12: The Mirror
The quiet hung heavy over breakfast. There was both too little and too much to say.
Chris cleaned the cookware so Una could pack it. He wouldn’t mind having less cleanup during his stay on the plateau, and he liked the cafeteria food well enough, but he had to admit he’d miss preparing his own meals over the camp stove. Una preoccupied herself with gathering her things. At his insistence, she packed up the remaining RediMeals too. Then she loaded the camp stove and collapsible bowls into her pack and swung it onto her shoulders, letting out a quiet
oof at the new weight.
He noticed then that she was once again wearing the long skirt from the Mahogany hospital lost and found. She’d been carrying it around the entire time. Chris wasn’t sure whether to shake his head or smile.
Instead he asked, “Is it too heavy?”
She straightened and smiled—a little forced, he thought. “Not so different from before. I will be used to it soon.”
“Yeah. I bet you will.” He took a deep breath. “So ... I guess this is it.”
She took a long time to pull her hair back from her face and knot it with her scarf. Finally, she met his eyes. "You have been a true friend, Chris.”
His smile wobbled. “You too. I’m sorry to see you go.”
“I wish I were more ….”
Una shook her head. Instead of finishing the thought, she solemnly turned up her palms and held her hands out to him.
His heart bending like paper, Chris took her fingers in his.
She closed her eyes and intoned, “As the sun rises in the East, as it sets in the sea, may we meet again someday.”
They stood like that for a long moment. The calls of spearows and pidgeys rose and fell beneath the chatter of passing campers—but those sounds felt far away, somehow muffled by Una’s quiet. She was praying, Chris realized, but his mind remained a blank. He focused on the warmth of her hands and held on.
Una let go first.
He jammed his empty hands into his pockets. “I’ll walk with you until the path splits.” He was slated for a ten a.m. battle in the North Arena, and the path towards the aerial lift station was on the way. “Sound good?”
“Of course.”
As they walked, Chris’s mind bubbled with questions.
Do you know where you’ll go? he wanted to ask, and
Are you sure about this?
Even as he thought the words, he recognized the pleading and bargaining, reaching for ways to hold her here a moment or two longer. He had no right to try to make her stay. So he bit his questions back.
But when they came to the fork in the path, he blurted, “Why don’t I go with you all the way to the station? Might as well see you off.”
She gave him a quizzical look. “I would not want you to arrive late for your—”
“I have time.”
Una flashed a little smile. “Then certainly, if you like.”
The lift station turned out to be crowded, the space made more cramped by the voices echoing off the metal walls. Chris and Una squeezed their way into a corner, but there wasn’t actually space to stand apart from the crowd. He had to raise his voice to hear himself. “Looks like you’ll have a full cable car going down ….”
“I must admit I am surprised. I would have thought that, after coming all this way, they would stay for ….”
The battles, she meant.
“Looks like a tour group. They’re coming back up later.”
“I see.”
He felt like he should say something, but his thoughts circled endlessly back on themselves. It didn’t help that the woman next to him kept bumping him with her oversized purse. So he and Una stood without speaking—as if she were already gone, even though she was standing right there—until the cable car lurched into view.
As the crowd pushed ahead, Chris and Una exchanged a final look. He cleared his throat. “Be safe, Una.”
“Do not worry on my behalf.”
For a moment she looked like she wanted to say more. To ask him to leave with her, maybe? She had never asked, just like he had never asked her to stay. He couldn’t leave, he knew, but he found himself wanting her to ask all the same.
The lift operator called, “There’s still room—last call! Otherwise you’ll have to wait for the next one.”
Una smiled joylessly. “Good luck, Chris. And goodbye.”
He was struck by the urge to hug her, but he faltered. Then she was already turning away, and Chris only managed to give her backpack a clumsy pat.
“You’re not coming?” the operator called to Chris, who shook his head. “Alright. Suit yourself.” Then, motioning to Una, he said, “Cozy on in, then! We’re all pals in here.”
While she shrugged out of her pack and wedged herself between two of the tourists, Chris stood and watched. She caught his eye and offered a little wave. He waved back until the door closed over her face. Then, whirring and clanking, the lift sank out of sight once more, taking with it the sounds of muffled laughter and conversation.
In the quiet that followed, Chris breathed heavily.
After a moment, he unhooked Kosho’s pokeball. He didn’t want to walk to the stadium alone. As Kosho began to materialize, stretching and yawning, Chris lay a hand on the typhlosion’s back and tried to draw strength from the heat of his fur. “Nice to see you.”
Kosho rubbed his head against Chris’s leg, rumbling. Then raised his head and met Chris’s eyes as if to ask if he was okay.
Chris crumpled. He knelt to press his cheek to the typhlosion’s neck the way he’d done countless times since he was a child. Kosho’s fur was so hot it bordered on uncomfortable, but Chris didn’t pull away for a long time.
Finally, he stood, patting the side of his typhlosion’s neck. “Alright. Let’s do what we came for.”
—
When Chris took his seat in the locker room, he still hadn’t decided between Kosho and Slapdash for the upcoming battle. He hadn’t had the heart to concentrate on that question. Still didn’t, actually.
