#alaqa

Kopkun is here too, but isn't tall enough to peek over the railing.

Your clan fled the Empire, crossing Ilsabard in search of homelike climes. Aldenard was safe—for now. Even so, the tribe moved often, looking for a place to settle. Every time, you hoped you had found a place to call home.

Later, you think the Fury has a vicious sense of humor.

You were a child; you tended the goats and played with your friends, games that often ended in blood and bruises, for Xaela play rough to prepare for a hard world.

Coerthas had the right sort of mountains and meadows. It was also in a never-ending war with dragons—not legends, but flesh and blood creatures of intellect and fire. Auri horns and scales set your clan apart. From the insults hurled by cursing adults keeping their children away, they thought you were draconic heretics as well.

Knights came, but Xaela are made for war, as your eastern cousins upon the Steppe say. Sometimes you wonder why your people fled west.

You wonder when you dream of the knights’ return, of burning homes and rivers of blood. You stumbled over your favorite goat, its throat slashed, square eyes blank, as a knight dragged you by the hair to join your parents for execution.

“Look away,” Mother begged. But you couldn’t.

Not until it was your turn to face the sword that never came, and instead a man in black armor offered you a new Path.

--

Rielle is the family you have now, a pesky little sister, though you dare not say it aloud. Fray taught her conjury before his death, and she took to it like breathing. The trials you faced together made her learn quickly, but she wants a proper education, as Fray once did.

You grumble all the way to muggy Gridania. Once you might have found it a pleasant climate, but those days are long gone and you’re wearing full plate.

It’s not your first visit, and this situation is less fraught. Rielle is introduced to other students; a young Padjal, a Hyur adolescent who can hear the Elementals, and—

“Alaqa?”

In your hazy memories, there is a serious girl with pale hair against dark skin, bark-brown eyes often disapproving. Delicate, everyone said; her magical gifts left her ill-suited to be a warrior. Yet she could be cajoled into raucous play and emerge triumphant in her own way.

The serious child survived the slaughter, becoming a quiet woman who smells of moss, with dirt under her nails and conjury in her touch. Her magic tastes like windswept plains and a wildflower whose name escapes recollection. She blinks, similar confusion giving way to elated relief.

“The Matron Herself must have sent you, Sidurgu,” Alaqa says. You worship Halone, so it’s no surprise she venerates Gridania’s patron. You can’t recall your clan’s religion, so why not adopt the gods whose lands adopted you?

The girls get acquainted, laughing at another table. You and Alaqa speak haltingly in your childhood language, tasting the rust in every syllable, each word further opening the creaking gates of memory.

“I spent enough time in Coerthas to know what you are,” she says. “You can help.”

You scowl into your ale. Immediately after finding one another, she wants a favor.

Hearers stand between the people and the Elementals, interpreting nature’s whispers into proclamations. Gridanians understand from their earliest years sustainable practices that keep their Woods in harmonic balance. Newcomers must rely on permission from Hearers to determine if they can integrate into the weave of man and nature.

“While the Greenwrath is a concern, mostly the Elementals don’t care,” Alaqa explains. “Not when it comes to people's daily lives. Elementals don’t experience the world as we do, and they don’t ‘speak’ in words. Hence the Hearers.”

You see where this is going. You’ve seen it among clergy that abuse commoners, among the knights that slaughtered your clan and hunted Rielle. “And some hear what they want, or simply make up what they will, and people can only take them at their word.”

Alaqa nods. “I believe this is happening now to the Ala Mhigans in Quarrymill. Since the liberation of Gyr Abania, there’s been a push to ‘send them home’, nevermind many have been here for over twenty years. Their children are forestborn; the Twelveswood is their home.”

A Hearer using his privileged position to force refugees out. Not the visceral violence of the knights, but violence all the same on people who have suffered enough, who have found a home despite all odds.

A familiar rage boils in your chest, a furious howl rising from the abyss.

Justice is needed everywhere.

Alaqa’s rare smile is fierce, seeing your answer before you speak.

--

Most of Quarrymill’s townsfolk are native Gridanians—primarily Midlanders, Elezen, Miqo’te, a handful of Lalafell—but a few Highlanders and Hellsguard live in their own small district.

It’s humid, insects buzz about your head, and your boots are muddy. You’ve never yearned more for Ishgard’s icy stone streets. You follow Sylphie as she tends to people in the hamlet. She asks after their health, if they’ve enough to eat. Questions receive brief replies at best; the forest-dwellers are an insular lot. For most, life moves normally, though they mention the Wailers have been giving them a harder time about hunting and harvesting, after Hearer Bannon’s claims that the Elementals are concerned about the Ala Mhigan presence.

