about a person, so it''s not like I''m invading your privacity. We do this during conversations.
¡ª Hrist didn''t said that you could do that.
¡ª She likes to keep secrets, though it''s hard for her to not. Please, don''t tell her that I said it.
¡ª I won''t. My mouth is like a grave.
¡ª Your mouth doesn''t stink.
¡ª Okay... don''t you know about limits?
¡ª There are no limits for imagination. Know how I see you?
¡ª Am I hideous?
¡ª Of course not. I can''t hear your shape, but it''s easy to imagine. White hair, orange ribbon, tall, green eyes... you are like Lenneth, and she was beautiful.
¡ª Same for the daughter, I presume. Won''t you say a thing?
¡ª Should I? Well, it''s about time. Alright, you can now leave your chair ¨C now I''m free.
¡ª Whew... I told you that it was killing me ¨C so I said to Sir Fratley. I guess he didn''t bothered to hear my complains, given that he had been hearing me all along ¨C so, what should I do?
¡ª Let''s go outside ¨C he said, opening a window. A bit of rain splashed over Sir Fratley''s face, and a bit on me as well. Rain and wind, hitting our both skins, but I only stood near the window, as Sir Fratley literally stood upon it.
¡ª Are you going there?
¡ª Yes. It''s a quick way to the gardens. Care to try?
¡ª No, thanks. You haven''t taught me anything
¡ª Oh... sorry. I''ll teach you something, if you follow me.
¡ª Okay. I''ll take the door, if that''s not saying too much ¨C and to who am I saying it? Sir Fratley left from out the window. From the third floor. And guess what? He fell upon grass as if it was made of cotton. Not much of a surprise, given his hectic''s earring, but still something unusual to see. Must be the Dragoon.
¡ª Uh... Freya ¨C and instead of broken bones, or the sound of a water puddle being hit, I heard Sir Fratley, lying on the ground. he couldn''t stand on its feet, but still talked ¨C I forgot to bring the cane.
I found his cane hanging on a wall. As it seems, Sir Fratley also forgot its hat. The one with a feather on its top. Seeing it closer, it looks like a Dragoon''s helmet, though it ain''t heavy like one. There are holes in front of the hat, alike the ones in my helmet, but why would there be holes if Sir Fratley can''t see? Or even put his helm on... geez, I can''t even wear mine on the face, it''s too tight. Neither mom could, so it lies on top of my head. So take both the cane and the hat together with me, as I descent stairways until I reach the front door, then I turn to left, leading myself to the gardens. Closer, Sir Fratley looked like a turtle upside-down, except that he couldn''t move its legs before he raised his hand which holded onto mine. I gave him the cane, and the hat that stood kneaded between my right armpit.
¡ª How did you survived? ¨C I dared to ask.
¡ª Beats me. Perhaps I lessened the impact of the surface of my feet and the surface of watered ground ¨C or, in other words, he''s floating upon a water puddle.
¡ª So that''s surface tension?
¡ª Yes. Same that prevents water striders from drowning ¨C and a Dragoon by the name of Fratley Irontail of breaking its bones. Though, he can barely walk, but it doesn''t seem to be because of the fall.
¡ª Are you limping?
¡ª Not exactly. If I want my legs to move on, I must believe that they''ll do. That these limbs belong to me, that blood still runs on its arteries and veins, that my bones haven''t turned to dust, that I can still feel pain...
¡ª I understood.
¡ª For real?
¡ª Any of this is real, right?
¡ª Sometimes, I do not believe it is. To walk again thanks to Dragoon...
¡ª At this rate, you could see again.
¡ª Well, not everything is the way we wish, Freya. If if was, we would be able to understand the Dragoon, but what I can say for sure is that the mind is stronger than the body it rules. That''s the path of Dragoon, and I shall teach you the first step of achieving it. Are you prepared? ¨C I already knew what to say to Sir Fratley.
¡ª I was born ready.
¡ª Funny, I was premature. Now, dear Crescent... Tell me, what do you see? ¨C so Sir Fratley stood with its both hands holding the cane, as we stood upon the grass covering a garden in front of us, which only I could see. Willows weeping, sycamores, trunks dry, others covered in leaves, as my nose is filled in of the scent of rain. For a moment, I brood, without blinking, and still
¡ª I see trees ¨C I gave my answer.
¡ª You see the forest, but you can''t see the tree ¨C so did Sir Fratley.
¡ª Which tree? There is a lot of them.
¡ª How many holes? ¨C he said. Yes, Sir Fratley said it, and left that question on air. I didn''t expected him to say such, but anyway...
¡ª I see none ¨C then I felt his cane poking my feet.
¡ª Really? If you don''t see, come closer ¨C so I did, further into the garden, stepping upon grass that shouldn''t be stepped. But since Sir Fratley is here, I guess that''s the least of my problems.
¡ª Why are you doing this? ¨C I asked to Sir Fratley. Sure, I expected him to be a bit mean, not in same way as Hrist told me, but this...
¡ª Doing what? Now it''s up to yours.
¡ª It''s my first day here. Besides, I''m not here to see trees.
¡ª I know. But Freya... A Dragoon like you can''t be unarmed. Right? ¨C well, Hrist said that I would receive my javelin tody, but didn''t told me how. Is it the reason why I''m here? It doesn''t hurt to ask.
¡ª Right. I need a javelin, so here I am.
¡ª Wood comes from trees, Freya. We just happened to stumble across a few.
¡ª So this is where you got the woods to make their bottoms?
¡ª Not these trees, but anyway... you''ll get your own wood, to make your own javelin ¨C sounds like a nice deal. But still, this doesn''t seem to make any sense.
¡ª Did others had to do this, Sir Fratley? I mean, take the wood out of the garden to make their weapons?
¡ª No.
¡ª No one?
¡ª Nobody.
¡ª So I am the first?
¡ª Uh... Yes.
¡ª But then, why should I-
¡ª Because I told you to do it so. Also, I''m testing you ¨C and I am running out of patience ¨C Freya, a Dragoon''s mind should not run out of strenght. The body gets the damage, and only the body feels pain. Your body does not feel clean even after a bath, or after smelling like cherry. But your mind should be clean, relaxed, focused. Control your body with your mind, not the contrary. Don''t think about breathing, just breathe. Now, have you saw a tree fit for your javelin?
¡ª A tree? Well... I see... I see ¨C and I say clearly and cleary, so the Sir here can listen to me. As if he isn''t already listening to my heart ¨C what about that one?
¡ª Where?
¡ª Behind you ¨C it was a random choice, but I choose a tree with a large trunk and skinny twigs. Had no flowers, only a rough shell felt by Sir Fratley.
¡ª A cherry tree ¨C like I said, it was a random choice.
¡ª Cherry tree?
¡ª Yes, Freya. A cherry tree is a cherry tree, in bloom or when withered by time ¨C said Sir Fratley, still feeling the tree''s trunk ¨C doesn''t look pretty without its flowers or fruits, but it''s still alive and well.
¡ª Can you hear its heart too? ¨C I said. Don''t know why, just felt the need of saying something, or doing an indirect. It''s the Hrist in me yelling, now it should be quiet.
¡ª I can''t listen to trees. Not in same way as I listen to you, Freya. Know why?
¡ª Why?
¡ª Trees don''t talk back. That may be the reason many are chopped down. They have no mouth, and they can''t scream. So, is that your choice?
¡ª Yes ¨C I said, with the feeling that I couldn''t support it any longer. Not that I''m in a hurry, but I would like things to go smooth.
¡ª If you say... Take care of her. Make her sacrifice worthy.
¡ª Are you speaking to me, or with the tree?
_/\_/\_/\/\_/\_/\/\_/\_/\/\_
¡ª You replied, Crescent. See, you''ll have a plenty of years ahead, as long as you keep your body together with your mind well ¨C there, he read my heart again.
¡ª For someone who says that a heart doesn''t tell that much about a person.
¡ª It doesn''t. You have your habits, make your choices... I just give advices.
¡ª You would do well being a doctor, Sir Fratley.
¡ª A doctor only heals wounds. I teach you how to heal them by yourself. Well, a hand might come in handy... oh, sorry. Silly and redudant joke .
¡ª I do not mind.
¡ª Do you mind? ¨C then Sir Fratley walked behind me, letting me facing the cherry tree ¨C you, Freya Crescent, found the tree. Or did the tree found you?
¡ª Enough of these questions. Just tell me what should I do.
¡ª Okay. See the tree? Chop it down.
¡ª Alright ¨C I had been awaiting this long for some action, but given Sir Fratley''s tone of voice, there was something else.
¡ª Wait. Where are you going, Freya? ¨C he said, soon as I moved out the grass, walking in a cobblestone path.
¡ª I have nothing in hands. So I was going to find an axe
¡ª Don''t leave. You already have enough. Besides, you''ll need your leg, and still haven''t raised a javelin in hands. So stand here, and chop this cherry tree... with your own fists.
¡ª With my what? ¨C when Sir Fratley said that... I really wanted to chop him down. I mean, that inconsiderate can''t even move his legs, and had no been for that cane, he would be dragging like a vermin in the shit, that may explain why Sir Flatley is so skinny and pale and cold and... deep breathe. Muscles relaxed. I just felt nervous before. A momentary lapse of reason, that fortunately only stood in my head.
¡ª Yes. You heard me. Kick, punch, but please, don''t bite the tree. We aren''t savages ¨C said the one who wants me to cut a tree with my fists. The legs count too.
Well, my claws aren''t sharp enough, and when I gave my first punch, I felt as if the tree was punching me. Rain falls, and I began to sweat, still in the beginning. Ten, twenty, thirty with an only hand. Geez, really? Am I doing this? To be fair, it ain''t that bad as it will get in time. It''s only the first day, and I wonder who will fall first: Me, or the cherry tree.
LIII: Autriche
The internal organs screech, belch and squeeze of each other''s vibrations.
Barely a sound can be heard inside the basement filled of machines without soul, and a man whose soul is nowhere to be found. The work needs to be done, anyway. They only notice when it isn''t, but he doesn''t need to be noticed. Only his work is enough. Replacing the pieces of a broken engine with the touch of flesh fingers, cold metal stealing the heat away... anyway, I''m here to take care. I''m no doctor, so the plumber thought to himself, given there is nobody else to share of same guts alike him. Each day, he thinks again in a way to defy time, I look more like a rat, but his thoughts are suddenly brought to an end by the yelling of a pipe spitting steam, creaking like an old maiden''s chair. The strings wiithin its chest claims for food, same for payment in hands. The furnace, now feeded by the wood, convert it into energy, heat, and soot, thanks to the work of those who dared to stay in here, like this man.
However, he doesn''t feel any thankful, or clean. Mold grows within a puddle of water coming out the ceiling, from the first floor where footsteps and gossips can be heard. As unpleasant as it its, hard to ignore, unlike the self of said man, if there''s one within a burmecian. They tried, how they tried... We do not treat each other alike rats, only when necessary. I am the necessary evil, so thinks the plumber. That''s not his real name, but still something that yells he''s in fact real, that he''s here, fixing the machine and losing pieces of himself, including its name and the meaning it used to hold on. Only diseases hold on his skin, a hand dirtied by muddy water, cleaned by a bowl of soap bubbles, that when fallen on river, stands on surface alike snow. A deadly, poisoning snow, that suffocates the fish and poison the ones who eat it.
The milkman doesn''t have a name, yet everyone needs milk. Before men was able to digest animal milk, they puked. Something disgusting became acceptable with time, beyond kisses and chocolate boxes or any other kind of trap to settle down the new generation. He doesn''t have none to take its place. Nobody. Only the plumber is here, to fix it all. He doesn''t deserve other name, or deserve to be recognized outside the plumber name. Then, someone upstairs fills in the pipes with dirty water, without knowing that he''ll drink same again, despite the rain of always. He hears it coming out the walls, coming inside from a small hole, and asks to himself that nothing lasts forever, yet why the rain does? He can''t hear it and feel joy for all its life. A miserable, pitiful way of living, to make others live better, or make them think they do.
That makeup made the landlord''s wife ugly as a dog, smell like one as well, so the only plumber avaliable thinks while fixing a pipe tight as a neck, silver alike that woman''s neck too, covered in lead slowly absorbed by the skin, and of those who touched her. Everyone, except himself. It ain''t lead or pox covering that face, but that she''s asking to die, for sure she is. All of them, touching and kissing her lips, spreading the disease, all connected like pipes. It''s easy to dissasemble a pipe, with the right tools. Let the filthy flow out, in a less subtle way. Nothing changes, only the smell, the taste, appearance... everyone wears green since children. It ain''t same green of trees. A pure green, that later dries out and falls on same asphalt a little tree was able to break in. Same for the rats at streets, who once lived underground.
They still do, beneath clouds gray as the tarmac path below burning feet. Naked feet, their tips rottening, creeping eruptions at bottom... yet, all they do is keep dancing at gravesides. Think positive at least, so said Patrick to himself. He still remembers it''s name, but that doesn''t mean a thing. There are no positive things as well. In a way, everyone on this buildings needs the likes of him. Doesn''t need to care, but needs it. The heart isn''t the most important of the organs, a king whose crown of fat subjudges the others, no no... everything is important. If the pipes are put on wrong place, they rot. If wood gets wet, mushrooms grow and rotten it. If iron rusts, and someone touches and leaves a wound open, its back bends backwards as they suffer of agony and a fatal tetanus. If you cough, that doesn''t make you good in poetry, but good at spreading tuberculosis.
If you don''t wear safety, children will be born with gonorrhea, but if their eyes do not get irritate soon as they born, maybe they''ll do as they get stuck within chimneys filled in of soot. Mother... She was filled with soot. All of them. Tight spaces, dark alike a room whose windows are made open by blades cutting out their chests. That''s how a piece of momma died, because I was born. But there is no time for a plumber to mourn at this hour, or to this day. A wrench to twist the loosen bolts, and the job isn''t finished yet. It never ends, with the many living upon this filthy warehouse, growing of more filthy alike outside. Out of here, lies an ordinary neighborhood with houses made of stone and bizarre architeture, while at the view of Patrick, it''s garbage. It may be beautiful for someone else, but not for me, so he thinks.
Bells supposely to bring peace, yet all is brought to him is work without recognition. Instead of airships in rainy skies, all they got from Lindblum were these riches, the yelling of machines more alive and real than I do. Fixing these machines makes me feel somewhere, yet still far of being real. So, Patrick leaves the warehouses and goes upstairs. As expected, the stairs do not lead to heaven, but that they are tall, even the air gets thin. Though, not staring at that woman ain''t enough for him to ignore the problem. He hear it, and most of all, feel dirty. It comes from the mouth, spitting invisible dices of warm and sickful spit. It''s enough to make him run away, but he doesn''t. Don''t run at stairs, or else you''ll break an arm, so his mother used to say. I''m about to break that woman apart, but I remember a man who beats a woman is a coward. Is that a woman? Or a caricature of one? Patrick thought.
He doesn''t have anyone but its mother to give him a clear picture. Used to, given she is now another picture of a skinny and bonafide corpse, rottening below earth. At least, she died with dignity, taking care of her son. And here I am, taking care of a whole building, and none of them are related in blood, even when found at the tip of my fingers.
?Autechre - Autriche?
July 18, 1794
...
Yesterday is dragged away by a tomorrow of shivers sent below skin, for those wearing no blankets.
Winter came and doesn''t seem to be over. The song of swallows is gone, the choir of cicadas has not begun, as snow falls on earth and stone, melting with the heat of living. The harsh winds calm down into thick slices of breeze, covering faces alongside sweat. Inside homes with shapes of bells, or hollow spaces alike, yellow candles are lit despite the white void at skies, filled in by the wind chimes and floating masses of gray. Yet, despite all details, Sir Fratley Irontail misses the most beautiful of the mornings. The sight of one, at least. From his bed, he hears the whistling of gutters covered in autumn leaves, and a cold air stream coming from a tiny gap of his bedroom''s window. Being a Dragoon Knight granted Fratley an index of possibilites, a few he can remember or even need to, for real. Like his earring, which detected, other than his own, a heartbeat jumping out the chest.
/\/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/\/\_
¡ª Hi, Raymie ¨C said Fratley, followed of a huge yawn, to his smallest friend.
¡ª Good morning, Frattie ¨C given its voice, and movement, Raymie is pictured into a calligraphic portrait that flutters on Fratley''s mind.
¡ª Good morning for you too ¨C Raymie may be only a child, but his heart... is beating a lot, so thinks Fratley. For a child to have a heart that beats faster than his is still something that caughts him on surprise ¨C how are you doing?
¡ª I''m fine ¨C not alike its own heart, but Raymie seems fine as he says he is. As for I, thought Fratley, I have a lot to do. He still haven''t got out the bed, but that name echoes each day. Dragoon Knight, followed of a Sir... mere titles at these hours, for someone wearing nothing at all.
¡ª Hey, Frattie...
¡ª What''s up? ¨C surprised, Fratley turned at Raymie''s direction. It ain''t polite to talk with someone by avoiding sight, even when you don''t have one ¨C it ain''t usual for you to wake up this earlier, Raymie ¨C I mean, he just woke up earlier than I. The last time he did it, so Fratley recalls, was on his birthday, or when his bed got wet. Perhaps... ¨C is there something bothering you?
¡ª Uh... no. Well, yes ¨C said Raymie, a bit unsure. Unstable, shaking of cold as well.
¡ª So, how''s your mother doing?
¡ª Mom? She''s fine.
¡ª And yout brothers?
¡ª Fine too.
¡ª Are they sleeping?
¡ª Yes, they are. Except me.
¡ª Only you?
¡ª Uh... ¨C after a quick exchange of words, Fratley deduced that something was wrong with Raymie. Yet, he didn''t knew what, or the why. Just woke up, with the hearing of a heart.
¡ª Are you hungry? ¨C said Fratley. He ain''t a doctor, despite already knowing that the boy''s thumb was empty alike his own, but he sees no problem at asking. It''s better than taking sudden conclusions.
¡ª A bit ¨C so Raymie said. Something still bothered him. Mother and brothers are fine, but what about...
¡ª And little Phoebe? How is she doing?
¡ª Uh... I want to slap her.
¡ª Why? ¨C there was no hesitation in Raymie''s words. It wasn''t a bluff, which bothered Fratley ¨C don''t you think it''s a bit mean to your sister?
¡ª Was it mean when she drooled on my shoulders?
¡ª Oh, Raymie... come on. Your mother and I never complained when you drooled on our shoulders.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
¡ª But when we cried, sure you did. Can you believe that I woke up before Phoebe? ¨C said Raymie, before another heart was caught by Fratley, followed of a ''coo''. Sometimes, that''s all that Phoebe seemed to say with the mouth, besides bubbles of spit or phlegm when her nose is clogged.
¡ª Hi Phoebe ¨C said Fratley, to the infant who crawled into his room.
¡ª You see, I took her out the crib, Frattie ¨C said Raymie, coming near his sister ¨C if not, she would cry and wake mom.
¡ª Your sister cries for many reasons. Attention is one of them.
¡ª But to bite with teeth, though... OUCH! ¨C then Raymie yelled, all of sudden ¨C see? She''s doing it again...
¡ª She is feeling the whole world with the mouth. I see no problem.
¡ª You can''t see anything, Frattie.
¡ª But I hear well ¨C as much as I know where my clothes are. Except for a traveller''s hat, nowhere to be found, Fratley''s attires are usually kept inside the drawer at the left side of the bed ¨C you, and Phoebe. How is she doing?
¡ª Phoebe is fine. Same for her teee... ¨C suddenly, Raymie stopped talking, almost yelled, and began to whine doing little jumps, in a way he was about to say a curse word ¨C why, Fratley? ¨C the boy asked, and the way his voice sounded like seemed as if he was drowning, almost crying.
¡ª That''s what Phoebe wants to know too. She doesn''t bite you because she wants to be mean ¨C and with the pants wore, whose holes are easier to find than the ones belong to his black shirt, together with a green like dry moss jacket, whose smell reminds Fratley of melon, though he was never found of it. Same for Raymie, but he''s young, can learn to eat tomatoes, any vegetables without pouring salt over them. More salt than vegetables, which''s bad. Anyway, with the basic wore, he is ready to... then Fratley remembers he can''t stand up. Almost trips in a stupid way, in front of children.
¡ª Are you okay, Frattie? ¨C asked Raymie, demonstrating a bit of concert, as Phoebe just kept watching.
/\/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/
¡ª I... I''m fine ¨C said Fratley, coming back to the bed''s tip, looking at Raymie. Facing, because even when he opens its eyes, revealing a kind of depth in green, he still can''t see that boy, but to hear his heart, however ¨C wo, where I was? Oh, yes... Raymie, do you know what is to be mean for a baby? They don''t know.
¡ª Then I should be mean with her ¨C said Raymie, as he softly pulled its little sister''s head away. Another failed attempt, for someone stuck like glue.
¡ª Please, Raymie. Don''t you know why the dinosaurs were extinct?
¡ª Dinosaurs? Hey, I know how! A meteor came to this planet, and BOOM! All dead ¨C Raymie likes dinosaurs. They don''t seem that frightening, yet he wondered to himself why Fratley came up with this talk about dinosaurs. My sister ain''t that old. Well, there are the little dinos, who bite. All extinct, except for sis.
¡ª Yeah, right... But like wars, there must had been a plenty of reasons for why it happened. Reptiles barely move when its cold, but that''s not my point ¨C not the very important one ¨C well, Raymie, I believe that one of the reasons why dinosaurs went extinct is because they didn''t respect each other.
¡ª Uh? What do you mean?
¡ª What I mean is that we aren''t cold-blooded ¨C ooh... now it makes sense, so thought Raymie. Out of many things said by Fratley, a few made sense for him ¨C also, you need more than a single reason to be able to do something.
¡ª So, that means I can''t slap Phoebe only because she drooled at me?
¡ª No, Raymie. And I mean that you should never slap your sister, for no reason. If you do, then I would be more than dissapointed. Same for your mom, because she didn''t created you like this. Your task as a brother is to protect your sister until she can on her own, understand?
¡ª And what if they hurt me? What should I do?
¡ª You are too young to be hurt this way, Raymie. Alright... can I talk to your sister?
¡ª If you please ¨C a strange request, coming out a strange guy that''s Frattie. But whatever, that was an opportunity for Raymie to get out of Phoebe''s embrace.
¡ª Don''t touch anything else other than books on this room, Raymie. Okay?
¡ª Okay ¨C despite the old books covered in dust and a few poisons lying on upper plates, some of Fratley''s research still lies on the tables. A skull that used to be lethal alike the living being who wore it, pens who can write in invisible ink, but what really worries Fratley is objects alike the hammer and a nail belonging to a railroad, both which he uses to make sculptures. A bit of sawdust still lies on his table, together with a pallete of pigments which he made a painting out of it. Fratley believes in what Raymie said, while most the times he doesn''t allow kids to come in. But to allow them to come to this world, on other hand...
¡ª Hey... How are you doing, Phoebe?
¡ª coo ¨C that''s all that little Phoebe seems to say. These aren''t words, not yet, but Fratley knows how to speak them. He lays on same floor, standing on same position to the one he''s talking with, equal by equal.
¡ª Have you drank enough milk?
¡ª aaa... aaa... bblrblrlr ¨C a few breathes are succeded by mere babbling. Raymie carefully flips an old book''s page behind. Phoebe doesn''t know what are capital words, neither tiny. All she does is noise, which Fratley hears well. He also hears the continous sound of pages flipping on its back.
¡ª Are you hungry? ¨C then Fratley hears nothing, for a while. Nothing new, but same rain outside, same wind chimes ringing, and a mouth covered by a tiny hand. A hand dirtied, but not enough to make Phoebe sick. Bacterias are currently growing on her guts, which Fratley can''t hear, but the squeezing of organs smaller than his thumb alone is enough. All is well, he considers, before sitting on indian position, instead of lying with its stomach down like a snail. The clothes are a bit dirty, but that doesn''t bother Fratley that much, neither Phoebe, whose miller is still closing in. He can''t see, but Phoebe stares at with with a kind of fascination, and a privilege as well.
¡ª She is looking at you ¨C said Raymie, who stood upon a rolling chair, reading a book with interesting pictures.
¡ª And you are looking to one of my books. Which one?
¡ª This one with skeletons.
¡ª Skeletons? Right.
¡ª Phoebe must be trying to find you, given the way she looks at you. Mom always plays hide and seek with her, and you do it everytime without hands, Frattie ¨C for Fratley, it doesn''t make a difference whether his pupils are closed or not. He feels nothing at all, but others do.
¡ª Well, my eyes aren''t covered in darkness because I wanted to hide from this world. And you, Phoebe? For how long will you be quiet? Sure, I can hear you. I''m here for this, and more. When I''m not here, I''m still doing something for you. See that spear over there? There... Look where I''m pointing at. Can you see it? That''s Agartha. It''s the name of my spear. Spear, javelin, Agartha... so many names, same for the one who holds it. You know, my name is Fratley, but I am a Dragoon Knight, a Sir, a lodger, and most of all, your friend. I am all these things, but most the time I can only be one of them. Understand? Guess not.
¡ª c...coo.
¡ª I wonder what that ''coo'' meant. It can mean everything, since it''s all you say. Well, I see you are trying to say, as much as you try to convey something. That''s why you have a name, I have a name, your brother as well, despite all of us being the same. Complicated, don''t you think? For me, it is a lot. I can''t see you, but you can see me. And I wonder if I pointed to my spear, or if I pointed to nothing at all. I mean, I should know where Agartha is. It means a lot for me, because not only is my spear, but it was also father''s. Yes, Prescott Highwind... how much I miss him. Agartha''s wooden shaft was made out of Yggdrasil''s roots. That''s the name of a pretty huge tree in the middle of Vube''s desert, where cleyrans live at. Geez... You see, everything needs a name. It''s hard to remember all these things, but if they sounded all the same, they would be even more hard to distinguish between.
¡ª ...c-c..a... aaa... acho!
¡ª Reis bless you. Know who Reis is? She''s our protector. Well, there is Bahamut, the one above, but Reis is the closest we had of someone like us. She was a burmecian, a warrior, but I don''t think I should go into details right now. All you need to know is that she was strong, so do you. I know you are strong, Phoebe. To be living until now is something impressive. Same for your brothers and sisters. There is Raymie, that one you bite, Jack, and... uh, Newell? Yes, Newell, and Dianne too. They are on sleep. Same for April. That''s your mom''s name. And, well, there is Albert. He isn''t lying with your mother, and only his body is lying at a graveyard, together with a few flowers. He can''t feel their scent, but that doesn''t mean you can feel him, right?
¡ª Blrbabablblarb...bab..blblbl...
¡ª I see you''re having fun with bubbles. For this sort of thing being fun for you, and later on turn out to be kinda disgusting. Guess you still haven''t developed a sense of hygiene, Phoebe, despite your name''s meaning being closer of ''radiance''. You see, everything have a meaning. You are trying to find them out, I''m sure you''ll do. That''s why we grow, in order to search meaning. Though, as we grow, some things seem meaningless. Like what you''re doing with your mouth, or the demise of Albert. He knew the risks, so do I know my own. Know yourself before you know the world, and know what? You know the world better than I do. I can''t see it as much as you do.
¡ª aaaa... aaah...
¡ª I suppose you are impressed. Don''t know, others would be bored in your place after all this talk. Someday you''ll learn to say ''yes'' or ''no''. These words alone can open many doors, and close them as well. But, to where your father went, I''m sure that the doors were open for him. Well, I didn''t knew Albert that much. A good soldier, so April said. A knight with a javelin, so his portrait decipts. We don''t carry swords around, but javelins sure are heavy. You are a bit heavy too, Phoebe, but you aren''t here to bring any harm. No, you are here to learn, understand, care as much as we do for you.
¡ª ooo.. coo... blrlrlrooo..
¡ª Uh huh. Somehow, Albert is still alive, even thought he''s dead. Hanging in a wall, he outsmarted death. Same did my father, whose portrait is on me to this day. Phew... You see, I''m not the kind who relies on exposition, Phoebe. My body was trained for action, but I couldn''t resist to talk with you, one of the few who listen to all I have to say without getting tired. You are full of energy, and wakes whenever you want. I mean, whenever your stomach want. Or when your bladder want. When you grow up, you''ll get tired of hearing, amused of getting into action. Less is more, but you don''t know what''s less and what''s more. You don''t know the limits, only when I impose them to you. Sure, I could tell you at the moment to not bite Raymie anymore, but some things do not happen by second. You, for example, took half an hour and a plenty of effort coming out your mom to be born.
¡ª aaa... abb-b-b..abrrlrrlr...
¡ª You never get tired, do you? Never satisfied. As much as I, you can only walk on your feet if you really want to, Phoebe. Sure, before time comes, you can keep crawling around, but not forever. Unfortunately. Your gristle will diminish, except the one at your ears and nose, and the bones will make difficult, even painful to crawl or even squat. But that''s how you know you are alive, because you feel pain. You cry and there''s someone to hear you. When you were born, the first thing you did was cry, besides feeling a burnt in your lungs. New and fresh air, everything new, except April, who holded you with an embrace of arms. I know it all because I was there, so here I am.
