Chapter 3: Megid
"Two dollars and fifteen cents," the woman demanded from behind the counter, the same dour expression she had worn for the past fifty years weighing harsh and disapproving judgment on the customer in front of her. She was not the only one staring, though.
Everyone in the little store, from the ever-incumbent retirees swapping stories to the wide range of students who stood looking for a place to escape the grasping fingers of winter's first foray into the autumn took time to whisper to each other while attempting to hide their wide gazes. They took in the young girl with eyes like liquid smoke and who moved like flowing water through the crowds, her foreign features -- never seen before in the likes of Megid, with skin many shades darker than even the adventurous woodsmen that bolstered the town's sagging economy. The more observant ones, able to shift their eyes from her exotic beauty noticed the off-season black ski bag slung across her shoulder, far too early to be useful and especially out of place combined with the white blouse and plaid skirt that barely reached the girl's knees.
Mirai Kishida, though, accepted the stares in stride. So far away from her homeland, she understood the curiosity. What she could not tolerate so well, though, were the hostile looks more than a few flashed at her -- teeth bared beneath a fake smile. Were it not for her quest, mere moments from completion, she might have shown all of them humility -- or humiliation; her English had never developed quite perfectly, though she suspected they were ultimately one and the same. With a shrug, she decided it mattered little and reached into her belted purse to produce the desired payment.
The clerk's scowl deepened when Mirai passed over a twenty, lacking anything smaller, but the woman said nothing -- probably for fear of being unable to communicate, or it could have been the way Mirai's fingers tapped on the counter -- an unfamiliar but unmistakable dirge. The woman handed back Mirai's change and purchase and, at long last, she knew the sweet taste of victory.
Stepping outside with her newly acquired chocolate bars, she looked to the left and then the right scanning for any signs of potential trouble. Satisfied that none existed, she offered one to her companion with an outstretched hand -- far too focused on fiddling her own open with her remaining hand than to waste time on words.
"I think I will pass," replied the soft voice that Mirai had longed to hear. "But you enjoy, by all means, do not let me interrupt you."
Mirai dropped the second bar into a pocket of her blouse and looked up at her old friend. Terradyn's sculpted features emanated an aura of ferocious peace, as though her simple presence pushed all negativity away -- threatening it with something far worse than violence should it attempt to violate or disturb the sanctuary cast by her smile. With her mane of golden hair flowing down past her waist, and high cheekbones that served only to highlight the glowing sapphire stars of her eyes, many would have called Terradyn a goddess and thrown their hearts to the ground before her in blind devotion.
They really would not be all that far off.
"What do you think of the people in this place, Terr?" Mirai asked, curious what a different perspective might bring. Mirai had encountered -- and fought -- nearly every culture on the planet, in one form or another. City people she figured she had a grasp on, they often moved in ways that directly benefited them, and usually operated only in the short run. They were the bishops in life's game of Chess; far reaching to be sure, and ostensibly difficult to work out, but easy to counter once you knew and watched for their tricks.
Countryside people, especially Americans, had proven to be far more confounding. She needed only to remember her encounter with Alex Whatever, and the clouds he had cast with his condemning questions. Would he have traded his life so easily for the ones she had let die? And more importantly, would Seven Kharaos sacrifice himself to protect another? And if so, Mirai's thoughts conflicted, what would that mean about her own destiny and sacrifices? She needed to know.
Terradyn took a long time to answer, and with a voice as distant as a blazing comet, disappearing into the cosmos, her memories did not belong to the present, Mirai knew, but always divulged a deeper wisdom. "As you know," Terradyn began, "small towns breed small minds, and often even smaller hearts." Mirai nodded her agreement. She, too, had been born far away from the cacophony of civilization.
"This lends to itself, though, a certain strength. Like a tree growing alone in an empty field beneath a blue and unpolluted sky, the heart and mind can grow an unrivaled independence and spread to embrace the life-giving sun with all the vitality the earth below can muster," she continued, "but with that comes a profound weakness -- the fear of intrusion, for as in nature, the strongest trees often choke the life from those smaller and unfortunate enough to exist beneath those wide branches. Xenophobia exists, rampant then, to prevent competition and maintain the status quo. Safety and security," Terradyn continued, "but they are a case of often believing that the one tree constitutes the forest, and thus the extent of the world, failing to see all the other constituent components that allow them to continue their naive dream," she finished at last.
Mirai nodded absently, only half-listening after she had heard the part that Terradyn believed the people of Megid could possibly be strong enough to shoulder the burden laid upon their shoulders by the terrible machinations of fate. Instead, she concentrated on getting the candy bar into her mouth – and, that mission accomplished, took time to take stock of her surroundings.