The Hearer in question is speaking with a woman, a small child clinging to her skirts. Bannon’s standing too close for propriety, especially with how she’s trying not to step away. He’s perhaps only slightly older than yourself and smiles unkindly as you walk up. She looks down.

“Is everything all right, Greda?” Sylphie asks.

“We were simply speaking about the recent difficulties,” Bannon says. He is fair-skinned and flinty-eyed. “I was offering Mistress Greda guidance on how she may appease the Elementals.”

“Looked like badgering to me.” You cross your arms.

“You are a visitor here,” Bannon says. “You cannot be expected to understand the delicate balance we must maintain at the Elementals’ behest, lest disaster fall.”

“Any gods who threaten their own people aren’t worthy of veneration.”

By necessity, you’ve learned to quickly pick out the righteous from the rotten among priests and knights. This conjurer isn’t difficult to understand. He’s just like some clergy back home. Under your glower, the Midlander’s false smile fails, expression growing thunderous.

“I suggest you make your visit brief, lest such views bring the Greenwrath upon you and yours,” Bannon turns to Sylphie. “Have care with whom you mingle, young lady. ‘Tis easy for such influences to drown out Nature’s voice.”

“I listen carefully,” Sylphie responds coolly.

Greda doesn’t relax even after Bannon leaves. “You needn’t get involved.”

“Someone must. What did he want with you?” You ask.

She looks away. This too you recognize; she’s been made to feel shamed and afraid. You’ve seen it often in the Brume, and familiar anger coils in your gut again. “He says my late husband’s actions are part of the trouble. He… joined the Griffin, you see…”

Sylphie frowns. “While the events at Baelsar’s Wall did cause a stir, why would one rebel’s actions matter more than the Griffin’s?”

You study Greda. A Highlander in her early twenties, shapely, with warm brown skin and dark gold hair.

“That’s his offer? The supposedly upset Elementals will allow you to stay in the forest if you but agree to his suggestion?”

Her head snaps up, cheeks darkening further as she trembles. Sylphie looks confused. “I…I didn’t,” Greda stammers. Tears well in her green eyes. “I can’t be the reason everyone suffers, but I won’t…”

“No. You won’t. And you aren’t—it’s that bastard. I’ve seen enough.”

You walk away, Sylphie hurrying to keep up. “What’s that supposed to mean? Sid? Oh, no wonder Rielle calls you—”

“Don’t.” Gods, you can’t have her calling you a chocobo’s arse too. “Let’s find the others.”

--

You pause to watch Rielle and Gatty. They’re sitting on the upper walkway built into the town’s palisade, legs dangling as they chat and share lunch. Sylphie joins them, distracted by their enthusiasm and her own youth.

“They’re having fun,” Alaqa says, joining you.

“While they can.” Your life isn’t easy and Rielle remains in it by choice. These moments when she can be the girl she is, with others her age, are rare.

Your duty is going to take that from her. Again.

“Bannon’s supposedly intervening with the supposedly upset Elementals to take advantage of people.”

Alaqa frowns. “If we could prove this corruption of his office to Brother E-Una…”

“You wouldn’t have asked for my aid if you could. Take Sylphie and Gatty back to the city. I’ll need Rielle’s help.”

“What are you going to do?”

You grin. “What I do best. Justice demands no less.”

--

It doesn’t take long to bait Bannon. Loitering outside Greda’s house while he makes his rounds, followed by accepting a simple adventurer’s job into the woods, soon has you surrounded by the Hearer and six young men from town. You sigh, realizing they’re all Ala Mhigans.

“Promising them lenience from the Elementals if they get rid of the annoying foreigner?”

Bannon sneers. “You are a blight on our Woods. The Elementals will recognize their…dedication.”

Their sacrifice. He’s hoping you murder these boys if they don’t overwhelm you. You draw your blade and shrug. You can try not to kill them.

Though you might have to, as Bannon goes for Rielle. He doesn’t expect her to be battle-tempered, to counter his command of the elements, drawing on those same forces with expertise beyond her years. She’s fought alongside the Warrior of Light, and it shows. Your friend would be proud.

Meanwhile, you are making a fool of yourself. If Ompagne were here, he’d be scolding and laughing. Two youths dash in close under your blade to take you with their fists. Two use lances to match your greatsword’s reach. Two others keep distant with short bows.

