Giving - Chapter 3
A Promise Kept
Her role in the story of Sergeant Terrenus having concluded, Cai returned to her home, and to her life. She carried with her the burden of complicated emotions, but this was not a new experience, and she pushed these thoughts to the back of her mind. That night, she prepared for herself a dinner of roasted mushrooms, rice, and mint tea– with a few slices of pickled radish afterward; it had been a difficult day, after all. She read a few pages from a book she had borrowed from a library in town, and then lay down upon her futon for a long night’s rest.
Anguish. Regret. Despair. A long corridor. A rope…
She awoke suddenly, terrified. Where was this, where was she, who was she– it was all right, it was all right, she was safe, it had only been a dream… And yet, she was unable to get back to sleep after that. Not for the entirety of the night.
Nor the night that followed.
Fatigued and frustrated, Cai set out the following morning for the Black Shroud, a spacious pack slung over her shoulder. There, she was certain, she could clear her mind through meditation and introspection. She set up camp that night near Pike Falls, and spent the last of the daylight hours drawing landscapes in her sketchbook. She slept peacefully that night, and in the morning, she felt rested… but no less troubled.
The days wore on like this, for over a week. Cai spent her evenings beneath the boughs near Bentbranch, or roasting fennel near Fallgourd Float. During the day, she cut stalks of flax, and worked to produce fibers of fabric from them. These simple days, when she eschewed complex tasks and immersed herself in nature, had long brought her the kind of comfort that nothing else could. Even on rainy days, she loved taking shelter in the shallow cave beneath the Matron’s Lethe, drawing in her sketchbook by the light of a glowing fire. Nowhere did she feel more at peace, more at home, than in the Black Shroud. Walking among the elementals, day or night, she felt as if she were among friends.
But something was different this time. She could sleep, and most nights were restful enough, but the nightmares would sometimes find her. When making thread, she would lose focus, and often found herself watching the road, hoping someone would come.
Anguish. Regret. Despair…
After several days, Cai returned to Gridania. Work. She would distract herself with work. This would pass. This would get easier. It eventually had, even in her most difficult moments. She wouldn’t return to professional conjury, not just yet– perhaps after a bit of time, another week or two… For now, she would make medical supplies. Potions, salves, bandages: all were needed, not only by the chirurgeons of the Order, but within city limits as well. These she could make from materials she had gathered over the previous few days, though the potions would require bottles, of which she had none.
So it was that, in the early afternoon, she found herself wandering the Rosewood Stalls.
Within all Gridania, there was no larger marketplace, no better place for individual merchants to sell their wares, than the Ebony and Rosewood Stalls. Here was a man selling fresh produce and dairy; there was a woman who sold novels and novellas. Armorers, tinkerers, materia melders, tailors– any merchant could earn a place within the Stalls, at least for a day. There was something admirable about that, and it lent a variety to the place that the shops in the Lavender Beds could not match. Cai nevertheless preferred to avoid the Stalls if possible. A Lalafell here was more likely to be overlooked than in the markets of Ul’dah, and experience had taught her that those who overlooked her were destined to trip over her. But she had bottles to buy.
“Ser, down here, please!” Cai called.
“Good afternoon, little miss! Conjurer, eh? You’ll be needing bottles and jars, then? I’ve a full stock of Kotomo’s finest, just arrived from Ul’dah.”
Cai groaned. “Do you have anything other than… nevermind. I just need bottles today. How much for…”
Her voice drifted off. Something had caught her attention– the swish of a familiar tail, partially covered by a familiar coat, worn by a familiar Miqo’te. It was Cela, standing a few stalls away, haggling with a merchant of ink and paper.
“Miss? Little miss?”
“W-what– oh, right, the bottles…”
Cai continued to speak with the glass merchant, and they settled on a price that she knew was higher than she should agree to pay. Her mind was only partially engaged. She looked back to where Cela had been, but her friend was no longer there.
Cai paid the merchant, and provided her address for delivery via Moogle Post. Her business here was concluded. She should go home, she knew… but she walked around the Stalls for some time, wondering if she would see Cela again. What she felt confused her. Was she hopeful? Anxious? Why? It wasn’t strange to see an officer of the Order conducting business within town. Yet as she walked around, she felt dread with every step– that she might see Cela, or that she might be seen.
After several minutes of wandering among tall people, it was clear to Cai that Cela was no longer there. I should go home, too. I should go home. …No, there was something else she needed to do– a promise she needed to keep.
Cela looked up from her writing desk, for the first time in Twelve knew how many hours. She looked over at the window on the far side of the room. It was already getting dark outside… She sighed, and shook her head. There’s another whole day, gone, just like that. She had spent almost the entire day immersed in work. When the day was done, she would be able to say that she had only completed one task today: taking a trip to the Stalls to buy more paper and ink, so that she could continue to chip away at a seemingly-infinite pile of work. Praise the Twelve for that, she thought.
In the days since the channeling, Cela had found it difficult to focus on anything. It was often said that losing people was part of the job, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept. Captain Volaire had recognized what she was feeling from the start, and had provided her with the kindness, insight, and encouragement that only he could. It had genuinely helped her, and she was grateful to him for that– but when the flow of work had begun, she had thrown herself into it with complete dedication. Thanks to Terry’s sacrifice, weeks’ worth of backlogged communiques could now be decoded. More were coming, every day. Her team was down one member. What had initially seemed to her team like an impossible task was slowly, slowly beginning to seem possible– but only because of the hours, and effort, that each of them had committed to invest.
