From the Mind
Chapter Three
by chaosvincent
"by the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes." – Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury
The Darkness slithered, coal-black serpents in the air, across the buildings that lined the walkway, the barrels stuffed in the alleys and the clothing lines that had gone long forgotten, strung up like marionette strings between the houses. It crept along the ground, digging deep into the earth, as if to pry into the land itself for its prey, its victim; it whispered, cold and soft and sweet, to itself, words that glided over one another like silk: find him, findhimfindhim, tear it all apart, apart, he has to be somewhere, findhimfindhim!
Tendrils wrapped around the brick of the building, claws made of black, black nothing that tried to tear through the walls; they slipped along the stone and slithered and writhed up windowsills and across dirt-smeared glass, searching for cracks, for leeway into the houses they could not enter, into the domains that were sealed against their prying gaze. Eyes in the Darkness, eyes that were hard to see unless one knew what one was looking for, gazed, icy-cold and unyielding, through the night, searching, peering into windows and watching the people, only to be cast away when the flames in the fireplaces leaped up and shook their golden waves at the Darkness, as if to say: "leave here!"
The Darkness reached, clawing at the air, tearing through the clouds and to the night sky, hissing like hot water poured atop ice, screaming out –we will find him – into the night.
Squall Leonhart could feel it all around this place. He could sense the Darkness reaching and prying along the walls of the building he was residing in now, could feel them pulling at his mind, trying to force their way through, into his thoughts and into his heart. He could feel them digging, searching, begging for entrance, for the one they were searching for. He pushed them back with force and built up the walls in his mind, as weak and crumbled as they had become.
He watched the window across from him with stilled silence, his lips pulled into a thin line and his hands folded into his lap as the woman at his side dressed his wounds, no words passing between them. In the night, he could see the faint reaches of a woman's hands, thin and slender, soot-black and deadly, as they clawed along the glass pane, pawing at him, threatening to reach him.
He was not worried, however. In here, he was under the protection of this house, and the Darkness, try as hard as it might to pick, pry and pull apart the very foundations of this building, could not enter this domain. It was Forbidden: the protection that had been cast upon this building ages ago prevented such intrusions, and he knew he was safe here, for the time being. Here, he could rest.
"You're pretty beat up, y'know. At this rate, yer not gonna be able to continue on for a few days, Darkness or no Darkness." The woman's voice was smooth, hearty and deep, filled with warmth that reminded him of sugary pumpkin-spice tea around warm fireplaces in the middle of winter, of hot meals and comfort. Her fingers, soft and plump, moved carefully over his chest as she bound his ribs in the white bandages she had just unraveled for such a purpose, and he leaned forward to allow her access for such a feat, a diminutive, gentle smile on his face (he could not help but smile around her, for she was always so kind and gentle to him).
"I heal quickly. It should not take longer than one night." He responded to her quietly, sure of himself. The wounds he sustained were great, but he could heal them once he was given an opportunity to gather up his strength enough to cast the magick that was required, and none of the wounds were life-threatening. In a worst-case scenario, he would be bedridden for another day after this.
It was a risk he did not particularly want to take, however; staying here longer, regardless of the protection that had been cast around this age-old building, would put the Dincht family into danger. He did not want to risk their health for his safety.
"If ya don't mind my asking, how'd ya manage to get all of these injuries? Last I saw ya, you were in tip-top shape." He smiled at her beneath the curtain that his bangs provided, a bittersweet, forced grin.
"The last you saw me, the war had yet to come to an end."
She took those words as an indication to question him no further, and once more the silence fell between them, laced thick with the questions he knew she wished to ask but dared not to for fear of dredging up memories of a time he was better off forgetting.
The war had ended four months ago, and he had lost. He had lost, and the country he had tried so desperately to fight for had fallen under the control of the very woman who had struck him down and had imprisoned him in the dark, cold chambers of her castle for the past three months. Scarred, bruised and battered, he had managed to flee from the claws that had held him prisoner a month ago, and had narrowly escaped her clutches to get here, where he knew he was safe.
