Author's Notes:
Final Fantasy and its characters belong to Square Enix, not me.
Fair warning – the first few chapters are going to be relatively slow. This is an exploration on a "soft" character type and character development, so the main character is not going to be the guts and glory hack 'em up machismo man's man.
Slashy male/male pairings will be hinted at and included later. Also expect hetero relationships. I haven't decided how explicit sex is going to be yet.
For those of you familiar with my Warcraft work, I'm going to try for a little less sadistic gratuitous violence, but what violence there is will probably still be rather graphic.
I'm still primarily working on The Stones That Build A Well in the Warcraft section. Expect updates for this piece to be less frequent.
Prologue:
Horace woke with a start, dim alarm ringing through the dust and rubble of his sleepy brain. He could tell that something was vaguely wrong. He was almost definitely late for work again. His shift supervisor was going to kill him. His eyes flew open and he tried to jump out of bed.
His muscles didn't move.
"Uh, Bahamut? Is . . . he supposed to wake up?"
Things swam blearily into focus. He found himself promptly wishing they would swim right back out again, because it was the most horrifying nightmare he'd ever experienced.
Two massive, golden eyes like wells of light looked down at him above a pale blue surgeon's mask, regarding him from a red-feathered head with small horns on a long neck, framed by the apexes of folded leathery purple, crested wings, huge, curving bone spurs jutting from the sides of its narrow rib cage. The bird thing in a surgeon's mask made a weird noise that was halfway between a coo and a purr, head bobbing on its long neck.
"Don't do that! You'll scare the living daylights out of him!"
With great effort, Horace managed to turn his head, rolling his eyes downward. The thing that had spoken was covered in massive red plates, huge black horns sprouting from its armored head. Unlike the bird, its eyes were a darker, harsher orange. It looked like a demon. It was also wearing a blue surgical mask.
Beside it was a woman who was literally blue from the tips of her long, braided hair to her blue sports bra to the blue wrap around her waist, bracelets and bangles of gold on her arms as she studied something in the direction of his midsection, the ubiquitous surgical mask covering her face below her blue eyes.
"Careful Yojimbo," she said in a slow, breezy voice that somehow reminded him of a wind over a glacier. "I think that's his colon."
"Bahamut!"
Horace's head tilted the other way. The girl who'd spoken was one of a trio, and she, like her sisters, was wearing a nurse's cap with a little red cross on the front in addition to the masks the other figments of his imagination were sporting. They were all wearing skinsuits that were apparently designed to mimic insects, only in varying colors, and what looked a lot like insect wings were standing upright from their shoulders.
Next to them was a vaguely manlike thing that seemed, for all intents and purposes, to have been carved from wood, including his broad, flat hat that reminded Horace of something he'd seen in a japanese anime movie. Like the others, there didn't seem to be any pupils in his eyes, just glowing orbs behind stylized eye holes above his surgical mask.
His arms were red up to the elbows. Horace got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"Whoa," said the chubbiest of the insect/nurse girls. "Look at that thing, its clenching."
"I believe that would be the stomach." The voice was boyish, drawing Horace's attention to the foot of the table.
It was almost impossible to lift his head, but he managed by sheer dint of horrified desperation.
The discreetly placed screen of blue cloth kept him from seeing anything above Yojimbo's blood-covered forearms and only made him whimper.
It was unmistakably a dragon that was crouched at the foot of what Horace realized with a sinking feeling could only be some sort of operating table, its scales black, red and purple feathered wings folded to its sides. It wore the biggest blue surgical mask of all, stretching across its massive muzzle.
"You were saying something, Mindy?" it continued urbanely in that incongruous boyish tone.
"I said, I think he's awake." That was the smallest of the three insect girls in nurse caps, and Horace realized with a feeling of disbelief that he could actually see her wings beating, her feet hanging in the air.
"Hmm?" The dragon lifted its head, gaze fixing on Horace. "You're right." It rose from its crouch. "Well, let's insert the uterus."
"The WHAT!"
Horace's voice was a shriek. Several of the masked observers winced.
Yojimbo made an irritated growling noise, not glancing up from what he was doing.
The dragon just shrugged, shuffling its black wings. "Operating table humor," it said with a wink. "Just breaking the ice."
Horace whimpered again.
"Are you sure Yojimbo is qualified to perform this kind of procedure?" The red-plated demon asked, tone mildly concerned.
"He's taken plenty of people apart. How much different can putting them back together be?" The dragon shrugged again. "Almost ready Yojimbo?"
"Shouldn't we . . . I don't know . . . put him back under?" the blue woman asked languidly.
"No, the white magic has to integrate with his conscious mind too, or he'll never be able to use it effectively," the dragon said patiently in that bizarre, boyish voice. Abruptly its head turned away, eyes narrowing. "Ixion, it was a joke. I don't know where you found that, but go put it back!" It shook its big, scaly head. "Has anyone seen Anima?"
"She doesn't want to scare him," Shiva said once more in her cool, drawling tones.
"You would think she'd have taken this a little better," the dragon complained.
"She's sensitive. I've told you that time and time again, Bahamut," the demon said, folding arms that ended in massive claws over its huge, armored chest. "She doesn't like this plan, especially after what happened the last time."
"Well I don't see what the problem is," the dragon replied haughtily. "It was a test run. We've worked out all the kinks. It'll be smooth sailing for us this time."
"I've totally heard that one before," the blue woman said with a roll of her ice-colored eyes.
The massive wooden man the others called Yojimbo abruptly let out a satisfied grunt and held up something red and pulpy.
Horace took one look at it and almost fainted.
In fact, he wasn't quite sure why he didn't, but something held back the darkness.
"Anima, glad you showed," the dragon said brightly, looking at something over Horace's head. "Well, here goes."
The dragon drew in a deep breath, colossal chest swelling. Horace's eyes widened as it was expelled in a blast of brilliant, blinding light.
The world was gray. It was a soft, peaceful kind of gray, like everything was wrapped in fog. Horace gradually became aware of the sound of water, lapping against something. He lowered his eyes.
It was the blue woman, her face startlingly human and lovely without the blue surgical mask. She smiled softly at him, not speaking, working the wooden oar in her hands, and he realized that he was a on boat, waves pattering gently at its sides as she propelled them to some unknown destination.
After a time, Horace relaxed, letting his mind drift along with the fog that surrounded them, lost in gray spaces, letting the dream wrap around him.
Chapter 1 – Awkward Fish Is Tossed Back, But Washes Up Again
"Uh, excuse me. Can you hear me?"
"No," Horace muttered absently, not wanting to open his eyes.
"Oh." Someone shook his shoulder. "Can you hear me now?"
"Nmm-mm," Horace muttered.
"How about now?" they asked curiously, giving him another shake.
Horace opened his eyes to get a look at his tormentor.
Her hair was blond, her eyes mismatched - one blue and one green. She smiled down at him, two front teeth missing in her small face, maybe all of seven or eight years. Horace wasn't sure. He'd never been very good with children or gauging their ages.
She straightened from leaning over him and put a hand above her eyes, looking off into the distance, and then glanced back at him. "This is a nice boat."
"Is it?" Horace glanced around him, but only saw what looked a little like a broader, deeper version of a hollowed out canoe.
She nodded firmly and stamped her foot, hollow thump reverberating through the wood. "It's solid." She folded her hands behind her. "Can we go sailing?"
Horace blinked. "Sailing where?"
"I dunno." She shrugged. "I've always wanted to go to Bevelle."
He blinked owlishly at her. "Where's Bevelle?"
She shrugged. "Somewhere that way, I think," she said, pointing off into the distance.
"Oh." Horace tried to get up, and realized dimly that he couldn't move. He glanced down and realized that he was secured by what looked like a ludicrous amount of white gauze. He blinked, and looked back to the little girl, who regarded him with an oddly expectant air. "Did you do this to me?"
