FicWad

A/N: Now that some Al Bhed have entered this story, there will be various communications between them - both written and verbal. It must be understood when they are speaking to one another, outside the presence of non Al Bhed, they are speaking in their own language. I do not intend to supply the words in their language because it is an irritant and a nuisance to have to translate them into Al Bhed and back into English. Use your imaginations, for g-d's sake.


Chapter Six

The secret truth about warfare (which is not told the hot-blooded youth who are seduced into signing away a great chunk of their futures) is that it is boring. Those few minutes of heart-pounding excitement are the exception. By far the larger part of a soldier's time is spend waiting, polishing and oiling equipment, lying around encampments dreaming about better times before the lure of the uniform and the promise of glory had whispered its sweet enticements. It is one thing to hold one's head high, anticipating the heroic laying down of one's life and quite another to find the laying down consists of sleeping when one is not digging latrines. Even so brassily named and manned a squadron as the Blood Avengers was subject to the immutable law of the military: Hurry up and Wait.

Perhaps it was the excellence of the Warriors who made up the squad which accounted for the lack of enemies with which to deal. In a fortnight, they had scoured the territory around the approach to the Travel Agency clean of marauders until a naked woman could have made her way from the gates leading to the Mushroom Rock Road to Rin's place carrying a basket of gold coins and have remained unmolested by any danger. Even fiends had become rare to the point of extinction. For obvious reasons, safety equals boredom in the military mind. And the Crusaders were bored.

"Sir. Can we move our camp to the other side of the Travel Agency or maybe we should go back to base camp." Weymat brushed a few flies away from his face as he questioned his Captain. "There's nothing left to do here."

Nooj nodded, "I am considering both options. Just be patient; I'll decide in a day or so."

Weymat shuffled away, still fretting and joined a small clot of the others idly splashing one another at the creek side.

"Didja ask him?" Hingis asked.

"Yeah. And he said he hadn't made up his mind yet."

"You actually asked Nooj what he was planning and he didn't cut your throat?" Epitar gurgled. "I'd be scared to ask him what we're having for supper."

Totillion rasped, "He's tough but he's fair. If he doesn't think you're just bitching, he'll talk to you. And you can even argue with him. Just better have your facts in a row." She took pride in her challenges to the Captain and his grave answers to her questions.

"Well, he didn't get mad and he did tell me he was considering..." Weymat let his voice trail away as he thought. "What'd you guys think we oughta do?"

"I want to go back to base camp and get my promotion and do some serious drinking," Hingis answered at once, lying back on the grass and dangling his bare feet in the cool water.

Epitar, the youngest, rarely dared disagree with the bolder speakers, "Yeah, me too."

Totillion laughed and scooped a palmful of water at the boy. "What do you know about serious drinking and partying? You haven't even had a woman yet."

"Have too. At Rin's . Last time I had R and R." The young man blushed painfully, his face looking as though it had been rubbed with thistles.

The other three laughed kindly and Hingis clapped him on the shoulder. "That Gellal girl still there? You trying to copy the Captain?"

"No. She left and there's another one - a blonde with all those dinky braids and swirly eyes - like Aquelev. She's pretty young and she said she liked me and ..." He stopped, realizing he was on the verge of saying something profoundly stupid.

Totillion pinched his ear lobe and told him an old truth. "When the money's good, all whores fall in love. You did ok, then?"

He nodded miserably and turned over on his stomach, burying his face in his folded arms and pretending to go to sleep.

The woman muttered, "Wish they would get some guys in at the Agency. What's a girl supposed to do?"

"I'll show you." Weymat reached out for her and wrapped her in a wrestling hold and they rolled across the grass, shouting with laughter.

Across the meadow, Aquelev watched them at play. He was nearly as bored as the others, having little to occupy his time other than patching up the odd scrape or bite. The Crusaders were a discouragingly healthy crew. If his real mission had been to learn how to attend to the ailments of Spirans, it would have been a dismal failure. However, he was quite gratified at the manner in which he had been able to fit in with this squad and how easily they had grown to accept him. He had deliberately stayed away from the Agency and the presence of his confederate, not wanting to disturb the delicate balance of trust he was constructing. This did not hinder him from writing to his elder frequently nor from receiving messages as well. A carefully disguised hollow behind one of the steps up to the highway served as an adequate post box.

"Greetings, Gratti - I hope this finds you as well as it leaves me." he scribbled. "We have come to a point of stasis in the activities of the group in which I have embedded myself. We have done that which we were assigned to do and more. There are no longer any villains for us to conquer and these very physical young people are becoming restless. Nooj must make a move soon - either to lead them back to the main camp which he seems oddly reluctant to do or shift their location to another more target-rich territory. I confess he is an enigma to me. At one moment, he is cold and carelessly cruel; at another, he is patience itself. I sometimes think he is two men living in one body and switching off just to confuse me.