Under the miasma of cleaning fluid, the smell of feet still pervaded the locker room.
The gym had been more or less the same way, now that Chris thought about it, only not as quiet. He had always loved the sounds of steam hissing on the rocks and the gym trainers ribbing one another.
Dad had sometimes joined Chris on the sidelines, whispering observations about the challengers. S
ee how he keeps his hands in his pockets? He’s unsure of himself, scared to command his own pokemon.
You watch—he won’t even make it past Lee. From the dais, Dad looked down on the battles with his arms folded coolly, but he greeted each trainer with a warm smile.
Chris reminded himself he should be thinking about the trainer he’d actually be facing. He couldn’t even remember his opponent’s name.
The wall-mounted TV talked to itself, a litany of trainers separated by applause. He glanced at another trainer waiting nearby, who winked at her phone and snapped a selfie. A feeling of unreality swept through him like vertigo. Was he the only one put on edge by the cameras, or was everyone else faking it?
For the first time, Chris wondered whether anything else had lay beneath Dad’s steady self-assurance. He’d returned to the gym each day to fight the same kinds of trainers again and again, losing almost as often as he won because that was his job. Was it what he’d imagined it would be? Did he ever get bored?
If the life of a gym leader wore him down, Hiro Nakano had never shown it.
Chris wished he’d thought to ask about it before. But he could guess what Dad would tell him because he’d said it many times before:
A strong pokemon can bring you the ladder, Chris, but you still have to climb. All Chris could think about was the dark, gaping expanse between where he sat and how far he had yet to go.
Maybe things felt different looking down from the top.
That thought cut short when someone dropped onto the other end of the bench. The trainer didn’t so much as glance at Chris, instead watching the battle on-screen with obvious amusement. Even with his face turned away, it was impossible not to recognize two-time tournament winner Gary Oak.
At the thought of staring down Gary Oak across the field, Chris’s stomach liquefied. But, of course, he wouldn’t have to—they were sharing the same ready room. They weren’t even in the same round-robin pool.
Someone would have to face him today though, and Chris pitied the trainer who had to start the conference that way.
Chris had already checked out Gary’s first round lineup: a venusaur, a charizard, and a blastoise. Odd that he’d stuck to the classics despite being known for his sizable collection. It was a risky set: every trainer fighting in the conference had to have already seen those pokemon in dozens of matches. Strategy guides for combatting each of them were readily available online.
But, thinking of Kosho, the offspring of Dad’s own fearsome typhlosion, Chris thought he understood Gary’s choices. It was impossible to see the trio and not think of Kanto, of Pallet Town, of Samuel Oak.
And Gary wasn’t exactly fresh off the Kanto circuit. He knew what he was doing.
In their battle videos, Gary’s charizard was little more than a blur of flame whipping across the arena. Chris’s dad had also trained a charizard, and he’d been fast enough ... but not like
that.
Taiyou had been older, battle-scarred with wrinkles gathered at the base of his tail, but Chris didn’t think he’d been that quick on his feet, ever. It wasn’t how he was built. But Taiyou made up for it with scales like roofing slate and bitter tenacity. The old charizard hadn’t turned up among the rubble of the Olivine gym, and Chris chose to imagine him somewhere in the wilderness, scorning and scorching anything that tried to touch him.
With thoughts of the gym burning inside him, Chris felt a sudden need to lay a claim to his own history with a charizard. To prove he came to climb the ladder, too.
What came out of his mouth was, “Your charizard is really fast.” Great. Earth-shattering. “Impressive, I mean.”
Gary raised an eyebrow at Chris. Then he slid into an easy grin. “Yeah, Akuma’s hard to catch. She’s a beast.”
“Right. They’re not always easy to handle. My dad trained a pretty mean one ….”
Chris trailed off, unsure whether he should say more. If anyone knew about growing up in the shadow of someone else’s legacy, Gary Oak did, maybe better than Chris. After all, Professor Oak was the host of the world’s most listened-to radio show, a battle veteran, and
the authority on pokemon research. For Chris to bring up his own parentage seemed tacky next to all that.
Seeming not to notice Chris’s uncertainty, Gary dismissively waved a hand and chuckled. “Mean is great on the field! Besides, even a complete murderous bastard will melt in your hand with the right training.”
Everything from his tousled hair to his slouch seemed to say how little Gary Oak cared. But he had to care quite a lot—nobody won the Indigo League by accident. Especially not twice in a row. How did he manage such effortlessness? Dad had been like that, too.
Chris must’ve made a face, because Gary laughed and said, “Nervous, huh?”
He’d all but forgotten about the upcoming battle. And he still hadn’t decided which pokemon to use—he
should be nervous.
“The first few times are hard, but it gets easier,” Gary reassured Chris. His attention was wandering. The smile still hung on his face, but his head was tipped to listen to the color commentators.
Chris wanted to keep the conversation going, but nothing came to him that was worth saying. He was sitting next to Gary Oak, of all people—actually talking to him—and likely never would again. And he was wasting his chance to .... To
what, exactly?