/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\
¡ª But not for too long ¨C coming out the door, said a young maiden whose heart was beating well for all these five years, so thought Fratley.
¡ª I really would like to stay, but I have things to do ¨C he said, as Phoebe was taken care by April''s arms.
¡ª Good morning, mom ¨C said Raymie, closing in the book, as he left the room.
¡ª Wait ¨C not before April caught attention of him ¨C is it filth in your hands?
¡ª Uh... Yeah.
¡ª And you cleaned your hands with your clothes?
¡ª Oh... sorry.
¡ª Go change your clothes. Wash your hands too, boy.
¡ª Yes, mom ¨C Raymie then could leave the room.
¡ª You all seem to have a kind of sixty sense ¨C said Fratley, as he raised out the floor. It ain''t easy without his arms grabbing, or holding into something. Or to find gaiters on the dark lying below bed. Fratley takes both of them, but almost tumbles and falls again, had not been for the tight hold of April''s right hand ¨C thanks.
¡ª I should be thanked, Sir Fratley. Had not been for you...
¡ª You know that I can''t do it all by myself. None of us can ¨C sitting on his bed, Fratley shakes the lints of hair out its gaiters, soon as he wears both on his feet ¨C besides blind, I''m also crippled. Had not been for the Dragoon, though... the cane, please.
¡ª Don''t you mean the javelin?
¡ª No, April. I don''t have compromisses of such importance. Besides, I''m not the kind who walks at streets with a spear in hands all time.
¡ª But you can hear me better than I do. Well, it''s one of the traits I admire in you, Sir Fratley.
¡ª Everyone wants to be heard ¨C so April listens to Fratley, followed of her footsteps being heard on his right, but what Fratley really likes to listen is ¨C besides, I like your voice.
¡ª Oh, thanks.
¡ª I also like to picture how you look like, April. Blonde, 160cm, long strands, twenty-five, but you know I have no time for it. You also know that I wake up earlier to avoid the crowd, where I might get lost in a tidal of sounds.
¡ª Not if someone is there to follow you. Here.
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¡ª The cane? Right. Where''s my hat?
¡ª You mean the one with the feather?
¡ª Yes. It''s a favorite. I think it''s lying on the stand, but guess I took it off somewhere.
¡ª I see your hat. It''s near the counter. I''ll take it for you.
¡ª Okay. And how''s Phoebe?
¡ª Asleep.
¡ª What will you prepare for breakfast?
¡ª Scrambled eggs.
¡ª Please. I don''t like eggs.
¡ª Uh huh ¨C these are only words for April, but Fratley can feel the scent of breakfast already. Yet, in reality, he only feels spit accumulating on his mouth, and his stomach yelling quietly. For eggs, of all things...
¡ª Can you give me an apple?
¡ª An apple? I thought you lawyers were against bribes.
¡ª Heh... sure we are. Me, at least ¨C said Fratley, as a smirk went on his face, and April''s own as well. He heard the muscles of her face move, before they both follow the stairway to its descent.
¡ª It''s surprising how you can still walk, Sir Fratley. Do you really need a cane, after all? ¨C asked April, as she went to the kitchen, away from Fratley who stood near the door.
¡ª Sure I need, April. It ain''t easy, for real. You may not notice, but when I walk, It''s like I''m taking control of both feet outside the skin.
¡ª It must be really painful for you.
¡ª It ain''t. Just... well...
¡ª Odd?
¡ª Kinda. I don''t know how to say. I already told you many times, and to this day...
¡ª It''s fine. I mean, I''m not a Dragoon to know.
¡ª Sometimes, to be a Dragoon can be a wonderful thing, April. But in others, it feels more like a curse. But as long as I have a balance, I don''t have to worry about these. As long as I have people like you in my side...
/\/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/\
¡ª I feel the same as you do ¨C besides a hand, and a fruit in hands, Fratley also feels the same as April. He doesn''t need to say, as much as she have eyes to see. And a heart that beats, and reveals a lot about a person, given the context.
¡ª Uh... April?
¡ª What is it?
¡ª This ain''t an apple ¨C for a moment, Fratley felt pathetic. Hungry, as well ¨C what is this?
¡ª A banana.
¡ª Oh. Right. You know, bananas do not have seeds, alike pineapples. The black dots found inside are supposed to be ovules, which will never be fertilized. So, in a way, all bananas are females, just like worker bees. Now, did what I''ve said made any kind of sense?
¡ª Maybe it did ¨C said April. She isn''t a cult person, but at least someone who listens my words, so thought Fratley. He looks to the direction of the door, knowing its there, always there. It''s strange when it comes to talk to people without looking to their faces, or by being forbidden of feeling their touch. Even now, it''s something strange to be felt.
¡ª It''s surprising how you can do anything with an only hand while holding an infant with another, April.
¡ª Well... Mothers never leave their sons alone.
¡ª Only when it''s time ¨C said Fratley, before he heard knocks at the door, so did April, but the Dragoon took her place instead. Tiny knocks, coming from below, a heart heard before ¨C oh, hi again, Raymie.
¡ª Hey, Frattie... ¨C said Raymie, as he went inside home beneath Fratley''s legs. The later heard a voice behind, belonging to same child ¨C I was playing outside, when a purple lady came in. She wants to talk with you.
¡ª Hrist... Yes. Well, guess it''s about time. Behave, okay?
¡ª Uh, okay ¨C yet, something in Raymie wasn''t okay ¨C but Frattie, aren''t you going to say bye?
¡ª I didn''t took my javelin, so why should I?
¡ª Will you be back?
¡ª In flesh and bone. Take care, Raymie.
These were Fratley''s last words, before he close the door and went outside. He knows that these won''t be his last words, though they were Albert''s epitaph. That''s what he said before he was devoured, slaughtered, the worse happened. It always happen, but they say he died without fear. Just like my father, so Fratley thinks, for a while. A while before Hrist, standing in the middle of the road, interrupts with her words. Some Fratley happen to notice, others he do not. At mornings like this, his head needs a bit of concentration, a polite way of saying shut up. Yet, not all words said by Hrist are junk, or useless, or irrelevant as her hair entangled on a comb. It once happened with Fratley himself, but he doesn''t feel the need of giving any more details. They both walk somewhere, in streets empty before the main city arrives, together with its scent.
¡ª ...Are you hearing any of my words, Sir Fratley? ¨C generally, Hrist only mentions the title of Sir to give a sort of poignancy, or just be ironic to Fratley.
¡ª I hear well ¨C said Fratley, a man of facts, and many faces.
¡ª So, how''s your wife doing?
¡ª She ain''t my wife, Hrist.
¡ª You two were made for each other ¨C sarcasm ain''t that subtle, or whatever was it who came out of Hrist''s mouth. Sounded disrespectful, but that''s one of her traits, ignore or not.
¡ª So, I heard there is a newcomer... ¨C Fratley decided to ignore what he heard before, to focus on the next point. One of the few important things said by Hrist
¡ª Yes. But this one is my friend. Kinda of.
¡ª What''s the name?
¡ª Oh, well... Freya. I haven''t saw her for a long time.
¡ª Freya... ¨C something in that name caught Fratley. Not by surprise, despite new Dragoons being kind of a surprise. Female ones as well.
¡ª Do you know her, by chance?
¡ª No. I don''t know her. Which family?
¡ª Crescent ¨C the name heard by Fratley holded many legends and a plenty of history, but in a world that anyone and anything can be granted of a name, things become less special.
¡ª Crescent?
¡ª Uh huh. Now you know?
¡ª I do. I knew a Crescent in past life. But this me, though...
¡ª Heard about Lenneth?
¡ª Lenneth? Yes. A bit. Was she a Dragoon?
¡ª Yes. Unfortunately, she passed.
¡ª Oh. My condolences.
¡ª Well, it didn''t happened all of sudden. Lenneth, that poor thing, had the lungs filled of water. Didn''t deserved to die young, but some say death is a kind of freedom. Anyway, her daughter is this Freya I mentioned before.
¡ª So... how is this Freya alike?
¡ª You want me to tell? ¨C guess I do, so though Fratley, who had nothing in order to give himself a picture of this Freya. His hands, well... ¨C huh. You blind always want to touch someone''s face, but are forbidden of doing such... okay. So, Freya... she is tall like a tree, has white hair, a bit silver, long nails... ¨C the details given by Hrist were confusing at first for Fratley, who literally pictured a tree in white. But given the notion of proportions, and the feeling of exaggeration coming out of Hrist''s words gone in meantime, he could picture a kind of familiar figure. Not that much, since they met each other only a few times.
¡ª So, she looks like Lenneth. Why didn''t you said it already?
¡ª Because I know Freya better than you do. Well, I said all I know. The rest is with you, Sir Fratley.
¡ª If you say.
¡ª Huh... and I''m pretty sure that you''ll receive her in open arms.
¡ª You say it as if I haven''t received you in same way, Hrist.
¡ª Sure you did, mister. Together with a bracelet ¨C it''s useless for Hrist to shove it upon Fratley''s face, but he knows she''s wearing that bracelet made out of chrysoberyl, besides feeling a breeze come on its face, and the dead space in between happened to be and arm.
¡ª Do you still wear it?
¡ª It''s beautiful. Besides, it ain''t everyday that you see a gem like this ¨C as much as it ain''t everyday that someone becomes a Dragoon Knight, so Fratley thought. He took it all well, but as for Hrist, being subtle aint her strong point ¨C perhaps you have a gift in hands for Freya too.
¡ª Lucky charm. And why not? I had far more clients than apprentices.
¡ª Do you like your clients?
¡ª They come and go, Hrist. It''s hard to like someone who you''ll never see again. Speaking of it... I have a trial to attend. Hrist.
¡ª What''s up?
¡ª Well... I forgot to take something at home.
¡ª You mean the ''lucky charm''? ¨C Hrist said all of sudden, as if she already knew.
¡ª Yes. Can you take it and bring it to this Freya?
¡ª If you please ¨C so Hrist leaves, and can be heard from a short distance, at Fratley''s back ¨C uh, where is it?
¡ª It''s on my bedroom. The first drawer of the center.
¡ª Okay.
¡ª Only the bracelet, Hrist. Remember.
¡ª Believe in me. I''m no thief.
¡ª For someone who steals a lot of attention...
¡ª I do not steal, Fratley. I attract ¨C then Hrist is gone, together with the footsteps following the path behind. I''ll be fine on my own, so Fratley used to say for a young Hrist, but now he doesn''t have a need to.
...
Three weeks ago...
...
¡ª Good morning, Ezekiel.
¡ª Good morning, Fratley. Have you saw my daughter?
¡ª If I could see her...
¡ª Oh, sorry.
¡ª Don''t be sorry. It happens. Besides, this ain''t no time for jokes.
¡ª Of course.
¡ª So, Zack... how''s our client doing?
¡ª She seems fine.
¡ª Fine?
¡ª Yes. After what happened, I mean. I suppose you should met her.
¡ª I agree.
At court, I briefly spoke to Ezekiel as we walked in a large corridor. There is a plenty of space in here. More so inside the defendant lobby, whose doors were opened and I could feel the wind hitting my face, and my ears being hit of silence. No sobs at all, or any cursing, nothing but silence. A week ago, Margaret Guthrie could walk. She can still speak, after all she had been throught. All it took was a night, and weren''t for a soldier deafened by her screech, more than those legs would be taken. Now, secluded by a wheelchair, unable to go upstairs without help, the children who ran away to the arms of the aunt... What she did to deserve this? I ask, but it ain''t my task to accuse. No, I''m here to defend my client. The verdict comes next, but never that I heard her heart beat in a strange way. Sure, I can''t only follow what a heart tells in order to tell if someone is guilty or innocent, but with everyone I worked with, they were all victims.
It is the second handicapped I met today, but this one wasn''t born with a deficiency. Neither I was. In a way, Margaret and I were born in a world of meaningless violence. She reported a week ago that a figure took her to an alley and right away, cut her feet. Only now she seems to speak instead of whimper. Only now that I''m able to hear her true voice, as before I heard the voice of millions. She spoke to me, and said that have done nothing wrong. I said that whoever did this had no reason, but that doesn''t mean there was an intention. Nothing of value was stolen, except for her legs. Funny how some things matters when they are lost, or gone forever... tears do not, because they always come back, unlike for what or for the one you cried to. And that''s all I know about Margaret, so I know what I should do.
As a lawyer, I''ll defend her, but that won''t be enough. Besides, I have another client. They say a lawyer sees himself on its clients, but I see nothing since they took my vision from me. A time later, the trial is over, my client won, but it wasn''t Margaret. I don''t even remember her name, only that she''s a mother, a dedicated one. When I think about a mother, I either think about mine, or April. She works sewing old dresses and its holes, doesn''t get rewarded as much as I do, but at least, she likes what she does. As for me, I also sew holes, that happen to be made again into someone else. Then I met this Freya Crescent... I easily picture her out, and like Hrist said, she''s tall. I don''t know if her hair is really white, but if I can picture it, that''s fine for me. Well, not everything only in mind is fine, you know. Margaret can picture legs whenever she wants, but she knows that will never be able to walk again.
As for me... I couldn''t walk. At the same day my sight was lost, I lost my legs too. But they are still here, together with me, not only in body, but in mind. However, not so many can learn the Dragoon to be able to do this kind of miracle to happen. And not everyone is willing to go throught what you had been throught all these years. Not even I want to remember, but those were years of my life, a life I still have. A new life for Freya, then, perhaps the one she always had been wishing for, given her mother was a Dragoon too. Oh, Margaret... yes, I am here for you, but I can''t be at two places in a same fraction of time. That''s one of the disadvantages of being a Dragoon Knight... few in numbers, large in cult. Whenever I say to someone I don''t know that I''m a lawyer, some think I am bad, mean, alike those jokes, but as a Dragoon, which everyone knows, they respect me.
Had I been the Dragoon now, I would find for myself whoever did such cruelty to Margaret. Don''t worry. The monster who did this to you will be brought to justice. Had I a spear in hands... well, speaking of it, That''s one of the reasons I hold my cane. It doesn''t have a face, but I know its real.
...
Today...
...
Alright. Want a javelin, Crescent? Chop this cherry tree down with your bare hands.
That''s what Sir Fratley said. And so I obey.
I wonder if my ancestors had to pass throught tests alike. This if I can call this by test. Whatever, I hit the cherry tree at its trunk, once again. My arms hurt. Water falls on me each time I hit that same trunk. Hard like a stone. Upon a ceiling, rain falls, and whenever waters hits its surface, the sound of drums hitting and hitting can be heard. There are no drums, or any symphony, just noise. Better than silence, or the humdrum of thoughts. BAM! I hear no sound when I hit my fist against the trunk, and I do not want to hear any of my bones. Well, Sir Fratley can hear well, and since he said nothing since them... he isn''t watching me, though. But if I leave, even for an instant, he will notice. Its ears are his eyes, and my fists and legs... they are the same. A bit wounded, mere scratches. I saw worse, at mother''s back. The first time I did, if I can remember, or at least feel the sensation that stood, is that mom went to the butcher, and he sliced her back.
Welcome to the real world. The world of pain. As long as you feel pain, or something below your skin, it means you are alive. Why should I be alive? Because I can. Sometimes, to live is a privilege, while in others, you just do it. Right now, I am living to become a Dragoon Knight. Funny, mom never taught me this, as much as Sir Fratley never taught this to anyone. He''s just testing me. My strenght, which I never overstrained over mom''s sight. Pant... She didn''t wanted me to become a Dragoon, never showed any clear signs. She just wanted me to live, and so do I. Live strong, and who stronger than a Dragoon Knight? Maybe... Ugh... mom, if you are watching me... please, give strenght. I... urgh... this... this is taking a lot. Had I a hammer, or an axe, but I have never learnt how to hold a spear with a tip in hands. You forbid me of doing it so, mom. And with reason.
Pant... Pant... pant pant.. I know, I know. Mom ain''t here, neither father. Pant. I like to imagine that they are upon the clouds, or somewhere above, watching me. Imagination is where my strenght resides, but I can''t imagine my fists changing shape, making it all easy. Is that what you want to teach me, Sir Fratley?... Pant, pant... does my panting means something for your ears? Are you able to listen to my thoughs? I had been in doubt since them. Perhaps... pant... pant pant... it''s just my imagination.
¡ª Uh, Sir Fratley? ¨C I didn''t knew what to say. Other than pants... pant... I just said it''s name, in order for him to listen something else... pant.
¡ª Don''t stop now, Crescent ¨C he said back. I only stared at the tree, knowing Sir Fratley can''t stare back.
¡ª I won''t ¨C this Sir Fratley knows so many things, so I thought ¨C you know, I have been wondering to myself...
¡ª Why? Is it any relevant?
¡ª I mean... when you fell down, without breaking a bone before...
¡ª Oh, that? I''ll teach you how to do this, Freya. But first, you''ll need a spear.
¡ª Why?
¡ª A Dragoon can''t be a Dragoon without a spear, javelin, call it whatever you want... but know it ain''t an ordinary weapon.
¡ª I know, but... ¨C pant... pant... pant... pause for breathing. Yes? I''ll try ¨C Sir Fratley, can''t I just let someone else make it for me? I have money.
¡ª And what else do you have? ¨C he asked. I stood quiet. Except for a few pants coming out, I have silence, and wounded fists ¨C Freya... this tree is someone else. She is there to offer you its wood.
_/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/\/\_
¡ª Really? Is that your justification? ¨C I admit that I am a bit pissed. He knows it too, because for what reason would his ears rise like that? Oh, they''re already risen ¨C trees do not exist to offer wood to anyone.
¡ª Unless you force something to happen, it never happens.
¡ª Well, excuse me... but why should my javelin have a wooden tip? ¨C I asked. It''s hard to tell how Sir Fratley reacts, since the hat he wears, together with its hairs covers a lot of its face. Sometimes, more like always, his eyes are closed. They have no use, however, but sure they would to tell me he is like me. Well, he knows me by the heart, but that doesn''t mean much for someone who doesn''t.
¡ª Freya, you already know that you can''t can''t be a Dragoon without a javelin, and that a javelin can''t be a javelin without a wooden tip, and this tree can''t be a tree without a trunk.
¡ª And I can''t hold a javelin without hands ¨C as much as he can''t see me. At least, feel the wave of both on its face, which I don''t have time or indecency to do.
¡ª You do not need hands to hold on anger. But fists to release it... ¨C so I turned back to the tree, and punched it again. It''s the only thing I''m allowed to punch. The more I do, the faster will be the outcome ¨C Freya... a Dragoon must avoid anger. Right now, you are punching a tree, thie because I told you so, but not everything can be solved by bare fists or by the tip of a spear. A Dragoon, most of all, have a mind. The power of the mind surpasses the whole of the body it commands. Feelings, emotions... we are unable to not feel them. But to be overcome as a whole may be dangerous to yours and our image.
¡ª Okay then ¨C I said, giving a tone of someone ignoring words completely. Sure, I heard a bit there and here, but will I be able to remember these things? Mom rarely faced any Dragoons, but scars appeared on her back one by another ¨C Sir Fratley...
¡ª Yes?
¡ª Uh... I wonder as well why... well, this may be a bit informal, but why you do not wear a Knight''s clothes? ¨C I said, without knowing that I would be ignored, or if this have any relevancy. Well, I took Sir Fratley''s hat out the office after he fell out the window, so...
¡ª Why do you ask for it? ¨C he said, after I heard drops of rain hit the surface of something, making the sound of drums without rhythm ¨C I suppose you are wrapping me on your finger''s tip ¨C he said. What I really want is to wrap my tail on its neck. A bit of me does, in unquiet slumber, where it should be put for now, and forever.
¡ª No, that''s not it. I... I don''t know. Looks odd ¨C as if nothing in Sir Fratley isn''t odd for you ¨C Well, ts it any useful for you to wear less garments?
¡ª Sure, Crescent. It makes me quick, but speed ain''t everything. I am defenseless, the javelin I hold is heavy, and had not been for the Dragoon, I would be just blind and by myself. Satisfied?
¡ª Not yet ¨C that''s a question without clear answer, but I gave one anyway ¨C funny how you have holes in your hat...
¡ª Funny? ¨C he asked, as if he didn''t knew there were two holes in there, even knowing there are. I don''t bother about holes, except the ones ¨C I can understand asking for broken bones, but this... why, Crescent? Your helmet has two holes too. You''re a Dragoon as much as I do.
¡ª Well, I do wear a helmet, after all.
¡ª What do you mean? ¨C other than doing time...
¡ª I mean, what else a hole is worthy for, if you can''t see throught them? ¨C as if I could see throught my own as well.
¡ª I could, as a child ¨C when Sir Fratley said those words, I stopped punching the tree. My hands are numb, but I don''t care. Not as much as I should.
¡ª So, this hat... ¨C I wonder for a moment why I''m asking about that hat, taken out of its head, but then I remember I can''t ask for a new pair of hands.
¡ª I wore a green cap like any other boy of my age. So did you, I presume.
¡ª Yeah, sure. Though, sometimes I also wore one of mom''s helmets. To this day, this one ain''t rusty.
¡ª Only iron helmets rusts. Yours is made of copper.
¡ª How do you know?
¡ª Just a guess. Anyway... why did you stopped? ¨C so he asked. Maybe I talked about the holes on his hat, or whatever camed first in my mind, only so I could be granted a pause. Well, I''ll try another approach..
¡ª Geez... Can''t you give a pause to me, Sir Fratley? Please ¨C then I would complete the sentence by saying ''with a cherry on it''s top'', but that would be dumb even for a child.
¡ª It depends. Let''s see ¨C I already can see my work, but Sir Fratley needs to approach the touch and feel the dentation I left so far. I could say that the tree was bleeding, but it ain''t the case here ¨C fine. As it seems, you have dug the cork tissue, exposed a bit of phloem, and it''s still, in a way of saying, miles away of reaching the fibers of xylem. Alright, a pause then.
¡ª Whew ¨C I don''t know how to express relief in same way as my lungs do.
¡ª Okay, back to training ¨C now? I mean... I just took a breath.
¡ª What? I only took a breath ¨C so I said, but Sir Fratley ignored me ¨C I''m thirsty.
¡ª Raise your head, then ¨C this time, he didn''t ignored me, but I would prefer he did ¨C nothing in heaven is compared to the dirt of this world.
¡ª You said a pause, Sir Fratley.
¡ª I didn''t told you how much time, Crescent.
¡ª That''s unfair of you.
¡ª The world is unfair ¨C then I had no reply. Had I one, this would go nowhere. And I want to be somewhere, after all.
¡ª Know what else is unfair? This helmet ¨C I say, before I punch the tree, water drops fall in me, a pause... rinse and repeat ¨C I wear it, but it doesn''t fit my head. Used to, when I was a kid.
¡ª So why do you insist wearing it? ¨C for some reason, I keep listening to Sir Fratley, besides my fists.
¡ª Like I said before, this is mom''s ¨C so do her coat, her belts, her cravats... but the skin is mine. Argh... but the pain... ¨C I looked like a turtle wearing it. Now, this helmet doesn''t seem that heavy.
¡ª That''s the reason why I wear this hat, so you know. I feel no weight on it. There is no guilty in it, or what I do when wearing it ¨C said Sir Fratley, taking its hat and the shadow that covered its face out, and feeling it by the tip of fingers.
¡ª You must be very proud of yourself, Sir Fratley.
¡ª A bit. I mean, on other hand, he would be very proud of me.
¡ª Who?
¡ª My father. Prescott Highwind was its name. He was no Dragoon, but inspired me to become one. Be strong like one, which I wasn''t. This hat was one of the last things he left for me before he left this world. And these two holes... he made them too, in shape of a Dragoon''s eyes. As I said, I could see through them, as well to walk without being restrained by a cane and concentration. To be fair, father said that I never learned to walk, but run around ¨C then Fratley left a little smile out. A quick one, before he came back to it''s current self ¨C to think such little holes could hold on of a plenty of history... as for this feather, this ain''t the first one. In the beginning, I collected dead birds feathers and put then between my ears. When I grew up, I went to the dark city of Treno and bought a new one sold at the Audiction House. It''s a nice feather, don''t you think?
¡ª Sure it is ¨C I said. Had no words, or pants to excuse the lack of them ¨C now, don''t you think I should I go back to the tree chopping?
¡ª You''re almost there, Freya ¨C said Sir Fratley, putting his hat upon the head again ¨C besides, you do not need the whole tree, as much as the tree doesn''t need the whole of you ¨C and so his inspiring, almost mystical in tone words came back.
¡ª Uh, excuse me, Sir Fratley...
¡ª Yes?
¡ª Well... If you are a Highwind, why did you changed your surname for Irontail?
¡ª Somehow, I changed. And Irontail was the surname of another important man in my life, but that''s another history. Now it''s time to make your own, Freya.
...
It''s real.
Everything said is real. I see what''s really real. My eyes hurt. A hole in the sky, rain which tastes acid. Words come out the mouth alike poison, if you are the smoker or the one who breaths the thick fog. Rats, all rats. Gray like pipes, all attached to another, holes sucking holes, a boy and a girl, how cute are these kids, how sick they are to walk barefoot. Everyone walks barefoot, nobody wears shoes, and even if they did, mold would grow on feet and devour the flesh... oh, this mere thought made my head ache. A crack in my skull, and they didn''t even touched me. I was touched, got sick... all the disease of the world, I see, smell, touch again, feel sick again. Today, a pregnant woman set herself on fire. The baby''s fine. I didn''t see it happen, but it sure did. Everything can happen in a real world. This world.
Yet, none of them see what I see. Rats; just rats. Nothing inside hollow eyes, dark as coal. Staring deep at the soul, never closing, mere orbs. A bell rings, it hurts my ears. It hurted father. He walked, and was gone soon as the bell rang. Never came back. I have no idea who he was, only that he was father. A dead father. A lead soldier for the rest. A good husband for mother, who married at church. Yes, the church. I see a couple. The woman is a cleyran, given the big hair. So much hair, so much lices, sand, dust, a hand dares to touch it. I... I can''t look... they do, cheer for her, and the man, but he ain''t of my interest. Though, he should have looked better, all of them should have, but none can see what I see... It''s a cleyran. Ugh... she has a bb-b-b... an awful birthmark in her cheek. A nasty birth defect, which will be carried on to her sons.
Why? Why none of them do something? Is it all... left for me? Only I can see?... None of them can? I... I turn back. Yeah, better this way. Ignore the problem... ignore the disease. But it always follows you, infect other parties. The rain has a pleasant sound, but it''s wet. I might get a cold if I do not stand out. N-Now... Where are the Dragoons to arrest this guy bursting like a fridge? Where are they? Should... Should I do something? I... I can''t. Not right now. The least of the defects I can''t fix... with these own hands.
...
¡ª Hey Fratley ¨C so Hrist came in, by a jump. Water out a puddle splashed on me, and my coat, together with a bit of mud. As if the sweat in my face wasn''t enough... ¨C uh, can you tell me what supposedly Freya is doing?
¡ª She is using her inner strenght in order to search for the strenght of a spear in hands ¨C said Sir Fratley, in an almost enigmatic tone. He''s trying too hard, by the way. I wish my fists were harder, though.
¡ª So, in other words...
¡ª Come on, Hrist. Had not you been throught this as well? ¨C I said, without facing Hrist, but the tree.
¡ª As far as I recall... no, I didn''t ¨C I have a tree to punch, and ears to listen to Hrist ¨C well, what had you been expecting, Crescent? To lift some books with your heads?
¡ª Actually, I think we''ll do this later.
¡ª Later? ¨C I said, with a bit of disdain to Sir Fratley. He must be joking. This if he didn''t meant by tomorrow, which I can accept.
¡ª Now, focuse on the tree, Crescent. Without this tree, you won''t have tomorrow ¨C he said. Pant... Without any trees, surely there won''t be a tomorrow. Without their beauty, Burmecia is nothing more than... than... I would say graveyard, given the tombstones, but every people I see carries on gray fur. Excluding that brat, and a few like Ezekiel... oh, what I''m doing? Comparing people as tombstones in order to give this place a sense of decay that keeps moving, that never ends? Or is it because I can''t feel my hands? Yet, to listen voices at my back...
¡ª Where had you been, Hrist?
¡ª Waiting for you, Fratley. Edea had to train me instead...
¡ª Was she harsh with you?
¡ª A lot. Not that you are a better choice too.
¡ª Please. I''m not that mean.
¡ª Well, say it to the Crescent. Why haven''t you taught the poor thing regeneration yet? Geez, you''re so mean, Fratley.
¡ª Hrist, please... Freya needs concentration.
¡ª Sure. But from where true concentration comes, I ask?
¡ª Silence, perhaps? ¨C I said. Was about to say something worse.
¡ª Of course not ¨C Hrist said. Didn''t looked to her face, which may or not have made a difference ¨C had you been in a room with absolute silence, you would be bored enough to do any noise.