She blinked. Apparently the question wasn't what she'd been expecting. She shook her head quickly, blond locks flying. "No. Didn't your Guardians do that? After you died?"
It was Horace's turn to be confused. "I died?"
She shrugged. "Looks like."
Horace frowned, brow furrowing. "I died?" he asked again.
She shrugged. "Well. I dunno . . . I've never done it before."
"Well, how do you know I'm dead then?" he asked reasonably enough.
"Why else would you be lying in a boat wrapped up like a mummy after having been set adrift by your sorrowful Guardians?" she countered, putting her small fists on her hips. "I've heard the story a dozen times from Granny Elspeth. You're Marik Tass, the Lost Summoner. You're in the boat and everything, just like the story."
"Huh." Horace shook his head after a moment. "I think you may have confused me with somebody else."
Her little face turned impatient, as though he were a slow child and she his teacher. "There's only one Summoner that was ever set adrift by his sorrowful Guardians in a boat that I've heard of, and that's Marik Tass, so you have to be him."
Horace pursed his lips, and then shook his head again. "No, I'm pretty sure I'm Horace Kinsley. I have been as long as I can remember."
"As long as you can remember?" She arched a blond eyebrow. "What'd you have for breakfast this morning?"
Horace thought, and then realized he hadn't actually had breakfast yet. "I haven't had it yet."
"Or you don't remember having it," she said with a calm air of superiority, folding her arms. "Memory loss. Happens a lot in the stories."
"I had eggs and toast for breakfast yesterday," he offered.
She shrugged and walked past him, hopping over the side of the boat.
"Where are you going?" he called after her, panic starting to enter his tone.
"The same place you are." Her voice carried back to him, tight with strain. "Bevelle."
"What's in Bevelle?" he asked loudly.
"Machina and magic and maesters and the Grand Temple." She grunted, let out a noise that sounded like she was in danger of giving herself a hernia, and Horace felt the boat shift, then shift further.
"I um . . . I'm not sure this is a good idea," he called as the boat wobbled, apparently drifting free of whatever it had run aground on.
"It's fine," she said, clambering over the side and walking past him toward the oar in the aft, small arms straining, little face turning red as she shoved and yanked.
"Would you like some help with that?" he asked.
"You're . . . dead," she huffed. "You're supposed . . . to just . . . lay there."
Horace's sense of misgiving deepened as he watched her strain. He was half-expecting the boat to run aground again almost immediately, but apparently she was better at this than she looked, because he felt the boat begin to rise and fall with the waves. Minutes passed. Horace wasn't sure how far they were getting from land, but one thing he was sure of was that this wasn't a good idea.
"Where are your parents?" he asked quietly.
She stopped, looking at him, and the fierce fire of youthful determination that had burned in her mismatched eyes a moment ago was replaced by something else, a scared look that reminded him of an injured wild animal.
They both screamed as a big, tanned hand closed on the side of the boat, and then it was rocking wildly, threatening to capsize as the hand's owner pulled himself from the water, other hand closing on the other edge of the boat, somehow managing to rock it back in the other direction and swing his dripping body inside.
"Chappu, you big jerk!" The little girl stamped her foot.
Chappu knelt in the bottom of the boat, devoid of clothing but for the wrap of green and blue cloth around his waist, water streaming over a lean, powerful, copper-skinned body. He grinned, baring straight, even white teeth, and ran a big hand over his short red hair.
"Nice boat, Mayu." His baritone voice was full of laughter
"You almost capsized me you . . . you jerk!" She stomped over, little fists raised, and he fended her off, that broad smile still on his face as her small hands battered at his raised forearms.
A particularly large wave made the boat lurch, and Chappu let out a surprised noise, tumbling backward, back of his head hitting the bottom of the boat with a loud clunk. He sat up, wincing, and his eyes met Horace's wide-eyed stare.
They both froze.
Chappu looked like he'd seen a ghost. "Who . . . who're you?" His eyes narrowed, expression turning from shock to anger. "What're you doing with Mayu?"
He was up in a heartbeat. Stars burst behind Horace's eyes as he was jerked around by rough hands, the back of his head making painful contact with the wooden platform he was lying on.
"Stop it, Chappu! That's Marik Tass! The Lost Summoner! You're disturbing the dead!"
Chappu's big, dripping fist came to a halt in mid-punch, brow furrowing as he turned away, looking over his shoulder, not loosening his grip on the gauze wrappings that bound Horace in place.
"What'd you say?"
"I said that's Marik Tass, you nincompoop!" she repeated with a scowl. "He's dead. You're disturbing him!"
Chappu's head turned slowly back around, and all at once, he let go. Horace's already sore skull had another less than pleasant run-in with hard wood. Brown eyes looked him up and down, brow furrowing in the copper-skinned face.
"Mayu, what in Yevon's name is going on here?" Chappu asked quietly.
Horace winced and glanced down over his chest. Mayu had both her hands on her little hips, small face fixed in a diminutive yet still-ferocious scowl. "I found him first, and we're going to Bevelle. You're not allowed, you big dummy!"
Chappu's young face tightened. "Mayu, they aren't there."
"They will be. If I have the ghost ship, I'll be able to see them!"
Chappu stood. "This is just a leaky old canoe, Mayu, with a. . ." He glanced at Horace, who tried to look as inoffensive as possible ". . .a creep in . . . creepy white bandages." He jerked his chin sideways. "Move outta the way."
Mayu held fast to the oar, eyes burning. "I hate you," she screamed. "You ruin everything you jerk!"
Horace saw the muscles in the big, broad back tense, and then relax. The big, copper-skinned young man lifted Mayu out of the way and set her next to Horace, and she pounded her fists on his chest and cried into his gauze.
Horace couldn't help feeling a little bit sorry for her, and gradually her fists and her tears slowed, and she just lay there half on top of him, quiet. Perhaps she was exhausted after all her hard work. She didn't move except to toy with the edge of one of his wrappings, sniffling occasionally.
Soon enough, Horace felt the boat run aground once more. Chappu lifted a sniffling Mayu out of the boat, and stepped out himself.
Horace whimpered as he felt a shove propel the boat once more out onto the water.
"Chappu, why'd you do that?"
"I figure somebody tied him up and left him in there for a good reason," Chappu said breezily. "'Sides, he's dead. He won't mind."
"It was his sorrowful Guardians," Mayu said helpfully, her voice getting farther away.
"Hmmm. I think I'm going to have to have a word with Granny Elspeth. You're too old for her to be telling you all these weird stories."
Horace wasn't sure how long he drifted, staring up at the endless blue sky above. Truth be told, he was a little bit stiff, but not really all that uncomfortable. The ache in his head gradually died away. His eyes sank shut.
It was the burger dream again. It was a dream he'd had many times, with increasing frequency in the years since since he'd started working at Joe's Burger Joint. He was a hamburger patty, taken out of a bag of identical, freeze-dried patties, layered between the two halves of a cheap, sesame-seed sprinkled bun and popped into a microwave.
Again and again, the smoky glass rotated in and out of view in the dim orange light, hypnotic and regular, the microwave surrounding him in a steady drone that never changed pitch.
The world chimed with a simple, succinct ding, announcing that he was done, ready to be piled with lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, and onions and squirted with ketchup and mayonnaise, then wrapped in thin, slightly slick paper and served with greasy fries and a tall, cold soft drink.
The moon glowed brilliant silver as Horace opened his eyes, peering thoughtfully down at him between the broad leaves of the trees that leaned out over the boat, full and round in the night sky, oddly large, as though it had sidled nearer while he was sleeping to get a better look at him. There were stars, so many of them, more than he'd ever seen in his life, brilliant and bright, and they actually twinkled. Horace stared at them, entranced.
He squeaked as something big landed in the boat next to him, setting it to rocking. The face was cloaked in shadow, impossible to see, much less read, but at least it looked human. Horace held his breath.