"Incidentally, he is dreaming, having nightmares it would appear. Twice, I have been awakened by cries from him during his sleep. Not loud. Were my hearing not so acute, I would have probably missed them. He didn't wake up either time, just tossed around for a while and went back to sleep. As far as I can tell, he hasn't had any more of those periods when he starts brooding and can't get out of it.

"I hope the woman, Gellal, managed to make her way back to the life she prefers. She was a big help with Nooj, showing up when she did. The comfort of a skilled woman tends to calm him considerably. If it is convenient, you might arrange with Rin for a regular provision of something like this for his use alone. I think it would contribute to the smooth operation of this mission. So, in our determination to advance our agenda, we become procurers.

"As per your instructions, I have made no effort to promote the use of machina in my interactions with the members of this group. Several have asked me about the fire-arms being introduced to certain elements of the Crusaders and I just fob them off by saying I have no connection to that side of our race's business. However, the curiosity is growing and unless Nooj decides to move us to another camp rather than returning to base, I can see this interest reaching a critical point fairly soon."

Aquelev paused, thought for a moment, then jotted down a few personal messages, folded and sealed the letter, and rose with a purposeful air. He thought he would take this opportunity to stroll down to the far end of the canyon and 'mail' his missive to his superior.

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While the others of the camp were amusing themselves, Nooj was brooding. He was having second thoughts about answering Weymat with such openness. Command was uncomfortable for him. He did not like having the lives of other persons as his responsibility. Solitary by both nature and choice, he would have preferred to operate alone with only his own existence to defend or relinquish but his gifts as an officer and the willingness of others to follow where he led had dictated otherwise and in a regimented world like the one he inhabited, personal preference was not acknowledged.

Then too, he admitted he was still finding it difficult to calibrate his behavior after the incident with the four bandits. The aftermath had shaken him more than even he had realized at the time. Stability was proving to be hard to come by. The woman Gellal had helped by proving to him he was able to function physically as a man in spite of his inner turmoil. He had given her a handsome gift of money to replenish her wardrobe and to stake her on her continued adventures and yet felt in her debt. He wished her well but had no desire to see her again in whatever capacity she decided to serve. The niggling need to indulge his less conventional appetite was making itself more and more demanding. He could see no immediate answer to that problem. This internal roiling was strange and unwelcome to him. He had taken pride in his self-discipline.

And he was dreaming again. After so long a period when he thought he was rid of the images of blood and mutilation which plundered his sleep, they had returned - in greater detail, with more explicit application. Why? He did not understand why the same dream came again and again, why he was always torn, mutilated in the scenario. He saw himself fighting against any number of foes, human, fiendish, sometimes even Sin itself. Then he was cut to pieces with limbs hacked away and the struggle continuing. He always woke enough to dispel the dream before he dreamt his death. Stop! He admonished himself. Dreams were simply that - dreams and of no matter in the waking world.

No, the important thing now was to come to a definite decision about the Blood Avengers. As usual, he shuddered at the idiotic name. Back to base or on to further cleansing? It was a long way back to base camp and the odds were if they returned, the squad would be dissolved and he would be saddled with another group of neophytes to train and shape and sent back out to do what was already half-finished.

The decision which had been more than a shadow in his mind took solid form and he stood, suddenly free of his uncertainty. He would tell the group at campfire tonight. In the meanwhile he meant to walk back to the site of the battle with the bandits and lay those unquiet phantoms; perhaps it would rid him of those disquieting dreams.

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When he reached the point at which he should turn to the left in order to reach the copse, Nooj was surprised to see Aquelev walking toward him.

"What are you doing here?"

The Al Bhed who had just moments before stowed his letter in the spot where Gratti knew to find it, smiled and smoothly dissembled, "I needed some exercise and this way was as good as any. Are you going anywhere in particular? If not, will you show me where this battle of yours took place?"

Reluctantly Nooj nodded. He would have preferred to be alone on his first return visit to the place he had nearly died but could think of no acceptable reason to refuse the other man's request. "It's not far from here. If it had been, I would never have made it with the poison in me."

They meandered along in silence until they came upon the little grove with four recently disturbed patches of earth among the trees.

"Wonder who buried them?" Aquelev scraped at one of the graves with the toe of his shoe. "Must have been somebody Rin sent."

"I suppose so. I haven't been back to the Agency so I never asked." Nooj was fingering the deep gash in the tree trunk where the pike had pinned him to the bole. "Not much to see here. I thought they were part of a larger band but it looks like they were by themselves. Here's their fire pit." He pointed to a circle burned in the grass, well distanced from the woods. "That's what I smelled before I ran across them."

The Healer flung himself down on the grass. "It's a lazy day today. Let's rest a little."

Nooj joined him, lying sprawled out, his head propped up on the hands clasped behind his neck. "I won't say no to that. It's been dull lately and boredom is more tiring than fighting."

For a while, they relaxed, looking up through the branches at the sky, watching the clouds drift and hearing the chirping and peeping of the small indigenous creatures who, now that the fiends were absent, had reclaimed their proper places.