Ma Dincht had been good to him before, when the war had been in full swing and he had had no choice but to stop here during a break in the onslaught of monsters and warriors sent from the Sorceress. His father had known her for some time now, trusted her with his life and safety, and he had been able to do the same.
At that time, however, it had looked like he was winning the war, and Ma's husband had still been around.
Now he was left with the ruins of the war, the scars of a lost battle, and the memories of a failure that burned, thick and hot, liquid fire in the back of his throat, whenever he thought of them.
"Things have been a wreck here since the end of the war. She's been sendin' out all kinds of monsters and creatures lookin' for you, y'know, tearin' up the countryside and keepin' us all trapped here." Ma sat back in her chair with a creak of wood that sang out into the otherwise still air, whipping her hands of his blood on a dirtied rag that had once been sitting on her lap. "People are startin' to go crazy, wonderin' if this Darkness 'o hers is ever gonna let up." She tossed said rag into the bowl of water that rest on the nightstand, before focusing her warm, chestnut-brown eyes on his face, examining him closely.
He was hit with a pang of regret, deep and cold, in the pit of his stomach, when he locked eyes with her. Quickly he tore his attention away, once more focusing it on the darkness that swirled like poisonous smoke outside of the Inn window.
He knew that the Darkness was looking for him and he knew it was here because he had been in this town for far too long, giving it a taste of his essence, a sign that he had stopped here. With the injuries he was suffering from, he had not been capable of leaving this town when he had planned to, and the cumulative energy he must have left for Her to find caused the Darkness to pinpoint his location, bringing an eternal night up this place, like a deadly black raven sweeping over the sky.
He was sloppy. Were he strong enough, capable enough, he could have prevented this curtain of blackness from descending, could have left the town and its people behind before She sensed him and reached Her hands out toward him, digging for his position.
A warm hand falling on his icy-cool flesh brought him from his mind, and he wrenched his eyes away from the dust-coated glass and the claws of Darkness beyond, instead locking eyes with the woman at his side once more. A soft, motherly sadness was in her expression, and he felt like she was filling in for the mother he had never had, as he always did when he was around her. Gently she brushed his bangs out of his face, focusing on his bandage-wrapped forehead, as if she could see straight through the white gauze and to his scar beneath.
His scar. The man from earlier, Seifer—
Seifer is here. He's alive, and here, of all places! Why? He should be dead, should have been disposed of by the Sorceress, he thought, remembering the man from only moments before, the look of pure hatred that had been cleverly masked within emerald eyes and a sheen of curiosity that glittered on their surface, the questions that had spilled from his very being.
Seifer was here. Alive. The Sorceress had not killed him after all, but—
"Seifer." The single word drew Ma's attention back to his eyes, and, were he to look close enough, he would have realized the twitch of concern and sadness that swept over her visage with the mention of the blonde's name. "He's here. Why?"
He could tell by the way she stiffened, just a fraction, that she had been anticipating this question from him since he had seen the man moments ago. Her hand stopped its gentle movements in his hair, instead falling onto her lap and tangling, ever moving, into the edge of her apron. She remained silent for a moment, watching him as if weighing her options, planning what to say to calm the cold, venomous anger that he could feel sweeping through him, like the waves of an ocean, at the thought of the blonde's face, the emerald-green eyes watching him and berating him and fire—
"I'm takin' care of him. He's helpful around here – does a lot of the work Pa used to do that Zell can't do yet." Torn from his thoughts and the sweeping cloud of his past, he watched her through a narrowed, icy glare, scowling at the patchwork quilt that was pooled about his waist and pulled close to his body, not for warmth but for comfort.
'Taking care of him?' He ran the words through his mind, allowing them to sink into his thoughts, slow and deliberate. She was taking care of the man who had put him here in the first place, the man who had put them all there in the first place.
It was ironic that he should come here for assistance as well, that he should appear here at the same time as him to seek guidance and advice and shelter.