"You're like a bad penny, dead man." Chappu's tone was thoughtful in a way that made Horace's blood run cold. He squatted next to Horace, the hard lines of his unsmiling face coming into view, limned by moonlight. "So, who did you up like this?"
Horace swallowed. "Monsters did. There was a dragon, and a demon, and a woman with blue skin, and a wooden man, and-"
The furrow in the young man's brow was enough to make Horace shut his mouth instantly. Chappu only shook his head.
"You must be heat-sick. You've been out in the sun all day. Probably haven't even had any water." His tone wasn't apologetic, just annoyed. He sighed, got up, and moved over to where the oar sat in its brace on the back of the boat. His powerful arms began to stroke, propelling the little craft out from under the trees.
Horace watched him for a few minutes, until his neck began to ache from holding up his head, and then lay back and watched the stars sail by overhead instead. It was a much longer trip to shore this time.
He had only a brief moment's warning, and then his breath was evacuated from his stomach with a whunf as he was flung over one broad shoulder like a sack of meal.
"If it would help, I could walk," he suggested after about ten or fifteen minutes had passed.
"Wrapped up like a mummy? I'd like to see that, but we don't have time." Chappu's voice was only slightly labored.
"You could untie me," Horace suggested politely.
"I could drag you by your feet. Or your hair."
Horace took the hint and shut up. The silence stretched out.
"So . . . are you really Marik Tass?"
"No," Horace said honestly. "I'm Horace Kinsley."
Chappu stopped. His voice quieted. "What were you doing in the boat with Mayu today?"
"She found me." Horace sighed. "I'm really stiff."
The ground hit him hard enough to knock the wind out of him, vision blurring with the blow. He lay on the path, gasping for breath, and his ears caught the sound of retreating footsteps. A tear slid from one one eye. He closed his eyes and prayed for the first time in a very long time, begged to wake up in his own bed.
When he opened them he was still lying on dirt. The curious moon had followed him, gazing down at him still, surrounded by flocks of glittering stars. Horace lay where he was and stared back up at them, able to do little else.
He didn't know when exactly he'd fallen asleep, but he woke at the sound of a growl. He turned his head as dripping jaws appeared in the moonlight, slaver dripping onto the path. It didn't look like any dog he'd ever seen, hide devoid of fur, as if the whole of its body were covered with mange, scabrous and discolored, brown and yellow teeth gleaming.
Horace let out a quiet whimper and closed his eyes tightly.
The raaaawr that reached his ears didn't really sound all that fierce to him, but it did get his attention, and he stared up, startled. Mayu was suddenly standing over him, dressed in shorts and a sleeveless shirt, a satchel over one shoulder. She was holding a stick in one hand, ablaze with blue fire.
For its part, the monstrous dog hesitated briefly, clearly rethinking its strategy in light of the change of circumstances. Horace probably would have done the same. After all, one didn't often encounter small girls waving big, blue-flaming sticks.
Mayu let out another not-quite-menacing "Raaaaawr" and this time the dog-thing snarled back.
Mayu swung her stick threateningly a few times.
The dog-thing snarled some more.
If Horace had been watching this on his small T.V. from the comfort of his worn loveseat, he would have turned the station to something else, uncomfortable with the probable ending. As it was, he could only lay there and pray for the dog-monster to take the bluff and go home.
The dog-monster leapt, and Mayu screamed as it knocked her down.
Horace did the only thing he could. He rolled over and bit it right on the narrow part of its closest hind leg, holding on for dear life.
It gave him a startled look, shook its leg once or twice, shook it harder, and then growled when he still refused to release it from his teeth and started to hop awkwardly around in a circle, body curving towards him, teeth bared.
Feet scuffed on the path, the dog-monster's head jerked up, and then it jerked a second time as a spearhead dove into its mouth and burst from the back of its skull. Horace rolled over and vomited out the foul taste in his mouth.
"Mayu, what you doin' out here?" Chappu's tone was grim as his footsteps approached.
"What do you think, you dummy?" she shot back, not cowed in the slightest despite her brush with death. "I came back for Marik."
Horace rolled back over. She didn't seem much the worse for wear in the light of her now-smoldering stick, no blood that he could see, just some dirt on one cheek. She put her small hands on her hips and glowered at the young islander man. "Now I have to drag him all the way back to the boat."
Chappu's gaze dropped to Horace. Horace flinched, but the copper-skinned young man just looked at him a moment longer and let out another sigh. "Keep watch for any more fiends," he muttered, growled really, and then knelt down and slung Horace once more over his shoulder.
Remembering all too clearly what had happened the last time he'd opened his mouth, and wary of the spear in Chappu's opposite hand, Horace observed strict silence this time on the way to wherever it was they were going.
"Chappu, we're going the wrong way," Mayu hissed.
"Hush Mayu, you aren't goin' back to that creepy boat tonight." Chappu's voice remained grim. "Neither is your dead Summoner."
Horace wasn't sure whether or not to be relieved at the announcement, withholding judgment until their destination became more apparent.
Of course, it was awfully difficult to see where exactly that was while facing the wrong direction, but Horace reasoned that it was likely preferable to lying on a cold dirt trail waiting to be eaten by something. So he stared down Chappu's broad back and watched his muscular copper legs appear, vanish from sight, and reappear again on the other side of the green and blue waist-wrap.
Mayu dropped back to look up at him, her nose scrunching briefly in her small face.
"So what's it like, being dead?"
Horace pursed his lips. "I don't think I'm allowed to talk to you," he whispered after a moment.
Mayu shot him a puzzled look. "Why not?"
Horace tried to shrug. It didn't work very well. Still, he managed to roll his shoulders in an awkward fashion.
Mayu's gaze dropped briefly to Chappu's back. "Are you afraid of him?" she whispered.
Horace nodded.
"He's really not that scary," she whispered reassuringly. "He just likes to act tough."
"Mayu, you walk ahead of me where I can see you," Chappu said gruffly.
Mayu rolled her eyes but complied.
"Yeah that's real attractive honey, you'll find yourself a husband real fast by sticking your tongue out at 'em." Chappu's tone had dropped to a growl again.
"At least I'll get married. You're too ugly to find a girl!" she snapped back, quick as a whip.
Chappu muttered something so low under his breath that even Horace couldn't make out the words.
They walked for what seemed like an awfully long time. Horace only had a moment's warning as Chappu's arm shifted, and then he was seeing stars again, head bouncing off of something much less forgiving than dirt.
He swallowed as rope coiled around his neck, but Chappu just tied it off in a knot.
"Don't go anywhere," he said with a sour smirk.
Horace rolled over and saw the other end of the rope was tied to a metal stake screwed into the stone he was lying on. A real dog was looking at him from not far away, rope tied to a ring on its collar, head resting on its paws. Horace smiled tentatively at it and tried to make himself comfortable.
"What in Yevon's name?"
Horace started awake, the dog cuddled at his side jerking its head up, ears perking straight up. He turned his head. A copper-skinned woman in a flowing white sun-dress and a wide-brimmed hat was staring at him from a few feet away, eyes wide. Horace tried to look as inoffensive as possible. She stared a moment longer, and then turned around and jogged out of sight.
He was just starting to breathe a sigh of relief when she reappeared with a knife in her hand.
Horace's eyes went as wide as saucers and he rolled over onto his belly and tried to squirm away. His canine companion got up with an ear-splitting bark, started dancing and pulling on his rope, yelping and barking, making an ungodly racket.
Horace had forgotten about the rope around his own throat, right up until the moment it jerked him to an abrupt stop, cutting off his air. He struggled fruitlessly, strangling, and a strong hand yanked him over onto his back.
The knife flashed bright in the sun.
Horace gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut.
The rope around his throat went slack, and he chanced half-opening one eye. Her expression was incredulous.
"I . . . was going to ask if you were alright," she said after a moment, tossing the rope aside, "but I guess the answer is fairly obvious." She bit her lower lip. "Just . . . try and lie still and I'll get you out of this."
"Thank you," he rasped, throat and mouth dry.
