Chapter 4
The wind howled, beating flurries of snow onto Shelke’s face. Reining her Chocobo in, she tied her scarf more securely around her mouth and nose. Squinting into the storm, she could barely make out the silhouette of Vincent’s steed ahead of her. The storm surrounded them completely. To the north and the south of her, to the right and the left, all she could make out was the blinding white of wind-driven snow.
Pushing her own mount into a trot, she trotted alongside Vincent, waving a frozen hand in his face to get his attention. Vincent turned slightly, one hand still on the reins, the metal claw on his other hand shielding his face against the scouring wind.
Answering his unspoken query, Shelke gesticulated, miming a map. Vincent simply looked confused. A little put out, Shelke repeated her gestures in words, shouting to make herself heard over the shrieking storm.
“Where are we now? Are we going off course?” Vincent’s response was to simply give her a questioning look, and cup his gloved hand to his ear.
Shelke took special care to enunciate her words this time. “Where are we? How are you going about this search?”
This time, Vincent leaned in close, and whispered in her ear, his low voice surprisingly audible against the brazen howls of the snowstorm. “Trust me. We’re not lost. Chaos knows what he’s doing.” As Vincent drew back, he briefly pressed his lips to her cheek in a chaste kiss, before urging his Chocobo onwards. Even through the frozen scarf, his lips were cool against Shelke’s cheek.
For a moment, Shelke remained motionless; hand on the cheek that he’d kissed, and her half-frozen mind a jumbled snarl of thoughts. Gritting her teeth, she set off again into the wind.
By her estimation it had been about half an hour and five miles later when the chocobo got itself stuck in a snow bank. Under the innocent surface, air had built up in a treacherous pocket, undetectable to anyone exposed to the harsh elements above. Shelke had just been unlucky enough to ride directly over such an air pocket.
Shelke floundered around in the snow, fighting to extricate her chocobo out of the steep basin which they had fallen into. Not for the first time, she cursed her underdeveloped body. Panting, she strained at the chocobo’s halter, trying to guide it step by step over the lip of the snow bowl she found herself in.
It was then that she saw the first wolf. Ordinarily, a wolf, or even a pack of wolves should be of no threat to her, even in the most adverse elements. Just that the wolf she had seen was not one of the local grey wolves that had roamed the region for centuries. Instead, the animal she’d seen was a relatively new species. A species that was no more a work of nature than she. A species so dangerous that Shelke sprang out of the pit, settling into a combat stance, and paid no further mind to her chocobo still encumbered by the pit behind her.
Shelke’s gaze roamed the darkness around her, eyes peeled for any sign of the wolf which had disappeared as melting snow would have from the edge of her vision. Briefly, she considered contacting Vincent, hand inching to her phone secured in her inner breast pocket. However, that thought was lost to the storm when it attacked.
It sprang towards her, a dark blur against the heavy snowfall, fangs bared. In a smooth motion, Shelke drew one of her katanas, but only had time enough to twist her body awkwardly to the left and bring her weapon in her right hand into the line of attack. The jaws of the beast closed around her blade, nearly wrenching it from her grasp.
In the next heartbeat, Shelke activated the mako unit embedded in her combat vest, and her katana glowed orange as plasma sheathed it. Mouth badly burned by her glowing blade, the wolf released her weapon, rearing back onto its hind legs, howling its pain. Shelke whirled to the side, keeping her center of gravity low, slipping out of the reach of the wolf’s sharp fangs, her weapon held aloft diagonally across her upper body in a high guard.
The injury dealt by the hot plasma clearly did not faze the wolf as it recovered quickly to point its muzzle back at Shelke, snarling as it paced towards her. Shelke waited, not wanting to make the first move.
Impatiently, the wolf sprang again, and this time, she was ready. Pivoting on her right foot, Shelke swung out and away from the lunging attack and brought her blade down, two-handed, on the vulnerable neck of the wolf before spinning away again.
Shelke came to a stop, blade back on guard, staring at the eyes of her adversary. Her katana had done its work; a long weeping scar now gashed its ugly way across the wolf’s neck; only its natural armour had prevented it from decapitation.
The wolf circled her, more warily this time, glowing green eyes fixed on her blade, a low growl resonating from its throat. It attacked again, its powerful limbs propelling its jaws towards Shelke’s right ankle. Shelke backed off, blade slashing downwards, hoping to take its head off.
