‘You wanted to know what I was thinking,’ she reminded him, nibbling the tip of her tongue.
‘So I did. And I’d like to hear more.’
‘You’re strange,’ she said, eyeing him. ‘I’ve never met anyone like you, human or otherwise. Should I be suspicious of you, Kuja?’
A shadow fell over his face and she regretted saying anything, but then his grin returned and brightened his features once more. ‘Well, if you are, you can’t help feeling it, so I don’t mind. You’re still getting a tour. And I’m not Gerns, but I do fancy myself good company.’
Fei gave him a wobbly smile. ‘Whew. I need to be more careful about what I say. That could have gone badly.’
‘It didn’t and nor will it ever,’ Kuja told her softly.
When he held out his hand, she forgot herself and took it without hesitation, allowing him to guide her away from the sleeping quarters. Once they’d made it across the flattened area where the lab had hovered, Kuja turned to her and said, ‘I wish more people were open about what they were thinking. It’d make it easier to know if they really did care about you, or if they just want you to keep to the path they’ve created for you. I’m tired of being afraid that I’m straying and disappointing someone.’
He sounded bitter. Fei recognised that tone. She’d heard it inside her own head enough times.
‘I think maybe we should find some happier things to talk about,’ she said.
Kuja squeezed her hand. ‘You’re very right. Come on then, let me show you Bagaran. Despite what Gerns thinks, I don’t have an endless amount of free time, though I am pretty good at multitasking.’ He laughed to himself, seemingly amused at some private joke. ‘But I’m happy to spend what time I can with you.’
‘Why?’ Fei asked, staring at him.
Kuja met and held her eyes. Fei found herself disappointed that he didn’t give her a once-over. But what he said next more than made up for it. ‘Because you need company.’
Fei blinked back tears. The humidity was sending rivulets of sweat streaming down from her temples and she really couldn’t afford to lose any more moisture; the drink bottle she’d attached to her belt wasn’t big enough to cover both a trek and a crying jag.
Her eyes still burning, Fei distracted herself by letting her gaze linger on the rear of Kuja’s cargo pants as he marched down the dirt path in front of her. Her mother’s suggestion for her to have a bit of fun didn’t seem so silly all of a sudden.
I think I will enjoy him, Fei thought, allowing a wicked smile.
‘Enjoy what?’ Kuja asked, looking back over his shoulder.
Fei flinched. She couldn’t remember saying anything, but knowing her mouth it had probably slipped out. ‘Um. This walk. Your company. Everything.’
‘Oh good, because there’s a lot on offer,’ Kuja said.
And then he smirked at her.
CHAPTER NINE
‘Are you still there? Kuja? Hello?’ Fei called up towards the canopy.
Kuja had left her side and clambered up a nearby tree about five minutes ago, gripping vines and latching onto branches in his rapid ascent. Fei had blinked once — only once! — and then he’d disappeared.
Her chest was starting to feel tight and her breaths came shorter and sharper with each moment he was gone. Fei had just convinced herself that he’d abandoned her when he slipped down another nearby trunk, clearly having switched trees somewhere above the canopy.
‘Just had to take care of someone — something,’ Kuja corrected himself. He wasn’t wearing a communicator on his belt and nor did he have an earpiece, so Fei knew he couldn’t have been talking to anyone. She had no idea what he’d been doing, but he had looked worried when he’d announced that he had to go up the tree. It must have been important to him and since he didn’t seem to judge her for her strangeness, she decided she wouldn’t judge him for his.
‘It also looks like there’s a storm coming,’ Kuja added as he walked over to her.
‘I don’t suppose we can run back to the village before it hits,’ Fei said, sighing, though she wasn’t sure if being caught in a downpour would be any worse than swimming in her own sweat as she was currently doing. Her vivid magenta tank top was drenched and plastered to her skin. Fei was fairly certain the suede was permanently stained.
But her anxious thoughts disintegrated when Kuja took her hand.
‘Come with me, Fei,’ he said. And she did.