He took a deep breath. “I bet people ask you all the time, but …”
Gary’s head jerked up. He snorted. “Yeah, they sure do. But I gotcha. It’s not a big deal.”
To Chris’s surprise, Gary reached into his pocket. He came up holding a pokeball, an empty one, shown by the inactive center button. Chris still didn’t understand until Gary asked, "Who should I make it out to?"
“Oh, uh ….” He’d wanted advice.
Was it rude to turn down an autograph? Probably. He could maybe sell it, he supposed. Or maybe Elias would want it.
A flicker of annoyance crossed Gary’s face, but he kept smiling.
Chris was about to tell him to sign it for Elias when the League staffer entered the room. “Chris Nakano? You’re up.”
He jumped to his feet, as if caught in the act of something unsavory. “Thanks anyway.”
With a shrug, Gary scrawled a quick signature on the white half of the pokeball, and held it out. “Here. Still something.”
Chris made himself smile and take it, pocketing it to avoid mixing it up with his real pokeballs. “It was nice meeting you.”
With one last smile, Gary turned back toward the television. “Sure. Good luck, kid.”
—
He’d chosen wrong again.
Kosho was still on his feet, but each of his breaths came ragged and smoky. The flames around his neck burned a low red. All the same, he dropped into a partial crouch and touched one forepaw to the ground, poised to either pull energy up from the grass or sprint out of the way, waiting for the next command.
Chris had expected to face the gengar or maybe the yanmega. Both would be tricky to keep track of and trickier to hit, but especially for Slapdash. So he’d chosen Kosho.
But across the field, his opponent’s rhydon roared with such force the earth trembled. Kosho had landed several hits already, zinging balls of green light, but hardly a scratch showed on the rhydon’s craggy armor.
“Again!” the other trainer cried gleefully. “Earth power!”
The field began to ripple and buck, cracks opening where the strain was too great, and Kosho took off running on all fours. Chris could easily see that the typhlosion wouldn’t be able to outrun the heaving, crumbling hillock sweeping towards him. The real question was whether Kosho could weather the attack long enough to hit back.
He thought of Zip recovering at the pokecenter. He thought of the three battles still ahead of him in the first round—and dreaded facing them with only Slapdash. He thought of his dad ... and he hung his head in a silent apology.
A split second before the wave of dirt and rock crashed down, Chris recalled Kosho.
“
Trainer Chris Nakano forfeits! The match goes to Julia Moon!”
Numbed by the screaming of the crowd, he made his way back to the center line. His opponent was slower, flashing a double thumbs up to one side of the bleachers and then the other. Chris tried to steady himself with a deep breath and instead choked on the dust in the air. He was still coughing when he shook her hand.
—
Chris wanted nothing more than to sleep, a hard reset, but knew the tent would be too hot inside until the shadows moved and evening brought a cool breeze across the plateau. Instead, he meandered down the quiet trails bordering the ledge, looking for a shaded patch of grass where no one would bother him for a couple of hours.
Eventually, he found himself alone on the flag-lined path near the registration office. This time of day, with the preliminary round well underway, there was little reason for trainers and tourists to come to this area. A line of trees separated the building from the campgrounds, promising relief from both the sun and prying eyes.
He stepped off the path, making his way for the trees, but when he came around the corner of the building, he stopped short.
Two girls already sat in the grass with their backs to him, each with long blonde hair that gleamed bright among the green shadows. One of them wore a black, wide-brimmed hat that he thought he might’ve seen that morning in the aerial lift station, and the other had curls. They seemed to be re-lacing the curly-haired girl’s boots.
He thought of Una, wondering how far she’d gotten by now. Part of him was waiting for the girl with the curls to turn and flash him a familiar smile. Until she turned, removing all doubt, he could still believe it might be her. He knew it was ridiculous, but for a moment he was frozen in place, nursing the ache in his chest and waiting for her to turn.
He should’ve asked her to stay.
She even had the same kind of backpack that he’d found for Una in the secondhand shop: moss green, LeyLine brand. Huh, and the same long blue skirt spreading over the grass—
Wait.
When Chris noticed the slowpoke tail curling out from behind the girl’s backpack, his breath caught in his throat. “Una?” He took a half step forward.
Not until he heard the growl did Chris notice the third figure, who knelt in the building’s shadow a short distance away. It was human-sized, but the sound it made was not human. The pokemon was nearly the same color as the shadows, and when it moved into the light, Chris finally realized what he was seeing: a lucario.
He’d never seen one in person before. Who in the world had brought one all the way to the Indigo Plateau?
The lucario regarded him with reproachful eyes, and Chris remembered that they were supposed to be able to see auras, though he wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. How must he look through its eyes? Could it see his earlier loss radiating out from him? Would it recognize him as Hiro Nakano’s son, or would it see all the glaring differences? He didn’t like the idea that, with a casual glance, the lucario could map parts of him that Chris couldn’t even see.
Perhaps sensing his unease, the lucario growled again, louder this time. It moved in front of him as if to block him from the two girls sitting in the grass. The air around the pokemon shimmered like a heat haze, and Chris felt the telltale prickle of an impending psychic attack. He didn’t think any trainer would let their pokemon actually attack someone in the middle of the Indigo Plateau, but he stepped back all the same.