Then, it changed its direction, hind legs pushing off the ground to attack her exposed side. Shelke stumbled back in surprise, almost losing her balance on the treacherous snow. Her boots scrabbled for purchase on the packed frozen snow on the ground as she fought to remain upright, bringing her weapon around to fend off the attacking wolf. She barely made it, the sharp fangs grazing her upper arm before she could get back on guard.
Again and again the wolf lunged, again and again she faded to the left and the right, as agile as a hare, nipping at the wolf’s flanks. Ducking to the side, Shelke laid blow after blow against the armoured hide of the wolf, the crackling of her plasma blade upon contact clearly audible even above the vociferous wind. Slowly but surely, her attacks were taking its toll, streaks of blood and fluid leaking out of the numerous shallow cuts on the animal.
Then, one stroke finally penetrated the beast’s thick hide, spilling muscle and sinew out onto the blood-tracked snow. The wolf stumbled, no longer able to keep its footing. In one graceful, sleek motion, Shelke drew her plasma blade across the animal’s throat, spilling its life out onto the white snow in a rush of crimson.
Straightening up and breathing hard, she wiped the near-frozen perspiration from her face. Blade held loosely at her side, hissing in the falling snow, Shelke reached into her combat vest to deactivate it. Turning back to her chocobo, she stumbled, her muscles suddenly seizing up.
Shelke strained to keep her trembling limbs under control, cursing the unlucky timing of the attack. She took one step, and another, before losing the battle with her balance, pitching headfirst into the snow.
Just before she hit the unyielding surface, a pair of strong hands caught her, gently lifting her up into a sitting position. Still too weak to even lift a hand, Shelke could only stare blankly ahead, the world a incomprehensible blur before a sharp pain in her right arm pierced through the haze.
Blinking rapidly, Shelke turned her head to see Vincent supporting her with one gloved hand, the other still holding a syringe bearing traces of a green liquid.
“Are you alright? We forgot to give you your daily dose. I can’t believe I forgot,” his words came out in a rush most uncharacteristic of the staunch ex-Turk. Breaking their eye contact, he turned his gaze to regard the instrument in his hand.
“We’ve got more important things to worry about.” Shelke pushed off the ground, shrugging off Vincent’s supporting hand. “Let’s get moving.” As expected, his worried gaze lingered on her, unwilling to brush of her mishap so easily.
With an irritated frown Shelke moved away from him. “Let’s get moving,” she repeated herself. “The faster we find Cloud, the faster we get out of his storm, and the faster you can stop worrying about me.” Dropping the matter, Vincent nodded briefly before striding off to the other bird standing patiently off to the side. As they continued along their way, Vincent stayed close to her, periodically checking his PHS, sharp eyes roving the shadows around them. Shelke too, kept a hand close to her weapon.
The howls of the wolves, not just one but many, could be distinctly heard over the howls of the storm. They were getting close. Evidently, the single wolf she had killed had a pack. A pack now out for revenge. Struck by a sudden urgency greater than before, Shelke urged her chocobo onwards.
At long last, the planes and angles of a motorcycle less alien that her surroundings appeared. Covered in snow, it was barely recognizable. Rushing forwards, Vincent slid off the back of his chocobo, and hurried towards the still, unmoving form that lay just under the motorcycle’s carriage. Tying her chocobo to a nearby rock outcropping, Shelke jogged over to them.
A shiver ran through Shelke as she looked down on Cloud’s body, standing behind Vincent’s shoulder who knelt on the snow by Cloud’s side. Vincent had laid him out on his back, and was now busily checking Cloud’s body for any sort of injury. Not taking his eyes off Cloud, Vincent bit out, “Shelke. Help us check Fenrir, will you?”
Swiftly, Shelke ran a critical eye over the vehicle. There was no major structural damage, and the fuel gauges were nowhere near the red. Clearing out the exhaust intakes and control surfaces of the snow that had clogged them, Shelke turned back to Vincent. “We’re in the clear. I can’t find anything wrong with it. Fenrir’s ready to go.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Fenrir. There’s something wrong with Cloud. I can’t find any injuries, nor can I find anything that might be the cause of his raging fever.” Taking an extra cloak out of his pack, Vincent made to wrap it around Cloud’s unconscious form.
“Let’s get moving. The wolves are getting close.” Picking up Cloud as if he weighed nothing, Vincent strapped him to pillion seat of the bike. “Know how to drive?”
“Yeah, I learnt it in my years in Deepground.” Shelke was still edgy about her years spent in service to the lost SOLDIER cabal.
“Great. You ride that bike and get Cloud back quick, and I’ll drive both chocobos. I’ll see you in Seventh Heaven.” Suiting his words to action, Vincent jumped astride one chocobo, and holding the other’s halter, started in Edge’s general direction.