¡ª Do you live in a world of absolute silence to know?
¡ª I live in a world where it rains.
¡ª A world where your throat never dries up...
¡ª I feel glad it doesn''t ¨C so Hrist stopped for a while, but I knew I would hear more than my fists hitting the wood ¨C you''re getting there... kinda. I mean, mashing your head against the trunk would be more useful.
¡ª Know what would be useful? If you happened to be in my place.
¡ª Well, had I been... you must feel pity for have chosen a tree like this, Crescent.
¡ª Shut up.
¡ª How rude ¨C and in the middle of it all, Sir Fratley did a wise thing: nothing. He just stood there, quiet, a thing I should have done too ¨C whew... so, came up with a name for your javelin, Crescent? Mine is Quicksilver, so you can''t take it.
¡ª What about Silvertongue?
¡ª Whoa... That was quicK. A pretty name, don''t you think, Fratley?
¡ª Uh huh ¨C said Sir Fratley, this if he wanted to say a thing.
¡ª Oh, here she is ¨C and then another Dragon came in, by a jump. I expected a splash out the puddle of water, but guess it was done on purpose by Hrist alone. Alone... know when you feel uncomfortable in middle of many people? As if they are about to stab you at back, or look at you with dissapointment? That''s what I ask to myself, with ''yes'' as the only reply. Yes, that''s how I feel now. With Hrist, Sir Fratley, and ¨C hi there, Captain.
¡ª Hi, Hrist. Fratley. Freya. ¨C I knew that voice, a feeling of emptiness beyond her face... Edea. So, I turned to her direction, interrupting this kind of training once again. A relief fo hands.
¡ª Oh... hi, Edea ¨C she looks so serious it''s... how can I describe? Well, Edea wears an armor cold as her sight. A pretty coat too, which seems to be made of a sort of metallic fiber. I say this because it''s the first time I look to her wearing something, hiding those scars ¨C nice coat ¨C and then she said nothing. It''s worse than saying nothing, in this case.
¡ª Well, what brings you here, Edea? ¨C said Sir Fratley. I mean, he can''t see her face, so his words flow out naturally, or maybe it''s because he knows Edea more than I do.
¡ª Besides an apprentice who fled from training...
¡ª Thanks for you, my shoulder dislocated quite a few times ¨C said Hrist. I knew there was something strange in her, but I didn''t cared to noticed. As for Edea, and that dull face...
¡ª That''s not the important matter here.
¡ª I thought it was.
¡ª Didn''t I said ''besides''? ¨C then Hrist stood quiet, but not quiet like a pause between words. Must had been the way Edea looked at her, and said with plain lips ¨C well, now that I found you, Fratley...
¡ª Did Ezekiel called for me?
¡ª Had my father called you, he would have come out its room ¨C said Hrist. I know she would say something, but the way she said sounded as if she didn''t wanted to say anything at all. Strange? Maybe, had not Edea been here ¨C sorry. Proceed.
¡ª Right. Ezekiel received a report coming from the southeast surroundings.
¡ª The southeast? ¨C I asked, without knowing what was happening, or if I had something to do with it
¡ª Yes. You know, Crescent, the Jugend is found at the center of Burmecia. From here, we can go to any direction.
¡ª Well, I didn''t knew that.
¡ª For someone who is the daughter of a Dragoon Knight, you should have know better ¨C for some reason, Edea sounded a bit like Hrist, except that unlike the later, it was more an advice than an insult. Just the first day here, and they treat me like I had been here for a decade ¨C anyway, they are requesting our help, Fratley.
¡ª Okay, but why me? Isn''t there any other Dragoons avaliable?
¡ª There is, but I know you are good with words. Can you use them to save a life?
¡ª What happened? ¨C that''s what I would like to know too. Must be an urgency, given there is a life at risk.
¡ª A man is surrounded by a crowd, about to witness the descent of its final curtain, children are watching... ¨C many lifes are at risk, as far as I know. Nothing that I can do ¨C you know what to do, Fratley.
¡ª Alright. I''ll go ¨C with only a cane in hands, Sir Fratley was about to leave.
¡ª I''ll go too ¨C same for Hrist, not without making one of her remarks ¨C maybe I can learn something new today.
¡ª There is nothing new under the sun, as they say ¨C and so Sir Fratley made one of its statement.
¡ª We live without the sun very well.
¡ª And who will be there to watch me? ¨C I asked. In no way I would be left without someone watching me. Zack has a lot of papers to do before they do him, so...
¡ª Think about Edea as my pair of eyes ¨C that was the last thing I heard from Sir Fratley, before he and Hrist took a walk somewhere at southeast.
Before they jumped, I mean. Jumping and jumping until their colors became mere dots for my sight. Again, it ain''t time for thoughts. Arrgh... My fist hurts. Cold water falls upon it. It ain''t enough. What would be worse? I ask. The spikes Hrist mentioned before do not seem that harmful. I once saw a burmecian laying over a bed full of spikes, and none of them hurted him. Maybe it''s because he just layed there, letting all the pointy spikes touch its back, or because barely he had a skin to be dug up. Ouch... I try my best to not say a curse word. I didn''t learned to say them with mom, but Jack and its friends were there, at the street. I see none, but the path of cobblestone at the left, which''s empty. I see my life there, in a gap between the stones. Momentary reflections aside, throat drying up, skin wet... I give another punch, water falls on me, and only I can make the cycle end.
LIV: Society Is A Hole
?Sonic Youth - Society is a Hole?
Burmecia.
Land of Eternal Rain.
A land of rats.
Some rats fly.
¡ª Hey, I was born there ¨C said Hrist, pointing to an alley beneath her feet. The whole world seemed to, except for the skies above ¨C or, in this case, threw.
¡ª Why do you think it so? ¨C said Sir Fratley, who propelled its knees on the edge of a tall building, to once again find himself on thin air. Same for Hrist ¨C you were only a baby.
¡ª I know. As if they cared ¨C then silence followed these words. Rain poured hard and filled in the silence with the sound of drums. Though provoking for some, its the least detail to be paid attention to, for a kingdom whose stretched alleys leaks poison out their swollen cracks, as if they asked for more ¨C well, not anyone can do cartwheels like me. And guess what? You need a ground to do these, but I don''t!
¡ª Impressing, isn''t it? ¨C he replied, followed by a spinning somersault to a building to another, ending with a landing of both feet.
Such would have broken its bones, had not been for ¨C Surface Tension... It never gets old ¨C Hrist said, in a nostalgic tone. To watch the clouds above for a while would make her remind the scent and taste of crayons coloring her childhood, but Fratley doesn''t know the meaning of pause, neither we have a reason to stand still any longer. Soon as Hrist landed on the other side, water out of a puddle splashed the surroundings, including Fratley. That used to be fun... He said nothing, didn''t bothered to look to her face, had eyes for someone else. Or, in this case, something else.
¡ª This way ¨C said Fratley, before he ran away. It was already hard for him to stand on both feet, but even harder to stand still and do nothing. Beyond his position, a huge gap lied between the building he stood and the one he wanted to be in. Rain falling from above where he stood... a flat surface, covered in ripples; that''s how Fratley ''sees'' there''s a safe place to land, but it ain''t a safe jump. Once again, Fratley blesses the rain that it helps him to move around.
¡ª I wonder what people say when they see us walking in the air like this ¨C said Hrist, who took a quick view of a faraway below, before taking a leap of faith towards a tower ¨C or walking vertically against gravity...
¡ª Standing, you mean ¨C said the man who stood barefoot in a wall against the stream of water falling down. It is possible to walk against it, he reflected, but it would take a lot of time, which''s running out. Then Fratley took something out of its pocket: it was a shining and silver grappling hook, aimed and fired to the top of the tower ¨C a Dragoon can do a lot of things with its body, but sometimes, we need some tools created by mind ¨C he commented, climbing against the concrete waterfall faster than he would with both feet alone
¡ª For someone blind, sure you can aim at the right place ¨C so Hrist watched him for a brief moment, before taking a back flip as she landed on the streets filled of pigeons and scent of cigarettes. If not mistaken, she could have stepped upon a turd, which ain''t the case. Thank God, the young Dragoon told to herself, in a very rare moment outside training. Crouched down, and with a blink, the skies grated a creature who had no wings in between a flock of scared birds ¨C (I wonder from where Fratley took that grapnel) ¨C she said, in tiny whispers. Maybe that green dot could hear from this distance...
¡ª Well, this hook fits in this leather pocket found in the left section of my lower limb ¨C yeah, he could, thought Hrist. As if I haven''t got the hang of it yet... ¨C or do you still think there''s a independent section of time-space in my hat? ¨C Fratley asked, for the apprentice and her jumpy heart on its back.
_/\/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\_
¡ª I used to, a long time ago. You do remember when I poured some eggs, thinking they would end somewhere else.
¡ª And they did. This if there''s a heaven for birds...
¡ª Or a heaven for rats, just in case.
¡ª Just in case ¨C nothing was right at the moment for Fratley, who opened his eyes, in hope to see something. It takes nothing to try, but he has no time ¨C if that''s what you say, pumpkin.
¡ª Hah, pumpkin ¨C he had to say it, didn''t he?
At the same time, Hrist wondered if she could walk upon a rainbow. Jump higher than a building, walk upon waterdrops falling like icicles... but with everything so serious, it''s hard to enjoy these little things as they used to. Pumpkin... how she hates to be called by that, but also hearing that name come out of someone close is like feeling a shiver and wanting more. Strange sensation. If it brought relief for the weight of that helmet in head, whose eyes resemble the ones of a pumpkin during Halloween, thence the name; summing it up, the helmet in Hrist''s head weights a lot, but it''s pointy tip helps to move around. Aerodynamics, as Fratley said once, or whatever that means. Same can''t be said about the metallic garments above her coat. Sure, the belt holds on the escutcheon in chest, but the rest seems to be there only for decoration.
Ripping the bottom of its purple coat may not have lightened the weight, but it sure caught the headmaster''s attention. The one who used to call its child by ''Pumpkin Knight'' with enough conviction and life... Uh huh, as if the ''head'' would submit himself to that torture, in that close room, slowed down by osteophorosis crumbling bones apart, his lungs suffocated by bureaucracy...
¡ª ...Cut a hydra''s head and another grows on its place.
¡ª Huh? What do you mean, Hrist? ¨C asked Fratley, beyond the pit where people at the bottom flowed into. Hrist looks to her mentor for a moment, unable to say anything. A yell, by preference, but there''s no joy in falling from a building. The thrill is there, a childish and guilty thrill, but...
/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/\_
¡ª Oh, sorry ¨C she said, with the heart upon the throat. Anyone would feel same while spinning in midair, and once again landing safely. The result of harsh training sessions are showing up ¨C I spoke loud, didn''t I?
¡ª In resentment ¨C as well as years without a companion to trust. A heart doesn''t lie for Fratley ¨C something bothering you?
¡ª No. Nothing ¨C she said, letting a breath come out. A cold breath ¨C well, it ain''t everyday that someone attemps to prove their worthless and pathetic existence by killing themselves in front of others.
¡ª You sound a bit cynical.
¡ª And shouldn''t I? ¡ª Hrist asked, rhetorically, as she turned her back. He won''t notice. It''s strange when you talk to someone who doesn''t look at your face, she thought. Anyone in my place would be amazed, so her mind flowed into another thought. It seemed as if only herself was there, in high wire. But even if it was that way, he would be down there to hold me.
¡ª I admit that I''m feeling nervous as well, Hrist. Yet, something about death and the laws related to it fascinates me. It''s wrong to kill, including yourself.
¡ª On other hand, it ain''t wrong to make sacrifices ¨C said Hrist, still facing the other direction. Got bored and decided to look to his face. Wasn''t being ignored, after all ¨C it''s a sign of maturity.
¡ª As long as you do not rotten from inside, to be mature ain''t a bad thing ¨C he said, before feeling the wind hitting the face.
¡ª Or even a thing I am ¨C so Hrist followed him, now that he seemed so distant.
¡ª Well, if isn''t that what a mature person would say... ¨C but it was just an impression. Fratley was on her right side.
¡ª Yeah, right ¨C she said, soon as a tower came in front of both, cutting the sky like the edge of a sword ¨C listen to my heart, and you may have enough difference to tell.
¡ª Sorry, but I have no time.
¡ª That''s what father says ¡ª the lights coming out the poles shone beneath Hrist''s coat of arms. She didn''t stared at the for too long, in order to not share of same fate as a moth burnt ¨C it used to make sense with him being alone, wandering throught these streets that treated his life like a lemon to be sucked, but now that I grew up, he''s just getting lazy for strong arguments.
¡ª I disagree ¨C interrupting thoughts, Fratley said, as he and his apprentice holded their claws against a wall, attached by the water dripping on its surface filled of cracks ¨C Hrist, you know how much Zack thinks about you when signing all those damn papers.
¡ª At least, you agree there''s something wicked about them.
¡ª Anyone would. Besides, he''s getting older.
¡ª I think he''s far older than both of us.
¡ª Hrist ¨C he looked at her with same glare. Must have learned from father, thought Hrist, before conveying something to say, or else that awkward silence would stand. It already stood for long enough.
¡ª Well, enough about my dad. His ear might be burn out already.
¡ª If this bothers you so much...
¡ª Then should I keep it all to myself?
¡ª Of course not ¨C again, Fratley looks at her, but this time, there''s something else ¨C like us, Zack is a wielder of the Dragoon, even sitting on that chair. But unlike your reasoning, the source of its power doesn''t come from the Dragoon alone, nor is dependant of it entirely. He has friends, people he can trust, and the one he trusts by heart... is you, Hrist. Don''t you see? The day Zack found you abandoned on a trash bin and offered the warmth of its chest to yours, his strenght, a name for that fragile creature covered in filth that nobody wanted... that was the worst day of his life, together with the best. He wanted the best of you, now what do you want out of him...
¡ª ...I just want him the way he found me, right ¨C it''s strange how a blind''s eyes seems devoided of emotion, thought Hrist, while at same time they''re full of depth. It''s like staring to an ocean full of algae; cold, but filled of life ¨C I mean, I didn''t cared when dad pulled me to other people. Said he would do something important, and I believed. Now here I am, thinking I am doing something important, yet all I do is complain.
¡ª Who said that? If all you do is complain, then why I cared to bring you here?
¡ª You didn''t brought me here, Sir Fratley. I choose to be there, thinking you might need help. Besides, I like your company.
¡ª Oh, I''m flattered. At this rate, you''ll be able to forgive Edea for kicking you in the stomach ¨C oh, yes... butterflies and blood came out my mouth that day, thought Hrist, who prefered to forget that dreadful experience ¨C that was an accident, you know.
¡ª It really was. No wonder she said you were good at words back then.
And now... a bit of rain poured out of Hrist''s helmet, who looked below and saw that crowd of people reunited as if something important was about to happen. Nothing happened, neither Fratley did something. The roof seemed empty from this distance, this until he showed up. A silhouette hindered by rain, approaching near the edge. The man seemed to come back and forward, threatening to jump anytime, tainting the gray asphalt in red, or just hold on for the innevitable. Perhaps a pause for bathroom, a side of Hrist thought, the one side of head who made her bring a smirk amidst it all. More people came in, to see a spectacle of fear like never saw before. They were banned a long time ago, which ain''t the case of violence, or death. The brief mention of it causes a reaction, not only belonging to her guts. No, it''s the fear of the unknown, that people might die all of sudden, anywhere, in a painful or stupid way.
¡ª Heh... heheheheh... heh... hahahah...hahah... ¨C soon Hrist began to laugh, madly. She didn''t wanted to laugh, it wasn''t fun ¨C hah... sorry. Heh... I am a bit nervous. Oh, what should I do, Fratley?
/\/\_/\/\/\/\_/\/\/\/\_
¡ª Keep calm, Hrist ¨C said Fratley, feeling the vibrations of her whole skin shivering, besides hearing a heart jumping as if it was about to sprout out of her skin like a nasty pimple. Maybe a bit of exaggeration of his part, given there''s a lot of hearts he''s listening to, focusing on a few ¨C do the diaphragm breathing, like I taught you.
¡ª I am... ¨C then Hrist holds her breathe, and after five seconds, release it all ¨C uh uh, doesn''t work.
/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/\_
¡ª It works if you believe ¨C said Fratley, looking at her. Her heart began to beat as it normally does, before accelerating. Adrenaline is all over her body, the throat gulps, or whatever noise does that make. Anyway, these are the sounds of someone either about to punch someone, or fled like a coward. That heart... It ain''t as worse as listening the one belonging to the man about to jump. Fratley... That heart is beating a lot. Fratley... like it''s going to explode like a balloon, and everyone will hear it.
¡ª ...Fratley... hey, Fratley? ¨C Hrist... left side. A heart may tell a lot about a person, but sometimes words are meant to be listened.
¡ª Yes, Hrist?
¡ª I want to know what should I do ¨C at this rate, the crowd should had been gone, but where there is a meat, flies come in ¨C I... I don''t know...
_/\/\/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\_/\
¡ª First, you must breathe ¨C holding her hand, Fratley could feel the pressure inside Hrist lowering ¨C I''ll go inside, and you take care of the crowd.
¡ª As if those Royal Guards could...
¡ª I believe that you can ¨C despite all that has been said, Fratley didn''t noticed any changes, but he tries ¨C I mean, I do not expect everyone to be out, but, if you can tell at least someone to get out here...
¡ª Without a javelin, it''s hard to convince someone ¨C so Hrist stated, as she and her mentor landed into same ground as the crowd stood upon, with their heads glazed over skies, or whoever is about to fall from them ¨C but I''ll try, anyway,
¡ª You''re a Dragoon, Hrist. Of course they will hear you ¨C said Fratley, raising its hand to briefly touch her left shoulder.
¡ª You hear me a lot better than they do.
¡ª And I am glad that I do. Hope that man hears me as much as I can listen to his fears.
Above, he threatens to jump, but a kind of force pulls him apart from the edge. Maybe the people, random faces and familiar ones, are the main reason it prevents him from doing it. Jump... everyone is here to see it. Why are they here? He wonders. There is nothing to see, only a failed civilization in which the existence of those who worked hard are acknowledged near death. Nothing makes sense as it should, he thinks, can''t even remember its name, doesn''t mean a lot. As he stopped to remember his name, or maybe how life is great if lucky, the two Dragoon Knights below moved into adjacent paths throught the burmecian barricade. Fratley moved in to the main door, where Royal Guards stood, while Hrist stood at the crowd, filled of whispers and noise out of throats chanting swearings against the poor guy, or ''whoever he thinks he''s doing''... he ain''t no martyr, isn''t fighting for anything. Gave up of fighting... she hears a lot from a person nobody knows.
Johnny... then a name comes out. Good person. I can''t believe he''s doing it, friends and neighboors comment. Some are here to help, while others want to see, even know what''s happening, like ants before a pile of sugar. The key of that door had been eaten in an old fashion by Johnny, who wondered if he could poison himself with its rotten metal. Why not break the window? One of them says, but it''s hard to know who. Perhaps the one with a brick in hand... good idea, if it weren''t for the shards about to mutilate flesh of those passing by. Many ideas are brought by the crowd, to later be received by a Dragoon telling them to go away. Please, Hrist begs. She wants to be out of here more than they do. Her bittersweet voice shares of weakness, and her eyes hidden by brown locks reveal contempt for those who ''want to see it'' as a crude way of entertainment their miserable low-lifes.
If someone could open that door... which Fratley instantly does with a kick. Numb, his left feet is useless, makes him limb, but anyway, the Knight won''t need its fists, only to hold into the handrail. Two Royal guards stands with the swords at the entrance, while Hrist makes new friends. Hullo, a boy in ragged pants said. Children are so cute, she thinks, including the sniveling ones. With her hands on knees, followed of a smile, she tells them to go away, play somewhere else. They obey. Hrist saw herself in one of those orphans, many walking around, stealing wallets, making phlegm bubbles come out their noses... which ain''t a surprise, much least revolting compared to supposedly ''responsibles'' standing here with their kids on lap. I could scatter sand on their eyes, if this wasn''t qualified as excessive force, but for Hrist, that meant another paper for her father to sign in.
Meanwhile, despite having pulled a man in a puddle, Dan doesn''t take the sword out its sheat. The claws are just fine, still useful whenever they''re shed. Better be careful, ''cause this ain''t a bluff, he thinks at a split-second, when his eye caught spit threw at his shoulder, in the middle of rain. There''s nothing to see here, said another soldier, yelling as the crowd agitated like the ocean and its waves in middle of a storm. Don''t you have nothing else to do? he begs the question, which improves nothing for better. I could have entered the building, helped the guy, so thought Dan, who is good at words as much as this Sir Fratley Irontail... how long he haven''t saw him, here on ground. Been like this since five years ago, the Royal Guard spoke to himself, before he is brought back to work, protecting remains of a door from inquisitive eyes.
It''s a mess, all because of an only person, an unknown that''s about to enter history. Is that the only way to do it so? Thought Fratley, as he moved upstairs, to finally reach the rooftop and talk to this Johnny, who stood on the edge, by the tip of toes.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
¡ª Johnny? ¨C asked the Dragoon, who couldn''t listen to an only heart at the moment. He was feeling a headache, too much people inside... ¨C do you... feel alright?... I... I can help you...
¡ª I wouldn''t be pointing the finger, had I been you ¨C said Johnny, looking over the shoulder to a figure on its knees, holding its head tight ¨C you''re the one who needs help.
¡ª I... I... ¨C geez, how convenient... hearing everyone was a chore for Fratley. He could stand up, but still, those hearts and voices were causing an ear ache. Must be the injured leg, the blood running out the wounds, it''s flow... my senses are going crazy due it. The Dragoon field over my body has been broken, so he attempts to believe into something understandable, for a world that doesn''t seem to make sense at all.
¡ª If you are here to convince me to not do what I should, then you''re wasting time ¨C something in Johnny''s voice disturbed the Dragoon, trying to concentrate. There was no fear, or any hesitation, as if he was being sincere. No, he can''t be... May you offer me guidance, Reis.
¡ª I understand you, Johnny ¨C standing up, Fratley said in clear tone, hearing a heart. It belonged to himself, and that bloke ¨C there are many voices in your head as well.
¡ª How? You don''t know me.
¡ª I know. I felt this way once. Couldn''t see, lost my father, my legs... but I didn''t choose death. I learned to walk by myself again. I see people better than they do with their eyes. Please, listen before you-
¡ª Before I jump? It won''t hurt ¨C he then turned around, to see that Knight, this if he cared to listen as well ¨C I fell from the stairs once, as a kid. Had to lay on bed for a week until my bones healed, together of mother. May she rest in Peace. Grew up, then I found this girl, by name Kylie. We met, kissed, had a son before marriage, he died on her arms, the earth took his body. I stood at her side, sharing of same pain. Felt it was the right thing, the good to be done in these indecent times. Kylie was like mom. Now she''s dead too. So, I thought... why not?
¡ª It ain''t an option, Johnny ¨C shaken, Fratley tried to approach ¨C my condolences for your child and Kylie.
¡ª If you knew her... Kylie and I, we married today. The happiest day of our lifes, something happy was happening. We come home, I went inside, she stood out. Kylie liked to stare at clouds. When I buried our son, she looked to the skies. It is Luca''s new home. Luca... Cute name, don''t you think? For a piece of flesh, sure is. Then a creep killed her. Stabbed her at face. There was nothing wrong in that pretty face, or anything at all with Kylie. She never did anything wrong to deserve this. A pretty face, carved with another hole.
¡ª My... ¨C Fratley tried to convey something out his throat, but couldn''t. The only warmth resided on a puke by now ¨C I had no idea...
/\_/\/\/\/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/\/\_/\/\/\_
¡ª Neither I. Someone stalked us the whole way home, but I... I didn''t cared. And I... I should had stood at her side ¨C said Johnny, whose words slowed down, unlike that heartbeat. Cold sweat, blew away by a cold air that seems to come from the abyss ¨C the guy... His skin was so thin as if a mere breeze could rip it apart.
¡ª Any details? ¨C Fratley asked. If there was a way to help Johnny, and a deceased.
¡ª It''s all I remember ¨C reluctant, Johhny stands up, as he takes something jelly and round out his pocket. Something like ¨C Kylie.. she had the most beautiful eyes I''ve ever seem. The assassin didn''t went after those, but I did.
¡ª You took the eyes out a corpse...
¡ª But that scroundrel took her whole life. And he''s free, doing whatever he wants.
¡ª He who? if you can help me identify him better, maybe-
¡ª Maybe who? Are you going to arrest him? ¨C the answer was already at the tip of the Dragoon''s tongue.
¡ª If that''s the right thing to do, I will ¨C soon as he said it, Johnny looked behind. The last view seemed so close of his eyes.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
¡ª So, what will you do if I don''t jump? Are you going to arrest me too?
¡ª I do what''s right ¨C said Fratley, grabbing Johnny by the shoulder.
¡ª Taking Kylie away wasn''t any right, so why this shoudn''t be? It''s only me.
¡ª You''re wrong. There isn''t only you here, Johnny. Look below, and see those people... no matter the size of their problems, whenever a bad thing happens to any of them, they''ll remember your face. Remember what you did today ¨C and soon as these words were said, both men walked out the edge, the people passing by disappearing in numbers, though a few remained, as if they enjoyed this crude act.
¡ª See, you do not care for me as an individual.
¡ª Sure I do! ¨C Fratley bursted, but he felt no anger, or wanted to taint his words with such ink ¨C there are millions I care about, and one of them is you. Don''t you understand yet?
¡ª I understand, very well ¨C Johnny felt his guts wrapping up inside. Felt cold, still feeled something in skin, and inside. Was alive, after all. But she wasn''t. By the tip of his claws, Kylie''s eyes stared at him. Or seemed to. Without blinks, or good nights of rest, they had no life, were just objects. Desperately that the killer would take them away... he did it so on its place ¨C you made me understand, showed your point, Knight. But...
¡ª Johnny? ¨C something in that ''but'' didn''t feel any right to Fratley. After all he did... resulting into nothing. No, don''t think like this. Don''t think like ¨C Johnny!
¡ª A roof... isn''t made of an only edge ¨C standing at the other side of the building, where a filthy alley lied at the bottom, Johnny looked right throught its doom.
¡ª Johnny, please... ¨C Fratley made an appeal, wondering if he could be listened this time. Raises his hand, which should had grabbed that arm instead of letting it get away ¨C you''re confused, hurt, want things to end right now... The easy way out ain''t the best path to follow. I''ll bring the bastard to justice, believe in me!
/\_/\/\/\_/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\
¡ª What makes you believe in fair justice, Knight? Why can''t I believe that all my problems will be gone if I... I... ¨C trepidation all over his skin, flowing to the ripples below feet, and a heart which belonged to someone walking over coal...
¡ª You do not want to do this ¨C things were all over the place for Fratley, his eyes welling up while staring at Johnny. It''s hard to tell who will fall first ¨C you do not need to. Still you have a choice...
¡ª Choose life? Is that what you''re going to say? ¨C Johnny had no powers of predction, or any powers whatsoever. Only a life, which he used to give value ¨C even if you''re able to fulfill what you''ve said... there is nothing that can bring the dead back. Not even your magic, or whatever you have in hands that I do not. Now, if they understand what I have to say in the wrong way, Knight... then so be it. Everything is wrong with my life, this world...
For a moment, Sir Fratley''s face froze in hesitation. A painful long moment, for a short fall.
...
Meanwhile...
At the Jugend, where the spirit of old warriors travel across generations, a young Dragoon Knight lays her body against a cherry tree''s trunk. It doesn''t bring any comfort, Freya and her back knows, but it''s better than staring at those hands. Numb and senseless, if not for the warm blood dripping out her wounds, covered as well by the ooze spurting out the trunk; it ain''t like honey, which''s useful for wound care or whenever you want to bring a taste other than beans to your mouth. The stomach groins, claims for food, but all it gets is to distract its owner from the pain in hands. Freya doesn''t want to look at the exposed injuries. Sure, she can support taking sight of a deep wound, but a bone... better let it stay inside you, unlike tears. Anyone who wouldn''t cry right now would be a monster, or someone who trained enough.
It''s only my first day, the Dragoon thinks. No, the one inside the outfit thought. If it was indeed the Dragoon, it would say ''keep going''. Right now, I hear it saying. If it was mom''s voice, maybe I could follow what it says, but instead, Freya closes her eyes, and...
¡ª ...Taking a nap? ¨C so another voice echoed in her mind. No, it came from outside.
A blurred shadow amidst drowsy eyes stood upon Freya. That voice... ¨C Edea? Where you had been?...
¡ª In reality, which ain''t your case ¨C she said, in a cold tone ¨C are you done yet, Crescent? It ain''t safe to stand near a tree during a storm.