They grew up in these woods and are desperate to stay in their home, to fight the perceived threat.

Focus, Sid. Rielle can manage.

You roar, body checking one pugilist into the other, smacks from your gauntlets leaving them dazed, though it earns you a decent blow from a lance.

There’s a shout to the side; Rielle deflects Bannon’s earth spell into an archer, breaking his bow and leaving him nursing bruised limbs. You grin, knowing you look feral, rounding on the lancers. They falter as bloody rage swirls around you. They are not hardened warriors; you remember that as you break their spears and strike with the flat of your blade, cracking ribs.

The last archer stands his ground, Halone bless, though his nervous aim is poor. He doesn’t expect your leap to his position, for you to grab the bow and backhand him with it before flinging it aside.

A strong wind nearly bowls you over.

Rielle shrieks.

Fury colors your vision, the abyss howling against your horns. Bannon dashes into the trees. Rielle tumbles to a stop at the far end of the clearing.

Gatty is already there, magic in her hands. “She’ll be all right,” she calls.

“This way!” Sylphie shouts from the treeline behind you, in the direction Bannon ran.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

She shrugs and points, frowning. “Alaqa went that way.”

“Take care of Rielle and these boys.” You plunge into the forest.

No underbrush catches your armor, no roots trip your feet. Perhaps you’ll ask the girls about that later.

You think you’ve gone a quartermalm when you find Bannon ensnared in spiny vines, Alaqa nearby with hands clenched.

“How dare you, you filthy outsiders!” Bannon snarls.

“How dare you,” she replies. “Falsifying the Elementals’ whispers for your own gain, coercing desperate people.”

“I am a child of the Wood!” He shouts. “I Hear the Will of the Forest!”

“What does the Forest say now?” You ask as you stalk nearer, blade drawn.

He swallows, trembling. Like any other false priest. “Th-the Greenwrath will strike you down!”

“Perhaps,” Alaqa answers. “If the gods decree, so be it.” She looks at you, eyes clear and cold. “But I will not abide a man to drive us from our home. Not again.”

You remember playing with your friends. You remember the goats, your father’s laughter, your mother’s songs.

You remember the burning homes, the blood, the knight’s grip on your hair and your parents’ pleas. You remember Ompagne ending the violence; too late for most, but not for you and her.

Your blade is swift, and more merciful than the Hearer deserves.

--

You leave the Archer’s Guild after a few bells. You didn’t think you had warranted the Bowlord’s attention, but someone convinced not only E-Sumi-Yan to vouch for you, but the Warrior of Light as well.

The second was less surprising than the first; family looks out for each other, and timing has ever been that hero’s forte.

Rielle is waiting with Alaqa, Sylphie, and Gatty. “It went,” you say before they can ask. “While the Elementals seem silent about Bannon, Lewin still wants me out of his Woods.”

“They’re silent on the matter of the Ala Mhigans too,” Sylphie says. “The Fane’s sending someone new to tend to Quarrymill. Hopefully, they’re more honest.”

“If they aren’t, you can always mention it in your letters.” The ferocity behind Rielle’s grin is familiar; you’re not sure to be proud or worried she’s picking up your habits.

“Or don’t, as it’s too damned hot and muggy in this forest.”

The girls giggle at your growling. Alaqa shakes her head, amusement in her eyes if not on her lips. “With so much more for Rielle to learn, we're sorry to see you leave so soon. Our own fault...”

“More that bully’s,” Rielle answers. “Perhaps you can visit us!”

You groan, thinking of the trouble this group could get up to in Ishgard. The girls laugh all the way to the Carline Canopy. There’s time to try those famous eel pies before catching the airship.

Goodbyes are said, promises to write made. Your duty is taking Rielle from her friends and education, even as you both want to return to your cold, stony city.

Funny how much you’ve missed it.

Alaqa catches your arm and pulls you down to brush her horn along your own. In the tongue of your childhood, she says, “Thank you.”

You straighten, nod, and hope your stoic expression holds, though Rielle’s face tells you it hasn’t. “I did my duty,” you answer in kind. “You’re welcome.”

Rielle leans halfway over the rail to wave as the airship pulls away. You hold the back of her tunic and watch until the trees obscure the view of your friends. Appropriate, somehow; Alaqa and the Ala Mhigans found a home in these woods, while you return to where you found your home.

So long as you can fight, no one will take that from you.