"Does he know?" Brown eyes flickered to blizzard-laced blue, and she held his gaze, stern and proud, unlike many who locked eyes with him; the look of sadness in her eyes and across her face answered his question before the words could leave her mouth:
He has no idea who he is, where he's at, or what he's done. Nothing. He remembers nothing at all.
It was difficult to believe, even for him.
"He hardly remembers who he is, and he doesn't remember a thing from the war. Can't blame him, either, for not tryin' to remember it. Who'd want to?"
He fell silent with her words, his head angling toward the sheets that spread across his legs, his fingers tracing the stitched patterns as his mind worked away at the possibilities of the situation.
If Seifer did not remember what had happened, then it was for his favor in the long run – with the very person who had been the only obstacle he had to worry about out of his way, unable to remember even his reason for being where he was, he was almost guaranteed a safe, clear trip back to Esthar from his current location.
A frown creased his thin lips, his brow furrowing along the deep scar that ran there. Esthar was in a state of ruin after the war had torn the country into pieces, having lost the battle against the Sorceress' army several months ago. With the defeat of the mighty magical nation, Esthar and the cities that surrounded it had fallen into the clutches of the Sorceress Herself – as far as Squall knew, She had currently taken up residence in the castle in Esthar, leaving the King to the dungeons and the soldiers that had once guarded the castle to either be tossed to the Darkness She commanded or to be turned into mindless puppets for Her use.
The situation, in all actually, was grim for Esthar. With the King under the Sorceress' possession and the strongest knights of the country dead, imprisoned, or missing, there was little hope for a revolution against the dictatorship that the Sorceress Edea reigned down upon the once-powerful military nation.
It was precisely this reason why Squall needed to leave as soon as he was capable of doing so for a hasty return to his home nation. Having been born in a small country town by the mighty city of Esthar, he had been raised as a warrior in the castle grounds, along with a handful of children similar to him who had had the dream of becoming a warrior in their future.
He forced the images from his mind. He didn't want to dwell on the past, for it would do him no good in the long run. With the current situation at hand, Squall needed to heal quickly and leave Balamb City as soon as he could, before the Darkness really did break all boundaries and reach him where he currently resided.
Turning to Mrs. Dincht once more, he regarded her with a quick, sharp flicker of his eyes. The matter at hand was the Knight who was currently living here – Seifer Almasy. The past that the man had put behind him, be it from choice or from an outside force, made it imperative that the Knight leave this place as soon as possible, to protect the people who lived in this town.
Seifer's presence could very well be more dangerous than his own in this place.
"Tell me how you found him, and what he remembers. I need to know how dangerous he may be."
Ma nodded, her hands crossed on her lap, over the white apron that she bore, a solemn look set into her normally warm and motherly features. A flicker of regret danced through Squall, warm and burning in the pit of his stomach, but he pushed it back beneath a veil of ice. Regardless of the wishes of the Dincht family, it was impossible for Seifer to remain here any longer than he already had.
If he were to make it to Esthar, then it would be best to find a place for the Knight, his biggest obstacle, first.
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With only a small leather pouch filled with clattering gold coins and that faded list clutched in his hands, Seifer Almasy walked through Balamb City's streets with his head tilted downward and a scowl burned onto his features. Dust curled around his feet as he walked along the dirt streets, his body on autopilot through the mid-darkness that was still lingering in the air around him.
With the coming of winter, the wind was sharp and chilly, and he wrapped the cloak he had grabbed before leaving the warmth of the inn closer to his body, forcing out the freezing blast of air. Around him, the lights of the stores and homes that lined the main street he traveled down lit a path for him to walk along, a strip of dim yellow against the dark brown of the earth and the deep black of the Darkness that still lingered in his surroundings, like ink stains on the world.
The city's general store was a warm little place halfway across the city from where the Dincht Inn was. It was a pleasant building run by an old man by the name of Cid Kramer, a citizen in the city for as long as Seifer could remember, who always had a sad sort of smile on his face and wrinkles that showed just how old the man had become after the war. His assistants, the two people other than Ma and Zell who had befriended Seifer during his stay in Balamb City, were an inseparable duo, Raijin and Fujin, the muscle of the shop and the brains behind the store, respectively.