He led her into a surprisingly dry hollow that had been formed by a Bagaran Strangler; its roots spilled all around them, like a frozen waterfall of wood, and the sight was so beautiful that Fei couldn’t stifle her amazed gasp. A few seconds later the rain began, white noise at first, but then it become a torrent that started driving into the roots at an angle. Fei drew closer to Kuja.
‘You’re going to ask me why I’m really here on Bagaran, aren’t you,’ she said. ‘You know I’m not very good with words, Kuja.’
Kuja chuckled. ‘You haven’t run out of any good ones yet.’
‘Oh alright, I’ll tell you, but you really need to stop laying it on so thick,’ she warned him, unable to kill her smile. ‘I’m not sure I’ll be able to concentrate if you keep complimenting me.’
Kuja ran a finger over his lips, as though sealing them shut. His silence emboldened her.
So she told him about her father, she told him about Zareth, she told him about her crisis of faith — she told him everything. Her voice croaked like one of the shingbats hidden in the foliage outside by the time she was done. At some point Kuja had wrapped his arms around her, which Fei couldn’t remember him doing, but she didn’t mind. He was warm. And gentle. And strangely patient.
‘I’m not particularly fond of the Creator God myself,’ Kuja admitted after a time.
‘Why’s that? Has he taken someone from you too?’ she asked.
Kuja’s eyes darkened and grew swampy. ‘Let’s just say I don’t agree with his version of free will. If he really wanted us to find our own paths, he wouldn’t rig it so we’d follow the ones he meant for us anyway.’
Fei blinked. ‘You’re — angry with him.’
‘It’s not unusual to be angry with an invisible deity, is it,’ he mused. ‘Especially when he stops being invisible and gives you an explanation for his actions instead of an apology.’
Fei pried herself away from his embrace, staring at him. ‘You’ve heard the Creator God?’
Frowning, Kuja scratched the underside of his chin. ‘Yes, I’ve heard him. Some might call it a privilege. I don’t. I’d rather follow Bagara — he guides and protects his people but he doesn’t insist they blindly accept everything he says or does.’
‘What did the Creator God say to you?’ Fei asked, wincing at how breathless she sounded.
She expected him to refuse to answer. She didn’t expect to see the sorrow lining his face.
Kuja looked down at his bare feet. ‘The Creator God only allowed my brother, Sandsa, to fall in love so that he could learn a lesson. Once that lesson was over, once the purpose of that love was fulfilled, the Creator God sent followers of his to tear apart my brother’s marriage. It destroyed Sandsa. It’s still destroying him. And now I can’t even get Sandsa to sit still long enough for me to talk to him because he just…he just…’ Kuja smeared a hand across his face, scattering his tears. ‘I suppose you could say he’s not…there’s not a piece of humanity left in my brother anymore.’
Fei leapt to her feet and smashed her fists against the inside of the roots, again and again. When the wind outside roared at her, she roared right back at it, until her throat spasmed painfully.
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ she said, turning to beam at Kuja.
‘…for letting you hurt yourself?’ he asked, looking bewildered. ‘Fei, your hands.’
He drew nearer and encased her fingers in his, probably to keep her from taking another swing at the Strangler, not that she needed to. Not anymore.
Fei shook her head, her voice hoars
e. ‘No, Kuja. For making me feel normal. For letting me think and feel and doubt out loud. For trusting me with your thoughts and feelings in return. For being the only other sensible person out there. Well…maybe not sensible, because we’re stuck here when we could have stayed in Bagath, kept dry and just now be sitting down to the midday meal…’
Kuja was smiling again, except this time it made her feel hot and cold all over.
Her heart stuttered for a moment.
Oh no, she thought. This is just supposed to be a bit of holiday fun, Fei. And you don’t even know if he finds you attractive…
But it was difficult to worry about this when he was gazing at her like that.
Finally, Fei whispered, ‘It’s nice to know that I’m allowed to say these things, that I’m not going insane.’
‘That or you have met someone equally insane,’ Kuja countered, his face suddenly very close to hers.
Fei parted her lips, hardly daring to hope, waiting for a kiss that would set her ablaze — but then she was thinking of Zareth, of when he’d kissed her for the first time in that alcove, the rain pouring down around them. If she kissed Kuja now, she’d be doing it to wipe away an old memory instead of making a new one.