There was a knock at the door. Startled, Cela rose to her feet. Who could be coming to visit her, unannounced? Not the Captain, surely…
Her legs were sore from hours of sitting, but she nevertheless quickly strode to the door with a practiced calm– one that she did not feel– and opened it, revealing… an empty evening skyline.
Then she looked down, into the tired eyes of a familiar auburn-haired Lalafell. Oh, no. Oh, no… I’m not ready for this, I’m not ready for this!
“Good… evening, Cai,” spoke Cela, her manner overflowing with hospitality. Her voice was calm, steady, and kind. …No, none of those things were true, no matter how she wished it were so.
“Hello,” Cai replied, her voice oddly timid. “I brought you something.”
Cela realized now that the conjurer was carrying something– a bundle, wrapped in linen, containing something cylindrical. A serving dish, most likely– some kind of cake? It had been awhile since she’d eaten anything, but she felt little appetite at the moment.
“So, um… would you like to come in?”
Cai nodded, wordlessly, and followed Cela inside.
It had been several months since Cai’s last visit. Cela hadn’t changed her place much in that time (there hadn’t been any point), meaning that her home was more Lalafell-friendly than most. One side of the room had a half-height table, surrounded by three well-worn floor cushions. There were small step stools next to the kitchen. Cela’s writing desk stood in the shadow of a tall bookcase, but on the other side of this bookcase was a smaller bookcase, all of its contents within easy reach for someone of Cai’s stature. There were no books left on it now, though; Cai had taken those with her when she moved out. All of these were places where Cai might have begun a lighthearted conversation on any other visit, but now she only stood a few steps from the door, her gaze fixed on the bundle she carried.
Cela nodded toward the bundle. “You… brought something?”
“I did,” Cai replied. “I made a tomato pie… I thought you might like something to eat.”
Cela blinked. “A tomato pie?”
“You like these,” Cai said.
“Cai, this was not necessary… Thank you, but this was not necessary.” Cela knelt down, and reached over to Cai, who handed her the bundle, wordlessly. The Lalafell stood in place, gazing at the floor, as Cela carried the bundle into the kitchen, and set it upon a table.
“I’m sorry,” Cai spoke. “If I’m interrupting anything…”
“Oh, just… work,” Cela replied, completely failing to maintain a light, jovial tone as she waved toward her writing desk. “Lots to do…”
There was an awkward silence for several moments. Then, saying nothing, Cai turned around, and walked toward the door.
A more rational part of Cela’s mind spoke up then, admonishing her for allowing this to happen. What are you doing? What are you doing?! Don’t drive her away like this! Cela reacted without thinking, kneeling down and reaching out to take hold of Cai’s arm– and in that moment, Cela could see that Cai was crying.
“Cai…?” But the young Lalafell was turning her face away. She turned her face away, to hide the tears, but they would not stop. They came in a trickle, and then a torrent, her shoulders shaking, her chest heaving; and then the room was filled with the bitter lament of a friend, rejected.
“Cai, no, no…” What do I do? What do I do?
Do what you always do. The voice of reason. The voice of compassion. There was still someone in there who remembered the way things had been before– the devastated younger brother, the stoic older sister, and the nights when her stoicism failed her at last. There was still someone in there who knew how it felt to wrap her arms around a despondent young Lalafell and hold her until the tears had subsided. There was still someone in there who had learned to accept and share the pain of loss of someone that had become family, to find some solidarity with another over that loss, to be there for that person and be comforted in turn. That person, that Cela, took control, pulling Cai into her embrace.
For a few minutes, there were no words. Cai couldn’t speak, so overcome was she with grief. She could only hold on to Cela’s neck, sobbing into her shoulder. But then…
“…I w-was… s-s-so… lonely…”
Cela felt as if the floor had disappeared. At last, the bill comes due. She had been so focused on distracting herself, on moving forward, on doing the work. But she had her team. She had the Captain. Cai had no family. Cai had no one. Cai had no one. And Cai had experienced everything that Terry had felt. There were no words she could say; nothing seemed adequate.
Eventually, Cai was able to compose herself, and dry her tears. Cela offered her a handkerchief, which Cai gratefully accepted.
“Thank you,” Cai spoke, meekly.
“I don’t know what to say,” Cela replied, her voice thick.
“You don’t…” Cai stopped. “Do you really want me to go?”
Cela shook her head.
“Are you hungry?” Cai asked.
Cela grinned. “Honestly… I’m famished.”
“I do have one last favor to ask, Conjurer Linn.”
Of course, Terry. Anything.
“Do you remember the night you made dinner for the three of us?”
Ah, right– I remember!
“We gathered around her table, and ate tomato pie, and drank wine, and told stories, and laughed, and sang… It was the most fun I ever had in Eorzea. It reminded me of home.”
It’s a good memory…
“She had such a good time that night, too. Most nights, she goes home, and eats alone.”
Yes, well, she…
“I want you to make dinner for her. Not every night, but… sometimes.”
That’s your request?
“Does that seem strange? … Cai, life is meant to be shared with others.”
…
“She keeps to herself. She always had some reason, but none of those reasons matter.”
…
“So long as you are alive, don’t let her dine alone. Take that as you will.”
She has her own life to live.
“A life lived alone isn’t a life. People need you to push, sometimes. Promise me, Cai.”
All right, Terry… I promise.
“Thank you. Goodbye, Conjurer Linn. Please take care of yourself.”
I will do my best.