The town of Megid, though bearing an ominous name, claimed to be the gem of the north -- a fiery emerald as deep as its rolling forests that climbed the obscuring mountains, covering them like thick, spiky hair. Though little more than glorified hills compared to the peaks of the west, and her own home, the mountains still reached defiantly skyward, stalwart guardians that ringed the pristine little village settled comfortably within the culminating basin.
No buildings rose, babelesque, to challenge Nature itself. Indeed, Megid seemed a town founded firmly on the concept of grandiose mediocrity. The tallest seemed to be the high school, claiming no more than three pithy floors. Houses dotted the main street, and many businesses were closed despite the early evening. She had heard talk inside the store that indicated the lifeblood of the town, the paper mill, had recently closed; sufficiently explaining the evacuation of wiser shopkeepers and residents. Yet others stayed on, as fierce and resilient as the winter winds, enduring as the mountains that shielded the dying little town.
And though Mirai could grasp the concept, she utterly failed at truly understanding what actually went on in the minds of normal people. On the other hand, she corrected, as an abnormally fat man strolled into view wearing no shirt and garish purple and blue shorts nearly two sizes too small despite the crisp air, calling the people of Megid "normal" might be a bit of a misnomer. Being entirely honest, though, Mirai realized that she had neither idea nor right to judge what passed as normality in the ever-changing world. None, after all, would ever call her with such a banal title.
Biting off another chunk of chocolate heaven, Mirai smiled at the very concept. She reached out nonchalantly, absent-mindedly offering a piece to her companion once again, but Terradyn shook her head to politely decline. A group of school children stepped out of an alley and nearly bumped into Terradyn, but with a swirl of her flowing white clothing, she slipped past and averted disaster, more graceful than a ballerina. So engrossed were the children with the odd foreigner ahead that they barely registered Terradyn's graceful movements as a capricious fall breeze rushing past their cheeks. They stared at Mirai with the innocent and open curiosity possessed by all children -- the good ones at least -- dozens of questions trembling on pale pink lips.
However, Mirai had questions of her own. She looked down at them, bending just a little bit lower to better match their height and meet them eye to eye. "Do you know the Kharaos family?" she asked gently, her voice falling into its natural rhythm, unfamiliar in the recent days when danger loomed behind every smile, and death behind every frow
n.
Something unexpected happened at the mention of the name, though. The kids blanched, ever so slightly, turning a nearly imperceptible shade paler. For a moment, they said nothing, feet shifting uncomfortably on the broken and dusty sidewalk as the crisp brown leaves of cast away by autumn swirled idly past, whipped up by an ominous wind. "Yeah, I guess we do," said one young girl, the leader apparent, no older than a third grader.
Happy to have found a lead at last, Mirai pressed further, "Please tell me about them," she said. "I'll trade you some candy from my country."
That sparked the kids' attention, and they looked to their princess expectantly, hoping she would negotiate something both equally rare and sweet. The girl looked back at them as well, weighing her options carefully, balancing unknowns against both her subordinates' and her own desire for the treats Mirai carried in one of her many pouches. Mirai quite liked the fire that danced in those young eyes, the spark of both wisdom and leadership -- a kindred spirit, no matter how distant and intangible. "Well, we don’t know much…" the girl began, cheeks flushed and regretful at her pittance of field intelligence. Mirai was not especially surprised, though.
With a flick of her wrist, all five children found small and bright cloth bags of Japanese candies in their hands. Mirai smiled at their looks of amazement and said, "That's all right… how about this: just tell me where they live."
The girl seemed defeated, unwilling to renege and surrender her pink and purple flowery treasure. Mirai had chosen that one for her especially. "The Kharaoses live up on The Hill," the girl motioned vaguely to the east as she spoke, to where a minor mountain rose upward dotted with residences, "the closest to the forest. They don't involve themselves in the town all that much, but they've been here forever," she said. "Our parents said to never talk about them," the girl's eyes widened at the invisible boundary she realized, too late, that she had transgressed and her green eyes turned pleading, "please don't tell anyone what we told you!" she added in a breathless rush.
Mirai reached out and placed a calming hand on the girl's head. "Don't worry, little one," she said, her eyes fixed on the distant residence that must surely belong to her target's family. "Neither you nor they will have any reason to fear anymore," she finished. Who they referred to, the little girl could not quite clearly understand -- and had she asked, Mirai would not have been able to answer either. "I added a couple extra candy to yours," she whispered into the girl's ear as she withdrew her hand, slipping a few tastier treats through the drawstrings so quickly the other children couldn’t see and get jealous.