‘Not here, not now, it wouldn’t be fair to you, not that it was going to happen!’ Fei took a giant step away from Kuja, towards the gap in the roots surrounding them. ‘I think we should risk heading back. The rain should ease soon, right?’
‘No, I suspect it will keep pouring for another hour or so.’ He sounded so confident, stark him. But then he looked at her, really looked at her, and said, ‘Thank you.’
‘For what?’ she asked, biting her lip.
‘For being honest, for being you, for knowing we had to stop,’ he said softly. Then he winked. ‘I don’t mind waiting. It will make it that much better when it does happen.’
Flummoxed, all Fei could do was stand there in silence as he darted outside. She heard a violent snap somewhere nearby and he returned moments later, carrying a giant green leaf that could have seated a small child — it even looked strong enough to manage it too. Kuja lowered the leaf for her inspection, showing her how the water droplets rolled right off it. He then held it up like an umbrella, an eyebrow raised, his meaning clear.
Giggling, Fei let him escort her from their sanctuary and into the rain.
CHAPTER TEN
When hundreds of balls of sand rose from the surface of the desert and began chasing him, Kuja had to admit that he probably should have listened when his brother growled at him to keep away.
Kuja ducked and rolled, but the missiles homed in on him and disintegrated upon impact, showering him with sun-blasted specks. He yelped and threw his arms over his head. But there was no escape. Though Sandsa lacked a corporeal body in this state, each grain of sand was an extra eye to find a target and an extra weapon to wield on the Rforine.
Leaf-studded vines grew down Kuja’s arms, anchoring themselves to his skin and lengthening until he could whip them around. He slashed furiously with the fibrous cords, cutting down several of the balls as they came for him, but he wasn’t fast enough to get them all. He cried out when one hit him square in the face.
‘This isn’t funny, Sandsa!’ he shouted.
Go away! the Desine howled. I don’t want to talk about her!
Kuja scowled. ‘I’m not here to make you to talk about Callista, I just need you to be my brother — you haven’t taken your human form in years!’
Because doing that worked out so well for me before? Sandsa said acidly.
A tornado bore down on Kuja, roaring and twisting, fed by the endless sands on this desert world but never wholly satisfied. Now it craved a different food source.
Kuja opened his mouth to plead for mercy and instead swallowed a mouthful of grit.
Sandsa’s voice cut through the shrieking winds. I won’t let myself become vulnerable again, Kuja, I won’t! Living as a mortal cost me everything!
‘Are you going to keep attacking me?’ Kuja gasped as his knees hit the ground.
What else will make you go away?
‘Just talk to me, Sandsa!’
We are done talking!
Beneath Kuja the sand roiled, stirred by its master’s anger, preparing to bury the Rforine. But Kuja was not giving up. Not yet. He sent roots scurrying through the sand, trying to temper the attack, trying to defend instead of antagonise, but within seconds the roots cried out as they blistered and burned.
‘Fine,’ Kuja muttered. ‘Since violence is the only language you can speak…’
He transformed into a pile of leaves which then exploded upwards, escaping the grip of the sand. Once he was high enough off the ground, Kuja became a raging storm of branches, vines, leaves and even stones, beating back the tornado. Cowed, it retreated, unwilling to engage a god who could fill it with foreign, unwanted debris.
Then, just as Kuja had feared he would, the Desine abandoned his usual powers and reached for something else.
Sandsa crafted weapons from Kuja’s domain, green fragments that screeched out apologies, powerless to fight a desert god who somehow commanded more than simple sand, who could wield fire and water and tundra and anything else should he choose to. Kuja sensed that Sandsa only used these powers when he was furious, when he wanted to make a point of his superiority, and was glad of this — if Sandsa practiced more often, he might be able to turn every rainforest in Kuja’s domain against him out of spite.
The Rforine did not dare return to his human form, knowing that the thorny vines his brother was throwing at him would tear through his skin. Immortal he and his siblings might be, they could still die. But remaining incorporeal would only protect him so much.