“I don’t mean your trainer any harm,” he said, hands up to show they were empty.
“Chris?”
She turned to look at him, a boot in her hand and a surprised look on her face. Una. He smiled at the sight of her, but she had already turned away to say something to the girl next her.
The other girl’s face was shadowed by her hat and impossible to read at the distance. But her voice rang out clearly, “It’s alright, Ishtar. You can let him by.”
With a grumble, the lucario lowered its head and stepped aside.
“Thanks.”
The lucario didn’t stop glaring, but Chris continued past it into the shade of the trees, where Una sat looking up at him expectantly. Suddenly almost cheerful, he called to her across the distance, “I thought you left.”
“I did. Only I ... did not travel very far.”
Chris was close enough then to see that her eyes were red as if from crying. He slowed. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”
Una made a sound that could’ve been a laugh or a sniffle. “I suppose something did, yes. A conversation.”
The girl in the black hat offered her a handkerchief embroidered half-and-half with red and blue roses; Una thanked her but shook her head.
Sitting up straighter, she gestured towards him. “This is Chris, with whom I traveled from Ecruteak City. And this is Cynthia, whom I have had the fortune to encounter on my path today.”
The woman at Una’s side tipped her head back to smile at Chris, and he finally saw her face. He gave a start. Somehow, even her name and the presence of the lucario hadn’t been quite enough for him to make the connection to
the Cynthia Lachlan, champion of the Sinnoh League. He’d seen her on TV a few times but didn’t follow her matches closely—Sinnoh was a long ways away, after all. What was she doing
here?
“You’re not battling in the conference, are you?” he blurted before he could stop himself. “I mean—I didn’t see your name in the brackets.”
She was kind enough to smile. “No, but I’m on the brochure. A Conversation with Champion Lance and
Special Guests.”
“Oh. That makes sense.”
Cynthia paused, as if waiting for him to get any other stupid questions out of his system, and then put out a hand to shake. “Any friend of Una’s is a friend of mine. It’s a pleasure.”
“Uh, definitely! You too.”
He glanced at Una. Her smile seemed to sit on the surface of other feelings, like a skin on scalded milk, but he couldn’t pinpoint what lay beneath.
Did she know she was sitting alongside one of the world’s most famous and formidable battlers? Unlikely, though it could be cause for her to be upset all by itself if she did. What had they even talked about?
That surreal feeling washed over him again.
“Sorry to interrupt.” He paused, uncertain what exactly he’d interrupted. “I was just surprised to see you again so soon.”
Una ignored the apology. “Would you like to sit?”
“Um, okay.”
As he lowered himself into the grass, she turned to Cynthia. “Should I begin again?”
“If you want to. It’s for you.” Then to Chris, Cynthia added, “We’ve been talking about ways to honor home and homesickness. A little self-care ritual. You can do one too, if you want.”
“What were the words again?” Una asked.
Cynthia spoke in a singsong, slowly so Una could clumsily follow along with her:
Home is the name
That you tuck in your shoe
Keep my name close
And I’ll still be with you
Wherever life takes you
No matter how far
My love will go with you
Wherever you are
Then, in a conspiratorial tone, she explained, “My nana taught me that when I left home for the first time. The idea is to keep a slip of paper marked with a friend or family member’s name in your shoe so they go with you no matter how far you travel.”
“Does that ... work?”
Cynthia shrugged. “It’s meaningful if you decide it is.”
She passed him a notebook. A strip had already been torn from the page that faced up. “Here. I’ve got a pen, too.”
Even as he accepted the notebook and pen, Chris knew he wouldn’t be putting any paper in his shoe. First, walking around with a lump of paper in his boot would be uncomfortable. Second, he could easily text or call Mom whenever he wanted, and Dad …. He would’ve had no patience for it.
However, Una clearly took it to heart. She touched a folded square of paper to her lips and held it there. For a moment, she looked near tears again, and Chris averted his eyes. Then she pressed the paper flat into her insole and bent to pull the boot back on.
Cynthia broke the silence with gentle words. “We never really leave our past behind, you know. It’s who we are.”
Chris wasn’t sure if she meant it to be encouraging or scolding, but Una nodded.
“Thank you.”
She and Cynthia shared a smile that made Chris wonder again what had passed between them. If he’d didn’t know better, he would’ve guessed they were sisters, not strangers.
An electronic chime sounded from inside Cynthia’s bag, making all three of them jump. Checking her phone, she groaned. “Is that really the time?”
“I hope I have not caused you trouble,” said Una.
“Absolutely not. Meeting you might’ve been the highlight of my trip so far! But ... I’m supposed to have tea with Agatha before my meeting with the professor.” She said it distractedly, as if it wasn’t a big deal. To her, maybe it wasn’t.
She motioned to the notebook still in Chris’s hand. “Can I have that back?”
He handed it over, glad for the excuse not to have to write anything.
To Una, she said, “And you’re still planning to leave?”
Chris tried to catch Una’s gaze, but she stared into the distance. “Yes. Before sundown.”