The girl gazed at Mirai with renewed wonderment, and she blurted out, "Do you know magic?" The children fixed their princess with astonished looks, as Mirai offered a quick wink.
"No," she responded, "I have no need for thing like magic." Mirai's voice lowered, softer for any but Terradyn to catch, she thought. "None at all."
"But wouldn't magic be a wonderful thing," a deep masculine voice asked from behind Mirai, so close that she whirled around dangerously, fingers grasping for knives she kept tucked up her sleeves.
Two bemused eyes regarded her, shining like polished azure glass in the setting sun, and though they lingered but a single moment, Mirai knew they had gathered every detail into the well of pained wisdom reflected within. She noted his hair, a creamy brown not unlike her beloved chocolate, and the confident way in which he carried himself, a half-amused smile playing on his lips like he alone understood a joke the wind whispered in his ears. He took in the children as well, and with a wink of his own, the entire group dispersed into a well-rehearsed tactical retreat, laughing as they went. The man's aura, the very energy that radiated from him, smelled of a dualistic and confusing mix of unchecked chaos and carefully crafted peace.
"Sadly," he concluded, almost wistfully, "such magic does not exist in this world." His eyes slid to the side, as though he himself did not believe it, before they flicked back to Mirai, calmly taking in the scene. "You are far away from home," he said. It was not a question, merely a simple observation – the tone was curious, but lacked the judgmental weight shared by his neighbors.
But when Mirai opened her mouth to protest his assumptions, true though they may be, he raised a black-gloved hand to appease her.
"As it seems," he said softly, "so am I." He smiled. Sadly enough to stir some distant feelings locked deep within Mirai's heart.
Looking, truly looking, at the young man for the first time, standing there with a blazing soul, defiant against the encroaching darkness, some indescribable emotion swirled to the surface of her consciousness. His spirit welcomed that darkness, absorbing it like a diamond prism -- reflecting the dying sunlight in a dazzling spectrum of color that spiraled like the galaxy itself, balanced on the fingertip of some universe-bearing Atlas; and Mirai understood.
She had, after all, come to destroy him.
Yet the tangible eluded her, blurring her thoughts and staying her hand. She had dreamed of this day, of bleeding life from those eyes, of hearing the final confessions of the condemned soul whispered as a death rattle into the empty air. She could no longer remember even that.
It was something that in her twenty-three years she had never felt; buried under the mountain of duty and crimson blood that flowed like the River Styx through her own dirty soul. A word occurred to her, then, dancing upon the tip of her tongue, too beautiful and pure for her to utter, lest it die still born, smothered by her audacity, and yet the thought would not die:
Hope.
"Seven Kharaos," the words escaped her slightly parted lips like a blessing, though she had always spat it as a curse.
The young man's eyes widened and his smile deepened, a ravine that showed the ragged scars cut by glaciers of conflict and time long lost. "Mirai Kishida," he whispered back, a confused expression crossing his face even as he repeated her name.
"How do you know me?" she hissed. Imminent danger drove the doubts from her mind, giving rise to the thirst that had carried her there in the first place. Right hand searching, she latched onto the pommel of one of her blades, secured within the nylon bag. It offered her precious little comfort.
Blinking, Seven Kharaos gave a confused shrug, as though he did not know and did not think it truly mattered. How little did he know! "I saw you in a dream," he said, "I guess." Sensing, perhaps, some subconscious danger he quickly changed topics, "Now let me pose a question: what brings you all the way out here to this forsaken place?"
On that, Mirai found herself in total agreement. "Just enjoying the fall weather," she spoke back through teeth clenched into an awkward smile. If Seven had understood the implications, he did not show it. Instead, he looked around again, basking in the autumnal glow.
"I see," he said at last, letting the challenge slip by like a gushing stream. His eyes focused somewhere behind her, swimming in oceans lifetimes away, betraying nothing save their bewilderment. "For today,” he apologized, “I'm afraid I need to get going. I have some... things to think about at home," he said at last.
"I thought you said you had no home," Mirai countered.
Seven nodded sadly again, "As long as I live, I suppose this world counts as my home," he said quietly, mind preoccupied, before turning to leave and cutting off Mirai's attempts to slow him.
As she stared at her target's retreating back, she could not help but think the swish of the crimson coat he wore to fend off the chill made his shoulders seem just a little bit reliable. Considering her next move, she noticed Terradyn suddenly next to her, leaning low.
"We’re in trouble," her friend said suddenly, urgently. "He definitely saw me," her words trembled as though she, herself, could not fully believe them.
"And I think he knows what I am," the angel declared.