She shook her head, incredulity fading only slightly. "You're welcome."
"Rinna! Get away from him!" Chappu's voice was loud and furious.
Rinna's expression tightened and she got up. Horace followed her with wide eyes as she went to meet the islander man.
She shook her finger in Chappu's face. "You've gone too far this time, Chappu! This is way beyond one of your usual stupid pranks!"
"It's not a prank!" Chappu's face was turning red. "Somebody tied him up like that for a reason!"
"Oh, so it was one of your stupid friends?" Rinna shoved him, and to Horace's surprise, Chappu actually stumbled half a step back. "There's no reason to treat somebody like that!"
"Rinna, listen! I think he's Unsent!"
Rinna's mouth froze. Her eyes went back to Horace, who just looked miserably at the both of them, exhausted, dehydrated, hungry, and entirely unsure of what was going on or what it meant for someone to be "Unsent" or whatever it was.
"Where did you find him?" she asked more quietly.
"In a creepy little boat on the other side of the island. Looked like it came in with that mist the other day. Mayu found him. She thinks he's Marik Tass, some kind of Lost Summoner. She was going to take his boat to Bevelle."
"She'd never have made it out of the bay," Rinna said dismissively, but Horace could see the wheels turning in her mind. He rolled onto his back, and started to cry silently.
"He's not Unsent." Rinna's voice came from much closer. Horace felt something tug at the edge of his wrappings, heard steel gliding through fabric.
"How do you know?" Chappu growled.
"Because my mother never cried once," she said back, tone calm.
"Your mother-"
"Don't you dare," Rinna hissed.
Horace looked up at them through tear-blurred eyes, frozen there beside him. And then Chappu moved, grabbing the knife out of Rinna's hand. "One way to find out for sure," he said darkly.
"Chappu, don't you even think about-"
Chappu shoved her out of the way, sending her sprawling across the stone, and dropped to his knees, knife in his hand.
Horace cried out as the knife blade dug into his cheek like hot fire, felt wet warmth flow down his face and stared up at Chappu, certain he was about to die.
Chappu just stared back at him, eyes wide, expression surprised. Rinna's kick caught him on the underside of his jaw and Horace heard his teeth click together as he tumbled back onto his hands. A heartbeat later her knee hit that copper nose straight on, and then she was straddling the bigger man, fist rising once, twice, three times, four.
She got up.
Chappu didn't.
Her eyes were hard brown stones as they met Horace's, a livid scrape along one cheek as she picked up the knife and started cutting away at his wrappings.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
She stopped, stared at him for a moment, and then shook her head, a smile coming to her lips despite the tears in her eyes.
"It's okay," she said as she started cutting at the wrappings again. "It's going to be alright."
Clean, fed, throat no longer burning with thirst, dressed in a simple white button down shirt and long, loose cotton pants of the same, he sat very still on his three-legged wooden stool as Granny Elspeth smeared yellowish-brown paste over his cheek.
"That should do it," she said, her wrinkled features crinkled even further as she squinted at him "Your face is quite pretty, and it'd be a shame to spoil it with a scar."
"Thank you," he said softly.
She smiled at him as she screwed the top back onto her jar of paste. "Proper manners, from a proper lad. You're very welcome, young man." Her eyes went past him, tone flattening, smile disappearing. "It's a shame such a polite visitor didn't receive a polite welcome to Besaid. Shameful, and troubling."
Chappu was back there at the rear of the small room Granny Elspeth had ushered them into. Honestly, of the two of them, he probably looked the worse after his scrap with Rinna. Horace had caught a brief glance at his face, already swelling and turning spectacular colors.
Rinna had already been tended to, her scrapes covered with the same strangely tingly paste. The color didn't detract from her beauty, her silky black hair flowing straight down to her shoulders, framing her oval, delicately-featured face.
"Now, from what I understand, you were found wrapped up in those bandages lying outside in a boat in Wanu bay on the other side of the island near the old dock?" Granny Elspeth's gray eyebrows rose inquiringly as she set the jar of paste back among innumerable others in a cabinet against one wall.
"He's Marik Tass, the Lost Summoner!"
Horace turned as Mayu burst into the room, pausing near the door just long enough to kick Chappu in the ankle before strutting proudly to where Rinna and Horace were seated. "I'm the one who found him," she announced as she stood next to Horace, legs apart, arms folded. "I was going to take his magical ghost boat to Bevelle to see my parents, but then stupid ninny-head back there" she paused to stick her tongue out at Chappu "almost capsized the boat. So then I was going to sneak back, only I found him lying on the path, and he was about to be eaten by a fiend and-"
Granny Elspeth raised an eyebrow. "And I thought I told some far-fetched stories child. A fiend you say? How did you get away?"
"She almost didn't." Chappu's voice was squashed. Probably a result of his swollen nose. "Funniest thing I ever saw. The dead man bit the fiend on the leg. Probably saved Mayu's life too. I put a spear through its head."
Both of Granny Elspeth's eyebrows rose at that. She glanced at Horace. "You were bound within an inch of your life, so you bit the beast."
Horace blushed bright red. He dropped his eyes. "Yes."
She snorted. "And how about this claim that you are the Lost Summoner, Marik Tass?"
"He's lost his memory," Mayu interjected.
Horace shook his head. "I'm not. I'm Horace Kinsley. I work at Joe's Burger Joint, in Chicago."
"Joe's . . . Burger Joint. In . . . Chicago. Neither of these places are familiar to me."
"I'm sorry." Horace wasn't sure what else to say.
He heard Granny Elspeth let out a sigh. "Yes dear, I'm sure you are. In the meantime, it sounds as though you've had quite an ordeal, part of it at our hands I'm afraid. Rinna, please take our rather scuffed-up guest to Surabo's and make sure that he's settled comfortably so he can get some much-needed rest. Chappu and I are going to have a little talk."
"I'll come too," Mayu announced, bouncing to her feet.
"It's okay if you don't remember," she whispered confidingly to Horace as they walked out of Granny Elspeth's small two-story home. "You might be under an evil spell that's messed up your memory." She paused, and then added. "And I'm sorry we disturbed your rest." Despite her words, she didn't look all that sorry to Horace's eyes. He nodded noncommittally and left it at that.
The small town of Besaid was a pretty one, what he saw of it anyway. The walls were white plaster, the roofs blue-green tile, nestling above the clear, sparkling waters of the bay. The streets were paved and clean for the most part. A large house with tall windows caught his gaze, sitting a little way above the rest of the town on a hillside, roof tiles a bright red that clashed noticeably with the rest of the town below it.
"That's the Governor's house," Mayu said, following the direction of Horace's gaze. "He's a rotten old buzzard. Only comes down to tell us when the Senate's passed some new law or raised our taxes again."
"It sounds like you've been listening to more than just Granny Elspeth's stories." Rinna's tone was dry.
Surabo's was a broad-fronted stucco structure with three stories, deep porch divided from the street by a thin strip of grass and palm trees, and Horace stared as he followed Rinna in. It looked like a place right out of a vacation advertisement - wooden lounge chairs outside, hardwood floors and plush seating inside, and a beautiful view of the ocean no matter where you were.
He waited with Mayu in an empty corner of the porch, listening to her talk about Surabo's penchant for a game called tismat, which was apparently some sort of board game. Actually, it sounded like chess.
Surabo herself appeared after only a few minutes, a middle-aged woman with gray just starting to touch her thick black hair, a clean white apron on over her blue pinstriped cotton dress, sleeves folded up to her elbows.
She saw Horace up to a cream-colored suite complete with a full bathroom, sitting room, and white-carpeted bedroom, left him with a pitcher of water flavored with slices of lemons, limes, and oranges and a small basket of fruits and what looked like bran muffins, and excused herself.
Horace took a moment to appreciate the breathtaking view, stretched out on the big white bed, and fell asleep instantly.