“That’s too bad,” said Cynthia. “I had a story for you.”
“A story?”
Chris saw his own surprise mirrored on Una’s face.
Cynthia grinned. “I told you, I collect stories. You told yours, so it’s only fair to share one of mine ... but not now.” She glanced at her phone again. “I could ask Agatha to postpone, but I don’t think she’d take it well.”
“I should not take more of your time. You have already missed your tour.”
“The cave will be there. This was better. I should be thanking you for
your time!” She searched Una’s face. “Could I convince you to stay just one more night? You won’t be disappointed.”
Una tucked her hair behind her ears, and Chris knew her answer a moment before she spoke. “I will stay to hear what you have to say.”
His heart twisted between relief and jealousy. Would she have stayed if
he had asked?
Cynthia clasped Una’s hands, hair beads clacking as she leaned forward. “That’s great! I really think a story could help with ... what we talked about. But I do have to go now.”
She continued talking as she gathered her things and stood. “Let’s meet by the cable car after dinner. And if you want—I’m sorry, what was your name again?”
“Chris,” he said sheepishly.
“Right, Chris. You can come too—if it’s alright with Una. It’s a story for you, so you get to decide.”
Something in her tone made him wonder what Una might’ve said about him. Maybe she’d mentioned the opening ceremony—remembering her anger, he winced. He half-expected a disapproving look from Una, but instead he saw only the smile he knew so well. Maybe he was imagining animosity in Cynthia that wasn’t there.
“I would be happy for you to join us, Chris. Unless you already have other obligations.”
“No, no, I’m not busy. I mean, I’d like that. Thanks.”
Cynthia said, “Then it’s settled. Chris, why don’t you take my number in case the two of you need to get in touch before we meet up again.”
“Sure.”
The un-reality of typing
Cynthia Lachlan into his contacts left him feeling unexpectedly calm. Numb, maybe.
When Cynthia has finished reciting her number for him she said, “Alright, I’ll see you both soon! I’m looking forward to it.”
With that, she turned and started away briskly, beads clinking. Chris caught a glimpse of paper poking out of her sandal before her lucario fell into step with her, and then the two of them disappeared around the corner of the registration office.
Chris shook his head. “I can’t believe you made friends with Cynthia Lachlan.”
Una paused lacing her other boot, a thoughtful look on her face. “How do you know of her?”
“TV, mostly.”
“I see,” she said, meaning she didn’t.
He hesitated before asking the next question, but curiosity won out. “How did you meet her?”
She wrapped her arms around her knees. “I was walking behind the group from the cable car. I saw her ahead of me, and from behind—” Again, Una made a sound somewhere between laughter and crying. “—I mistook her for my sister. Her hair, mostly. She did not much resemble Suki once I saw her face. Of course, I knew that it could not possibly be her. Suki has been gone for a very long time. But it set me to weeping all the same.”
She reached to pet Suki the slowpoke, who licked her hand.
“I’m sorry, Una.”
“She was very kind. The others continued on, but she sat with me, listened to my ramblings, and embraced me just as a sister would. Suki would have done the same. She used to sing for me when I felt sad or afraid. So I told Cynthia about her and how much I miss home.”
The last few words came out heavily, and Chris’s heart broke to picture her crying those words to a stranger.
She continued, “Cynthia told me that it is natural to miss one’s home and family, and she told me about her home. She has come from so far away—I cannot imagine it.
“And yet ... from what I can tell, we are very much alike. In her village, they still respect the old ways. She understood. So I told her everything.”
Chris gawked. “You mean—?”
Una gazed back unblinkingly.
“She believed you.”
“Yes.”
“Well ... that’s good, then.”
Again, Una smiled sadly. “It was good to talk of home. I had almost begun to choke on the words and memories I had built up inside.”
And Chris had told her not to talk about it. He bit his lip. “I ... I didn’t know. I should’ve asked.”
“Oh, Chris. I know you intend all the best. I do not blame you for any of this.”
Her voice held a touch of condescension, which was probably fair. She was right: he had no idea what he was doing. He had never been the right person for this, only the one who was there.
But he was still gratified to see her smile and to be sitting at her side again. For one more night.
“Do you …” he fumbled, “do you have anything you want to talk about now? I’m happy to listen if you want to get stuff off your chest.”
She smiled. “No. I think ... I need to think.”
“I walked out this way planning to nap in the grass,” he confessed, “but I understand if you want to be alone. Want me to leave?”
“No, stay. Rest. Perhaps I will as well.”
So he tucked his hands behind his head and dropped into the cool grass. For a few moments, he watched a few lonely clouds wander across the sky. Then he rolled his head to one side and caught sight of Una working something green between her hands. He watched her knot under and over, hypnotized by the endless motion until, at last, he drifted sweetly into dreams.
—
Cynthia arrived outside the cable car as the sun was setting, as promised. Chris had returned to camp for his hoodie, but the Sinnohan champion still wore only the same sleeveless blouse and loose linen pants against the evening chill. He supposed she was used to a much colder climate.