“You just want me to get back first don’t you? I don’t need you coddling me!” Shelke called after him. Her voice was lost in the wind, and if Vincent heard it, he gave no response.
With a sigh, Shelke revved the engine and sped past him, tires squealing in the deep snow. Cloud needed her more than Vincent did. And anyway, if she didn’t trust him to keep himself safe, who could she trust?
~
Hours later, Shelke sat, elbows on the table in front of her, hands tightly grasping a glass of the finest Whyren’s Reserve. Time seemed to move as slowly as the time good liquor took to age, and that was forever. She couldn’t help worrying, even if the storm had died down. Vincent was still out there, hampered by an extra chocobo, and possibly chased by a vicious pack of mako wolves.
She swirled her liquid in her glass, watching the dim light glint off the golden flecks that lined its surface. A shadow fell across her glass, turning those golden flecks into mere bubbles and foam.
“I’ve closed the bar. Cloud’s sick, so I’ll have my hands full already.” Tifa slid into the seat beside Shelke, wiping her hands on the hem of her skirt.
“Mm-hmm.” Realizing her response wasn’t the show of solidarity and support Tifa needed, Shelke cast her mind around for something better to say.
Tifa beat the scattered thoughts back from the plains of Midgar as she said, a little too quickly. “I guess you’re worried enough about Vincent. You don’t need me adding to your burden.”
“No, no. It’s I that’s too preoccupied. I should’ve been helping you attend to Cloud instead of…”
“It’s fine,” Tifa cut in. “I was able to manage quite well. And anyway, what’s that you’re drinking?” Tifa made to remove the glass from Shelke’s grasp.
“You can’t drink! You may be twenty years old but your body still can’t take such liquor. You have to take care of yourself. I understand possessing the body of a child may be a hassle at times, but you have to remember these things!”
“There’s no need to worry, Tifa. As I was saying just now, save your energy for Cloud. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ve been pumping drugs into me on a daily basis. This is nothing.” Shelke indicated the glass.
“How’s Cloud, by the way,” Shelke asked, taking her drink back from Tifa’s relenting fingers, trying to sound concerned.
“He’s sick, high fever, chills and the like. I’ve checked him over. I’m no healer, but if it was up to be to guess, I’d say his sickness was brought around by extreme exhaustion. He should’ve known better than to abuse his body like that.” Tifa’s response was far longer than Shelke would’ve thought.
“Exhausted? Why? He hasn’t been doing anything strenuous has he? He’s just been running the deliveries.”
“Your guess is as good as mine. I’d better get some sleep so that I can be awake enough in the morning to mind the kids.”
“Maybe I’ll help you look after them in the morning. You get can get your rest, and then focus on getting that blond spike-head well. Would that be okay?” Shelke’s tone was uncertain; she’d never done anything sisterly before; not for Shalua, not for anyone. Best to start now, she told herself. Anyway, it was the least that she could do to repay Tifa and Avalanche’s hospitality.
Seeing the hesitation written on Tifa’s face, Shelke quickly added, “It’s really fine. Really.” She forced a smile onto her face.
“I guess so. Thanks so much, Shelke. I’ll go up to bed, then. Call me if you need anything.” Tifa’s smile seemed completely genuine, in contrast to her own wooden grimace.
Shelke tried to smile again, and nodded. “Good night.” Returning Shelke’s greeting, Tifa turned towards the stairs. Draining the last dregs of wine from her glass, Shelke ambled towards the sink. Her hands were still covered in soap suds and grasping a scouring brush when the door opened, and in stumbled Vincent, looking as tired and as windswept as she’d ever seen him.
She vaulted over the sink and rushed over to him, hugging him tightly, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other tracing his lines of his face.
“Careful.” Vincent winced. “My ribs are a little sore.”
“I don’t care. You’re finally back. What took you so long?” Shelke didn’t let go, but loosened her grip, just a little.
“Some wolves, a cranky chocobo. Nothing to worry about.” He smiled at her in return, his hand coming to caress the now shoulder-length red tresses Shelke wore. “Just,” Vincent wiped the suds off his face with his other sleeve, “you could’ve washed your hands.”
Shelke looked up, a reproach forming on her lips. “Oh come on, a little soap won’t…” But the rest of her sentence was forgotten as Vincent reached down to claim her lips with his own.
It was a little while later when he whispered a ticklish “won’t what?” in her ear. Reaching up to kiss him again, Shelke decided that it no longer mattered.
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