He woke from a deep, dreamless sleep, expecting to find himself once more in his own bed, the utterly bizarre dream ended at last. His eyes went to the big window looking out over the bay, the sun hanging low over the crystal waters, and he blinked slowly.
Someone was knocking on the door to the other room. With a yawn, Horace got up to answer it, rubbing sleep from his eyes, half-expecting Mayu, or maybe Surabo.
Chappu's face looked like it was carved from stone. Horace fled, scooting around the table, slamming the door to the bedroom, running to the window, scrabbling for a latch, a handle, anything that would let him open it.
The door opened behind him. Horace crouched down and scooted back into a corner, wrapping his arms around his knees, and prayed.
"Hey, dead man – I mean, Horace. You can come out. I'm not going to hurt you."
Horace put his hand over his mouth to stifle the sound of his breathing and curled himself up into the tiniest ball he could manage.
There was a soft curse.
Horace's eyes widened as Chappu appeared around the corner of the bed. The young islander paused.
"Hey."
Horace didn't answer, staring at him with wide, frightened eyes. His heart was beating in his chest like a frightened bird, his breaths coming fast.
Chappu squatted slowly, holding out his hands. "Easy now. It's okay."
There was something there, in his dark eyes. Horace felt like his heart was going to burst. With a sob, he broke left, squirming under the bed.
"Fuck. Hey!"
Horace let out a wordless cry of terror as a strong hand closed bruisingly hard on his ankle, scrabbling at the carpet as he was pulled backward, certain he was about to die.
"Oh please God no, oh please oh please oh please-"
"Damnit, I-"
"Chappu!" Rinna's outraged shout reverberated through the room. Horace felt the hand on his ankle let go and squirmed to the middle of the bed, curling up on his side.
"Rinna, I-"
"Shut up and get out," she growled from somewhere near the foot of the bed. "I don't want to hear it."
Carpet rustled as someone else crept under the bed.
"Hey."
Horace opened his eyes gingerly. Mayu was looking at him with her blue and green eyes, lying next to him on the carpet. She smiled at him. "It's okay," she said softly. "I bet you're scared without your Guardians. They shouldn't have left you all alone like they did." She reached out slowly, her small hand closing around one of his. "But it's alright." Her smile widened. "I'll be your guardian while you're here. Okay, Mr. Tass?"
Horace nodded after a moment, pulse slowing, and he followed her out from under the bed.
Rinna sighed as he appeared and shook her head. "Are you alright?"
He nodded. "I'm-"
"Sorry, yes I know." Rinna let out another sigh and took him by his other hand. "Come on, let's go have some dinner."
He managed to relax over the course of the meal. It was really quite delicious, some sort of mango chicken over rice and pea pods, with a large dish of sliced fruit in a bowl in the middle of the table, and at Surabo's insistence, he had a glass of wine to go with it.
He'd never been wealthy, certainly not wealthy enough to spend money on something like alcohol, so the one glass was enough to make him the slightest bit tipsy. Mayu escorted him back up to his room.
"Thank you," Horace said solemnly to her.
"It's my job as your Guardian, Mr. Tass." Mayu smiled brightly back at him, and then closed the door behind her before he could remind her that he wasn't actually the Lost Summoner she thought he was.
He simply sat in the sitting room for a long time, watching through the big window as the sun set over the water in a brilliant wash of hues, sinking lower until it gradually disappeared and the stars emerged.
As he was readying himself for bed, it occurred to Horace that Chappu might be back. He bit his lower lip, worrying over that. His gaze went out to the darkness that had fallen over Besaid. At least inside the town's walls, he didn't have to worry about things like the dog-monster. Hopefully.
He would just have to check and make sure he was certain of just who was on the other side of the door before he unlocked it in the future. He was beginning to suspect this wasn't a nightmare as he'd first believed, especially with all the scrapes and head trauma. Even if it was though, he still didn't want to be murdered in his own dream. Something told him it would be permanent.
The rising sun woke him. It was nice to wake up and be able to move, no thick wrappings to keep him immobile. Horace stretched luxuriously, relishing the feel of soft, smooth, silky cotton against his unbound skin.
Breakfast was waiting for him after his bath, along with a note. He blinked at the sight of the handwriting. It was, in a word, atrocious. He might have thought it was Mayu's, except that it was addressed to him, and Mayu seemed to make it a point to disbelieve anything regarding his identity that didn't fit with her preconceptions.
"Come . . . to . . . temple," he read quietly aloud, brow furrowing as he struggled to decipher the horrific penmanship. "Come . . . alone. Will . . . explain . . . all . . . layover."
For a long minute he simply stared at it. He knew what a layover was. He'd been on an airplane ride a couple of times before in his life. It was when you stopped at an airport in between flights.
But he didn't know of any Temple in Besaid. He frowned. If Chappu was trying to get him to be alone so he could murder him, it was a pretty bad effort. He glanced at his breakfast. And if it had been Chappu who'd come and gone while he was asleep, it wouldn't have been all that hard to kill him while he was asleep and helpless, which pretty much ruled Chappu out.
It didn't seem like Rinna's handiwork either. From what he'd seen so far, she was very straightforward.
Horace sat down and read the note again, absently spearing a piece of egg with his fork and bringing it to his mouth. He set the note down, letting his mind concentrate on the delicious food.
He'd been showered and dressed for about an hour and he was sitting once more at the table in the sitting room, just enjoying the view, trying to pretend the note wasn't there, when there was a knock at the door.
"Mr. Tass! Mr. Tass! It's Mayu! Your new Guardian!"
Horace glanced away from the view, rose and moved toward the door, absently admiring the way the light cotton pants and shirt seemed to flow around him rather than hanging or draping awkwardly. It was like they were floating. Like he was. They were probably the nicest clothes he'd owned in a very long time.
He opened the door with a smile for Mayu, who beamed up at him.
"I thought of the perfect way to get your memory back!" she announced proudly, folding her arms across her small chest and lifting her chin.
She reminded him, he thought suddenly, of a cardinal he'd seen in the park one day, vibrant and quick, full of energy, brash color drawing the eye, loud, sharp calls impossible to ignore.
He shook his head doubtfully. "I don't think my memory has anything wrong with it."
"That's just the spell." Mayu rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand. "Come on."
Horace allowed himself to be tugged along, mildly curious.
"Now you be careful with him, Mayu," Surabo said at the bottom of the stairs. "He's had a hard few days."
"I will," Mayu sighed, still tugging Horace towards the door. "We're just going for a walk."
"Well you don't go too far, and stay in town young lady," Surabo said pointedly, fixing them with a stern look.
"Thank you for breakfast," Horace said shyly.
Surabo nodded, her bun bobbing at the back of her head. "You're very welcome. Be sure the two of you are back in time for lunch now."
"Yes, Surabo," Mayu called without a backward glance, pulling Horace after her.
He started to feel his exertions after a good twenty minutes despite the smoothness and the very gradual rise and descent in elevation. Surabo must have been right. He was already tired out and they'd gone maybe a mile at most. Mayu glanced back as he started to lag, took a look at his face and stopped.
"Why don't we rest for just a minute?" she suggested kindly, and sat next to him, their backs against a low, pale stone wall. She regarded him keenly with her green and blue eyes. "So . . . do you remember being a Summoner at all? Calling the Aeons? Fighting fiends?" She hesitated, and then dropped her voice. "Confronting Sin at the ruins of Hokoa?"
Horace shook his head. "No."
"You were almost to the Calm Lands." Mayu's voice became a whisper. "That's where they say you died. You don't remember at all?"
"No." Horace glanced over at her. "Maybe I'm not Marik Tass."
Mayu snorted. "Well that's just silly. Of course you are." She sat back, eyes rising to the sky. "I would have liked to have met your other Guardians. The swordsman Jadzerak. The dark priestess Mideana. The fierce Ronso, Imbaru." She nibbled on her lower lip. "I hope they're proud of me."