Una presented the daisy crown she’d made to Cynthia, who immediately fitted it over the top of her hat.
“Shall we?”
“I didn’t know the lift ran this late,” Chris said as they stepped through the doors.
“It doesn’t,” said Cynthia.
Chris shot a glance at Una, but Cynthia strode ahead before either of them could react.
“I really appreciate you being here tonight,” she said to the car operator. “Do you like apple cake? I brought coffee, too.”
The operator accepted the styrofoam cup and a plastic-wrapped loaf from her, but insisted, “It’s really no trouble, Miss Lachlan. Happy to help.”
Their descent was quiet enough to hear the whirr of the machinery. The fading sun bled neon pink and orange across the windows—they couldn’t have asked for a better view. Una leaned against the handrail, one hand pressed to the glass.
When the car came to a stop, Cynthia told the operator, “I promise we won’t keep you too long.”
She waved Cynthia’s words away. “Take as long as you need. It’s a nice night, and I’ve got my book. And don’t think I don’t appreciate the cake.”
Outside, they could still hear distant music, but the crickets and the wind in the bushes were louder.
Cynthia reached to her belt, and Chris stopped to watch her release a pokemon that trilled and glided a wide arc around the three of them. A togekiss. Chris wasn’t sure what to make of that. It was certainly big and he didn’t doubt that it could sweep a challenging team, but the overall impression was softness, so unlike the sharp angles and brutal strikes of her signature garchomp.
The togekiss fluttered in place while Cynthia spoke to it in gentle tones, reaching up to run her fingers over its downy chest. Tiny lights appeared one by one, first in a cloud around the togekiss and then drifting to gather in Cynthia’s hair.
“There’s a nice spot this way.” Cynthia motioned for them to follow, fairy lights floating in her wake. “You don’t mind a little walk, do you?”
“Is there a reason we’re doing this out here?” Chris asked. “If you don’t mind me asking, I mean.”
“Any story is better with a campfire, don’t you think? Besides, we don’t need a bunch of lookie-loos crowding around.”
Chris thought of the hat that hid her face and her lucario guardian. Gods, he couldn’t imagine needing to go to such lengths for personal space. He could hardly stand to be in a crowd now, and he was nobody special.
But she wore a playful smile, leading the way with quick, light steps. She was dressed the way he’d expect of a public figure, clean and stylish, but was as lithe and surefooted as any seasoned trainer.
Bringing up the rear, Chris released Mojimoji, his sandslash. She accepted a few head scratches and then trotted to greet Una.
Traitor, he thought, but smiled anyway.
The plateau faded away behind them.
After a short hike guided by fairy lights, they came to a site that had clearly been favored before by trainers coming and going from the Indigo Plateau. Boulders and logs had been arranged around a blackened fire pit. By the last of the fading light, the three of them began to comb the area for kindling. The togekiss settled onto a boulder and watched, cooing to itself.
“What are you writing?” Chris heard Una ask.
“A prayer,” said Cynthia, notebook resting on one knee. “Every time I make a fire, I like to thank Uxie for the illumination that it brings, Mesprit for its joy and warmth, and Azelf for the fire that burns in all living things.”
Chris had stopped to listen without meaning to, arrested by the rhythm and strength of her voice.
Cynthia tore the page from her notebook, crumpled it into a ball, and began to arrange kindling around it. “They’re far from here, hiding on the mirage islands of Sinnoh’s three great lakes. But the wind will carry the ashes far and wide and release my prayer into the world.”
A children’s story, Chris thought automatically—but maybe it wasn’t. Did she know that some of the old stories were true? Probably. She spoke like someone who had always believed, even without proof.
Reaching for her feather necklace, Una said, “We thank Ho-oh. She lights the fires of our souls, and She relights every fire that goes dark. It is her fire that clears the underbrush from the forest, cleanses sickness, and makes way for new life.”
Nodding, Cynthia handed Una the notebook. “Then maybe you should write a prayer, too.”
Una made four quick pen strokes, the cardinal directions, and recited the familiar words: “North, south, east, west—may the flame burn bright forever.” She wadded up the page and added it to the pile.
By then, the kindling was stacked high enough that it wouldn’t immediately burn itself out when lit, anchored by a few mid-weight branches. Cynthia dug in her bag, presumably looking for a lighter.
With one hand already on his belt, Chris began to offer, “Do you want me to light it? My typhlosion—”
Cynthia silenced him by simply holding up one hand. “Where I come from,” she said, “fire-types are rare. We have to be a bit more clever to light our campfires.”
Chris felt his face redden.
She looked through her bag as she spoke. “Matches are fine if you can keep them dry—easier said than done in Sinnoh. A lighter works too, but only if it has fuel. Personally, I’ve always liked ... aha.” She held up a small leather package and tipped it into her palm to reveal a silver disc. “A mirror.”
He squinted, unconvinced.
Una said, “But the sun has set.”
Cynthia grinned. “That’s true. Devi?”
Her togekiss raised its head.
“Sun, please.”
The togekiss ruffled its feathers, and more of those tiny lights floated into the clearing; they seemed to come from between its feathers. The lights swirled tighter and tighter until they became a single bright ball too bright to look at directly, like a miniature sun.