Kuja’s very being was soon stretched thin, like a piece of drenched cotton lashed between two poles that were constantly being pulled apart. He had felt like this once before.
When Fayay had come for him.
Kuja screamed inside his mind, wishing his brother would see, remember and know that he had done as much as he could.
Fayay broke me because I protected you! he cried.
It is your fault he found us! Sandsa roared back at him. Your fault I had to use my powers! Your fault Callista left me!
My fault? Kuja laughed darkly. His anger swelled and grew, bolstering his powers. My fault you couldn’t make Callista stay with you? It was her choice! She couldn’t stay with a god! That’s what she said in that letter she left you — so why can’t you accept it? It wasn’t my fault any more than it was yours!
No, Kuja blamed the Ine for putting Callista into that position in the first place, a position no mortal could reasonably handle let alone want, and he blamed the Ine for ensuring Sandsa had fallen in love with only despair awaiting him. But the Ine wasn’t the one who had left that letter. Kuja filled his mind with this truth, over and over, until the desert finally quietened around him.
The Rforine assumed his mortal form once more, dropping to the ground where he then balled himself up into a knot, sobs wracking his body. His mouth felt so parched he could have eaten the sand and found it moist on his tongue.
Right now he couldn’t feel a single drop of sympathy for Sandsa.
Bare feet appeared beside him, slowly lengthening upwards into the body belonging to his brother. A few years ago, Sandsa would not have worn anything more exciting than beige fabric beneath his cloak. Since his foray into mortal life, he had chosen to clad himself in the black clothes favoured by the gangs on the planet Yalsa 5. He even wore a belt of scored and faded leather, though he no longer needed to hang a lasgun there, not as he had when his powers had been blunted by his desire to be nothing more than a man.
Kuja grabbed one ankle and pulled. Hard. Sandsa abruptly collapsed beside him, his blond mane falling across his stunned expression. He hadn’t expected that form of attack. Chagrined, Sandsa tucked his hair behind his ears, revealing eyes so blue they were painful to look at for too long. The hands that could break Kuja disappeared
back inside the folds of the cloak and the desert god’s head sank to the side, pillowed by a rise of sand.
‘Do you know what I’ve had to go through?’ Kuja demanded. ‘Knowing that I failed you? Facing Fayay when I know he can destroy me? Having to stop myself from caring too much about certain mortals in case he kills them?’
‘And what of my pain, my agony?’ Sandsa asked, shadows creeping over his face.
Kuja clenched his teeth. ‘That doesn’t give you the right to attack me.’
‘Have you lost a wife and son, brother? Have you?’
Darkness submerged them, cold and deep, as clouds of sand rose to block out the sky. Kuja sat up, dusting himself off. He did not look down at the seething desert god, keeping his scowl aimed at the obscured horizon instead. ‘No. But I lost my brother. Look at you, Sandsa. You’re not used to your human form. How can you truly understand mortals if you refuse to acknowledge this part of you?’
‘I am the Desine — my people need not see me to know I care for them,’ Sandsa said flatly. The sand above their heads shimmered like the surface of an ocean, even forming dunes that crested and fell like waves.
‘My name is Kuja,’ the Rforine retorted. ‘And you are Sandsa. Don’t you remember how close we were?’
‘You would do well to leave me now.’
Kuja curled his hands into fists, preparing for another battle. ‘Why? Because you’re afraid that love, even the love of your brother, will weaken you? That’s stupid, Sandsa! I can’t dampen your powers — only you can do that!’
Sandsa flinched. ‘Do not speak of things you do not understand.’
‘Maybe I don’t understand some aspects of love,’ conceded Kuja, thinking of Lorena and Fei and all the women he could never allow himself to develop feelings for. ‘Still, our mother saw that we were happier when we spent time together. I was so much more confident in my powers when you were with me. Beside me. Shoring me up. And I gave you a reason to be human every now and then.’
Sandsa eased himself onto his elbows, the sand swarming up to support him until he could manage to sit unaided. He had to lift his legs into a cross-legged position with his own hands. It really had been too long since Sandsa had used his human form.
The Twisted Vine Page 8