¡ª You tell me ¨C there was no storm nearby, as Freya watched the clouds. She thinks it would be interesting to see the sky crack down, or if a thunder hit her body right now, only for she to be able to redirect that powerful source of electricity away from that body. Can a Dragoon do it? Yes, it can ¨C Edea... teach me how to redirect the lightning out my body, or whatever is the name you call it by.
¡ª ''Misfortune redirection''?
¡ª Yes. Anything but this tree ¨C said Freya, letting a tiny yawn out. Edea stared at her with that same apathy on face, or whatever is the word that suits a face drained of any emotion better.
¡ª You''re the one who should finish with the tree, not the other way round ¨C yet, something in her voice revealed life.
¡ª Trees aren''t overwhelmed by sorrow ¨C the young Dragoon said, feeling a twitch of fingers. Tried to stand up, but her arms didn''t responded ¨C they don''t care if one of their twigs are cut. Maybe they do, but who are we to listen?
¡ª We are people. Living together of each other, occupying space, growing in numbers... That''s why it''s easy to chop a tree down whenever we want ¨C Edea said, soon as she proceeded to pull Freya out the ''comfort zone'' by arms. That brief sensation reminded the young Knight of the way her brother Jack used to pull his finger out a hand. Magic tricks, for a world where the real magic is unsealed by pain. Edea''s eyes are sealed of any compassion, which ain''t the case of the gauze she''s wrapping upon Freya''s hands ¨C the why we do not take all trees down is because nothing is infinity, all beings need a space on their own, and because some of us care for plants as much as we do for one another.
¡ª You are sounding like Sir Fratley ¨C same who made my hands bleed this way, thought Freya. She already expected a harsh training, but to begin with this?...
¡ª He taught me a lot. A good man, don''t you think? ¨C Edea asked, tightening the gauze once white in palms, both covered by a brown smudge below.
¡ª Barely I know him. And if he''s that good, my hands-
¡ª Only your hands? He''s good. Nice bracelet. Lapis-lazuli... from Fratley?
¡ª Yes. He gave it to me. Just his way of saying ''have a good mood'', ''be confident'', because if it shedded of any luck...
¡ª You are lucky to train with the best, Crescent.
¡ª The best? I can''t feel my fingers.
¡ª Good, because had you felt the needle...
¡ª The needle? ¨C Freya looked at her fingers, their surface covered by sutures. If she couldn''t fell the needle, then by staring at those green lines...
¡ª You should stare at something else, like you did with my face all along ¨C said Edea, who acknowledge that there was something unique on her face. Maybe a first impression issue, thought Freya, since the driest of the flowers share of a scent. A blank wall as well.
¡ª I saw my skeleton, Captain. I... I wasn''t supposed to see it.
¡ª Well, had you ever been into a hospital, Crescent? ¨C suddenly, Edea''s tone changed. It''s the only thing in her that does change ¨C ...to not being able to tell who''s alive and who''s dead, to slip in feces and blood on the floor... it ain''t a nice thing, but you don''t see me complaining. So, stop whining and get that tree down.
¡ª But with my hands!? ¨C said Freya, trembling in both her words and feet ¨C that''s... that''s impossible.
¡ª Know what else is impossible? This rain. Yet, it''s here, falling and falling. And look at the mirror, and tell yourself that you are not a rat, girl. A rat doesn''t difference from one another, they cannibalize their own sons, but we know the law and the punishment those who disobey the law deserve. That''s why we don''t crawl naked around these streets. The why we wear clothes, but a Dragoon ain''t only a coat! ¨C ouch. The pain in arms is gone, all taken somewhere else. Not my head, or my heart, but... it was then that Freya''s helmet began to weight a lot, and she had no choice but to lay her forehead against the trunk.
¡ª Can I break this trunk with my head? My feet? Anything?
¡ª You can break anything that belongs to your body throught training, Crescent. Except your wit ¨C For Edea, to play tough ain''t that much of a game, but a thing easily to be done as to throw any rock in a lake to see it bounce.
¡ª Alright ¨C only round rocks bounce, the others sink, so thought Freya, who still couldn''t feel any of her fingers by each hit ¨C it should hurt, Edea. It''s wrong not to hurt.
¡ª It''s your mind ignoring pain. That''s the goal of this training. From where else the strenght of a mother holding a whole ceiling just so it doesn''t fall on her sons comes from?
¡ª Is it the same source of an assassin without a heart? ¨C said Freya, with a fist upon the trunk, each hit felt like hitting water again and again.
¡ª No, Crescent. It ain''t. Some criminals can ignore pain, for sure, but it''s different from my previous example. You know, when you give up pain, but still care for one another... that''s what I meant.
¡ª A day ago, Ezekiel said something about a criminal dressed as a Dragoon Knight, murdering people.
¡ª Rumours.
¡ª Rumours? With all those reports he came up in hand, upon his desk, isolated cases...
¡ª Isolation such as a wall covered by bullet holes, but you closed the eyes by the moment you pulled the trigger. Well, I understand what Ezekiel passes throught, an only man doing the job of a hundred, and not being against his entirely, I know how hard it is to tell a lie from a half-lie, and a truth from a half-truth. Truth is that sometimes people report members of the own Jugend because they saw one of us lead astray by our powers, and because it''s easy to do a report. Understand?
¡ª A single slap in face is enough for them to do an abuse report, that''s what you mean? ¨C the scent of sweat floated to Freya''s nostrils. Not even the amount of rain falling is enough for the scent to be gone, or what brought it at first place. Though, better let sweat go out than blood.
¡ª Some people think we are the reason why crime exists, though we began to exist before it. They don''t understand, even when we wear these coats so they can understand what we are capable of doing.
¡ª Like standing on any water surface?
¡ª Yes. To think we show our faces in order to tell that anyone can do what we do...
¡ª But you hide the scars ¨C and in your case, a smile too.
¡ª Now quit the small talk, if you please ¨C THUMP! If there was a word alone to describe the hitting of a trunk, perhaps...
¡ª I''d rather talk than listen to my bones shattering piece by piece.
¡ª And I''d rather watch you fall apart while doing my nails ¨C ...THUMP! And another hit, this time louder. The only thing that shed of a noise, or dared to. Freya didn''t wanted to turn her neck, or worse, get it done by those hands belonging to Edea. She knows the captain won''t do it, but the tension doesn''t let right thoughts to be articulated ¨C but I am a good person, you caught me in a good day, girl. I''m not angry, so you know. Just demanding.
The trunk... It wasn''t hollow inside, Freya of her wishes came true, the world already had that shape before she was even born. Her fingers can barely touch one another, after being used all day along. And what Edea said doesn''t help. This if she said a thing until now. Those fingers... it was as if they didn''t belonged to her body anymore, that same blood flowing throught arms was drained out by their tips, that they are about to rot and fall down...
¡ª Enough, Crescent ¨C a crooked neck, watching the grass growing between toes... of her feet and hands. Fallen, the young Dragoon''s ears stand tall, once they heard a voice from behind. There''s only Edea, but it''s hard to not close the eyes, let them be sunken by darkness, tempting. Darkness that covered those scars, the cracks on the wall shedding of light ¨C next time use your knees.
¡ª Next time? ¨C with conscience and blood left, Freya is able to stand on both feet. Only her hands to be fixed, unlike that appaling face asking for fresh air. How ironic for it to come out that cherry tree...
¡ª Yes. It''s over for today. Rest, and come back tomorrow.
¡ª But-
¡ª It''s an order ¨C Freya swallowed hard when she heard those words. For a moment, she couldn''t say anything. Had nothing against such order, except for...
¡ª But if I leave now...
¡ª I''ll tell Ezekiel about your leave ¨C Edea pointed to the entrance. She could move a finger, after all ¨C know that you can leave the Jugend anytime you want. It''s your choice.
¡ª And what about the duty hours?
¡ª You aren''t on duty yet, child. This is only training ¨C only training, which took so much... Freya tries to focuse her mind, to breath with her nose instead of the mouth, both dry.
¡ª So, if I never come back... ¨C fading into distance, the red Dragoon leaves the Jugend, in doubt.
¡ª You will ¨C same doubt answered by Edea ¨C it''s what you want, stubborn like that.
...
Later...
¡ª Oi, sis! ¨C said Jack, standing at the market street, as well recognizing my color over this distance between us. It could only belong to me.
¡ª Hi, Jack ¨C and that awful scent... it could only belong to my brother. Not that I am perfumated right now ¨C selling fishes?
¡ª And scales too. Want one?
¡ª No, thanks ¨C I really didn''t wanted anything that could flay my skin ¨C if you please...
¡ª Hey, hey! Are you going to pass by like that, sis? ¨C Jack furthed his step towards me ¨C don''t you want to listen to me, or any of my offers?
¡ª I''m not interested.
¡ª Why? Not everyone share of this opportunity I''m giving you! ¨C he insists, but I don''t care.
¡ª Does a Dragoon get a discount?
¡ª Well, in this case...
¡ª Then ask someone else, Jack. I''m not a Dragoon yet.
¡ª But you are a child of one.
¡ª You too ¨C no matter what I say to Jack, he follows me. I am not even running away from his, just walking.
¡ª Hey, I know what''s wrong... not enough fiber makes you act like that ¨C only you are smiling, Jack ¨C but enough joking, you can talk to me whenever you feel... well, like that. It ain''t good for you, sis.
¡ª I know ¨C I still haven''t shown Jack my hands, hidden on the pockets.
¡ª You never let up ¨C Jack smiled again, but this time, it wasn''t due mockery. Call him a bastard if you want, but he''s yours. A good bastard, and I dare to say, a good brother ¨C I advise you to relax a bit, Freya, or else you''ll die from all the stress.
¡ª I''ll do it.
¡ª Okay. Now, can you hold this bucket? ¨C Jack offered me a wooden bucket, full of fish''s heads. A good brother, you say...
¡ª I will try, not because you asked ¨C I just want to feel my fingers again. Carefully, I took the bucket with an only hand. It ain''t that heavy, but my fingers can barely be close of each other. Somehow, I am able to hold the bucket, maybe for Jack ¨C what are you going to do with all those heads?
¡ª To discard ain''t an option ¨C said Jack, who came out a tent carrying carrots on a basket, which looked like fingers ¨C these ugly carrots, I''ll tell you... ugly, but delicious. They are so cheap, yet I don''t see many coming in to buy them.
¡ª Do you feed Freyr with those?
¡ª Of course, sis! If you knew how much feeding an only baby costs... ¨C Jack didn''t noticed the dirty bandages wrapped in my hand, or any of those green lines. He just kept talking about having a son with Otterley, who used to be our nursemaid. I just accept it, like the rest; it ain''t my life, but someone else''s. A common life, not that I do not mind having one. It''s just that a life without nobody is boring, and the only way I can be with someone, or millions of them... ¨C now that he grew teeth, my boy wants variety.
¡ª Don''t you think it''s too earlier to feed the baby with solid food?
¡ª If I could, he would be drinking water by now. You know, Ottis ain''t always home, taking care of other''s sons... see, burmecian babies are a weird thing. Anything that comes out of an only month pregnancy may be, if you think about it. We learn things so quick, only to forget them as we grow. And Freyr isn''t that young, sis. He''s on its five, six months. Don''t know why I had to hide him from you and mom, maybe I felt too ashamed.
¡ª Why did you felt shame? ¨C I asked, to which Jack''s ears twitched. And that look on its face, too...
¡ª I...I can''t explain. Yeah, how could I explain that I fell in love with my nursemaid? That is... it''s wrong somehow, even thought it isn''t. The age gap doesn''t bother me that much. It really shouldn''t be a reason for I to worry about. So, together of Ottis, we wanted to grow a peace of mind before any of us let mom know her son brought a grandchild to this world, not for her, but... forget it. Know how much of an exaggeration it would be to call Freyr by accident, understand?
¡ª As much as it would be for you to worry about these little things.
¡ª Yeah. After telling ya to chill, to hear these things out of me ¨C so Jack looked around, left to right. Then, he took a glimpse of my face ¨C I wonder when Freyr will open its eyes. Should had, by now.
¡ª It''s a thing he can only do by himself ¨C for someone who used to be a brat, Jack grew a lot ¨C good to know you''re raising your son well.
¡ª To be born in this filthy world is already a well-earned accomplishment, sis ¨C same Jack said, and now that I perceived he was bothered as much as I.
¡ª Why do you say that?
¡ª Well, sis... today, I saw something horrible. A few quarters, a man stood on the roof. He looked below, walked in and out, and more people getting in at the streets. I was there too, couldn''t get out, seeing that figure who wanted to jump, and I... oh, I don''t know. I just stood there, watching... It was as if I was liking it, sis.
¡ª Don''t say these things. The Jack I know would not ever enjoy violence in a sickening way.
¡ª Speaking of violence, tell me what they did with your hands ¨C now that he noticed.
¡ª Crescent! ¨C I trembled, soon as I heard my name out a third party. And I knew to whom that voice belonged ¨C what a surprise!...
¡ª You don''t need to shout, Hrist ¨C instead of me, it was Sir Fratley who said it so ¨C I am having a bad ear ache.
¡ª Oh, sorry ¨C said Hrist, who provided support for Sir Fratley''s limpering feet. In other words, Hrist was his cane, but dare to say it at her face ¨C it''s just that... oh, what the hell, weren''t you supposed to be punching the tree until now, Crescent?
¡ª Punch the tree? ¨C Jack asked, looking at Hrist, then back at me. My hands, specifically ¨C is that the treatment given to your delicate hands?
¡ª Delicate? Huh, those nails deserved to be cut ¨C said Hrist, to which Jack turned back to her.
¡ª And you would enjoy it so.
¡ª Would I? Look, this was Sir Fratley''s idea all along.
¡ª Really? From you, Fratley? ¨C Jack seemed less confused, and more pissed. I know where this is getting ¨C a guy who couldn''t even hurt a fly, no matter how much blood it drew out you.
¡ª Jack... ¨C I tried to hold his arm, pulling him back. In this situation, the arm is the least of the things that hurt.
¡ª Do I know you? ¨C asked Sir Fratley, who had no idea where he was.
¡ª As much as I know you, pal ¨C and I didn''t wanted to be here ¨C look, Frattie, I know you are a good person.
¡ª And a lawyer that can sue for defamation, don''t forget that ¨C Hrist said, with a devious smile.
¡ª May I continue, Hrist Chatterbox?
¡ª Chardonnay. Yes, you can. If you insist this to be a way for old friends reunite again...
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
¡ª Well, Sir Fratley... in no way I''m criticizing your work, but please, there are other ways a girl can grow a bit of muscle. What you did with sis, I''ll never forgive you if you do it again, not without saying ''I''m sorry'', or ''would you care for some tea?''
¡ª Jack... ¨C Sir Fratley said, but there was something off in his voice. He didn''t looked to my brother''s face, just the ground ¨C your heart is beating a lot... so full of live. Why waste heartbeats like this? Why be moved on by hatred?...
¡ª What? ¨C caught by surprise, Jack gasped ¨C what are you saying?
¡ª Get used to it ¨C to which Hrist explained, with that same smile on face ¨C Fratley can hear your intestines too, but a heart is enough to tell you''re not fine. Also, hanging out for free, Crescent?
¡ª Speak to your father. He confirmed my exit. Besides, Edea told me to rest.
¡ª Did she? ¨C Hrist stood pout, looking at me ¨C you''re lying.
¡ª She ain''t lying, Hrist. I can hear her heart. Yours, Jack''s, mine...
¡ª How convenient ¨C both Jack and Hrist reacted to what Sir Fratley said before. The two looked to each other, in a rare moment of synchronicity.
¡ª You took the words out my mouth...
¡ª Boy, I can take more than spit out of it.
¡ª Boy? I am older than you.
¡ª Don''t remind me. Come on, Fratley... we have a bigger fish, not this sardine to care about ¨C so Hrist and, with a pull on the shoulder of Sir Fratley, left the street. Now I have only my brother to care about.
¡ª You didn''t had to do it, Jack.
¡ª Oh, come on, sis. I was at your side.
¡ª That wasn''t your voice ¨C I feel a shaking travel my body, same itching I feel when I am about to run, or punch someone. But I do my best to resist.
¡ª I worked a lot, sis. As a matter of fact, my back is killing me.
¡ª That''s no excuse for being so rude with Sir Fratley ¨C I said, to which Jack had no reply. He must be feeling same itching ¨C also, have you saw his face? He seemed shocked.
¡ª Yeah... I perceived too. Vulnerable, out his mind, and I took it as advantage ¨C Jack replied, following a deep, and heavy breath ¨C but after seeing your hands, I had to say something. Now, I don''t hate Fratley; I really don''t want to. And if there''s a thing I hate... is to hate. Someone, or something. Like rocks between toes.
¡ª I appreciate that you care for me, Jack. But please, not so much.
¡ª Alright. Next time I see Frattie, I''ll tell him what I really have to ¨C I appreciate the optimism coming out my brother, shown in his face and words ¨C as for Hrist... well, she''s like that. You can''t trust someone whose hair covers the eyes.
¡ª And what about me?
¡ª You are my sister. We share of an unbreakable bond ¨C yes, we do ¨C hey, now that you''re out training, what about a dinner?
¡ª Dinner? ¨C my stomach claims for food, which I''ll humbly accept. Yet, something bothers me ¨C why not? But I won''t be able to hold anything after this basket, not even a fork. So...
¡ª Don''t worry. I''ll hold it for you, like I do with Freyr ¨C and then Jack closed his fist, waving it on all directions like a poisoned fly, coming to my face. Gosh, that voice and smug... ¨C now, just open your mouth and watch out for the dragoooon!
¡ª Shut up, Jack.
...
On another place...
¡ª What is this? ¨C I notice a scent other than mine. Kinda familiar ¨C lavender, isn''t it?
¡ª Only now that you took notice? ¨C said Hrist, from where that scent came from. Nice, unlike most her words.
¡ª A while ago. Just had to ask.
¡ª Is that your way of saying ''I''m feeling better''?
¡ª Maybe ¨C my head is still waving around. I think it would be worse had I been able to see anything but black.
¡ª Good. Now get out my shoulder ¨C I felt a pull of arms, but I can''t feel my legs. Then I fall, and I feel slimy mud between my hands. I think I shouted when I fell, so I thought when I holded Hrist''s hand, shivers on each of her fingertips ¨C oh... I''m sorry, Fratley.
¡ª It''s okay. I just have to believe ¨C my foot, the one who kicked the door, is bleeding. If there''s blood in my foot, then that means my legs are alive. They belong to me. I was born with them, lost so many people on the way... except for my... my... ¨C I need you, Hrist.
¡ª Geez ¨C Hrist let her breath come out. She ain''t tired, just fed up ¨C okay. But please, your smell...
¡ª Any complains? ¨C as far as I know, I''m not stinking.
¡ª No, no. It''s just that it... it''s all over my clothes, Fratley. You smell like an old man.
¡ª I am not that old, Hrist ¨C I said, soon as we began to walk.
¡ª Well, you can barely walk, you are blind, and stands near young girls ¨C there''s something enigmatic about Hrist''s smile. I wonder how many muscles does she uses to make it come out. This one, specifically. In this case, she''s the only one smiling
¡ª Does the third point sheds of any relevance?
¡ª It was a joke. I''ll improve next time. Now, mind if I ask where are we going, Sir Fratley? ¨C a few times Hrist calls me by Sir. I can''t tell if by irony, or respect. I only have a pair of ears, after all ¨C the Jugend is on the other side.
¡ª I know. And I have no need to be there. Zack must have received the corpse by now ¨C nobody wanted to see Johnny''s body. They just wanted to see the poor guy fall down, as a sort of sick joke. How repugnant is to feel something other than blood come out the dead. Blood ain''t supposed to be green, one of them said.
¡ª I wonder what''s worse for daddy: to be at morgue, or to sign papers with same stare ¨C said Hrist, worried. It ain''t usual to feel this out her, unless on my company ¨C at least, none of the papers are pages in blank, so he must feel entertained somehow. Like, a machine could do these and more without complain.
¡ª A machine? ¨C so I hear the noise of a rambling carcass, its roar unlike any other beast I''ve faced before. They had a heart, but this wooden craved with steel devil has a source of power in place. Hearing better, tolerating its presence on burmecian grounds if preferred, I can tell that it''s claws are collecting wheat, its tubes fertilizing barren fields. In my mind, it has the size of a house, on wheels. Hrist stood quiet, as we stood alongside the fence. So much noise... is there someone guiding it, or does it have free will? I want to hide, but the grass that used to hide the green of my clothes is gone. This darkness ain''t comfortable.
¡ª Not everyone has one of these ¨C Hrist said, speaking about the burmecians. People outside borrow a lot of these machines, I''m sure that I heard these noises during my travels. It moves slower than a train, yet it spits that same breath taking smoke.
¡ª I wouldn''t like to. I prefer when I have something to be done with my own hands.
¡ª But wasn''t that thing made by hand too?
¡ª These machines do what our hands do in less time, but they also turn any use of a hand very unuseful by comparasion ¨C I made my statement, to which Hrist nodded. However, she doesn''t agree with me fully. If that was the case, that wouldn''t be the Hrist I know.
¡ª You use your feet in a loom, as much as you hold a needle to sew.
¡ª That''s not what I meant, Hrist. What bothers me is that all craft is gone in change of a standardized method.
¡ª Honestly, you weren''t supposed to see any human value in cold steel. Well, that''s what we earned from Lindblum in exchange of nothing.
¡ª Lindblum... I once went there. Beautiful place, the last I ever saw with these eyes.
¡ª And why you came back? ¨C ''why would I come back to this awful place?'' that''s what she meant. For many reasons, Hrist. Same old story. One of them... right here. I may not be able to see, but that doesn''t mean that I can feel. Lavender... not only it belongs to Hrist, but someone whom I shared my life with. Before the gates of a city of stone, I stand. A wind invites me to a place without life, weren''t for the grass and the people that come in and out. Or my heightened senses. A lot of unknown faces, for a place where so many are well known.
¡ª ...pant...pant... Pant. Whoa, Fratley. You''ve walked this far on your own, without falling. To this place... ¨C I heard Hrist on my back, sweating and losing breath. Other than walking all the way to the graveyard, I found strange that I heard no more of her voice. Her voice, scent... ¨C without paying, too.
¡ª Lavender... ¨C I feel this scent. With the tip of fingers, I have the touch to tell where her name is written. Here... lies... Sophia Highwind ¨C they were mom''s favorites. One of the few things I can remember about her is the scent of these flowers. Everywhere, Hrist ¨C I kneeled before the grave. The petals of lavender were drying up, despite the lot of rain falling. Something fell out my eye. Do blind people cry? Of course they do. Like children.
¡ª I only feel the scent of rain ¨C Hrist''s senses are limited, compared to mine. For better or for worse. I kinda miss the scent of rain pouring on dust, without the things in between. I never liked soup, just a yellow boiling liquid with carrots floating. Had I this tongue, what would I think about mom''s food?
¡ª ...''Sure. Travel the world, but be back at dinner'', so mom said. I mean, father and I never went back. If it wasn''t for me, only father ¨C I murmured, very loud ¨C he left home, and I made company. All the times he left Burmecia, I was there at his side. Doyle too, and how that beck hurted... anyway, despite the knowledge and amusement I acquired, I couldn''t see, or refused to, that things weren''t any wonderful at home. Rarely mom and pops fought each other, and with time, a silly reason was enough for them to discuss. Despite that, they were good people, never layed a hand on another. Know when you take a walk alone to bring relief? Well, father choose the world. One day, he left home for real. Didn''t wanted my company, but I insisted. Funny how none of my friends noticed I was gone, except for mom.
¡ª She was more than I friend, I see ¨C then I felt Hrist''s hand laying upon my left shoulder.
¡ª She died alone. And I wasn''t there. Everyone, except for me ¨C I hear the vermins crawling beneath me. It''s all I hear. There are things I shouldn''t hear, like the crowd of each morning devouring my spirit, or the vermins taking away what remained of mom.
¡ª And what would you do if you were? ¨C everything, except what is inside of me.
¡ª It would be useless to save her. But to say some words, in other hand... say something to make her feel better ¨C leaning on mom''s grave, slowly I try to stand up on my own. Joints crippling, fingers twitching, I hear something inside of me, louder than any yell, quiet like a whisper. Hrist is behind me, stood at my side until now.
¡ª I would like to know your mother. I didn''t even had one.
¡ª And what about Lenneth?
¡ª Right there ¨C Hrist said, as she pointed to a grave to which we walked at ¨C well, Lenneth took care of me like she did with her own offspring. While father fought at the streets, I was in her arms, this when a spear wasn''t being held by same, and that''s it. I wouldn''t ask for a better life, never fought for Lennie''s attention. Maybe a bit, but that''s beside the point. How I liked her... without Lenneth, or daddy, what would I be, other than an orphan?
¡ª Who knows.
¡ª Yeah, who knows. Hey, now I see that a lot of us Knights are orphans. So why not, instead of Dragoon, call us Orphan Knights?
¡ª Guess we are all orphans in a way. Of the sun, the moon, the stars... father used to say it when we crossed the hills ¨C I said, as Hrist and I left that awful place, full of good people ¨C I made company for him, said what I had to. This until I lost him, my sight and my childhood. In his place, another man raised me. Vincent Irontail... Oh, forgive me for being too sentimental. I don''t feel right today, after what happened.
¡ª With the whole world in your ears, who wouldn''t feel like this?
¡ª I feel a lot better when I am able to only hear a voice, Hrist ¨C and to hold an only hand, too.
LV: Superheroes Of BMX
Our tendency is to become corpses. It''s the task of living to make the dead any presentable.
This kind of thought travels my mind each time I fail with someone. For a world I can feel as the ink belonging to a portrait, I can''t touch a face. Just hear and count how many muscles are being used for a smile, a frown, a shout, a whisper... Glumness apart, only a man to give a name for things. A man who lives, who haven''t grown older and colder like a stone. Right, Hrist?... Hrist? Oh, she''s gone. I had been walking home alone, didn''t even perceived. She talks a lot, but today stood quiet most the time. Only her scent remained, despite the rain. Heavy or soft, it leaves not only a peculiar scent, but as well a need of drinking water. I need more than water to bring relief to my soul. More than a hug to break bones. I have no doubt April shares of her own strenght, but don''t forget she''s kind too. Too much kind, the one you don''t see around, or even feel.
¡ª OUCH! ¨C all of sudden, I hear a kid shouting. I know who it is, and that worries me a lot than it should.
¡ª Raymie? ¨C I asked, looking to the direction of the shout. Frogs coach and dragonflies buzz on a marsh covered by tall grass.
¡ª Hi, Frattie ¨C said Raymie, standing on the marsh. There''s no risk of drowning, or for being eaten by a pike, which makes me wonder why ¨C Ooh, ooh, Ouch! Hnng!... ¨C his legs shaked violently, rippling the muddy water''s surface.
¡ª What are you doing here, Raymie? ¨C something in the kid''s hands writhe like a worm being hit by sunlight. Raymie carried a pot on his left hand, full of water, and full of these things ¨C please don''t tell me that you are-
¡ª Collecting leeches? ¨C he said just in time ¨C I''ll make quite a bunch, I tell ya!
¡ª Where are your brothers?
¡ª Argh!... Danny and Ingus are hunting Basilisks. Mom took Phoebe and Archie to the market fair.
¡ª Nobody home?
¡ª Uh huh.
¡ª And you''re hunting leeches.
¡ª Well, in this case... Ai, ai!... they hunt me ¨C Raymie put his hand on the water, to which he took another leech, and raised it to the skies ¨C but I am the hunter, at all!
¡ª Who''s watching you?
¡ª Danny was.
¡ª And where is he?
¡ª Hunting basilisks with Ingus.
¡ª I''ll speak with Danny.
¡ª He doesn''t care.
¡ª Why not? He''s your brother.
¡ª There, Frattie. You said it ¨C now I perceive that Raymie isn''t doing it all for fun. After all, you need blood to move your legs ¨C just kept watching, got bored. Danny don''t let me aim at their heads, neither Ingus. Here I am, tomorrow I''ll be rich! Gonna sell these, urgh... leeches. Lots and lots of ''em!...
¡ª At what cost, Raymie? ¨C I can''t tell the kid that leech collectors aren''t well paid, even if it''s the right thing.
¡ª AAAH! ¨C but when he shouts like that, I don''t feel like standing and watching ¨C you see... I am doing something... important...
¡ª Enough, Raymie ¨C so I approach, walking above the water''s surface, and I take Raymie with me. I haven''t holded him like this since he was that little. Pretty heavy, but that''s the least of my worries. His legs are full of those red ''y'' marks.
¡ª Uh... Frattie... ¨C a sleepy voice comes out Raymie''s mouth, which once shedded of a huge smile. That hand holded tight the pot.
¡ª Let''s go home ¨C he lost too much blood, and if I don''t do something, maybe his life ¨C there, I''ll prepare an antidote.
¡ª No... I hate needles.
¡ª Just don''t look.
¡ª Easy for you. I already looked ¨C out the many scary things in my room, Raymie is afraid of needles. I too, since I feel them by the tips.