Cynthia crouched beside the fire pit, tilting the mirror from side to side until the glint of it struck the paper kindling. She focused the reflected light to a pinprick that quickly began to smoke and glow red. Then, all at once, the fire caught and swept its way up the kindling pile. Only then did Chris settle himself onto a boulder, feeling foolish for doubting, and leave Cynthia to tend the fire.
When she was satisfied with the fire, she returned the mirror to her bag and withdrew instead a thermos and a sleeve of styrofoam cups. “Hot chocolate?”
She actually was a lot like Una, Chris thought. Always offering food.
“It’s the powdered kind,” she said apologetically, “not the good stuff from Alola, the big round slabs. But I’ll take it. Makes anywhere feel like home for me.”
Thinking of his green tea stash, Chris said, “I know what you mean.” He accepted the cup gratefully.
“Thank you for sharing.” Una sipped hers and made a thoughtful face.
Of course she’d never had chocolate before. Chris wished he’d thought to introduce her to it first.
For a moment, the only sounds were the crackling fire and the togekiss’s snores.
Then Cynthia spoke up. “Do you know the pokemon bronzor?”
Chris started to answer, but she wasn’t talking to him.
Una shook her head, so Cynthia drew the shape in the dirt. It reminded Chris of a badge.
“I didn’t think so. That’s alright. They’re not very common back home either. Or well-understood.
“A few years ago, there was a study on their body composition and the patterns on their backs—or an
attempted study. Every single scan came back blank. When I mentioned it to my nana, she laughed.
All their theory and principles, she said,
and they can’t understand that a mirror will always reflect light.
“Because that’s what they are: mirrors. You wouldn’t know it to look at one now. Over the centuries, they’ve lost their shine. Or maybe it’s only that we’ve forgotten how to see ourselves in them.
“They haven’t forgotten how to see us, though. You can still find them around old ruin sites, as if they’re waiting for the ways of the past to return. I believe we can learn a lot from them, if you know how to look at things from the right perspective.”
Chris hadn’t noticed when Cynthia had slipped out of her everyday speaking style and into something ... bigger. She didn’t lay it on too thick or put on character voices, but something about the way she spoke made other sounds quiet down. Sitting across the fire from him, Una was transfixed as much as he was. Even Moji settled down to listen.
“This is the story Nana told me when I left home to become a trainer.
“In the time before my great grandmother’s great-grandmother, in a village far from anywhere, there was a shy girl who lived alone with her mother. It was not as common as it is now for a young person to leave home and travel the world. There were many responsibilities at home: the family farm, elderly relatives, younger siblings. Few people even dreamed of leaving home.
“So it was for the girl and her mother. They lived a quiet life, but both were happy, until one day the mother fell ill and died. With nothing else to keep her in the village, the girl packed a bag and ventured out to the mountain.
“Of course, there were still trainers back then, though not like the trainers of today. When a young person set out to learn about herself by learning about the world, she first had to brave the wilds alone and befriend a pokemon. That was the first test.”
Chris suspected Una would not be pleased that she’d delayed her departure just to hear a story about a trainer. But he didn’t interrupt.
“On the first day,” Cynthia continued, “she passed a murkrow in a tree and called out to him:
Hello, brother Murkrow. I am journeying to seek my purpose in life. Pray, will you join me so I will not be alone?
“The murkrow laughed.
Join you? I can already see everything that stretches between that mountain and the next. Why should I care about the purpose of a little ground-dweller? he said. With that, he flew away, and the girl was left alone again.
“She walked for a long time before she encountered a buizel in a stream. As before, the girl called out:
Hello, sister Buizel. I am journeying to seek my purpose in life. Pray, will you join me so I will not be alone?
“Just like the murkrow, the buizel laughed.
I can already travel from the river’s source to the ocean far and away, she told the girl,
My purpose is the river, and I need no other. With that, she swam away. Once again, the girl was alone on the mountain.
“The girl crossed rivers, ravines, and forests, but no one she encountered would join her. A wind began to blow, so cold that it seemed to cut to the bone, and it made the girl lonelier.”
That part rang true: Chris had been lonely many times on the road, even with the company of pokemon.
“At last,” Cynthia continued, “she came to a little town, not so different from the place she’d come from. She smiled to see it, imagining human company and a warm meal. However, she quickly discovered that the town had been abandoned. There was no soul in sight, neither human nor pokemon. She found a place to take shelter from the wind, and there she began to cry.
“Then, as if from nowhere, she heard a quiet voice call out to her:
Why are you crying?
“
Because I’m all alone, she answered.
“
You’re not alone, said the voice.
I’m here, too.
“The girl suddenly became frightened.
Who are you? she demanded.
Show yourself!
“And then a face floated towards her from out of the shadows. She had never seen a mirror before—or a bronzor—and so she did not recognize her own reflection. She couldn’t see how she had grown and changed on her journey. So she mistook the bronzor for the beautiful face of her mother, returned from death.”
Chris’s arms prickled with goosebumps.
“She might have been afraid if it hadn’t spoken to her so gently.