"Why are you really here?" Nooj murmured softly. "No more of this nonsense you're handing out to the others."

Aquelev smiled. He had made a private wager with himself that Nooj would start prying into his motivations again at the first opportunity. "All right, but it's only part nonsense. I am curious about the way bodies work and how to fix them. But I'm more curious about you."

"Me? There's nothing about me to make an Al Bhed curious." He did not even turn his head, his voice remaining low and drowsy.

"Not many of your race are so much in love with Death and I want to know why."

"It's a private thing." Nooj gave his usual answer, not bothering to ask how his companion learned of his obsession. It was fairly common knowledge in the ranks. "Not something I talk about to strangers."

"But you discuss it extensively with your fellow Spirans? Eh?" The other laughed lightly.

"It's not something we discuss in our society." He answered with a certain stiffness. "It's personal." All at once he realized it had been a long time since he had made any effort to find his death. The ideal he had burnished for so long had grown dull and tarnished. He closed his eyes and tried to shut out the sound of Aquelev's voice so he could examine this phenomenon. Had he lost his guide star, had the impetus which had propelled him all his mature life dissipated?

Tentatively, like someone poking with his tongue at a sensitive tooth, he began exploring the possibility of life. It had been so long since he had seriously thought along these paths that he found his ideas stumbling and uncertain . It was as though he had forgotten how to find the words of a language he had not spoken for so long its very grammar had become foreign to him. He was aware of the muttering of Aquelev on the edge of his mind but it was as meaningless to him as the sound of water over stones.

Nooj felt dizzy, displaced in time and location. With a hastily garbled excuse to the Al Bhed, he leapt to his feet and almost ran deeper into the forest, seeking a place where he could be alone to examine this new concept. Finding a niche in the mossy wall of the canyon, he curled up inside the hiding place and gave himself over to testing the tenets upon which he had based his life thus far.

He knew in his deepest being he was living a borrowed life, that he should by all rights have died when Sin took his parents and left him caught in the branches of an uprooted tree in the midst of the ocean. The fact he had survived this pivotal event whilst all the other inhabitants of his part of the village had perished merely confirmed his conviction he was meant to die and had cheated the universe in a shameful manner. His life was a reproach to the orderly ways of existence. He had grown to maturity believing this; it was the bedrock of his character. When had it stopped being the first thing in his mind when he woke and the last whisper of thought as he fell asleep? Had it become so ingrained a part of his being that he did not have to continually remind himself of his objective? Or had he slowly become reconciled to the rewards of living and let his desired destination become blurred and unreal?

He tried to empty his mind of the skep which had taken residence therein, buzzing and distracting him. He conjured up the vision of Nothingness and held it before him but it was a map he could no longer read. Was he still willing to die? Yes, there was no question of that. Did he still long for Death with the same intensity he had felt earlier in his life? He could not be sure. There seemed to be a number of other goals interceding between him and his former total certainty. He took each of those new obstacles and looked at it carefully, judging it against the perfection of dissolution. For the first time he could remember, there was not that unquestionable distinction he had always seen. What had happened to his strength of will? Had he become nothing but a gelding? Coherence eluded him as he chased his thoughts with an unaccustomed frenzy.

With a half-stifled moan, he leaned back against the wall of the niche and covered his face with his hands. What if he chose to live? Would it mean he would be less courageous in battle? What would others think of his craven relinquishing his often stated purpose? Would he be welcomed into the world of common men or scorned as a coward? He could not bear that - to be thought a coward. But could he hunt his death if he was not sure? Wherever he looked were questions. He was adrift on the ocean again, powerless to direct his own destiny, at the mercy of whatever tides and waves might be. He was betrayed by his own probing intelligence, his inability to compel belief where it did not exist.

He had made a choice for the squadron and now could not force a choice on himself. Without a clear direction for his own future, he did not feel he had the right to lead the nine, no - ten, who depended upon his wisdom. If he could not govern himself how could he take responsibility for the lives of the others? No, he could not return to the camp and tell them of their next move until he had again taken command of his own fate. Life or death? It had been so easy for so long. The path had been clearly marked and inevitable. He should have tended it better. Now he could see no way forward and was a flailing prisoner of his own indecision.

Exhausted by the mental conflict, Nooj rolled himself into a tighter coil and suddenly, unexpectedly fell asleep. And dreamed.

He was fighting without joy on a darkling field, swinging the heavy blade which increasingly dragged on his muscles. He had been fighting for a very long time and was covered with the effluvia of battle. It clung to his skin making him retch with disgust. He raised his left hand to wipe his face and saw there was nothing there but the shredded remnants of his shoulder. When had the arm gone? He had felt nothing. Then he realized he was lying on his side, still fighting but no longer able to stand because his left leg was reduced to a short bloody stump. He had not felt that wound either. When he tried to check if anything else had happened, he could sense only the right arm flailing at the enemy. That was all of himself he could find, just the arm and the sword. Endlessly striking. Endlessly struggling.