"I think they would be," Horace said after a moment, feeling slightly bad for not being who she clearly wanted him to be.
After the silence had stretched out into a minute, and then more, she turned, a smile blooming on her face. "Thanks Mr. Tass." She sprang easily to her feet and tugged at his hand. "Come on, let's go. We're almost there."
Horace got up and followed her, and he found himself wondering, a little ruefully, how many more times he would do so. The thought really didn't bother him that much.
The pavement began to slope noticeably downward, and then, all at once, it gave out onto dirt, and Horace paused, lifting his gaze from watching where his feet were going to what lay ahead.
It looked as though it had been grand once, a flowing stone structure with a triple-barrel-shaped upper story giving it a vaguely nautical feel, most of the blue-white stone obscured now by moss and a few hardy vines that had managed to find purchase.
The long entryway was covered on the top but left open to the wind on the side, the vegetation giving it the look of more of a cave now.
Horace felt a hint of foreboding.
"Come on." Mayu's tone was exasperated. "I'm sure you'll remember this place. She looked up at him, saw his pensive expression, and her nose scrunched, brow furrowing. "Unless . . . you're remembering something now?"
"No." Horace bit his lower lip. "But there's something . . ."
"Familiar?" she finished for him, her face lighting up.
"Creepy," he said softly, staring at the structure. It didn't just look old, it felt old, like the weight of its age pressed down on everything around it. "What is it?"
"It's the Temple of course." Mayu glanced over her shoulder at it, and then back at him. She tugged at his hand again, tone and expression softening. "Come on."
Horace's mind went straight to the badly written note. How could he think of anything else?
"Don't be afraid, Marik." Mayu looked up at him, determination in her green and blue eyes. "I'll protect you. As your Guardian."
And suddenly he recalled the beasts, the ones who'd cut him open, and done those strange things to him, and left him alone in that boat.
Something told him this was their place. Where they belonged.
His fingers squeezed Mayu's, and he glanced down at her, because he was pretty sure that what he was about to do was a very bad idea.
Her impatience turned to puzzlement. "Marik?"
"Would you . . . would you go tell Rinna that we're here?" he asked after a moment.
Mayu blinked. "Why?"
"Because I'm really scared," he said honestly, meeting her eyes.
Mayu nodded after a moment, and then leaned close, putting her hand to her mouth. He lowered his ear so she could whisper into it.
"She makes me feel safer too." She cocked her head, the motion quick. "Stay here Mr. Tass, I'll go get Rinna."
Horace nodded and sat down, waiting until Mayu was out of sight before he got back up again, trembling from more than just tiredness, and walked into the green cave of the temple.
It wasn't bravery that motivated him to take those tentative steps. It was simple fear. Fear that if he didn't obey, they wouldn't ask a second time. Fear that they'd hurt someone besides himself. Mayu was only a little girl, and even if he wasn't brave, he didn't want her to get hurt, or Rinna, or Granny Elspeth.
The light faded slowly, the wide doors at the end of the tunnel of shrubbery half-ajar. He stepped inside, and froze at the sense of soaring, wide space all around him. It was hushed, quiet, dim, and he was struck by a very old memory, from well over a decade ago.
He remembered the last time he'd gone with his mother to church. He'd been fifteen, and it had been so hushed, the rain falling softly outside, the lighting within slightly dim, the air scented with incense.
Horace crossed himself, and knelt there in the darkness and prayed.
Keep me safe.
Keep everyone else safe.
And then, as an afterthought, he added Let Mayu be happy. Let her find her parents.
He didn't remember how the rest of praying was supposed to go - he thought he was supposed to say something at the end, but it had been too long, so he got back to his feet and he went forward.
He stubbed a sandal-clad toe on a stone step, fumbling hands finding a railing, and he stepped cautiously up, one step at a time, bringing both feet to one step before trying the next, moving slowly.
There were sixteen of them. He moved his foot forward, feeling for the next step, but smooth stone just kept on gliding beneath his sandal. He felt his way gingerly forward, through a doorway, felt a lip, butting up against more stone, and warily crept over it. It started to fall and he let out a squeak, but the motion was smooth, like an elevator, and it came to a soft, gentle halt. He felt his way around the wall, and realized abruptly that he could see light behind him, incredibly dim, but still there.
He rounded a corner. He had no doubt that if it hadn't been utterly pitch black he'd never have seen the luminance of the little dark blue glowing sphere at all, giving off more of a slightly different dimness than any real light. Still, it was better than nothing.
He picked it up in one hand, and his eyes seemed to gradually grow more accustomed to its light as he went deeper, because after a little while he could actually see the faintest reflection of moisture gleaming on the stone floor. It also got cooler.
He rounded a corner, and walked into a wall.
Horace blinked. Of all the things he'd been expecting, a wall wasn't one of them. The glow was definitely brighter now. He glanced down at the sphere. It was still a dark blue, but closer to that of the night sky when the stars and moon were out.
His gaze went back to the wall, and just as he was turning away his gaze caught on a small stone block sticking out, a depression in the top that looked suspiciously intentional.
Horace studied it, glanced at the sphere in his hand, hesitated a moment longer, and then laid it in the groove.
The light went out.
To his left, stone grated on stone, something shifting. He probably would have screamed if not for the faint golden light that ebbed through the growing crack in the wall, and he watched, heart beating wildly, half-expecting something to emerge.
Nothing did. The section of wall ground to a halt. Horace took several deep breaths, then more, and only as his blood stopped thundering in his ears did he hear the song. It was in a language he'd never heard, a woman's voice, and it was beautiful, graceful, slow, soothing, calm. He felt it wrap around him, and terror was replaced with wonder.
The room on the other side of the hole in the wall was grand, draped in crimson, the floor an intricately worked mosaic, all of it lit with golden light. For a moment he simply stared, gazing up at the steps that rose to a door on the right side of the chamber, polished bronze gleaming, painted with a symbol he'd never seen before.
Horace looked around him. All he could see was darkness.
It was a tight fit, but he squeezed his way through the crack and into the light.
The song was in his ears, resonating with something deep in his soul. Horace forgot he was afraid, forgot everything but his wonder and his curiosity, and walked slowly across the room, towards the door of bronze. The crimson drapes could have hidden anything. He didn't so much as glance at them.
He put his foot on the bottom step of the carpeted stairs, and the bronze door lifted up out of sight, the wispy veils of lacy white beyond drifting apart. He waited for something, someone, to emerge, frozen.
No one came out.
It was, Horace realized, an invitation. He couldn't quite make himself go forward, but he couldn't go back. He wavered.
"Hey! Dead man! You down here!"
Chappu's irritated voice cut through the song and Horace's indecision like a frigid knife, chilling him all the way to his marrow, fear of what was behind him winning out over the fear of the monsters that might lie ahead. Without another thought he rushed up the stairs, past the veils, and felt a moment's relief as he heard the bronze door slide shut behind him once more with a solid clunk that seemed to vibrate through the soles of his feet, sealing the way behind him.
He glanced back over his shoulder, watching as those ghostly veils drifted back into place.
"Well. Here at last." Her voice was thoughtful, and slightly exasperated.
Horace whirled.
She stood on top of a big glass dome, oddly . . . insubstantial. Horace realized numbly that he could almost see the far wall through her ghostly midriff. Her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and the gentle lines of her not-unattractive face bore a certain distant resemblance to Rinna's. She was wearing a pair of green capris and a short, sleeveless, rose-colored shirt that bared her bellybutton.
"Who are you?" Horace's voice came out in a choked whisper.
She shrugged. "It's been too many millenia for me to remember my real name, but about a century ago, they still called me Valefor. I've been an Aeon far longer than I was ever human anyway." A smile curved her face. "I'm glad you decided to show. It was either get you to come here or kidnap you out of your bed in the middle of the night, and that would have raised quite a commotion."