¡ª It won''t hurt ¨C that''s what I choose to say. It might not be enough. It''s what every father say to his son before they come to be injured.
¡ª You''re lying. Again ¨C maybe I am. In place, I could have said ''it ain''t the needle that hurts. It''s the antidote''s temperature which''s different from the body'', but then would Raymie understand my point? He sure understands a lot, except the way I feel things with my nose, my ears...
¡ª Raymie... If I was lying, then I would be the one who''s hurt.
¡ª Well, aren''t you?
¡ª A bit ¨C this boy ain''t me, though I see a bit of myself in his ¨C today was quite a day.
¡ª A hard day? ¨C I don''t have the guts to tell Raymie what happened. Johnny, his wife, the body... It would be too much. Instead, I nod.
¡ª Yes. A hard day. Know what there''ll be for dinner, Raymie?
¡ª Will I have a dinner? ¨C out of many answers, he had to say it, while his eyes are dilating...
¡ª You will. I swear, by heart ¨C I shed a tear in Raymie''s place, which fell upon his shoulder.
¡ª I did something bad, didn''t I? ¨C I''ve been thinking about it in the way. Been trying to find an answer ¨C I am too young, I know.
¡ª No, Raymie. That''s not it. Look... you knew the risks. By each bite. Please, don''t do this ever again, for the love of your mother ¨C following what I said, nothing was heard for a while. Only the rain, as always, and breathes. That heart... how it jumped. I even missed it''s pattern, I''m not even bothered to. Raymie is looking at me, his whole body shaking. He thought I was going to shout to his. That''s not how I am, he knows very well. A man who cries doesn''t have time, or reason to leave shouts. He''s already being heard. I am dissapointed, yes, but not angry. In fact, I am trembling together of this kid.
¡ª Hey, Frattie...
¡ª What is up, buddy? ¨C something else bothered Raymie, other than his legs.
¡ª Your cane ¨C he said. The cane... I forgot it at the Jugend. Not the first time. I might have asked Hrist to give it back to me, but nothing else matters at the moment.
¡ª I can make my way to the Jugend with Agartha. That spear is quite useful for it.
¡ª No. That''s not it ¨C Raymie, Raymie... what is bothering you? You should only worry about your life. Well, guess he does not only care about his own ¨C Frattie... without the cane, you''re gonna tumble.
¡ª Don''t worry. Because of you, I won''t trip.
...
At home. Finally.
It''ll be a quick stay, but I''ll come back. It''s where I sleep with a ceiling upon mine, and without someone else, who to clean it? Not that I am fond of cleaning. Sure, I can do a lot of things, remember many faces, but when it comes to cleaning... it depends. I could hire someone to do it on my place, pay that person well, but that would only be it. Just paying someone to do the job, while I, well, I do my Dragoon''s duty. Uh huh, as if you learned anything new by punching a tree. I can feel pain in other ways, too. I can ignore it as much as I want. And I... I... there''s only me, isn''t it? Don''t think this way, with Jack at your side. He was kind enough to offer a dinner for you. A hand as well, but if he dares to feed me like a baby, I swear I''ll grab that spoon and... please, Freya. Where are your manners? Your sense of humour?
She''s at those days... how I hate this sentence. Whoever came up with it didn''t knew anything about women. It''s just a poor excuse for delimitating anger or any kind of strong emotion as being brought out of our pain felt in chest. As if it''s the only way I am allowed to feel this way. Well, what would you feel after hitting a tree for so long, only for it to break your hands more than they did with the trunk? Not that I blame Fratley, or Edea, or the cherry tree. It''s just that... a lot happened, that''s it. I can''t focuse on a thing or another, something feels off. Still I can''t feel my hands, but somehow I am changing clothes. Stubborn like that... that''s what Edea said, and she may be right. I won''t leave the Jugend, the Dragoon, everything mom did because of my hands. I have yet to lose more than it.
I think I already lost too much.
¡ª Are you ready, sis? ¨C said Jack, at the other side of the door.
¡ª Not yet ¨C I said, wearing the lime dress in front of the mirror. I have tons of these in my wardrobe, and an only space reserved for the red one.
¡ª Can I help you out? I mean, your hands-
¡ª Thanks, but I can do it by myself, Jack ¨C like I always did.
¡ª Okay. So you know, Ottis will prepare the dinner.
¡ª Does that make any difference?
¡ª I think it does ¨C good to know, though I haven''t eaten anything made by Jack yet ¨C so, how was your training?
¡ª You saw my hands. That''s how it went by ¨C I dare to take a look at my hands, but like before, I just ignore it.
¡ª Didn''t they taught you any healing spells for consideration? ¨C good question.
¡ª I think Sir Fratley would, had he not left to attend the ¨C that means he would wait me to bleed enough until he taught a way to heal wounds. I don''t know if this makes me feel any comfortable. Just a thought, I don''t need to feel any worse or better.
¡ª And why did he left? I mean, there aren''t tons of Dragoons around, but that doesn''t mean Fratley is the only one.
¡ª Captain Edea came in, and said something about him being good at words ¨C to which I can agree.
¡ª Good at words? When I knew Fratley, he could barely tell a thing that made sense. Like you, sis.
¡ª It''s hard to speak with a tail in your mouth.
¡ª Hard for me to not have shouted everytime you did it so ¨C said Jack, in a giggling tone.
¡ª I didn''t bite your for affection, so you know.
¡ª Well, I had been asking for it. Also, did you said a thing about Edea?
¡ª Do you know her? ¨C I asked, while combing my hair with the claws. Careful to not scratch your head...
¡ª Why, she holded you. I mean, you were this little. Ugly like a caecilian, but with time, you became adorable as it is ¨C thanks? I have no reply for it ¨C Edea was one of mom''s friends. Barely made a visit, but when she could, she did.
¡ª I can''t remember her ¨C an orange ribbon for the hair is in my hand. I don''t think I''ll need it. As for the one in my tail, it shares a lot that I can''t let go ¨C but, something in her face...
¡ª Oh, that face? She had an awkward smile, so I remember.
¡ª Smile?
¡ª Yes. Serious people always seem to be frowning, don''t you think?
¡ª I think ¨C then I looked at myself in the mirror, sitting on the bed. I do not frown everytime, and if I did, I wouldn''t be making a serious impression. I would be wasting my time ¨C don''t know why, Jack, but Edea... when I saw her at first, she reminded me of dad.
¡ª Dad?
¡ª Yeah. That look, and nothing else. The look of someone who saw the worst ¨C I said, to which Jack opened the door and sat at my side.
¡ª The eyes are the door of entrance of the soul, like they say.
¡ª Don''t you mean the windows?
¡ª Windows, doors... you close, as much as you let them open. I know a lot of people who share of same look you mentioned, sis. And only a few like dad to have someone amazing like mom and you at his side ¨C I feel better when hearing these words. Moreso coming out of Jack.
¡ª And what about you?
¡ª Me? I was a troublemaker. Nothing good came out of me. I killed birds, but then I decided to stop. Killing Basilisks did more of a favor for everyone. Basilisks petrify children not for fun, but because they can. Now, I killed them for fun, and because I could. Like, there''s evil, and the necessary evil. Understand?
¡ª I think I do ¨C it''s like the old telling ''children can be so mean'', but what kind of mean do they seek?
¡ª So, are you ready?
¡ª I am. Better be good.
¡ª Haha. Of course it will, sis ¨C he says it with such formality ¨C I''ll lend my hand for ya.
¡ª It won''t be needed, Jack. My hands... ¨C so I showed my hands to Jack, after standing on my own. I knew there was something strange about those green lines Edea made. But this ¨C they healed somehow.
¡ª Well, forget about feeding you with a spoon (again).
¡ª What did you said? ¨C I heard a whisper coming out of Jack''s mouth, saw it moving. He smiled for a brief moment. I''m not smiling.
¡ª Uh, nothing, sis. Why don''t we have dinner? ¨C it ain''t everyday that something is offered for free, Freya. Many wish they had a brother like yours.
¡ª Fine ¨C I said, before a quick smirk, blink and you may have lost it.
?Mogwai - Superheroes Of BMX?
...
July 19th, 1778
...
Still winter?
By the window, nothing comes in, other than the acrid smell of each morning. Rain and a bug splash on a window. It must be amusing to hear them hitting the glass for someone who has nothing to do, which ain''t my case. To be fair, I would break this window with a stone to have fun with myself, if not I was tasked to arrest those who break the law. The law is like a window; fragile, easy to be broken, but we need it. It''s cold outside, I can feel chills in my spine, my body trembling, despite being covered in layers and layers of blankets. My day hasn''t begun, and my teeth are gritting. I refuse to leave bed, even knowing I should. The clock at the counter keeps making that ''tick'' noise, but it ain''t as bad as knowing which hours are by listening to the church''s bells. By bad, I mean when you get caught by surprise.
Either the bells of new life, or the bells of a life gone. What counts is the spirit, isn''t it? I share of none at the moment. I mean, life has a blind sense in all things, or else, how come flowers flourish at the coldest of winters? They just do. They do not have a need to know, they just... grow. And you, on other hand, lets gravity pull your body upon this bed as the apple who falls out a tree. Not all apples that fall on earth are rotten, not all angels turn to devils. Sure, I can get out the bed without April''s aid, but sometimes I let her and that flowery scent in. And so all my questions about laws are gone by her touch. Gone for a moment, soon as I recover my moral sense, intact as Raymie''s legs. This if he doesn''t stop running at stairs.
¡ª My, my... Yesterday Raymie could barely walk, now he''s here running.
¡ª Good for him ¨C running with a smile, shedding of same flexibity as his mother''s frown ¨C what''s the matter? You have here someone who knows how to use medicinal herbs and the Dragoon very well when it comes to heal.
¡ª That''s not it, Fratley ¨C said April, as I wore my clothes. Given her tone, and that she didn''t slept last night ¨C I mean, when I heard what happened to my son, I was worried to death. I knew something would happen as I stood out. Always happen. It''s like as if I''m asking for it.
¡ª Don''t blame yourself, April. You can''t be at two places at same time.
¡ª I know. I even told Ingus to watch his brother. Where was he to watch Raymie?
¡ª Kids are all independent, in a way.
¡ª That doesn''t mean they are free for doing whatever they want, even more something that brings harm. Simply knowing about danger doesn''t mean it can be overcome at any time, at will, and now, seeing Raymie act reckless as this, after all... don''t you ever felt a need to teach a lesson that stays? ¨C I think it''s still April to who I am talking, sitting at my side. She ain''t of the kind that pinches ears, and I know very well when we can resist or not the temptation.
¡ª To harm a kid will earn its attention, but not its respect. Now, if you want them to be taught respect... they just learn how to.
¡ª In most cases, you mean.
¡ª All of them, April. See, the law is here to force people to act in the right way, and ethic makes them act right without anyone looking. Also, I see nothing wrong with Raymie running around. It''s a thing I would like to do by myself.
¡ª Include the stairs, and you see what''s wrong ¨C I understand April''s complains. Most the time I''m out home, taking care of bigger issues. Though, I can''t let this one pass ¨C well, anyone would give a slap in my place.
¡ª I wouldn''t.
¡ª Then what do you suggest? Sit and talk doesn''t seem to do that much.
¡ª It''s the better option. It''s what we are doing ¨C I said, between screams coming from the kitchen. In my case, an uproar followed of stomaches singing along the hunger dissionance. I focuse somewhere else, like into a blood-sucker mosquito''s wings. I wonder what are the karmic implications of killing it with a slap. Well, that''s not his blood, but mine. Then I heard a slight ''coo'' coming out little Phoebe, crawling to my room. In this case, to her mother''s arms ¨C know, April... in order to see things like I do, first I learned how to speak.
¡ª If we could talk to babies...
¡ª We can taught them to ¨C how are you doing, Phoebe? I look at her, and I wonder if she thinks I am playing hide and seek forever, even with the eyes open.
¡ª If there''s a thing I haven''t been taught is to be able to fled the crib. This one wakes up whenever she wants, isn''t it?
¡ª Wait until she brings her boyfriend home.
¡ª Someone with good taste, I expect.
¡ª I may be able to hear Phoebe more than you can, but understand what she wants ain''t same as what she needs.
¡ª Isn''t it a bit invasive? To hear someone from inside all time ¨C April offers me that look of doubt. It ain''t same as Phoebe, who is curious with the world around ¨C don''t you ever, uh...
¡ª Feel ashamed? I do. Don''t worry, April. I hear the body, not the mind ¨C I try to stand up, sticking my arm to reach the hat. I think it''s on my left, hanging on the hatstand. There it is ¨C though, I agree it can be invasive, so here''s my humbly apologies.
¡ª Oh, you don''t need to. I am fine. Am I?
\/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/\_
¡ª Your heart says it all, April ¨C it follows a pattern, but suddenly it jumps. Well, already expected of someone dissecated by my ears. Dissecated... what an innapropriate, though at same time, very appropriate to describe what I do with everything, and everyone.
...
Second day at the Jugend.
¡ª Good morning ¨C and Hrist awaits for me at the entrance. I mean, who else would she await for? Looking like that, bored, ready for a fight.
¡ª Good morning ¨C soon as I come near her, I raise a fist, only to shake her hand. It''s cold, like her sight.
¡ª Your hand looks fine ¨C she said, pressing it fiercifully.
¡ª Is that all the strenght you shed of?
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¡ª If you want more, lemme know ¨C I don''t want. Letting go off that fist easily won''t happen again.
¡ª What I do really want to know is how my hand got healed, Hrist ¨C I said, as we walked together inside the gates of Jugend.
¡ª How would I know? You tell me ¨C I showed my palms to Hrist, clean of any marks.
¡ª I have no idea how it happened. All I know is that my hands were really bad injured, and Edea came in and sewed them. After a while, they came like this.
¡ª So Edea only healed your hands after you almost lost them ¨C shedding of hair and cynicism, that''s Hrist. Lavender, too.
¡ª I don''t think she would-
¡ª But she did. I said our tutors were mean before, Crescent. Heard me? ¨C I heard, loud and clear.
¡ª For someone you call mean, you get alongside Sir Fratley very well.
¡ª A person can have more than a side. But don''t get fooled ¨C thinking about the reason Hrist has so many hair, I wonder what lies inside. I said her sight is cold, but I haven''t looked at it.
¡ª I know ¨C she doesn''t understand why I am smiling. Do not bother to ask if I am having a good mood. I think she wants to see the worst of me, but that''s not right. What Hrist thinks of being her worst, too ¨C despite this attitude, you are cute inside.
¡ª Huh, inside? Am I missing something, because I live in reality.
¡ª What is reality for someone who jumps buildings taller than trees?
¡ª I can do more than jump, Crescent.
¡ª Don''t tell me you can walk in thin air ¨C just a guess. And I can already hear an ''yes'' coming out.
¡ª Not really, but I can.
¡ª Oh, Surface Tension, I see ¨C even Hrist thinks it would be silly to walk in air, literaly without an explanation ¨C I already saw you doing it.
¡ª Wanna see even more, Crescent? ¨C as if I had an option to choose between yes or no ¨C look at this.
¡ª A bubble? ¨C that''s a bubble Hrist blew out her breath, and hands shaped like a circle ¨C better in hands than in your nose.
¡ª Shut up. Your voice is disturbing the bubble ¨C only the bubble? Which we saw floating away, not even falling in the ground, or bursted by a thick raindrop.
¡ª Is that so? You can blow bubbles in the rain?
¡ª What you were expecting? That I blew it in your eyes?
¡ª Certainly you would, if you were a mean kid ¨C I said, staring at Hrist.
¡ª You look at me as if I was one.
¡ª I can''t forget.
¡ª Neither I ¨C Hrist can''t look directly at my eyes for so long. The path below us seems to never end ¨C like, I began the ragged cloth fashion.
¡ª Fashion? This craze of yours?
¡ª Craze?
¡ª You had this craze to dismantle things, Hrist. If left alone, the whole house would be in shambles by your hands.
¡ª I only use my hands to rip my coat, if that makes you feel any better.
¡ª Still doing all this mess and calling it by art. Jump on bed, paint the wall, clean your muddy fingers with mom''s dress while she was wearing it...
¡ª Like you haven''t done all of it, too ¨C I knew how to clean myself with moss, on other hand ¨C and you forgot the ''step on your foot'' part.
¡ª That wasn''t a craze. You did that on purpose. To hurt.
¡ª It was my way of showing affection.
¡ª Uh huh.
¡ª In other words, you are asking what was the point of showing my ability, right? ¨C exactly, as you could tell by looking at my face ¨C well, that bubble is far impressive than it looks like. They do not burst, only when I want them to ¨C and with a snap of fingers, the bubble made by Hrist bursted in thin air, its remains falling upon grass.
¡ª I heard something about mind over body, but this?
¡ª Not impressive? If you allowed me to concentrate, I would make a bubble so big it would make you float above the whole Burmecia.
¡ª Have you done it before?
¡ª Yes. But I ran out of air. I do not reccomend doing it. Also, my eyes itched badly.
¡ª From purple to red... ¨C I left a smirk out. Don''t know why.
¡ª Don''t make fun of me, Crescent.
¡ª Oh, sorry ¨C now I feel bad. It happens, unpleasant as it is to bite the tongue.
¡ª I''ll accept it. After all, you''re so naive, which has its advantages.
¡ª I wonder what are the advantages of making bubbles ¨C other than bursting them at someone''s eyes, I had no idea. But that was the least of my concerns ¨C and, might if I ask how come you make them appear like this? I mean, from where the soap comes from? ¨C I''ve been wondering about it by myself. Like, all bubbles I saw needed soap to be made ¨C please don''t tell me it was inside your skin.
¡ª Nah. You''re miles away from the truth ¨C so Hrist began to explain about how she makes soap bubbles appear ¨C in fact, it''s soap that came out my body. Like, a pretty thing like me never sweats. Blergh!... Ok, a time and another, but not always. I''m not stinky, that medal should belong to... to...
¡ª Me?
¡ª No. As far as I can tell, you have a nice scent ¨C I wonder if she only came with this answer right now. And why, since I wasn''t expecting another one of those comparasions ¨C now, don''t expect hearing this out of Fratley.
¡ª And don''t except he''s all yours.
¡ª Huh? So you know, Fratley and I, we are friends. Nothing else. You can be his friend, too. To have someone at your side is way better than being left alone, bleeding at the toes. Don''t you agree?
¡ª I do. Now, tell me what''s the deal with the soap ¨C I never expected to hear this coming out of me. This is one of those things I likely would say about soap.
¡ª Oh, that? We can do a lot of things with the Dragoon. So I create soap out of it.
¡ª What!? Care to elaborate?
¡ª I''m trying, Crescent. You see, it''s too complex for me to explain every nook and cranny of Dragoon by a single word, or even define what it is. Fratley said it''s an index of possibilities, or something like, while talking about the Dragoon. What was once impossible becomes possible; an idea awaiting for execution becomes an object to be used, so father told me. That might explain why your hands were healed after Edea sewed them with her lines, and as well why I can materialize the spiritual energy throught my body, and release it as materia, and-
¡ª Spiritual SOAP!? Ah... Hah.. Hahahahahah... ¨C like a bubble, I bursted. Into laughs, that might have echoed throught the whole Jugend. I... I... hahaha!... I just can''t ¨C hahah... couh, cough... wait, wait... you, you can''t be serious ¨C it only makes things funnier when she does.
¡ª And you''re the only one having fun with it ¨C said Hrist, while some other eyes watched us. The indiferrence in their looks reminds me of the one belonging to statues.
¡ª Heh... A whole lot of infinity possibilities, and you choose to make soap. But that''s fine, Hrist. Like, whose child doesn''t have fun playing with bubbles?
¡ª You can laugh without teeth as one ¨C then, something in Hrist''s face changed. Same for her tone, and posture ¨C though, I can''t guarantee any beauty coming out of this vision, other than mine.
¡ª Oh, please... ¨C I said, without noticing something in that hair ¨C stop throwing tantrums at me like spiders. Not all of them bite.
¡ª But I do ¨C the hair, like I said... it''s the wind, I could tell, but there''s no wind. Hrist''s hair moved on its own, up her shoulders, as my legs refused to move. My whole body, paralyzed all of sudden ¨C hey, why aren''t you laughing? Well, guess I haven''t told you that I can grow my hair as an extra limb. Wrap it around my hand in shape of a drill too!
For a moment, I looked to that thing, wrapping around her hand. Yes, a thing. That approached. Before it reached my chest, I took a backwards somersault. Despite the weight, I just had to. Or else, that hole... the ground exploded beneath me, some tiny pieces of stone reached to my face as dust. A few people stopped doing what they were doing, no, I think time as its entirety stopped at that moment. You know, Freya, the moment when your heart freezes from inside.
¡ª W-what?... ¨C I couldn''t rationalize well, until I stood on my feet. Even with that power, I refused to kneel ¨C the... THE HELL WAS THAT!?
¡ª To hear this coming out of you is quite surprising. Did you liked it?
¡ª Was I supposed to? ¨C I asked, but that wasn''t my only question. It''s hard to speak, with the heart on the throat.
¡ª Maybe. See, I can control my hair, choose any shape, but most the time I prefer to let it be as it is.
¡ª Why... why haven''t you told me about that?
¡ª Everyone needs a secret technique, Crescent. And now that this is no more of a secret for you, perhaps... how can I explain? You know, there''s a plant called Mimosa, known as well by or Touch-Me-Not. It''s leaves retract when near water, heat, wind or by a hand''s touch... but my Mimosa doesn''t play safe. You should. Be glad that I left a hole in the ground.
¡ª You wouldn''t leave it on my clothes, would you? ¨C why do I ask? Looking at that face, you already have a crystal clear answer.
¡ª I can tear more than your cloth ¨C in this way.
¡ª Haven''t you said it before?
¡ª I may say it again, on training ¨C funny. I''m accepting it all, like it''s a thing that I see everyday, and it''s only the first time. Everyone once here watched, and then they just walk as if nothing else happened. Well, not everyone.
¡ª Your powers aren''t meant to be used for fun, child ¨C said Captain Edea, who stood in front of the door leading to the inside of the Jugend.
¡ª It was a test.
¡ª A ''test'' that could have hurted a student.
¡ª I knew Freya would deviate in time ¨C uh huh...
¡ª Well, speak that to the Headmaster.
¡ª He''ll understand ¨C so Hrist followed Edea, as I stood here, without knowing where to go. Hearing those voices and steps echoing throught the corridor, I had no choice other than follow them.
¡ª Only because you are his daughter does not mean you have any privileges.
¡ª I know. Like, you knew I would dodge your spear, same for this neck.
¡ª Don''t play dumb with me, girl. You are old enough to know that, at the moment you agreed to become a Dragoon, anything can happen. No matter the pain felt, that''s not the result to be attained. Also, what happens on training should stay on training.
¡ª For sure. You can break all my body while teaching the Dragoon, as well as fix it with same. Checkmate.
¡ª You say it as if I''m nullified of any complains.
¡ª I meant to say compassion, Captain.
¡ª I have feelings, child. And what I feel for you... it''s hard to explain.
¡ª It ain''t love, right? ¨C I have no descriptions to tell, because I already saw and heard same conversation. Yep, that''s how Hrist talks to everyone, not a big surprise ¨C you could smile, at least.
¡ª I have no reason to ¨C Edea said, with a serious posture and demeanor, which ain''t the case of Hrist.
¡ª Is it me?
¡ª It ain''t you, and none of your concern. Now, if you want to see a frown, I might try my best.
¡ª Try later. Sit and talk is the best way of solving problems, don''t you think?
¡ª If it was, you wouldn''t be a nuisance.
¡ª Me, a nuisance? I can be nice, too.
¡ª So be nice at repairing the floor outside, okay?
¡ª Geez, a punishment already... Can I have company?
¡ª My eyes will be watching you.
¡ª A ball and chain would be better at keeping me in place.
¡ª You can discuss with Ezekiel about that. As for you, Crescent ¨C for a while, I''ve been walking and hearing the conversation of both. This until Edea turned to me ¨C sorry for the inconvenience. Please await for Sir Fratley''s arrival. He''ll soon be there to train you, understood?
¡ª Alright ¨C I said. Be prepared for more tree punching, Freya.
¡ª We know Fratley can walk around without a cane, Captain. It''s just that he hates morning noises ¨C and I wonder how he is able to tolerate you, Hrist. Well, she said noises, as if coming out a lot of people, and thought Hrist may be kinda annoying, she''s one of her kind.
...
Nasty boy.
Cough. Nasssty. Like everyone. Everyone is flawed, cough! Flaws. I can''t tell if that''s the fisherman''s hand, or the fish''s scales taking all over his body, recomposing his structure. If that''s how everything began, when a man and a rat fell on same puddle, similating each one''s qualities. Cough! Each one''s disease. Each one''s job. Only men work to men. Rats bite men. Spread the disease, just like men. Ever since kid, like that nasty boy. Such a thing has a name, like everything, other than nasty. Puck, that''s it. Very known around for its pranks, mischievous behavior. Just a bored kid. Disgusting, too. There aren''t many kids around, for a whole lot of earth to be made a hole. Out the holes at ceiling, comes the cockroaches, rows of ants, and smoke. Deadly smoke. From the houses, and the mouths. Try not to breathe, or else the smoke gets in you, messes with your brain, lungs,the skin, cough, cough cough COUGH!
Newssheets. The kind you twist, and bleeds. Too many sheets, for many people who can''t read. Window by window, I hear gossips. I avoid windows, in order to avoid gossips, drops of spit and feces. The smoke, the smoke is within. Can''t let it get out, already in. Small amounts of poison, long lasting poison in my veins.
¡ª ...I thought you would cut out the cigarettes this time, she said ¨C rotten pipes, delivering smoke, releasing it to everyone''s face. Pale faces, drained of blood ¨C it''s the only way I can relax. With the kids, and all, there isn''t a single moment I-
¡ª Cough! ¨C disease doesn''t know its disease. It just does what is of its nature. To infect people... it''s taking me already.
¡ª Peace, brother. What do ya want?
¡ª The dirty needles... coffin nails...
¡ª What did you said?
¡ª Cough! You heard me, disease. You took the whole of this man, now I''ll take him back out of you! ¨C with this scalpel, I can do the fix.
¡ª No. Please, no! I have family! ¨C throught this man, disease tried to shed of a scream. It lays on the ground, lots of cuts, and why does it has to resist?
¡ª Don''t worry. I only take away the bad parts. The rotten pipes ¨C then... a last breathe of life. The final cut. Was that life? No. Cough, cough! An imitation of life.
We all live in pieces... I just want to live in peace.
...
Do I have to work today?
Yaaawn... a shiver travels throught my whole body, and all I did was open the front door, to receive the early morning winds. With Agartha in hands, and father''s hat in head, I can pass throught it without falling. Do teachers sleep at school? One of the kids asked, before I left. I think it was Raymie. Most the time, we do. It seems easier to stand on high wire than cross throught the slippery stones of each Burmecia''s street. I''ll do my best, April said before I left. That''s what Albert would want, she completed. I remember the first day I came to that house. Said that I would only stay a week, then depart. Guess I was wrong, or at my rightest to not leave them behind. A member of the family; didn''t expected to be one, but that''s how they see me. Though I can''t see it like I used to, I still feel the rain crossing my skin like it did on a Thursday afternoon. The wind to pull the swing, together of the dried leaves of autumn.
A relentless, caring high wind.
¡ª Are you falling asleep? ¨C a Royal Guard asked. We met each other at the avenue ¨C come on, it''s a joke ¨C Dan, of course.
¡ª I''m sure that I do not suffer of narcolepsy ¨C and to fall asleep in this noisy street, on other hand...
¡ª Then what is bothering you? ¨C Dan''s heartbeat seem irregular. The cold morning isn''t the only to blame.
/\/\/\_/\_/\/\/\_/\_/\/\_
¡ª I ask same, Gappys ¨C I thought it would be funny to call Dan by that way. Like, I still do remember.
¡ª Man, when was the last time I heard it ¨C funny, you said... he doesn''t seem amused at all ¨C oh, yesterday. It was Jack''s. He has a keen eye for everything.
¡ª Uh, sorry if I reminded you of-
¡ª The gap? No, that''s fine. I learned how to control my impulses, and there isn''t a single mud pit around, so... it''s fine ¨C said Dan, shedding of a brief smile ¨C besides, you''re my friend.
¡ª So if I pulled your tail right now...
¡ª Then I would have no mercy. Nobody touches my tail ¨C gulp.
¡ª Just saying ¨C so Dan took off his claw from near the leather sheath. He may be my friend, but a soldier on duty as well.
¡ª I think that answers what does bother me. Like, I do need to be bothered. Everyday spent here, wearing these blue clothes, it ain''t hard to spot a red smudge. And to come home alive, not sure if same will happen tomorrow...
¡ª If you stay on the line, you have nothing to worry about.
¡ª I wish others could stay on it, too. Well, that''s why I''m here, after all.