I have been alone for a long time, the bronzor told her.
But now that you’re here ... maybe we can be alone together.
“So the girl and the bronzor traveled on together, each looking after and protecting the other. Each time the girl looked upon the bronzor, she saw her reflection and was comforted by the living memory of her mother.
"One day, the girl turned to her companion and said,
I have journeyed all this way to seek my purpose, but even after all this time I have no idea what that could be. Please, tell me what I should do.
“The bronzor turned to her, revealing her own unhappy expression. The girl hated to see sadness in her mother’s face, and it made her realize something new: her purpose was to lead a life that would make her mother smile upon her with pride. And, indeed, she smiled as she had this thought, and the image of her mother reflected on the bronzor’s face smiled back.”
Chris felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. It sounded so pure and simple. But it wasn’t really that easy, was it? Everything he did was to make Dad proud, but it never felt like enough.
Had Cynthia somehow
known? He tried to catch her eye—but she was turned away from him, watching Una, whose face was very still.
He’d almost forgotten this story was meant to be for her. She’d lost so much more than just one parent.
Cynthia held Una’s gaze as she spoke, each word falling from her mouth like a pebble into a still pond. “The girl could not know that the reflection she admired was what she already carried inside herself all along. But with the help of a bronzor, she was finally able to see her own inner beauty ... on the outside.”
With that, Cynthia finally sat back, sipping her hot chocolate.
A log in the fire let out a loud crack. No one spoke.
At last, Una said, “I pity the girl.”
Cynthia smiled. “Oh? Why?”
“She believes she has been reunited with her mother ... but it is only a reflection.”
Chris wondered, stung, if he was more like the girl, forever chasing ghosts … or the bronzor, a pale reflection of Hiro Nakano that could never measure up to the real thing.
“Does the moon cast light?” Cynthia spoke with an ease that suggested she’d had this conversation many times before.
“Yes,” Una answered hesitantly, as if sensing a trap.
“But isn’t it only a reflection of the sun?”
Una looked like she wanted to protest, but Cynthia pushed ahead.
“No two people interpret a story the same way, and that’s alright. But here’s what I think: I think each of us is a mirror. We reflect our own histories, the histories of our ancestors, the places we’ve been ... and even who we could become. All of those reflections cast new light onto the world. Do you know what you want to reflect into the world, Una?”
She looked like she was about to cry again.
Setting his own hurt aside, Chris tried, “Maybe you should let her—”
Cynthia ignored him. “You,” she said to Una, “are the last person alive who can reflect the light of a world that no longer exists. You can tell its stories.”
Trembling, Una swiped at a trickle of tears with the heel of her hand. “I gather herbs. I clean the altars. I am no scholar and no bard.”
“You could be both.”
Chris shot Cynthia a look, but she didn’t shift her gaze from Una. Something in Cynthia’s face reminded him of Clair staring him down from across the pool, fighting to fling him down because his loss was her win.
She
collected stories, she’d said.
“Una, do you want to leave?” he asked, voice low.
She shook her head, but he couldn’t tell if it was for him or Cynthia. “What does it matter? My home is gone, and telling stories will not bring it back.”
“I think our stories can change the world.”
“The world changes regardless.” However, she accepted the handkerchief this time when Cynthia offered it to her.
"I mean it," Cynthia said. “If you stay and record stories with me, you can save them from being forgotten. I’ll make sure the right people hear them. I can pay you, too.”
Money? Is that really what she thought Una wanted?
But, of course, a champion’s dollar meant more than just money. It was favors, connections, the world standing aside to let you through. Cynthia was offering her something Chris hadn’t been able to: a way to exist in their time as more than a guest.
Gently, Cynthia told her, “What you’re looking for in the wilderness will still be there after. You can quit any time.”
Una shook her head again. “I do not want my home to be remembered as
stories. It was real. Our gods were real, and now they are gone.”
“Listen.” Cynthia’s voice went so quiet, Chris strained to hear from where he sat. “I don’t think of stories as made-up entertainment for children. They’re sacred.”
At that, Una jerked her head up to meet Cynthia’s gaze. Chris imagined he could feel the connection between them pulled taut like a string. Like a fence holding him apart.
Cynthia continued, “Your gods might not be the same as mine, but that doesn’t matter. Arceus has had as many names and forms across the ages as They have arms. Two things that seem to be opposites can be part of the same whole. I believe in
everything.”
Dad had believed in nothing but himself and what he could see with his own eyes.
Foolish, Suicune had called him. Was that what she had meant?
Chris wasn’t so sure anymore what truths he could count on, but even he could admit that what Dad would’ve called common sense wasn’t enough to explain Una’s situation. She needed more.
Begrudgingly, he said, “I think you should probably do it, Una.”
For a moment, he worried he’d said the wrong thing. She hadn’t asked for his advice. She hadn’t wanted to stay.
But she raised her head to meet Cynthia’s gaze and answered, “I will do it. I fear I will do a poor job of it, but you are correct: there is no one else. I owe it to my people to try.”
“No,” Cynthia said, triumphant, “you owe it to yourself.”