"The note . . . that was you?" Horace tried to slow his pulse and his breathing before he hyperventilated. "What did you mean by a . . . layover? Is this just a stop on the way to somewhere else?" He glanced back over his shoulder, but the veils didn't shift even slightly, the bronze door remaining firmly in place. When he looked at her again, she was bare inches away from him.
"Yes, about that." Valefor looked slightly abashed. "You have no idea how in-fucking-credibly hard it is to write a goddamn "g" with a beak. The terminology I was looking for was actually plane change, as in, from one plane of existence to another, but I figured layover was kind of the same thing . . . or at least, as close as I could get anyway, and a "y" is much easier to write."
It was kind of a stretch in Horace's opinion, but he was too scared of the wraith-woman to argue the point. In fact, most of what she'd just said made absolutely no sense to him except for the part about changing planes of existence.
He gulped. "Am I . . . dead?"
Valefor blinked, and then rolled her eyes. "No. Not dead." She turned away from him, striding back over to the glass dome, walking around the outside. "Although as far as the people back home in your world are considered, you might as well be." She shrugged and turned, facing him from the far side of the dome. "It's why we picked you. You were a suitable candidate and you'd cause the least amount of disturbance out of the pool of prospects if you were the one who disappeared."
Horace had always known he wasn't high on the totem pole of society. It was hard to find a job that was lower on the rungs than working in a fast food restaurant with a G.E.D at thirty-two years old. It wasn't hard to admit it to himself. But hearing it out of the mouth of a total stranger was nothing short of utterly demoralizing. He felt tears start to burn at the corners of his eyes.
Valefor looked him in the eye, cocking her head to one side, expression faintly sympathetic. "Don't think of it as an insult," she said after a moment, shaking her head. "Think of this as an opportunity to finally mean something, to do something important with your life that will affect the lives of countless people."
"It sounds like there's no way back to Joe's." Horace didn't recognize his own voice. It was dead and just a little mournful. He felt like he was standing in front of his high school guidance counselor again, listening to him explain about how welfare worked and how to get himself registered, because he was "just one of those people" who "just need help."
"No." Valefor's voice was faintly sad. "No, there isn't. There's only forward."
Horace closed his eyes. "What do you want me to do?"
"For now, I want you to look, and I want you to understand." There was compassion in Valefor's eyes as she met his watery gaze. She beckoned. "Come here. Look down."
Horace obeyed, hesitant at first about stepping onto the glass dome until her gestures became impatient, and looked down.
It was a statue, two broad white wings curling away from a mane of brilliant crimson hair, the woman's face obscured by the stone the statue appeared to be half sunken into.
"This is my tomb." Valefor's voice was bizarrely calm, ignoring Horace's gasp of indrawn breath. "It's where my human body rests. It was placed here when the maesters of Yevon used their power to make me into an Aeon." She lifted her hands, gesturing around her. "They called it a Fayth, but it's really a repository for my spirit, allowing me to manifest a metaphysical presence in the outside world. This song is my song. It's the song that all of the first Fayths once sang. It's the song of our souls."
Horace looked at her for a long moment, the silence drawing out as she returned his gaze evenly, unblinking.
"Why did they do this to you?" he asked quietly.
"Because it was necessary," she said simply, her expression firming, dark eyes steady on his. "It's the same reason the other Aeons and I have brought you here. To prevent it from becoming necessary again."
"I don't understand."
"No, but you will." Her gaze remained steadily on him. "For now, you must learn my song, so that you can teach it to other Fayths. You must teach them to sing, and be free." Valefor smiled. "You were always a good singer."
"How do you know that?" Horace asked suspiciously.
"I know it because one of the gifts of the Fayth is to be able to look into the souls of those who enter the Chamber of the Fayth. It's how we were once able to judge whether a Summoner had the strength to bring our power to bear. It's how we now know what is afoot in the outside world." Valefor held up her hands. "Listen to the song of the Fayth. Learn it. When you're ready, we'll help you carry it to others."
Horace looked into her face, and sighed. "There's no way out?"
"If you're referring to the door, I'll let you go soon enough. If you're referring to the task we've called you here to fulfill . . ." She paused, and her expression flattened. "We've taken steps to make the alternative . . . unpalatable."
"Oh." Horace closed his eyes.
"Now, Horace Kinsley." Her voice was coming from right in front of him. "Sing with me."
Horace sang, until his throat felt dry, until his chest hurt, until the song she wove around him seemed to reverberate in the depths of his very soul, saturating his mind, until it felt like he'd become the song, unsure of where it left off and he began.
"You can stop now."
Horace opened his eyes and looked at Valefor. She smiled. "You are weary, but it will pass," she whispered softly, stepping slowly closer to him. He could almost imagine he felt her breath on his ear. "You cannot forgive him, not yet. Not if you want to live."
Horace felt fear send tendrils shooting through his veins as she turned and walked back towards the dome. "Forgive who?"
"Chappu of course. He's been wandering around down here for a solid half-hour. He took the long way." Valefor stopped atop the glass dome over her tomb and turned to face him, expression becoming dispassionate. "Remember. No forgiveness. Not yet."
Faintly light-headed and thirsty, mind gibbering with terror, Horace watched as she dissipated like smoke on the wind. He turned as the bronze door began to rise, heart thundering in his chest. He looked around. There was nowhere to run in here, but out there, he might have a chance.
He walked quickly past the parted veils, half-afraid of what he'd find beyond, Chappu armed with a gun, or a knife, or simply something blunt.
The young islander man was wearing his green and blue waist-wrap just as before, sharp dark eyes watching as Horace emerged. He was unarmed. He didn't speak for a moment, didn't move, expression unreadable.
Horace felt as much as heard the clunk of the bronze door closing once more behind him, the vibrations coming up through his feet like the first gentle fingertips of doom.
Abruptly the dark eyes narrowed, the jaw firming. The young islander man stepped forward.
"What are you doing here, Marik?" His voice was dark as he moved slowly to the bottom of the stairs. "Why did you come back?"
Horace shook his head. "I'm not Marik Tass."
"No?" Chappu didn't come any closer, shifting his weight, tall body illuminated by the sourceless golden radiance as he folded his arms. "If you're not a Summoner, why'd the Fayth let you in, huh? Why'd you come here? Why send Mayu away unless you were up to something you didn't want her to know about?"
Horace shook his head again, more frantically this time, fear coiling in his belly, immobilizing him in its icy grasp. "There was a note with my breakfast this morning, telling me to come to the Temple. Then Mayu came and-"
"You had her lead you here! I already know that part!" Chappu barked.
"No! She said the place was supposed jog my – Marik's memory, only I didn't know she was bringing me here at the time, and I was so afraid when we got here and she told me; I was afraid they'd hurt her, and Rinna, and Granny Elspeth if I didn't do what they wanted and . . . and . . ." Sobs were choking Horace's throat and he stepped back, huddling against the cold bronze of the door, and cried.
"Fuckin'-A," Chappu muttered.
Horace opened bleary, tear-filled eyes and looked up at him as he neared, sniffling. He closed them again and lowered his head. "Please, just . . . just make it quick," he begged quietly.
Chappu paused, looking startled. His dark eyes closed for a moment and he took a long deep breath, and opened them again. "I'm not here to hurt you," he said quietly. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Besides dead man, you made it through dying once. What makes you think it'd be so bad the second time around?" Apparently Horace's expression must have revealed that the rationalization only frightened him further, because Chappu grimaced and knelt, laying one hand gently on Horace's shoulder. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not."
Horace looked at him for a long moment. "Promise?" he whispered at last.
"Promise." Chappu let out a sigh. "Just . . . relax. Take a deep breath. Calm down."
Horace nodded and tried to do as he was instructed. "I'm sorry."
Chappu rolled his eyes. "That's supposed to be my line. You got nothing to be sorry about. Well, except for when Mayu comes back with Rinna and they find you gone and start worrying." He glanced around. "Well, better now than later when we have an audience I guess."
Horace blinked. "For what?"