¡ª Has someone pulled your tail recently, Dan? ¨C I wonder if that still happens these days. If everything changed or not as I left.
¡ª More than that, Frattie. Like, I can tolerate a silly kid''s prank. I used to be a prankster, with nothing to do but laugh. Without showing the gaps, of course. See, I once pulled a Guard''s pants, and you know what happened.
¡ª What happened?
¡ª I was caught, of course. Couldn''t sit in the chair for a week.
¡ª See, that''s what bothers me, Dan ¨C maybe nothing changed at all. Flowers grow, but that doesn''t prevent anyone from stepping over them ¨C this need of violence for things that can be solved with dialogue.
¡ª In my case, there wasn''t dialogue.
¡ª Then how come you''ve became a better person?
¡ª Dunno. The power of love? See, people are people, Fratley. It''s easier to change of opinion than change a whole person. Like father used to say, ''If it doesn''t kill you... it may kill someone else''.
¡ª What do these words mean?
¡ª Don''t know, Frattie. Father used to say things that seemed to only make sense for himself. Now, these words seem to meant a lot than they ever did. This sword... I swear I could put a butter''s knife in this sheat, and people still would think I am carrying a sword around. Like, you feel this too, don''t you?
¡ª I do ¨C standing near someone with a weapon... I wonder who doesn''t feel same tension. Even I, carrying this pointy javelin, feel this way.
¡ª Everyone seems afraid of me a time and another. I can tolerate bad sight, but fear in the eyes of everyone...
¡ª ''Let fear propel you forward'', my father used to say.
¡ª I retreat, in this case. Does that make me look like a coward?
¡ª You have a sense of preserving life in a touch-and-go scenery, Dan. I wouldn''t call it cowardice. I know it''s tough to turn down a dare, but sometimes being brave means using your head.
¡ª Thanks. Many come to ask questions to me, while I walk around without answering my own. Like, I don''t want to bother Learie. She loves me, and that makes her vulnerable to suffering, and I don''t want to see her suffer.
¡ª And how''s Learie doing?
¡ª She''s fine. So do the kids ¨C it''s been a while since Dan and I were walking on this avenue. The Jugend is still far away from here. I could be jumping from a building to another to reach there, but sometimes I want to know the people below clouds ¨C ...I hate changing Jack and Adam''s clothes.
¡ª Who doesn''t?
¡ª Yeah, who doesn''t. But I''m glad it''s only two of ''em. Two healthy boys, isn''t that a bless?
¡ª It is.
¡ª When I look to the little ones, I think ''well, they aren''t wicked devils after all''.
¡ª They pushed their mother, didn''t they?
¡ª I agree ¨C I like when people smile. Moreso when I make them to. Might be an awkward stretch of lips, but I still count it as a win ¨C speaking of kids, last time I saw you, Frattie, you were eating worms, lucky clovers, these things that you can''t really eat on a dish.
¡ª And you poking the nose, yuck.
¡ª True. Now I have these cookies in the pockets. Learie made them, but they always crumble. Though, they do not lose the flavor. Do you want a cookie?
¡ª No, thanks ¨C crumbling cookies... how familiar ¨C you know, these cookies used to made me itch all day. Wasn''t a good idea to hide the cookies in my hat. As a kid, I thought it would work. Dandrufs on this age? Mom said, before she felt a sugary scent in my head.
¡ª Hahah... I''m still trying to figure out if that kid was really you, Fratley.
¡ª I stopped being a kid at seven years old.
¡ª And I with five ¨C with that said, Dan and I stood quiet for a while. The sound of the crowd filled in our ears. Instead of hearing a lot of gossip and hearts, I hear my own ¨C still talking about kids... How are you doing with Freya?
¡ª Freya? Oh, it''s her second day at the Jugend ¨C same to which we both arrived ¨C well, here it is. Beyond these gates, the new Dragoons are born.
¡ª Are you trying hard on her?
¡ª To a certain extent, Dan ¨C I said, soon as stepped in inside the Jugend ¨C though, this approach... it feels a bit forced.
¡ª Forced? ¨C so Dan asked, right about when he was leaving.
¡ª Yes. I know the nature of an endurance test. They can be kinda brutal, and hardly you come out of it without any harm. Like, I do not disregard traditional ways of teaching completely, even when they feel outdated as punching a tree.
¡ª To punch a tree ain''t that much. You see, I had to carry on buckets of water through a mountain path, now that''s a hard task.
¡ª That''s what Hrist had to pass throught, too. And she was younger than Freya when she did it so...
¡ª You do know how to treat ladies.
¡ª There are no ladies in the Jugend.
¡ª But Freya is still a woman. A person. And you should take care of her as a person if you want her trust.
¡ª How many people have you taken care as persons recently, Dan? ¨C I asked, to which Dan stared at me, confused, his warm breathing coming from the nose. All he does is to breathe, while it rains. I feel like I''m talking to nobody, but myself.
¡ª Not all of them ¨C nobody, you said ¨C still, mutilation ain''t my kind. I might bluff a while and another, and... why did you asked it, Frattie?
¡ª Don''t know ¨C I should have crossed the main door already, checked my presence, and, well-
¡ª Is that because of what happened yesterday? ¨C Johnny... I can easily take out that image from my head, like I do when I ignore a noise. But when you''re in a dark cave, surrounded by echoes, it''s hard to let it pass by. Noise doesn''t cross walls, it hits you constantly until you''re down.
¡ª Maybe ¨C a feeling I borrow from all yesterdays left behind ¨C I think I should be leaving already. Goodbye, Dan. Have a nice day.
¡ª Goodbye, Frattie. Be vigilant ¨C be vigilant... sure I''ll be, Dan. With these ears, I can better than I did when I had eyes. I see better the good side of this world, so do the bad. But sometimes, I think the bad side is winning.
...
At the bathhouse...
¡ª So you are a nurse? ¨C I asked to Edea, who''s taking a shower at my side. I can see her from my shoulder, that''s what I mean.
¡ª That''s how I began my career, Crescent ¨C she said, without facing my direction ¨C you can scream as louder as you can, and I won''t hear you. All burmecian surgeons and nurses are taught to ignore yells of pain.
¡ª That makes sense ¨C counting these scars on Edea''s back, I can tell how many times she ignored her own pain.
¡ª Well, Lenneth always said that I couldn''t be a mother like her did.
¡ª I think you would be a great mother.
¡ª I''m not interested in taking care of any more children. I already have a lot to take care of.
¡ª Speaking of it, who''s watching Hrist? ¨C maybe she is standing on same place, with a ball and a chain wrapped on her leg.
¡ª I said that I would.
¡ª But you are here - unless there''s a way to replicate your image with the Dragoon, who knows?
¡ª Though Hrist behaves and begs for attention like one, she ain''t a child. She''s a young lady. And a lady knows how to behave. Right?
¡ª Right ¡ª I said, washing my hair. Even with a few people, this place still seems empty. Maybe because it''s so large. There are people who talk, who sing, who do their, uh... I mean, it''s a place for a lot of things, pleasant and unpleasant as they may be. Like talking about someone right on their back, that''s so mean of you, Freya ¨C I wonder how controlling a hair can be any useful. I mean, can Hrist hold her spear with the hair? ¨C I never thought I would be saying such a thing. Weird how am I accepting it all without freaking out. Well, look at the mirror, you''re a walking contradiction.
¡ª Hrist doesn''t like to use her hair a lot ¨C said the Captain. Hands, claws, fists, what''s the difference?
¡ª She prefers to use her fists, you mean ¨C I look to the weeping wall. There''s no reflection, just plain white, like my hair. I stare at it, wondering... ¨C when will I begin training, Captain? Should I await for Sir Fratley to come in?
¡ª Yes.
¡ª Yes?
¡ª He knows what he''s doing. Besides, he was the one who came up with the test, not me.
¡ª So the tree punching was his idea all along? ¨C I wouldn''t be surprised.
¡ª Not his idea. It''s a kind of tradition around here. Get rid of some old trees, and plant new ones in place ¨C in my case, I''m just getting rid of a tree, nothing in its place but a spear in my hands.
¡ª Isn''t it easier to use anything but the fists?
¡ª Why are you complaining? ¨C Edea turned to me, with a serious look in face. I''m afraid of slipping any wrong word out just by looking at it.
¡ª Did you had to punch trees as well to earn your own weapon?
¡ª I never punched trees because they were mean to me. Neither Lenneth did it so.
¡ª Did Hrist had to pass throught it as well? ¨C I think Hrist had been throught worse. She keeps mentioning about spikes, broken bones, and I wonder if its to discourage me. Sometimes, it sounds like a cry for help, but Hrist doesn''t want to look helpless at all.
¡ª No. You know why.
¡ª Why?
¡ª Well, being the Headmaster''s daughter...
¡ª Have you counted her age as well? Like, how would a twelve year-old bring a tree down by its own hands?
¡ª When I was 12, I killed my first dragon ¨C the indifference is astonishing. Looking to this wall and Edea, I see no difference, other than a voice ¨C why are you staring at this wall?
¡ª I wonder... how would I look like if I was human? ¨C it''s a random question that came to mind. To be like the folks from outside the rain... surely it would be easier to wash up this body.
¡ª And you are.
¡ª No. I mean, without this fur, these ears, this tail... ¨C so Edea and I left the bathhouse, walking throught a corridor that lead to where our Dragoon outfits and garments had been dropped by. They even polished our armory, that''s nice of them.
¡ª Aren''t you proud of being a burmecian? ¨C said Edea, placing her silver helmet on head, as I wore the coat, button by button
¡ª Yes, I am. The food, the weather, the arts, the dance... I like it all ¨C I stared to my own helmet. Now I could see myself, out of focus ¨C but being a burmecian alone isn''t enough.
¡ª Is that why you came here to the Jugend, Crescent? To be something? ¨C Edea said, looking by the window. I see Sir Fratley talking to Hrist, who''s cleaning the mess she did before. Is it me, or is she carrying boulders with her head? Like towers of books ¨C then you''ll have to struggle for it. I know it may be hard a while and another, but you just have. Nothing comes easy as you may think.
¡ª But to go away, on other hand ¨C mom had a unique scent whenever I hugged her wearing this coat. Dad smelled like milk, lemon, fish, anything he had been carrying around with his. Don''t talk to strangers, mom used to say. Well, everytime she got home, she brought a lot of strangers with this coat ¨C I never thought... uh... it never came to mind that...
¡ª No one is watching, child. Cry as much as you want.
¡ª I''m not crying, Captain ¨C I said, looking to the blurred figure near me ¨C it''s just that... sniff! This coat holds on of so much blood and memories.
¡ª Which one do you want to stay? ¨C Edea asked, as I washed my face.
¡ª It''s hard to take an only choice, for a world of so many paths.
¡ª Lenneth chose her own, now its your time. As I said before, Crescent, if you don''t feel alright doing this...
¡ª I feel alright, thank you ¨C it''s what I want to do. Be a Dragoon Knight, not just like mom, but just like a good person she was ¨C after all, that''s how much human I am.
¡ª Most humans wear pants, Crescent ¨C so Edea looked below me.
¡ª Oh! I didn''t noticed ¨C no wonder I''ve been feeling cold. Forgot to wear the pants with all this talk.
¡ª You are young, girl. Do not think of what''s happening ahead of you, because it didn''t happened yet. Now, I suggest you to take a time to breath, drink some water, and you might get start training. If you still don''t feel okay, I''m sorry, but I can''t help any further than that. It''ll only depend of you, fine?
¡ª I''m fine ¨C the way Edea treats me... sometimes, she''s cold as stone, but other times, I feel that anything with a face may shed of a tongue as well.
...
Outside...
¡ª Okay, Hrist. Now it''s time for someone else to watch upon you ¨C I said, as the front door opened. Two figures came out of it, walking into the rain. One has a scent of dried chamomile leaves, and the another smells like cherry ¨C next time, do not let anger overcome your being.
¡ª It ain''t the worst I had been throught, so I''ll be fine ¨C it sure ain''t the worst, Hrist ¨C to move huge bricks wasn''t that hard for me. Now, to place them one near another is kinda boring.
¡ª I know you are not a bad person ¨C this speaking of someone who knew you since little ¨C oh, here she comes. Morning, Edea. Freya.
¡ª Good morning, Fratley ¨C said the Captain, to whom I am changing place. And she also gave me back the cane, thanks. Agartha lies on my back, as I replace it with this cane. Now I can leave from where I sitting without no worry ¨C I''ll be watching Hrist from here.
¡ª I do not need to be watched. This whole place already resembles a prison. Like, everything looks like a prison, and... Oh, hey, Crescent. Took a bath? I knew you would, after feeling so filthy of yourself.
¡ª What do you mean, Chardonnay? ¨C said Freya, standing at my side. I don''t like where this is going...
¡ª I think you should apologize to me.
/\/\/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/\/\_
¡ª Apologize for what? You should apologize for ruining my coat ¨C Hrist did more than ruin Freya''s coat. The cracking in the floor is huge.
/\/\/\_/\/\/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/\/\_
¡ª And you for letting my wild side go out, that''s what I mean.
¡ª I think you both should apologize to one another ¨C I had to say something. With both young hearts beating like that. I even missed the pattern.
¡ª And later, we''ll do a tea party.
¡ª Oh, I would appreciate that, Hrist.
¡ª I was joking.
¡ª No more jokes under my sight ¨C unlike me, Edea doesn''t let go of Hrist''s sarcasm. She stands there, with a serious, almost arrogant, pose ¨C as for you, Crescent... may you have a good training.
¡ª I will ¨C Freya said, as we left to the garden where we trained before. Little I know about her, but by the few moments we shared, I can tell she is a bit down. Heart is fine, but... I shouldn''t had been harsh with her at the very beginning. For someone who lost it''s mother recently, that was pretty inconsiderate and mean of your part ¨C imagine, Hrist inviting me to a tea party. She doesn''t even like tea very much.
¡ª What, Hrist? Don''t worry. She only slaps in your face when you ask for it, that''s very kind of her.
¡ª Yeah. Very kind.
¡ª So, which tree did you...
¡ª That one ¨C well, that was quick. So Freya pointed out to the cherry tree, still standing there ¨C but before we begin, Sir Fratley, I...
¡ª Yes? ¨C I knew this was coming.
¡ª I thought you would teach me a healing spell. As you know, no one can do this without getting harmed, and last time...
¡ª Oh, sorry. Yesterday, with all that movement. I''m really sorry.
¡ª It''s alright. We all got caught by surprise, didn''t we? ¨C more than you think ¨C Fratley?
¡ª It wasn''t my intention to leave you hurted, Freya. No. Of course not. After you demonstrated your resistance, I...
¡ª Yeah. Don''t feel sorry for yourself, Sir Fratley. Just teach me what you have to.
¡ª Right. It''s just that... ¨C I hate seeing someone die. Even if I couldn''t convince that man with words, I still fell this weak when I don''t ¨C I mean, life has so much to offer, other than ups and downs.
¡ª I know. I came here to this place in search of life.
¡ª Don''t you mean reputation? Status? It''s what most people want as Dragoon Knights.
¡ª A life. It''s all I want ¨C guess I have a lot to learn about and with you, Freya.
LVI: Corc
?Autechre - Corc?
Whew. Training is over for today.
¡ª I bet you would deviate from Hrist''s attack ¨C well, not so.
¡ª You bet what? ¨C I asked to a random stranger lying against the pillar, holding a dice with an only hand.
¡ª Nothing. I don''t bet money. I just do it for curiosity''s sake. As a matter of probability, you shouldn''t have avoided that, uh... hair. Seems like we have new flesh hanging around.
¡ª Excuse me! ¨C gee, I don''t go with his guts already.
¡ª What''s up?
¡ª Is that your way of saying ''hello, how are you''? ¨C I haven''t saw that guy before. He''s a Dragoon Knight wearing an aqua blue coat, and that''s all I know about him. For now.
¡ª The dice haven''t told me to present myself. Well, odd is for saying my name, even for not ¨C as it seems, that dice ain''t there for decoration. He throws it and gets ¨C even! Well, guess I won''t say my name to you.
¡ª Neither I to you ¨C I''m leaving. No need for introductions.
¡ª Why not? Hey, aren''t you cool as a cucumber? ¨C what? Better get away from this weirdo... ¨C chose to leave by chance?
¡ª Chance? Mother told me to not talk to strangers ¨C much less strangers like you.
¡ª Oh, I see. You are Lenneth''s daughter, right?
¡ª I am. And you? ¨C kinda rude to just leave without any introductions, mother used to say as well.
¡ª A man of the dices. Also known as Gray ¨C Gray... is there anything more redundant than a burmecian with gray fur be called Gray?
¡ª Good morning, Gray. Oh, no need to bow before me. Careful, you will-
¡ª GraAAAAY! ¨C I told you to not bow. He did it, some dices came out his pockets, he stepped over and... slipped over some dices? As far as I know, they aren''t slippery like bananas or anything. More like pointy as stones. Anyway, he fell, and that was an awful fall ¨C geez, my dices fell all out my pockets. A hundred possible ways to begin or not begin a talk and I have to follow only one So... Gray Rhinehart. At your pleasure.
¡ª That''s better ¨C he seems okay. Okay? I wonder who has such an extent collection of dices ¨C my name is-
¡ª And you? A pretty thing like you...
¡ª Hey! ¨C not so fast, boy.
¡ª Christine?
¡ª What? ¨C is he doing the guessing game again?
¡ª Rachel? ¨C yes, he is.
¡ª No ¨C and I go along with him.
¡ª Well... Frida?
¡ª Almost ¨C I''m a peaceful lady, there''s no need to be harsh with Gray. He is kinda goofy.
¡ª Freyja, right?
¡ª Freya. Without the ''j'' ¨C at least he doesn''t bet money. I should have bet money.
¡ª Nice meeting you, Freya without ''j'' ¨C I help him get up with a hand.
¡ª Nice meeting you too, Gray Rhino Heart.
¡ª Rhinehart ¨C he said, but it sounded like RHiNeHaRT.
¡ª Yes, Rhinehart ¨C if I have to say that yet again... it''s kinda getting into me. Like when the doctor asks you to say ''33'' and your body vibrates. No way I''m saying vibration just after meeting this guy ¨C now that we have been properly introduced to each other... how are you doing?
¡ª I... I am ¨C Gray throws another dice in the air, grabs it and says ¨C number four. Well, I am fine, despite a pain in the butt. And you, Freya without ''j''?
¡ª I am fine ¨C and I don''t need a dice to tell.
¡ª That''s good, Freya withou-
¡ª Just Freya ¨C I appreciate he knows my name used to have a ''j'' in it. A few people know it. This speaking of someone I met right now...
¡ª Right, Just Freya ¨C he doesn''t learn. Is he making fun or me, or just who he is? He throws another dice, it''s all he does ¨C is your hair white or have you painted it?
¡ª My hair? It''s white ever since I was born ¨C why would I paint my hair anyway?
¡ª White like snow, wearing red... Is your name Freya? ''Cause you''re like a mix between Snow White, and Little Red Hood.
¡ª ... ¨C I have no idea what the heck he''s saying. Like he orders the dice to say things on his place.
¡ª You''re a quite person, Just Freya ¨C he said, as I only stood quiet for five seconds just blinking.
¡ª It''s just Freya, not JUST Freya ¨C I had to clarity. If he throws another dice before saying something, I''ll stick it up his...
¡ª Right, Freya ¨C ...and he threw it again ¨C of what?
¡ª Crescent. Freya Crescent ¨C like everyone needs a surname.
¡ª Crescent... like the moon, right?
¡ª So, Freya Crescent like the moon ¨C Gray knows what he''s saying. Heh, he''s doing it on purpose ¨C what brought you to the Jugend. Was it to follow a mother''s dying wish? To have a succesful career? To eat the finest meal at the kitchen? To find out the sexual implications of a javelin at your hands?
¡ª Well ¨C anything, but the last question is fine. I''ll be honest with Gray, he is not afraid of what he says ¨C I came to the Jugend in search of a purpose. My mother was a Dragoon Knight, she found herself at this place and since little that I wanted to be someone like her. Someone strong, courageous and daring and... a lot of things. Good things. I miss mom, but I''m not here for her. She never said I had to be a Dragoon to be any of the things she, or any Crescent before me, was. I just want to live my life, and what''s a life worth living if you... I won''t give up already, I still have a lot to do.
¡ª I see, Freya Crescent like the moon ¨C a lot to do? What about slapping that face? Nah ¨C you know, I came here to find who I am too. And because the dice told me to.
¡ª The dice?
¡ª Yes. The dice tells me what to do. Before, I was a kid born and raised during the lean cows ages. The government had to bare the costs of the war against Alexandria, my father was lucky he didn''t got called out for that carnage at the desert. Father worked hard, yet he barely earned enough money to suffice his family''s needs, my needs. To anything I asked father to do, he said ''no''. Can I buy a toy? No, make your own toys. Can I play with mud? No, your clothes will get dirty. Can I jump out the window? NO. Just no, no and no. It was rare enough to hear him saying a ''yes'', as rare as snowing. Can I play with my friends? Yes, but don''t come home late. I grew to be less impulsive, more obedient and with these years of denial I haven''t been that much happy. To every new opportunity that I came across, I would just deny it. Never took any risks, for real. I almost contemplated something, and it was not God. One day I realized how life is too short, too precious, we can''t just give up and say that everything we do, or not do, is useless. No, we should live the best way we can, and the way I found to live a better, if not more exciting, life is by playing with chance, taking risks, be out the box...
You said you didn''t knew a thing about this Gray guy, Crescent? Now you know his whole life in less than five minutes.
I wonder why I''m still listening. I''ll find an opportunity to say goodbye, when he is done.
Why, that''s so mean. Well, it''s a mean possibility. And Gray understands a lot about these.
¡ª ...you see, sexuality has nothing to do with genitals, people often mistake that. Yeah, it has a little to do with knowing who you are, boy and girl, and you know what? That''s what sexuality is all about, growing awareness of who you are, inside and outside, who are you and who are others beside you it is more complicated than that but that''s what it is. Why was I born a boy? Why do I have a... a second tail at the middle of my legs? Why was I born a burmecian? Why does it rains forever? Why did I became Dragoon Knight? Why am I speaking to a cute such as you? WHy have I said you are cute, why do I feel shaken when I say what I think? I''ll say why, it all happens by chance, but in society, things happen because someone told you to. Order, it''s how it''s called. There is a need for order at society, for divisions, routines, work hours, free hours, all these complicated schemes of sucking someone''s living potential. By chance, you can do a more lot than you do by being restricted to society and its walls. You feel awful when you say a thing you just though because society demands you to behave well, yet I see no harm at saying you are cute, because the dice freed me to say such. I do feel a weird tremble all over my body, but these are society''s chains tightening me up, telling me that''s wrong while in fact it is not, I am just telling the truth out of my heart, but that doesn''t mean I love you, we are yet to properly love each other, and I think you and me are not in the age for this kind of love the perverted side of my mind, the one restricted by society, thinks about.
For someone who doesn''t like restrictions, Gray surely speaks with a wall of text.
Cute, he said? I have reason enough to slap him already, but that''s not polite.
At least he''s sincere. Maybe too much.
¡ª ...Whew, am I bothering you with my talk? ¨C he is self aware too.
¡ª No, not even a little ¨C let''s see if he noticed if I am convinced or not, because he surely will.
¡ª You don''t sound convicing enough. In fact, you hate me and want me to leave you alone, but you don''t want me to feel bad because it''s our first talk, right? ¨C it''s not like we have a relation to each or anything, we just met right now.
¡ª That''s right. Nice knowing you, Gray Rhinehart.
¡ª Nice knowing you too, Freya Crescent like the m-
¡ª Freya Crescent. F-R-E-Y-A-C-R-E-S-C-E-N-T ¨C Gray ain''t my type. He is my antitype, sorta. Yet, I don''t hate him. I don''t like to hate someone I just met and got a half bad, half good, half shut up, half tell me more impression.
¡ª Have a nice day, F-R-E-Y-A ¨C urgh, I hate when he does that.
¡ª You too ¨C I head straight to the main gates of the Jugend. Nothing can stand...
¡ª Leaving already, Crescent? ¨C ...on my way. Nothing, except Hrist. Doing her Surface Tension technique of always ¨C won''t we even celebrate?
¡ª Leave that for tomorrow. I am pooped.
¡ª I see. You met that Gray guy, he talked to you... yeah, he leaves me awful like you do.
¡ª Do I? ¨C Gray appeared out of nowhere without making a noise. He must know Surface Tension as well.
¡ª Yes, you do. Be more impulsive, you say. Well, darling, I came with that philosophy first, without needing a cube at hands.
¡ª Is that why you ate all my onion dolls? ¨C I still haven''t forgotten that.
¡ª They were made of onion ¨C no apologies to this day ¨C look, we are stepping on the same place I left a hole.
¡ª Quite a hole ¨C is it really that place where Hrist broke the floor? I must admit, she did a nice job at fixing it ¨C what was the technique called by? Drill Crusher?
¡ª You came up with the name now? Pfft, that''s so cheesy...
¡ª I''d rather see you making soap bubbles.
¡ª Do not underestimate soap bubbles. They have a higher destructive potential.
¡ª Show me that potential for later. I''m not up to any fights, I already did a lot for today ¨C knowing Hrist, she would have no mercy right now.
¡ª That tree was laughing at you, but you showed her who laughed last ¨C is she proud of me? That''s such a rare sight.
¡ª Trees do not laugh.
¡ª That one did. And you showed her. I''m impressed.
¡ª Why, thanks ¨C half of me thinks Hrist is being nice for the sake of being nice. The other, well... we are shaking hands, so it''s fine. For today.
¡ª I''d say you two do quite a nice pairing ¨C there''s always a third eavesdropper around.
¡ª Be quiet, Gray. Or else, I''ll shove your dices and my fists at your throat ¨C if it wasn''t for Hrist, I''d say that on her place.
¡ª I tried to eat dices when I was little. The red ones looked like candies.
¡ª I''ll make you eat some sidewalk if you don''t stop your spiel.
¡ª Okay... ¨C I know Gray is a smart folk. Then he kneels and slips his finger at the ground, puts it on mouth... eugh, forget about being smart, or whatever. He has something to say ¨C tastes salty. Be seeing ya, Freya. Hrist. Ladies.
¡ª ...Is that why we haven''t been presented to each other before? ¨C so Gray left, and there''s only me and Hrist.
¡ª Yeah, Gray... he is peculiar ¨C that''s the best word to describe him. Peculiar ¨C there are days he chooses to not take a bath because the dice told him so.
¡ª Really? ¨C Hrist ain''t one of the most reliable and truthful sources around ¨C well, I should better be going. See ya tomorrow.
¡ª Heh, is that all for today? ¨C why can''t I just go home?
¡ª It is.
¡ª Not even a pizza? ¨C pizza, huh? I might have a change of mind.
¡ª No, thanks. Maybe tomorrow ¨C never refuse a pizza. It won''t be me who will be paying, though ¨C by the way, tell your father to mark my exit.
¡ª Alright ¨C I can leave this place at any moment. Even live here if I want. There''s too much freedom, yet why do I still feel caged? ¨C don''t you want me to follow you home? Or, do you prefer to be alone?
¡ª I''m not alone. Not with this red coat.
¡ª I do believe we have a soul, and at the moment we die, it leaves the body. Silly, isn''t it?
¡ª It ain''t silly ¨C many things bother my dear friend Ezekiel. Being on the of heads ruling out a school of Dragoon Knights, he''s a man who has to deal with lots of trials and tribulations ¨C as a kid, I was forced to go at the church on every sunday. I found the priest''s speech to be utterly boring, all I wanted was to get out of there. A tiny bug was way worthy my attention than any of the saviors or prayers, but now I kinda miss the green and purple colors. Liturgical green, it''s how I used to call it by.
¡ª Nobody likes going to the church, much less laywers.
¡ª Is that another one of your laywer''s jokes? ¨C please, Zack.
¡ª Why, yes... Will you sue me?
¨C I don''t see why ¨C my wages are on time, you pay me well, we''ve been close of each for so long we''re like family. I guess.
¡ª If you say so. Well, better not sue me.
¡ª I said I won''t.
¡ª Just checking ¨C to be fair, I think I never sued anyone in my life. But I''d hate Ezekiel being the first on the list ¨C how was training?
¡ª Lady Crescent finished for today. Took a whole tree down with her own fists.
¡ª Really? With her fists?
¡ª With kicks as well ¨C why I don''t seem that surprised? ¨C don''t you miss a cherry tree standing outside?
¡ª Oh, that was a cherry tree... some fine wood for a javelin ¨C the finest of the woods to make a weapon ¨C I wonder, whose ruler, warrior, Dragoon, whoever came up with this... it may sound unpolite what I''m about to say, but I find it stupid. Yes, really stupid. Why force our students to punch a tree until it''s down? Why not chose a tree and make someone else model a javelin out of it? Also, a whole tree for such small staff? That''s even more ridiculous, but who am I to question?
¡ª I borrow same questions as well ¨C and my excuse for following these is something we call ''tradition'' ¨C when we are little, we feel forced by our parents to do anything. To clean the house, make the bed, take a shower, go to church, but when we grown up, we feel there''s a need for doing these things on your own. Not because someone else told us to, but because it''s the right thing. Except the church, you can go there if you want, like when you feel you''re missing something in your life.
¡ª You mean faith?
¡ª Yes. Faith is important. You can find it anywhere, there''s no need for going at church, for something tangible and pervasive as faith be kept within walls ¨C hmmm, why am I talking about that? It ain''t faith that bothers me, but something else ¨C you see, private property has made us so stupid and one-sided that an object is only ours when we have it.
¡ª I see. You believe the Dragoon, like faith, can be taught and felt outside such an old and well-regarded institution as the Jugend, isn''t it? ¨C it seems you took the words out my subconscious, Ezekiel ¨C look, I broke my back to reach this far, Fratley. To attain this position in the Jugend, run this very academy of respect, while I gave my daughter a good home, a good education, anything money with sweat could buy. Seeing her behave like that, so reckless, so stubborn... I mean, she broke Jugend''s property. Dug a hole with her own hair, can you believe that?
¡ª With the Dragoon, you can do a lot of things. I''m proving that by just walking without my cane ¨C a miracle, I could say as well.
¡ª Why do you have a cane, anyway? ¨C good question. Everyone seems to ask me this very question, and I always reply with the same answer.
¡ª Well, I can''t just walk because I feel like I want. It takes a lot of effort just by standing by my toes, by feeling each of them. I thought I lost my vision and my capacity of walking after the accident. Of all things I lost... I mean, it was so sudden. Father and I, we were on a train, third class, nothing special. I was looking over the window, feeling the wind while an old lady coughed behind me, a young fellow wearing a huge hat smoked at my side, and father was holding me. And then... I don''t like to talk about it, but since it''s the last visual memory I ever had, it means a lot.
¡ª Moving on ¨C you''re right, Zack. Better move on. Better forget that father holded me, I holded his hand, we flew out the window, fell on grass, and... he did it to protect me. Father Highwind, there should have been a portrait of my burmecian father around.
¡ª I believe in angels, Ezekiel. You said before that it was silly how you believed in souls, but I do believe there are angels, even if the closest of a rat and an angel combined together resulted in a bat, or a pigeon. Never understood the hate for both. I always had a fondness for bats, they can fly and despite being blind, they ''see'' at the dark. I also find a few of them to be rather cute. Have I told you about the time a bat came to my tent and sucked my blood by the tip of my toe? It doesn''t hurt like many say, however I can''t deny I got rabies that day.
¡ª I suppose vaccines do not hurt as well ¨C don''t remind me of these, Ezekiel. Well, it''s not like I''m the only one afraid of needles around here, so ¨C and what about pigeons? They spread disease.
¡ª Yes, but people don''t? You don''t see people getting rid of people by considering them as disease. Well, you had these kind through history, and to think they are referred as people... ¨C some even getting a painting at the walls of Jugend, yet for what they fought? Their cruel principles of resistance taught to this day, that tree hitting bullshit, for example.
¡ª In this corridor, only a few monarchs and Dragoons can be considered truly nobles ¨C all these Kings and Queens of Burmecia, and only a few did the right thing ¨C King Karnak believed that a few burmecians belonged to what he called by ''pure race''.
¡ª Sigh... What a fool. If you attempt a ''pure'' race, without any crossbreed between different speciments, you''ll get no genetic variety and will end up sterile, because the world is made and depends on diversity. Also, aren''t the burmecians a result of a mix of tribes, cultures, traditions and breeds throught ages?
¡ª No wonder the King''s head ended up on a pike. What a ironic way of dying ¨C and so Zack and I had a bit of history class, then we walk away and I don''t know to where.
¡ª Flowers are way smarter than these bastards. They even learned before us about the incest taboo ¡ª I still have no idea to where Ezekiel is going. He said nothing, rarely he walks outside the office.
¡ª Need a hand, Fratley?
¡ª No, thanks. I can find the handrail ¨C must be, gulp... that place. So we head downstairs, to that place... ¨C what are we doing here?
¡ª Remember when I told you about souls? How I believe everyone, everything has a soul inside? Well... when someone commits murder, they don''t just kill a person, but in my opinion, they take away that very person''s soul ¨C Ezekiel is shaken at being here too. I wonder, who came up with the idea of building a morgue right at a school where the majority is made of young students? That''s way more absurd than believing in souls.
¡ª I see. It''s way more painful that way ¨C and pain taints these walls. I have the feeling that the ones who build this chamber worked until they passed and they became the first guests.
¡ª A bit dark here, isn''t it?
¡ª I''m used to the darkness ¨C soon as Ezekiel lights the room, his heartbeat races like a comet. Hmmm, couldn''t find a better word, this ain''t no place for words. Or metaphors. I try to keep away any thoughts of death, but it''s hard in a room only filled of corpses kept within walls. Zack pulls one of those mortuary cabinets and the scent, my god... I can imagine the amount of flies, but there are none. Anything to break this silence would be fine.
¡ª I''m sure you remember this one. The wife of the guy that dropped twenty feet down. What was his name, Johnny?
¡ª Yes. Johnny ¨C I can''t forget that day. It always come back, no matter what.
¡ª They found her like this. I''d be glad at being in your place, ''cause this mess... no idea why I haven''t puked yet ¨C neither I, with these senses of mine. I hear the rain outside these walls, so clean and filled of purity.
¡ª Would you be more comfortable at my place, Zack? Better think twice ¨C I''m trying, but I can''t just ignore what''s in front of me. And what''s that? I touch, and I feel nothing. Nothing. What was supposed to be a living being lies at the table like meat, just meat. A young lady became this...
¡ª Damn, I feel like my brain''s rottening.
¡ª It''s the scent. Just the scent ¨C yes, the scent. It''s getting all over my nose and clothes ¨C the savagery of the murder''s methods... all because of a black mole.
¡ª A black mole?
¡ª She had a black mole in face. Well, there''s not much of a face anymore, so... anyway, We believe the suspect got rid of the victim''s ''defect''. I don''t think a birthmark is quite a defect, thought.
¡ª Birthmark? Haven''t you said-
¡ª Oh yes, there''s this one too ¨C Ezekiel pulls another cabinet. He is fast while doing so. Maybe he too wants to get out of here. Any sentient being wants to be out of here ¨C a man, thirty-years old, was walking out the market fair, smoked, that''s quite a bad habit, and got stabbed in the chest. These dentations seems to belong to a surgical scalpel, and he got stabbed at the lungs.
¡ª This is what smoking does to one being ¨C I swear I can still smell the tobacco coming out.
¡ª Yeah. If he didn''t got stabbed, he would die anyway ¨C there is something cold in Ezekiel''s voice. Little he knows about these victims, but now it feels so personal to his ¨C like this other dude. He had the eyeballs taken out.
¡ª I know what it''s like to live without eyes.
¡ª And to die without them, on other hand...
¡ª That''s not funny, Zack ¨C I''m not a fan of crude humour.
¡ª Sorry. To have a few laughters is what keeps me sane at these moments.
¡ª Don''t be the devil''s advocate. What you''ve said wasn''t funny at all.
¡ª I said sorry...
¡ª I accept your apologies ¨C this place really does things to you. The only heartbeats I feel belong to Zack and mine.
¡ª Look, you don''t see me saying these things in front of my little.
¡ª Little? If Hrist heard you say these things ¨C that wicked girl may seem to have a heart of steel, but even steel can melt.
¨C you know what Hrist told me? That she broke the Jugend''s floor because another student pissed her off. That was my dear''s defense. She begged me to not put a ball and chain, saying that it didn''t combined with her aesthetic, that it was a thing only a dinosaur would do. She called me by dinosaur...
¡ª It''s just the way she is. At least one of them. Don''t worry, Hrist has shown before she can be nice and friendly.
¡ª Being nice and friendly is a trait of basic human decency.
¡ª A decent human being would never do this mess without feeling guilty ¨C even that girl has principles. I know Hrist, her worries, her fears, what makes her happy, what upsets her... I won''t say I know her better than Ezekiel does ¨C when I came back to Burmecia, no one knew me. Maybe I have forgotten the name and adress of everyone I have ever known, it''s nothing I regret. Made new friends, one of them being a little girl who wanted to be a Knight like her father. I think that what Hrist wants, deep inside, is full time attention.
¡ª Well, that''s impossible.
¡ª To educate someone is an impossible craft ¨C compared to standing here for more than 5 minutes, education is a bless ¨C like I said, Hrist begs for attention. Not only yours or mine, but everyone at reach. And in that age, where you feel so many things... without any kind of support, it all comes down. As a Dragoon, I''ve found a way to cope with my weaknesses, and I hope same happens with your daughter.
¡ª The youth today... it ain''t same youth as before. I mean, they are in this constant process of being. Either something, or someone, everything and everyone, you can be anything, they say. Nobody''s forcing you, yet whatever happened throught 20 years of life, they want it to be done in 20 minutes. It doesn''t help that there''s this impression that success, the best life can offer, only comes after years. Well, I''m here to say that''s a lie. Nothing comes in years, years are a thing made by us. Sure, adults can stay awake later at night, but they should not. Nothing to do with being productive, it''s because it ain''t healthy, you need to sleep.
¡ª If you stay awake at night, you sleep at day, it will happen, it needs to ¨C that''s why I find the human body to be so fascinating, and smarter as well.
¡ª A lot of young people who went to my office whimpered with the mention of what''s called a waste of time, Fratley. There was a day my daughter cried on bed, and I had no idea why. She cried a lot, more than on that day I found her abandoned in the junk, or the day she fell out the stairs, or that day she began to bleed between the legs... never saw those rivers of tears before. No one close has passed away, none of her friends did something truly awful, no boyfriend broke my dear''s heart, and well, not having a boyfriend never bothered Hrist that bad. So, I had to ask her why she was so devastated, what brought despair to my child''s soul, and revelation came by numbers. Eleven. She woke up at 11 am, that''s why she cried.
¡ª Poor thing... I feel her pain. There was a day father Highwind woke me up and it was afternoon. I lost morning, but the rest of the day was the best I ever had experienced. He taught me how to ride a chocobo, I stood awake until midnight, we made a fireplace and ate some marsh mallows plants... he was aware of how much I have lost and tried to compensate it all.
¡ª Seems you had a good fellow as a father.
¡ª Yes. Sure I had ¨C one of these people could have been father, now that''s a scary though. As if this room haven''t evoked any until now.
¡ª My apologies for calling you out. Honestly, I didn''t wanted to be alone down here.
¡ª It''s okay, Zack ¨C I feel like I forgot to tell something important. Am I not invested as Zack on the search of this, uh... maniac? I have, none of us have anything to do with this, but because we are Knights, we feel a need to do what''s right ¨C by the way, where have these corpses been found?
¡ª All of them were found at the southeast half of Burmecia. Elysian Fields, Dragon''s Crest, Astradyne... Different neighborhoods, but same region.
¡ª The same place where Johnny... ¨C I still feel the weight of his fall.
¡ª He would jump anyway, don''t feel sorry ¨C yeah, I better not ¨C yes. That Johnny. At first we thought he was responsible for all of this mess.
¡ª Well, he took the wife''s eyes with his, but that was a desperate doing. Hmmm... There''s no need to rationalize that, though ¨C even after leaving the morgue, something, I don''t know what... something stays, more than its scent. The handrail has its own texture, so rusty and rough. Only after leaving that place that I am able to feel anything with my senses. We are back to the painting hall, as it seems. Some colors to fill in this depressing place.
¡ª Anyway, a witness claimed seeing the suspect mumbling about taking away the rotten pieces, like he was a plumber or whatever. I''m not a specialist when it comes to insanity, yet I feel we''re dealing with a higher threat disguised as a minor disturbance.
¡ª Whose witness? ¨C who was courageos, brave enough to come here and tell us this crucial information?
¡ª A boy. Teenager, wearing rags, brown skin, flaccid ears... I won''t say he''s ugly, but he looks uncanny. Won''t reveal his identity, in fact no one knows who he is, other than his name is Puck.
¡ª Puck?
¡ª Yes. He''s a trickster, but murder is another story.
¡ª Puck... did he told you anything else?
¡ª No, it''s all he said. He couldn''t stop calling me by shrimp, though. Do I look like a shrimp?
/\/\/\_/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\_
¡ª Yeah, you do! ¨C so that''s the Puck, yelling at us. His heartbeat is racing like a wagon. Wagon, comet... I feel I''m lacking words lately. Whatever, no one listens to my metaphors ¨C What''s with ya lettin'' me on that empty room? Ye sook.
¡ª Calm down, kid ¨C I feel like I should not have said that...
¡ª Kid!? Amurnay a kid for ya! ¨C there you go Ah hud tae sloch a ill apple fur o'' ye! Keek, keek! Tis tae soft, nah... tis rotten.
¡ª I had problems understanding what Puck was saying to me ¨C beats me, Ezekiel. Is that an apple the ragged boy is showing to us? Doesn''t have a nice scent.
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¡ª He speaks in a lowland dialect. Kinda.
¡ª Do you understand, at least?
¡ª It''s even harder to understand because he mixs words in between, but I have a clear understanding of what he''s saying ¨C never met a ''teenager'' this short. What is so uncanny about this Puck? He seems normal to me. Healthy, a bit fat, I may be sounding impartial, but that''s how blindness works ¨C so, you had to eat a rotten apple, didn''t you?
¡ª That''s richt! ¨C no one deserves to eat rotten apples. I always suspect the soft ones.
¡ª Speak our language, boy ¨C and Ezekiel still don''t get his words.
¡ª Ah speak lik'' a''m waantin''! This is a free land, isn''t it? ¨C then I listen to Puck. Not his words, but inside his throat, the stomach... now I get it.
¡ª Are you hungry, Puck?
¡ª Aye! ¨C that must be an ''yes'' ¨C my tummy is aching, A''m feelin awfy, tis a'' shrimp''s fault! A'' his fault!
¡ª Puck said his tummy is aching. He blames you for that, Zack.
¡ª I know. He keeps pointing at me. Don''t you have manners?
¡ª Mah manners? What about yer manners, eh? Shrimp.
¡ª Hey, wait! Where are you going? ¨C I listen to Puck''s footsteps. They''re different. It''s like he doesn''t have any claws, but feet. Human feet? Now that''s uncanny, for a burmecian.
¡ª Ah did whit ah cuid. Ah not a snitch. See ye, sucker! ¨C Puck disappears. He runs pretty fast on those toes.
¡ª There goes our only witness... ¨C I''m sure he knows the streets. Puck will be fine, though one thing still concerns me ¨C so, Ezekiel. If you didn''t understood Puck''s language, then how come he told you about the suspect?
¡ª Oh, forgot to mention that for you, Fratley. See, the one who brought that boy on rags here understood what he was saying.
¡ª And who was it? ¨C I wonder...
¡ª It was Gray ¨C ...what? Was not expecting that.
¡ª Gray? You mean THAT Gray?
¡ª Why the surprise?
¡ª To think the dice weirdo could have been any useful ¨C that guy just came put of nowhere, stepped in at Ezekiel''s office and asked if he could become a Knight, all because of a dice at hands. He came in by chance, couldn''t believe that. When did he learned that dialect out of Puck''s mouth? Maybe the dice told him so yet again. Well, I believe in gravity, how it attracks people to one another, so that makes us two weirdos ¨C ...Again, what was Hrist''s first word?
¡ª I think it was damn ¨C after all the murder talk, nothing better than a casual chat.
¡ª Damn? Wasn''t oglop?
¡ª Right, Oglop. I wasn''t even there when my dear said her first words. Lenneth was, may god bless her. Oglops be damned. Well, one day, I took the little with me back home, she was saying da da da, then all of sudden, damn. I was like, what? What did you just said? And Hrist said damn, yet again. She couldn''t stop saying damn for a whole week, it was damn here, damn there, at church, at bank, everywhere we went by. Have you noticed how a word repeated so many times lose its meaning? No more I felt offended, I was actually proud of hearing my little speak. I admit, I felt so embarassed at times, but she said damn in such a cute way I couldn''t tell her to stop.
I am beginning to picture Ezekiel as a shrimp. Hard outside, soft inside.
Today was... interesting. An interesting day.
Learned a bit about the murder, it''s gruesome methods, yet I still feel I''m not tied into any of this. He''s a nobody. To think a nobody could do a lot of damage, be this menace. I leave the Jugend and can''t get these thoughts away. I am struggling to, doing my best to let it go, and move on. I don''t like to feel I''m useless, either, so that''s why I''m active in this case. Johnny was a nobody too, before he became very well known around town. Well, known in the worst way possible. I think that''s why I came back to Burmecia, to be known by the general populance. When I was at my worst, I''d go out to Lindblum''s art museum. Worse than not picturing any of those paintings with the touch of my hands was hearing all those people call out the pieces I couldn''t see by masterpieces.
I mean, what there is on a portrait that there is not on another? Input? You need input to do everything, to convey thoughts, a message, so do the people who call those artists and their paintings by ''masterpieces''. What''s there so special in these that I couldn''t figure out? Why couldn''t I just leave my own opinion about it, without having to listen to someone, or in this case, a hundred folks gathered within a row, paying to see a painting forever hanging in a wall? I do enjoy art, there were some times Father Irontail and I came to the museum, and he let me touch those paintings, statues, feel their volume, intensity, dimension by my fingers. He would get the blame in my place, like always.
I have no one to blame but myself. No one to give input by me. Sigh, I hate having cynical thoughts. They don''t do anything but make me feel bad. Just bad. Must be a thing from teenagers, but often I had thoughts of depreciation for someone else''s work. It''s like just because Lord Avon was born first and wrote ''I Want to be Your Canary'' first that he is so well-regarded by the whole art and writing community. Only because he was the first one that the ones who came later have no chance, because their works will always be compared to the ones that came first. A piece inspired by Avon''s masterpiece... those thoughts I had, they were so dumb. Really dumb, and not worth recalling.
Do you recall? Or haven''t perceived in which street you''re walking at? Yes, that''s the place. The scent, the rain, the nivelation of the road...
...
Five years ago...
...
Could there be greater irony as a bird that cannot fly? Maybe a kingdom of rats. So, Hrist met her first chocobo. Choco, she said. How cute, despite almost being ran over by that thing. That huge golden fluffy thing. Funny, this bird does not look as huge as they used to when I was a kid. Hmmm, this very chocobo we came across reminds me a bit of Doyle, and how I used to eat his ratio. Tasted awful, but Doyle was the closes thing I ever had of a dog... he was there when father was not. I still have his last remaining feather at the top of my hat. Father''s hat, too.
¡ª Kweh! ¨C the chocobo made that sound, as Hrist tried to reach for it. She wanted to hug Choco before he left.
¡ª Bye, Choco! ¨C all she did was say and wave goodbye. Choco walked away, pulling a carriage behind. He didn''t looked back to the girl, no matter what ¨C I wonder if he saw me wearing those, uh...
¡ª Blinders? That''s how these things blocking Choco''s view are called by ¨C so I began to explain Hrist that Choco didn''t avoided looking at her because he was mean, of course not ¨C lots of chocobos have blinders up so they can only see what''s in front of them. Ain''t no different from folks who only want to see what they want to, kid.
¡ª Sigh You tellin'' me a blind man is the happiest of all men? Happier than anyone else who sees with the eyes? My, you''re pretty boring for someone with holes for eyes, Fratley ¨C one thing I like about Hrist is her spontaneity, even if it may sound like an insult ¨C (dare call me by kid again, smartypants).
¡ª I do have eyes, Hrist. I''d say the blind man sees the best of all. Anyway... what I meant to say earlier is that everyone''s blind to himself. I''m not judging them, to have some blinders up is what helps us get throught life, stay focused, healthy, happier...
¡ª Are you happy, Frat? ¨C Hrist asked, holding that very ball she went after, before... luckily, she met Choco, and that''s all that happened, thank God ¨C You look worried, like you know something I do not. Wanna play some ball with me?...
/\/\_/\_/\/\/\_
¡ª ...No worry, I won''t kick your crotch this time. Unless yer asking for it...
/\/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_
¡ª ...My, where are my manners? You were kind enough to not yell at me... Stupid ball, almost got me done for...
/\/\_/\/\_/\/\/\_
¡ª ...next time, I''ll look at the two sides of the street... I''m sorry...
_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\_
¡ª ...Hey, are you listening to me? Fratley?
¡ª You asked if I was happy? Why, Hrist... I wish I had a few clear visual memories, but with you at my side, knowing you are fine, sure I am happy!
...
At present...
...
Home. Afternoon. The blindness men wish for, silence mother of truth...
¡ª ...Uh, Frattie?
¡ª What''s it, Raymie?
¡ª I don''t understand this game ¨C for a while, Raymie had been scratching its head. He and his brothers, we''re all sitting on the table, playing a card game ¨C how do we play it?
¡ª I wonder ¨C it ain''t my first time playing Tetra Master, but still ¨C a friend of mine said that he won a Tetra Master round by mere luck.
¡ª Luck? ¨C that was Ingus, the oldest of the brothers. I can tell he''s old because of the voice ¨C I''d rather throw dices.
¡ª You''re the one who wanted to play this game ¨C poor Archie. Still has not figured out how to play it. I can''t blame him.
¡ª Now I do not. It''s so boring. Boring like you, brother ¨C as for the attitude, Ingus is just a kid.
¡ª Your brother isn''t boring ¨C I say as if it''s offensive to call someone boring on same was a jerk. Go figure that out...
¡ª But he is.
¡ª He is not.
¡ª He sure is ¨C a kid, confirmed ¨C well, compared to you...
¡ª Me? Am I boring?
¡ª Hmmm... yeah. Ain''t I right? ¨C I can agree that some adults are boring. Adult? I''m not even that old. I''m only twenty.
¡ª Well, can a boring guy tell that you have ten golden coins of gil, a piece of chocolate and a ripped button on your left pocket, Ingus?
¡ª Hey! ¨C I love each of their expressions. Even knowing what I''m able to do, Ingus is that surprised ¨C how did you!
¡ª I can smell better than anyone, kids. My, how I am boring...
¡ª Yeah. If Fratley smelled anything else inside your pants ¨C to hear this coming out of Raymie...
¡ª That was rude, Raymie ¨C I feel his sudden trembling. It''s a thing I hate to feel, that I can''t ignore with my senses.
¡ª Oh, sorry.
¡ª My chocolate... ¨C said Danny. He''s been a bit quiet. If putting his sneezing aside.
¡ª Here, Danny. Take a bit ¨C Ingus took a piece of chocolate from his pocket, and gave it to Danny. He did it so with a confident smile on face.
¡ª My chocolate... you ate it.
¡ª You gave it to me, remember?
¡ª Mom gave me chocolate
¡ª Yeah, she did. But in this state, can you really eat a whole bar of chocolate, Danny?
¡ª You eat chocolate.
¡ª Uh huh. But you gave it to me.
¡ª No I did not.
¡ª Geez... is the cold messing with your brains too?
¡ª Please don''t be mean with your brother, ingus. He''s sick ¨C it''s just a cold, but how much of a debilitating cold for a kid ¨C you should take care of him.
¡ª Me, always me... Why can''t anyone else?
¡ª I ain''t old. You are ¨C Archie said, comparing his cards to the ones belonging to Raymie.
¡ª To think we were born on the same day...
¡ª Ingus, did you stole the chocolate from Danny? ¨C I asked, still holding my deck of cards. If this was poker, I would be having a Royal Flush in hands.
¡ª No, Fratley. I swear I didn''t. Danny gave it to me. He didn''t wanted to eat it all.
¡ª Why Danny only gave it to you, fat? ¨C outraged, Archie shouted at Ingus.
¡ª Call me fat again, you jester! ¨C to which Ingus layed his little hands on the table. He can''t do much with these, not when I am nearby.
¡ª Jester? You don''t even know what that means.
¡ª It''s what you and Raymie are ¨C a brief moment of silence, interrupted by Danny''s coughs.
¡ª Is that what happens when we eat too much sugar, Fratley? ¨C Archie asked to me. I wonder if sugar can make you angry. Abstinence, perhaps, which ain''t the case.
¡ª We know Ingus ain''t that sweet ¨C Raymie said, laying his cards on the table ¨C see, I got a Dragon, and a Goblin, and a Skeleton. What do I do with these?
¡ª Can I say anything? ¨C Ingus looked at everyone, with crossed arms. I wonder what he had to say, but I know it was no good.
¡ª Yeah, where Ingus steps, grass no more grows.
¡ª You''re exaggerating, kids ¨C I miss when I talked whatever I felt like, without having any worries.
¡ª Tell me, Ingus... why did you gave a bit of Danny''s chocolate back to him? ¨C said Archie. I could listen to Ingus heartbeat, but I don''t want to say that he''s a liar. Besides, it has already been proven that he did something wrong, can''t say anything else.
¡ª Because I did not wanted to eat it ¨C kids and their excuses...
¡ª Why, you!... Taking advantage of Danny. Just look at him!
¡ª You say it as if you haven''t already told Danny to pick up the kite stuck on a tree. On a storm.
¡ª That was before he got sick.
¡ª Does that make any difference?
¡ª It does. Danny wanted to help. Now it''s time for us to help him out.
¡ª Look! Danny didn''t even ate the bit of chocolate I gave him...
¡ª If I were on Danny''s place, neither I would! ¨C I wonder when this card game became something else. Meanwhile, I just listen to Archie and Ingus discussing with each other ¨C Geez... you could have divided the chocolate for us if Danny didn''t wanted to, but no! You''re fat, thinks with the stomach!
¡ª He called me fat again, Fratley ¨C now they acknowledged of my presence.
¡ª Archie is right. Taking the fat bit away, I mean...
¡ª Heh, cutting the fat.
¡ª Archie! ¨C I hope I haven''t increased the tone of voice that much. Nothing can be solved with shouts ¨C well, Ingus, your brother is right at saying you could have divided the chocolate between each of your brothers.
¡ª My... Don''t you see, Fratley? Why Ingus give back the chocolate for Danny? He''s laughing at his face!
¡ª No I''m not!
¡ª Yes, you are!
¡ª I''m not! Y''all wanted a bite of that, didn''t ya?
¡ª Better than keeping it all to yourself, fool!
¡ª Fool, me?
¡ª Yeah, a fool. Isn''t Ingus a fool, Fratley? ¨C Danny''s chin is burning. Uh, did someone called me? Was it Ingus, or... oh, it''s Archie.
¡ª He ain''t a fool.
¡ª But Fratley!... ¨C At the moment, I''m giving all my attention to Danny.
¡ª Danny, did you wanted the chocolate? ¨C when I was young, I had fever. You can''t feel any scent, and no taste. For someone blind, the senses are everything.
¡ª Mom gave me chocolate. I like chocolate. Ingus like chocolate too ¨C Danny ain''t blind. Well... not in same way as I am.
¡ª Hey, I like chocolate as well! Why didn''t you gave a bit to me? ¨C Archie won''t give up ¨C or Raymie? Hey, Raymie! You heard me?
¡ª I can''t eat chocolate.
¡ª Why not? Does your face gets swollen like a frog''s one?
¡ª No. I broke my teeth with chocolate once.
¡ª Did you? I broke mine with an apple soft as butter.
¡ª Archie, you''re so clumsy that you broke your nose falling on your back ¨C poor Danny, his head is boiling. Oh, was that Ingus talking to Archie? Wait, which one''s who?
¡ª And you are a chocolate thief! ¨C that''s Archie, uh huh.
¡ª Oh, come on! Let it go, and move on ¨C and that''s Ingus, trying to get away from responsibility. Kids... ¨C now you''ll say that I have to hug Danny.
¡ª Ingus hugs like a snake if you ask him to ¨C Raymie said to me, to which he took all breath to himself. Wait, is he running out of air, or ¨C I WON!
¡ª You won? How so!? ¨C I think I should put Danny on bed. Oh, and Ingus gasped ¨CRaymie, you cheater!
¡ª I''m no cheater! I mean, Grand Dragon eats Goblins, right? And Goblins eat, uh...
¡ª That''s not how you play the game. In fact, nobody knows how to play it. So why are we playing anyway?
¡ª I know, but it''s lots of fun this way. Don''t you agree, Fratley? ¨C Raymie asked to me. I think I''m having a deja vu.
¡ª Well... having fun is better than having nothing at all. Don''t you think?
¡ª A-ACHO! ¨C Danny''s sneeze pulled some Tetra Master cards away from the table.
¡ª Bless you ¨C all that phlegm within one''s throat...
¡ª Thanks, Frattie ¨C oh, Danny called me Frattie. I''m flattered. Guess he learned with the brother.
¡ª Eugh! Gross! It''s yellow ¨C speaking of his brothers, Archie and nobody else wants to play with the cards ¨C whoa, Danny! From where did you got that cold?
¡ª I... I don''t know.
¡ª Alright, buddy. Time to rest ¨C Danny''s already falling asleep before I could even pick him up.