Chappu took another slow breath and looked Horace in the eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I thought you were Unsent, or a pedophile, or both. I'm sorry that I treated you so badly every time before that I've seen you, the boat, dropping you on the path and leaving you to be eaten, tying you up with Marlo on the stake, cutting you with the knife. I'm sorry for all of it."
Horace started to cry all over again, not because he was scared anymore, but because he felt bad and Chappu looked so earnest and sincere and uncomfortable.
"What is it now?" Chappu growled, expression darkening.
"She told me I'm not allowed to forgive you yet." Horace sniffled again. "I'm-"
"Don't say it, dead ma- I mean, Horace." Chappu's eyes rose to the bronze door at Horace's back. "She said that, did she?"
Horace nodded miserably.
"Okay," Chappu mumbled with a slight shake of his head. "Well, let's go. If we time it right we should be out of here by the time Mayu gets back with Rinna." He grabbed Horace's wrist and pulled him to his feet, walking towards a doorway opposite the bronze door to the Fayth.
"Um . . ."
"What?" Chappu looked back, gaze slightly impatient.
"I . . . Valefor said you took the long way." Horace's eyes went to the opening in the drapes where he'd come through the wall off to the left. "Th-that way's dark, but it's probably faster."
Chappu blinked. "Huh. I was wondering how you managed to get past the part where the floor's fallen out."
Horace swallowed, eyes widening. Chappu wasn't looking at him, already heading over to the hole. He poked his head through, and turned and held out his hand. "Hold onto me. I don't want you getting lost."
Horace laid his palm gently against Chappu's and was surprised by the firm, solid grip that closed around his fingers, not crushing, but definitely secure, and then he was following Chappu into the darkness.
"I think we've hit a dead end," Chappu muttered ten minutes later. "What are you doing?" he asked irritably, sensing Horace moving around him.
"Th-the way I came down; the walls were circ-" Horace's sentence cut off with an abrupt gasp as the floor shifted under them and started to rise smoothly upward.
"The fuck?" Chappu blurted, hand tightening on Horace's.
When they reached the top, Horace could see dim sunlight coming in through the open doors opposite them, and he let out a sigh of relief.
"I had to climb down." Chappu shook his head, sour expression outlined by the faint light from the door to Horace's eyes. "Fucking bitch." Then he was tugging Horace down the stairs, still gripping his hand.
"Mr. Tass! Mr. Tass! Are you inside?" It was Mayu's voice.
"Horace!" Rinna's voice joined it. "Horace, are you in there?"
"Yeah, he was just praying," Chappu roared as they reached the bottom of the steps. He abruptly shifted his grip, hand sliding up Horace's arm to grip his bicep. "Follow my lead," he muttered. "No need to make them worry."
"Chappu, if you've touched so much as a hair on his head I swear I'm going to make yesterday seem like a picnic!" Rinna appeared in the doorway, pretty face fixed in a scowl, Mayu at her side.
"I was just apologizing," Chappu replied irritably. "Your dead man is just fine."
Mayu ignored him, immediately rushing over to take Horace's hand. "Are you sure you're alright? He didn't hit you, did he?"
"Mayu!" Chappu's tone was offended, face fixed in a scowl. "I ever hit you?"
"You cut him yesterday with a knife!" Mayu fired back instantly, scowling right back at him. "Lately you're always up to no good!"
"I'm alright," Horace said quickly.
"Are you going to explain why you dragged him in here?" Rinna's tone was cool. "Or did we arrive just in time?"
"'Cause I wanted to say I was sorry without everyone in town hearing it. It's none of their damn business anyway," Chappu growled.
"He did say he was sorry for everything," Horace added supportively.
Rinna gave both of them a searching look, and took Horace's other hand. "I'll take you back to Surabo's."
Her gaze went to Mayu as they reemerged into the sunlight. "Mayu, it was very irresponsible of you to bring Horace here by yourself. It's a good thing he asked you to come and get me. I know exactly what you were planning young lady, and you both could have been seriously hurt in that old wreck."
"Sorry," Mayu muttered sullenly, kicking the dirt.
Chappu's tone was still irritated as he emerged behind them. "I could walk him back, ya know."
"Shut up Chappu," Rinna snarled over her shoulder. "Go be somewhere else."
"Right, guess I'll go throw myself off a cliff or something," he grumbled.
They'd been walking for maybe five minutes when Mayu piped up again, tone conspiratorial. "So . . . did you get your memory back, Mr. Tass?"
"No." Horace shook his head and shrugged as he glanced down at her. "I'm still me."
Her little eyebrows drew together in her pixie-like child's face. "It sounds like we might need more drastic meas-"
"Mayu." Rinna's tone was abruptly a lot more similar to Chappu's. "We've talked about this. Horace is not dead, he's not a person from the stories, and he's not a Summoner. You need to stop badgering him. Things are already hard enough for him as it is."
"I'm sorry," Horace said quietly. "I don't mean to be trouble."
Mayu squeezed his hand and gave him a gentle, sympathetic smile.
Rinna let out a long sigh and shook her head, long ebony hair swaying beneath her hat. "Let's get you back to Surabo's."
Surabo greeted them with a wave from the porch, sitting across from a portly older gentleman with wispy white hair in a flower-print shirt and white slacks, the two of them engaged in a game of tismat.
"Mayu, you wait in here," Rinna said as they entered Horace's sitting room. "We'll be out in a minute."
"'Kay." Mayu sat down in a chair at the table and started swinging her legs.
Horace felt a tremor of apprehension as Rinna led him into the bedroom, sensing an imminent lecture on his responsibilities as an adult.
"Now don't be afraid," she said gently. "I need you to take off your clothes so I can see if Chappu's hurt you anywhere."
Horace's face was instantly crimson. "He didn't - I mean, he never touched me. He-"
"Just . . . let me take a look." Rinna's tone was insistent. "I won't touch you, I just need to make sure he hasn't hurt you anywhere." She looked him steadily in the eye. "It's okay. You don't have to be afraid of him. Neither I or anyone else in town will let him hurt you." She smiled. "Surabo would hit him with a frying pan."
Horace let out a sigh and took off his shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons, thoroughly embarrassed as he let it slip down over his shoulders, baring the soft swells of his flabby body. He'd never been proud of it, though it seemed that the privations of the last couple days had helped to slim it at least a little because it wasn't as grotesque as it had been.
Thankfully Rinna didn't insist on making him take off his pants, just had him slide the loose cotton all the way up to the top of the thigh so she could carefully inspect each leg for any bruises or discolorations.
"Why did you . . . want to check?" His voice was quiet, tentative.
Rinna glanced up at him, mouth flat, dark eyes distant. "Because when he was a teenager, there was another boy who grew up here. He and Chappu . . . they were always together. One day the boy's father came home and found them . . ." Rinna's gaze dropped to the floor. "You're sure he didn't hurt you anywhere, didn't touch you anywhere he shouldn't have?"
She was asking if Chappu had raped him, Horace realized. He shook his head and took one of her hands in his. "He didn't hurt me at all, didn't touch me anywhere." He bit his lower lip, and then said it, but very quietly, aware of Mayu in the next room. "He didn't rape me."
He saw the realization in her eyes as she glanced back up, the understanding that he fully comprehended just what she was concerned about. She nodded, and smiled at him after a moment. "I'd just . . . I'd just feel terrible if anything else happened to you after what you've already been through."
Mayu smiled as they returned from the bedroom.
"Mayu." Rinna smiled back at the little girl. "Why don't you tell Horace some of the stories? I know you've learned most of them from Granny Elspeth by heart."
Mayu's smile broadened, her gap-toothed grin infectious, obviously delighted to comply. "Well, it all started a looooong time ago with Yunalesca and Zaeorn . . ."
Author's Post-Script Notes:
I like reviews, but the best reviews are the ones where you point out where I screwed up or I can do better. Constructive criticism is what I want most. You help me be a better writer, I give you better stuff to read.