¡ª It''s what happens when you keep poking the nose too much ¨C I heard it from Ingus.
¡ª Funny, I haven''t seem you with diarrhea, Ingus ¨C was it Raymie? Archie? All my senses mix up with Danny''s heat.
¡ª Uh... you forgot the cane ¨C did I?
¡ª I can walk without it
¡ª But if you fall...
¡ª I would never, not while holding you ¨C or holding to the handrail, in this case. My, having another deja vu, Mr. Irontail? I guess. So I put Danny to sleep on his bed. I take a time to hear his lungs. The acid in his stomach, the blood circulating on his veins... he''ll be fine. Just a cold, nothing to worry about. I thought that bringing Danny to play with the brothers at the table would make him feel better. Being all alone in this room, in this darkness, it ain''t good. Now that Danny knows he isn''t alone.
¡ª Gosh, what a waste of time! ¨C as I come downstairs, I hear the boys shouting to each other.
¡ª It ain''t no waste of time. Wanna give up?
¡ª I don''t. Not for a loser.
¡ª Hey, I''m no loser!
¡ª Archie, my dear brother... You''re such a loser that if you went in a loser contest, you would end in second place!
¡ª Why not first?
¡ª It''s because you''re a LOSER!
¡ª Fratley! Ingus called me loser! ¨C I can''t tell who''s who. Their body temperatures are almost the same.
¡ª Don''t yell, kids. Danny fell asleep ¨C it doesn''t matter, there should be a little bit of order in this house.
¡ª How did he got that cold? ¨C Raymie is worried about his brother.
¡ª Who knows? I don''t wanna get that bad ¨C so does Ingus. Kinda.
¡ª Danny.. he was so healthy yesterday. Fratley? ¨C Archie has no idea how his brother got that sick.
¡ª It''s the flu, boys. Spreads quickly on air and has no mercy on anyone.
¡ª Good afternoon! ¨C I can tell that sweet and raspy voice belongs to April.
¡ª Mom! ¨C a tall figure surrounded by little whirlwinds, holding of a basket in one arm heavy as Phoebe in another.
¡ª You''ve brought the bread I like, mom? ¨C that was Ingus, raising his hands to the basket. I hope he cleaned his hands, under toes too.
¡ª Uh huh.
¡ª Let''s see ¨C Ingus should clean his hands. Other than that, I feel ¨C Eggs, bread, cheese, cookies. Chocolate cookies. Five oranges, apples... Six apples?
¡ª Am I supposed to be open mouthed? ¨C April stares at me, so do the boys. Phoebe opened her mouth to let a yawn come out.
¡ª Well, aren''t you? Is that mint in your breathe?
¡ª Why... yes ¨C an icy, freshy breathe
¡ª Mint, mom? Do ya have bad breathe, mom? ¨C asked Raymie, to which his mother stared ugly.
¡ª A woman has its secrets ¨C not at the boy, but at me instead. I leave the stairs to help April out. She''s been carrying a lot of weight from the market until home. Everything''s on table.
¡ª ...A pot bottle filled of water ¨C which could''ve been filled of seltzer water, tea, or lemon juice.
¡ª Why, taking a guess? ¨C how so, April? I didn''t even touched the bottle...
¡ª I do not take guesses. I just smelled what''s inside. It''s water.
¡ª When since ever water smells?
¡ª It does. Not for you, normies! ¨C CRUNCH! I love that expression in April''s face. She hates mine.
¡ª Fratley, you silly! There''s no need to impress me with your abilites ¨C How do I describe it? MUNCH!... A frown for anger, a curve for a smile, that''s the best I came up with.
¡ª I need to. Or else, you would be very disappointed.
¡ª Disappointed with what?
¡ª By living with a blind man.
¡ª Oh, sure. With the way you show off yourself, who remembers about your deficiency? ¨C April knows how to put sense in one''s head ¨C now kids, why don''t you go play outside?
¡ª Uh, play? ¨C I feel worry in Raymie''s voice ¨C but you said...
¡ª Play with responsibility.
¡ª You heard your mom, buddy ¨C I haven''t noticed the state of Raymie''s legs for a while. Guess it''s because I have nothing to worry about, he''s fine.
¡ª Yeah, as long as we are not idiots like Raymie ¨C Ingus... he''s a hard type.
¡ª Don''t call you brother by idiot.
¡ª Yes, Fratley ¨C so Ingus ran away, following Archie to outside. The door is open, but Raymie refuses to go.
¡ª Ingus called me idiot, mom.
¡ª He didn''t wanted to.
¡ª But what I did...
¡ª You won''t do again, right?
¡ª Right. Hey mom, my legs are healing! ¨C yes, the legs. Full of leeche bites. For a kid who lost so much blood these days, Raymie seems a lot excited.
¡ª Good to know. Wait, did I said good? Oh, that''s amazing!
¡ª O-Okay mom! Mom... That''s enough, mom! You can get off me already! I feel fine ¨C kids and their parents, hugs and kisses...
¡ª So do I. Come on, you can go outside and play for a while.
¡ª I heard you, mom. See you later!
¡ª Later! ¨C now there''s only Phoebe for April to care about. Yet, something in her eyes, so do her heartbeat, changes ¨C does hearing me is enough? I mean, what prevents Raymie from doing what he did again, if not worse?
¡ª The boy cares about you as much as you do with him. It''s just that he doesn''t know how to express it.
¡ª He could just say ''I love you, mom''.
¡ª Deep inside, your kids are willing to say it.
¡ª So, why they don''t? Is it because they feel sentimental while saying so?
¡ª The many was we can express love to someone, April ¨C there''s a garden outside the window. I throw what''s left from the apple I ate there. Could it be a sign of love for nature?
¡ª Want some cheese bread? ¨C to feed someone might be tied to love. Might be.
¡ª My favorite ¨C April apple pineapple... I could make a tongue twister ¨C still warm? Let me guess...
¡ª Yes. It''s warm bread, out the bakery. Anyone with a nose could tell.
¡ª What happened at the Jugend?
¡ª Nothing special. One of my students passed the first training, and that''s it ¨C I don''t like to talk about my work to April. What stays at work should stay at work.
¡ª That''s good.
¡ª Like this bread. Did you knew there''s another way to tell if a bread is good or not? ¨C so I took a bread out the basket. I can already tell by the slight touch of hands, it''s texture, the softiness inside, that''s a good bread ¨C all you have to do is squeeze it, slightly. You can hear by the crunchiness. Here, have a piece.
¡ª Thanks ¨C I offered a piece of bread to April, to which she offered me, eh ¨C here, have it.
¡ª Alright... ¨C a baby. There''s no such unplesant thing as to hold a baby in arms. For a guy with senses as I, have something like a baby very close is... not bad, though. Phoebe is fine, smells like gardenias in the wind, her tiny heart beating a lot. I think it has to do with her heart and mine, I don''t like hearing both hearts and being uncertain for a lot of time.
¡ª Know what I heard from Melissa? ¨C meanwhile, April is working around the kitchen, cleaning Danny''s mess, making coffee, cheese bread, patting Phoebe''s head, it''s surprising how much she can do with an only hand, now with two ¨C sis said that, at her neighborhood, instead of meal, they''re selling bones. Raw bones, like the ones you give to dogs, being sold to people. Can you believe it? I can''t. Who would be desperate enough to eat a bone? I blame the government for the lack of effort at distribution.
¡ª The government ain''t the only to blame. Tell me, where does your sister lives at? ¨C neither I can''t believe it. As for solving, though...
¡ª I asked her, because there''s no way that there''s no meat avaliable to buy around the hills. There is, but with the few they have, who can afford it all? Yes, sis live at the hills. You know, those burmecian slopes you can barely walk up without almost letting the rain pull you down. Urban waterfalls, that''s how they are called around. They really pull you down, let me tell you. I say that as a kid who got inside a wooden cart and got pulled by her brothers down the hill. It was fun, like riding on a comet, before I clashed against a wall.
¡ª You clashed against a wall? ¨C I''m impressed. April ain''t a knight or anything like... she was a child, right? ¨C how did you survived?
¡ª Children do have twice the guardian angels as we grown ups have ¨C April takes a seat at the table. Phoebe is too quiet, they both had quite a day ¨C well, I lived at that place, people still live there, no excuse for having no meat, because I had. Got injured and had the finest meal I ever had. Onions boiled together of a ironite steak followed of a lettuce so crunchy...
¡ª Like this bread?
¡ª Yes. You know something''s good for you when you can hear the noise of how good it is at your mouth ¨C so I listen to April''s words, followed of a carrot taken to pieces bite by bite, reduced into something slimy and ¨C Fratley, don''t you dare...
¡ª Sorry. I can''t avoid, not after what you said.
¡ª I know when you''re hearing something you don''t want to. Know how?
¡ª How? ¨C April stared at me. The deep stare of a croc in the lake.
¡ª You wiggle the ears. Everytime you hear something gross ¨C does I? Wiggle wiggle... Guess I do. So does the little at arms.
¡ª Look, Phoebe wiggled her ears.
¡ª Sir Fratley ¨C sigh, that croc is about to bite me, am I right? Nah, April doesn''t ¨C with those senses of yours, at least you can tell if my food is poisoned or not, fresh or rotten.... instead, you use them to spoil the fun. Not that I mind. I wonder, how does water smells like?
¡ª Well... ¨C how I will tell it in a simple way, without working around and getting her confused? Don''t worry, I''ll find a way to, but I can''t say I will not sound too intellectual ¨C indeed, water has a scent. It''s hard to tell, because there is no such thing as pure water. There is, but it''s hard to found. Depending from where it came from, if the source to a bottle of clay, water holds of so many elements, like earth, and earth shares of so many tiny elements, like iron, dead animals, and have you ever heard of elements? It''s a new talk around Lindblum, something about every life, every thing in this world and universe is composed of elements, the basic ones being... well, they''re yet to be called a name, because they do exist, we are made of these elements, if not even tinier elements, like a neighborhood inside a town, a town inside a city, a city inside a kingdom, a kingdom-
¡ª Whoa ¨C pant pant pant... I need some coffee ¨C that''s a lot complicated than I thought.
¡ª It is. I''m out of air, but there''s air around me. Lungs work with exchange of airs, you inhale and exhale. The plants as well. See that willow outside? It''s breathing. Someone from Daguerreo, those guys are really smart, proposed that the plants do breathe, they have breathing patterns like us, but their air exchanges are the opposite of the one we have. Like, have you ever felt healthier near a tree, or walking at a park? Well, that can be explained by the plants taking our exhaled breathe by inhaling it as they do, and exhaling the air we inhale. I know, it''s complicated, but it won''t be as soon as we come up with names for these ''airs''. There''s more than oxygen in the air we breathe. Imagine if all plants were called the same name, if every red petal was called rose. Things wouldn''t work like they should, but they already do. It''s just that we haven''t come up with different names.
¡ª Even if our goal is to be equal ¨C I like April''s single way of seeing things in contrast to mine ¨C by being different, everyone is equal, don''t you think?
¡ª Yeah, sure ¨C coffee''s good ¨C do you know from what Gaia''s most expensive coffee is made of?
¡ª Poo?
¡ª Really? How did you guessed?
¡ª I knew you''d say something gross ¨C April and her sixth sense...
Home. I''m finally home.
And someone has been awaiting for me.
Isn''t that why we, soldiers, always want to come home? Such a pleasant thing to do, isn''t it? I''d stay out home all day, if there wasn''t anyone to care about. I leave the sheath with my sword, helmet, shoulder pads in a corner. To be fair, I threw them away faster as I could. The less it takes to put away the weight I carried on this entire day, the better. And how I feel better. Sweaty, a bit tired, but after feeling the scent of those carrots, hearing the knife cutting them... no cries upstairs, as well. My boys do not need to cry, their father is once agaim home, together of the mother.
¡ª Ohh, soft! ¨C like butter. Got Learie from behind. She gasped, and I thought my cheeks would turn red with a slap of her hands.
¡ª Dan!?... Oh, what a surprise ¨C I can feel the scent of boiled meat together of Learie''s own perfume. And I had to ruin it all with my sweaty body. Well, my skin better sweaty than shedding of any blood.
¡ª How I''ve missed you, darling ¨C and how much you''ve grew up. My mind is somewhere else when I think about... uh, I always bring dirt to home. And for Learie, well... I share of my dirt, and a special massage on the chest.
¡ª I know ¨C she smiled. I hope you don''t mind any tickles ¨C hey! I''ve missed you too, Dan... hahaha!... stop. Oh, stop! Please!...
¡ª Okay ¨C enough fun already ¨C let my hands be yours, how''s that?
¡ª That''s very kind of you ¨C I''ll be cutting the carrots in your place, Learie ¨C so, how was your day?
¡ª It was a good day.
¡ª How much good?
¡ª You know, the unusual good.
¡ª Meaning?
¡ª Well, I came back home. For me, that''s already a good thing ¨C it feels so good to smell around her. I mean, the kitchen.
¡ª Anything else?
¡ª You mean, if I had to fight? No. Just words. They can be sharp as the tip of my blade ¨C heh, who said that I didn''t pulled the sword out its sheath today?
¡ª Dan...
¡ª Come on, darling. There''s only two of us ¨C yet, somehow, I feel like I''m being watched. By holes in the wall ¨C Freya? ¨C or, in this case, by holes out a helmet.
¡ª Uh... yeah. Only you two ¨C I think I heard footsteps coming down the stairs before. Now I feel ashamed, oh my... ¨C uh... nevermind. I''m outta here.
¡ª Already leaving? ¨C Learie asked, and even thought I''m ashamed, I can''t let her go. Reminds me of the day we''ve glued our hands with glue ¨C won''t you stay for dinner?
¡ª I will ¨C Freya stares at me with a cold look. Caught me in the act, and she''s judging me as if she was my mom. Kinda reminds me of Lenneth a few times, must be that ¨C there''s so much to do. Take the clothes out the line hanging outside, cut the tall grass, fix the fence... I can''t believe you let your husband treat you this way, Learie.
¡ª Which way? ¨C most the time, I am too tired to do anything at home, leaving it all to Learie. That doesn''t mean I mistreat her. Why would I, if it''s so much better to hold her carefully?
¡ª Oh, you don''t mind ¨C Freya is like that kid who closes it eyes whenever an adult kisses one another.
¡ª I''d do anything for you if I had the time and strenght, my dear ¨C I admit it''s kinda disgusting, only when you think about what crawls upon the skin.
¡ª Being at home is fine for me ¨C Learie''s cheeks are soft and red as apples ¨C and them too ¨C then I hear cries from above. Someone else is demanding of Learie''s attention.
¡ª Have you finished exchanging germs to one another? ¨C and someone here feels its not being given enough attention, despite wearing red.
¡ª Well, Freya, would you like to see your nephews? ¨C so I let go of Learie, as I walk upstairs.
¡ª I''d rather not. But if you insist...
¡ª I''m not insisting.
¡ª I know. Wash your mouth before you enter in contact with any of the kids ¡ª oh, someone here is feeling envy today. I don''t blame you, Freya. Seeing your childhood friend married with your cousin must be... I mean, Learie and I were trading spit to one another since little. She was so fun, I even forgot the reason why I hated girls. Maybe it''s because they mix with our heads. In a good way. Nah, girls do more than that. If it wasn''t for Learie, I would be dead. There''s no better way of saying. But looking at the littles, I try to find a better way of saying without scaring them, while being truthful and warm.
¡ª I never thought of being a father. Am I good enough? I''m not even here most the time.
¡ª Now you are.
¡ª Yeah. That''s what matters, isn''t it? ¨C I take Adam with me, while Jack stays on the crib. He holds those bars with its tiny hands, stares at me and ever since he learned to open the eyes, does nothing but stare. I think he stares at me and Learie on our sleep. He sleeps like a fish, a cute fish... Cute. Thanks to Learie, I learned to say this word without feeling less man ¨C uh, Freya? Mind if you...?
¡ª Hold? No, Dan. I cannot.
¡ª You don''t know how to hold a baby? ¨C Jack needs a bit of attention too.
¡ª I do, but I''m worried that I might let them slip out my arms.
¡ª Babies aren''t slippery as soap ¨C they do make bubbles come out their mouths and nose easily.
¡ª No, please. It''ll be my fault if I let them fall. Oh, I don''t like to think about it. What a sin.
¡ª Indeed ¨C I feel for you, Crescent. I also felt same on my first time. The feeling of hurting these little beings is something that can''t be forgiven ¨C don''t worry. That''s why I''m giving one for you to hold.
¡ª Okay, okay ¨C said Freya, reaching out for my child. Something about the way babies look at us frighten me a bit. It''s like they''re smarter than they pretend to be, and are judgind us all time. They look cute, we say they''re cute, and they think ''what a dumb''.. weird ¨C why are you laughing?
¡ª His name is Jack. I named him after your brother, you see.
¡ª I see. What''s so funny about it?
¡ª Seeing you hold little Jack in your arms... know, Freya, you were always older than us, and we called you bug. Freya means lady, right? So we called you ladybug.
¡ª And you the lord of flies ¨C she remembers. And smiles, frowns, look sideways, a bunch of expressions. I think that''s why I envied girls a lot, they do have much to express.
¡ª So, how was your training? ¨C I hope Fratley got slighter wit her.
¡ª See my hands?
¡ª I see nothing.
¡ª Yes. Let me tell you, Dan, about my day...
...
Five hours ago
...THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP!
¡ª ...Heart pumps blood to all directions. When you breathe, you make the blood move around your body. It''s something more complex can I explain in a few words, but that''s it. Sponges and starfishes regenerate lost tissue faster than other animals. Even lost limbs can be brought back, isn''t that fascinating? Heard me, Freya?
¡ª ...Now you''re gonna tell me that oysters can swin.
¡ª And they do ¨C Freya... all she does is punch the trunk. With her bare fist, knees, kicks... I wonder if she''s been hearing what I''ve said. I live by words.
¡ª Go to the point already, Sir Fratley ¨C she does hear me ¨C my hands are beginning to go numb.
¡ª Use your knees.
¡ª So do my knees.
¡ª Then use your legs.
¡ª I''ve wasted my legs enough ¨C I feel trembling at her voice, shivers across her skin, flowing like the raindrops. A rushed kick, the sound of cracking, and ¨C damn, how long will it take for this cherry tree to come down? If I really tried
¡ª You''ve had enough for today.
¡ª Indeed ¨C I try to locate her figure, but all trees around are so tall. Then I smell blood, and I know where Freya is. As if I didn''t already knew she was standing near the cherry tree. A cherry without any blossoms... hard to tell, isn''t it? ¨C pant, pant, pant, pant... Now you''re going to say that I''m hasty, right?
¡ª Why would I say so? ¨C I try to find her hand. As if she could raise it on her own by now... ¨C you did a good job. I thought it would take a whole week until you''ve reached this far.
¡ª Pant... It hurts... hurts a lot... ¨C lost tissue, dead skin and dead bark ¨C I...I don''t want to look at my hands. Not before you... you know, heal them
¡ª I... I''m impressed by what you''re capable of ¨C the pain of a whole week at hands, how is she able to handle that?
¡ª Doubting of my strenght?
¡ª Not even a bit ¨C Freya breathes like she just came out of earth. It''s kinda distracting. Look at me, surprised by breathes, but those hands... if those were the first pictures I had of hands after I lost my sight, I''d be horrified ever since. Nothing seems to shock me enough.
¡ª What''s up, Sir Fratley? ¨C she asks, while I attempt to concentrate.
¡ª Uh... nothing.
¡ª You seem shocked.
¡ª Wouldn''t you be if you could hear the amount of platelets clotting around a wound? ¨C an aura of green surround us both. If it ain''t green, it reminds me of. I like to imagine the green, green grass of home. Imagine colors, shapes, best thing for a blind kid to do to feel secure, as a passtime...
¡ª Can you?
¡ª No. There are things in this world not even I can hear ¨C ...hear the wings of thrushes migrating to south at night by the window. Always night. Right, where I was? Yes, treating Freya''s wounds, that''s right ¨C I avoid standing near pregnant women. Can''t avoid hearing two, three, nine heartbeats at once. Maddens me.
¡ª So you can tell if a girl obeyed her parents or not?
¡ª Eh... ¨C I think I meant to say a ''yes'', but feels so awkward to say anything. Funny, when I was young, hearing those two heartbeats, one inside another, I believed that women ate their own children. Not all imagination I had made me feel any better ¨C well, I''m done.
¡ª And what you did exactly? ¨C Freya asked, as she stands on her own.
¡ª Do you breathe?
¡ª Huh? Is that a question?
¡ª Really, do you breathe?
¡ª Why, of course I do ¨C I think I''m relying too much on the wise man''s persona ¨C anything to do with my breathing that made my skin, muscles and flesh coming back?
¡ª Rei''s Wind. It''s how it''s called by ¨C honestly, I can''t stop showing off how smart I am ¨C the breath of life, your own breath converted into healing energy.
¡ª So, all I had to do was breath in a specific way in order to heal my wounds, simple as that?
¡ª Not any breath. To put it simple, I made you breathe in a very special way ¨C and so I insist to explain it all, even if Freya already figured it out. Looking at me like that, crossing hands ¨C let me explain. As you may know already, breathing has to do with your blood. After all, your blood is what moves oxygen from your lungs, same blood has to do with the cells in your body. And those cells make up your body as a whole. I shared of my breathing pattern, close as the one Reis discovered by herself during her exile at the mountains. It''s hard to breath in high altitudes, there''s less oxygen in the air as you go up, close of the stars...
¡ª I like how you go from simple explanations to lucid talk ¨C and look who arrived.
¡ª How are you doing, Hrist?
¡ª I''m doing well, Fratley. It ain''t everyday you break the floor with your hair.
¡ª Or break someone''s hands with the power of fixing it ¨C said Freya. Following Hrist, they both stare at me with same stare, same frown. They do have a reason.
¡ª You know I''m against these outdated training methods as much as you do. Yet, you can''t fight against tradition most the time. It''s unbearable.
¡ª Unbearable, eh? Said the lawyer who stood at the side of a handicapped woman who haven''t been treated like a woman at all by said ''tradition'', and the defenders of same. Shame on you, Fratley ¨C Hrist only comes to be specific at these moments.
¡ª For the first time, Hrist, I''m at your side ¨C and she gets support from Freya too.
¡ª First time? Hate to admit, but you''re the one who... who... you know ¨C a longtime support.
¡ª Know what? Do you have any skeletons in your closet?
¡ª You mean literally or figuratively?
¡ª Honestly, the fact that I have to specify...
¡ª (I don''t want to talk about that. Not in front of a man who can listen to all our secrets) ¨C I could avoid any whispers from coming to my ears. Really, I could ignore these ¨C ya heard me, Fratley. Get out, and stay out.
¡ª As you wish, Hairy ¨C I leave the girls on their own with a jump.
¡ª (I hate when he calls me like that.)
¡ª (Still whispering?)
¡ª (Want me to shout at your ear?)
¡ª (You''re not a 3 year-old, Hrist.)
¡ª (Often he treats me like a child.)
¡ª (He who?)
¡ª (Fratley. He has a small dick.)
¡ª (...What?)
¡ª (I said Fratley is such a dick.)
¡ª (No, you said something else.)
¡ª (...Don''t look at me like that, Crescent. I had to come up with something just so he left us alone.)
...
Five hours later...
¡ª ...Wait, does Fratley has a small-
¡ª That ain''t of our concern, Dan ¨C oh, I see. I look at those hands, and wonder if there were any huge scratches at all ¨C anyway, he taught me what he had to ever since the first day I stepped on that place. Well, not really. He just healed and haven''t taught how to heal by myself at all.
¡ª And why he did not? Fratley ain''t a neglectful guy, or is he? The sheer amount of violence one Dragoon in training has to pass throught... it ain''t Fratley''s doing, my dear, you know that.
¡ª I know. But, doesn''t that mean he agrees with those methods? If he keeps doing these? ¨C so Freya shows her arm once again. Little I care for her arm, but the one''s she''s holding ¨C you should have saw my arm yesterday. Or a time ago. If Sir Fratley could have done the damage, so he could heal at will. His very will kept me bleeding.
¡ª Only his will? ¨C I don''t see any signs of bad conduct. I can''t say what''s bad conduct or not, I just have a sword and people obey me. Though, I don''t need any weapons to make my boy sleep quiet.
¡ª Well, no, but... ¨C given her tired tone, Freya has a lot more to tell ¨C on that day, Sir Fratley had to leave the Jugend. To take care of a delicate situation. I''m not a fool or too innocent to know it was someone about to kill himself in front of many. Captain Edea came in and said he was a man of good words, or something like. His good words weren''t enough, and that guy... my brother said that he got stuck on asphalt like rubber, everyone was shocked, and some, I would say, entertained. And Fratley, well...
¡ª He is devastated, I know.
¡ª Everyone, Dan. Even I, who wasn''t there to see it.
¡ª I see ¨C these little things we have in arms do not know what happen outside. The day they will, if I''ll be there or not to tell... of course I will. I''m a sucker for keeping promises, counting the bad ones.
¡ª Maybe we could invite sis for dinner a few more times ¨C I watch Burmecia by the window, all these people walking and the rain just falling. There''s a lot more to see at town than you do at country, yet I miss the green of grass. I could just take a walk, but right now, I feel so tired.
¡ª I''m sure she''ll accept another invite ¨C we both are tired. Aren''t we, Ottis?
¡ª I know Freya is independent. She made her own bed before I could, or wanted to. Remember?
¡ª I do remember. I had to make your bed ¨C even when I said you didn''t needed to. But that was Ottis job, to take care of me when mom was out. Me and Freya ¨C something bothering you, Jack?
¡ª Everything ¨C I wish I could forget my problems by looking at her face, but they remind me of more problems. Married with my childhood''s nursemaid? Nah, that''s the least of problems ¨C when you are young, no one bothers you. You live your life. Then, as you grown up, you get to do a few jobs. Put some hard work in the easy living. Right when you get a little bit older, they, everyone just say ''well, better live your life. You have experience'', but thing is... we don''t. I enjoy mostly what I do, because I do it for you, for Freyr...
¡ª Hmmmm ¨C Ottis judge me in silence. Half silence. I look at little Freyr, resting at her arms.
¡ª He doesn''t need to care about same things as we do ¨C the boy alone drains all our energy and attention.
¡ª Isn''t that a bless? I take care of children everyday, and Freyr is the quietiest of them ¨C is he? Well, I heard that out of Ottis, so it might be true. The many tales she has to share about burmecian kids are a mix between exorcism and fairytales.
¡ª He has a bit of grandpa. wish you knew him.
¡ª Your mother told me a lot about Bart ¨C I wonder what would I be without Ottis. Without father was already hard enough ¨C she missed him a lot. I never asked money out of her, but she was willing to give it to me. I said ''no, thanks'', but that was her way of saying ''thank you''. Followed of you too, and that little as well. Freya, isn''t it?
¡ª Yes. My sister. The one we invited to dinner.
¡ª That one?
¡ª The only one, Ottis.
¡ª Oh, my... I can''t believe it''s her, how she grew up. She was that little and grew so tall!
¡ª Tall like mom ¨C honestly, I do not seem that surprised. Not as much as Ottis. It''s because I''m worried again ¨C mom... it''s been like, what? Three, four days, a week since she... I wonder how sis feels. I mean, Freya always has been a kind of a loner. That''s what bothers me, because, well... she''s my sister, I know her better than anyone.
¡ª Anyone?
¡ª Yeah. You were there as well, Ottis. How many times sis refused to put a shirt and you just convinced her to...
¡ª It wasn''t that easy. Those were your clothes ¨C one of the advantages of being the older brother.
¡ª I believe Freya is the only kid who ever felt happy by receiving clothes on her birthdays.
¡ª To have a piece of cloth is already a gift enough ¨C time to put Freyr on the crib. He looks like me, so quiet while on sleep. Wait until he wakes up to see...
¡ª You know, hugs are way better without these, darling ¨C Ottis arms wrap all around me.
¡ª Jack, please... ¨C I had to ruin the moment.
¨C You are from Cleyra, right? Don''t the ladies out there wear short dresses? ¨C please, stop ruining the moment.
¡ª Only the maids participating at the ritual dance.
¡ª What, you never participated? Never danced among those pretties... no, wait, you are the pretty, the only one, errr ¨C I swear to god, if you could just shut your mouth, you''d feel less embarassed than you do right now.
¡ª Maybe I could show you my dancing skills ¨C is that a code, or what?
¡ª Hmmm... maybe ¨C Jack, Jack... you are not that innocent to perceive what''s going on, aren''t you? ¨C ah, let me close the window, alright? It''s so cold here, heh. So, you dance? This room, well, is too small for a dance
¡ª I thought about a private dance ¨C that''s it. Nothing much to do, other than give myself in to her embrace. Who dances in a bed? I''d rather jump upon it.
¡ª Right now!? What if Freyr wakes up? ¨C shut up already, Ottis said with a kiss. Whatever...