Seifer smiled at the thought of the two. Raijin and Fujin had been eager to give him their friendship, and, in return, he had provided them with someone who could help out around the store when need be, an extra set of hands to assist Raijin when a new shipment came by. It was one of the few ways he managed to bring in money for both himself and the Dincht family, what with the sad decrease in customers at the inn as of recent, and Seifer valued their friendship more than anything else (Ma and Zell aside).
The general store, called "the Garden" for some reason Seifer wasn't too sure of, was where the Dincht family bought most of the supplies that they needed: food, clothing, and drinks were all in abundance at the shop, as well as a variety of exotic and strange supplies, knick-knacks, and items that could prove useful at any time of day. The store was an odd assortment of any and all necessities that a person may need, Cid keeping the oath of a store that could be useful for "anyone and everyone, no matter what the circumstance!" driving the little wooden building to grow into the biggest franchise in the city.
It was in this direction that he walked now, money and list in hand. The parchment was rough beneath his touch, and he ran his fingers over the neat black letters there, sparing the writing a brief glance to check over the supplies.
Bandages, medication, food, and traveling gear? His eyes stopped on the last item on the list, a single, golden eyebrow arching – causing his scar to stretch and itch in response – in question to the request.
It was true that he was in need of new traveling gear (his own had been in tatters when Ma had found him, and he had been unable to buy a new set as of yet), yet the request caught him off guard. As far as he knew, he had no need for the items that had been listed, and he frowned darkly to himself as he reread the list once more.
It was better not to question it. If Ma had made the request, then all he had to do was simply obey it and come back with the items she had requested, regardless of the inquiries he may have to her motives.
Shoving the questions to the back of his mind, he pushed the paper back into his pants' pocket, lifting his head and scanning the area around him to judge his distance from the general store and to occupy his mind as he walked against the chill wind of pre-winter that bit down on him, like tiny, prickling needles of ice.
The Darkness that lay like a thick blanket over the city had yet to completely disperse: in the dim glow of the daylight that managed to shine through the curtain of gray and black that painted the sky, the shadows that lurked around the corners of buildings and in the alleyways seemed pronounced, standing out as black testimonies to the hard times that had fallen over the citizens of the country.
Something deep in Seifer seemed to respond to these shadows. A creeping sensation, a feeling of being watched that caused the hairs on his arms to stand on end and brush against the inside of his cloak, sending shivers through his body, sunk deep into the depths of his stomach, and he glanced, warily, amongst the shadows that surrounded him.
It was as if he were being watched by the Darkness itself. As a nervous habit, he reached to the side of his neck, his bare fingers slipping along the collar of his cloak and brushing along his flesh, nails and fingertips tracing out a pattern he had memorized after doing this for so long.
The mark that was branded into his neck had been there since he had awoken. It's meaning was lost to him, a symbol with no history behind it, in his mind, but it was a source of comfort to him when he was lost in the turmoil of his thoughts. Beneath his fingertips the brand felt warm to the touch, and he rubbed it to ease the tiny pain that sunk into the knots of flesh in response to the sensation of being observed that had overcome him.
Shaped like a slightly altered cross, a brand of a knight, the marking was a deep blood red in color, approximately two inches in height. Starting at the base of his neck, it stood out against his tanned skin, a visible tag to his past that he did not remember; the brand was the source of more questions than almost anything about his past, with the exception of the scar that tore down his face.
His scar. The frown that graced his features deepened, and he trailed his fingers from the burning brand on his neck to the deep scar that marred his otherwise smooth complexion. Deep and dark red in color, the marking was more of an imprint on him than the tattoo that was etched into the side of his neck.
A cold, sickening feeling crept up his throat when the thought of the traveler named Squall slipped into his mind. They shared matching scars – nearly mirror images of one another, reversed on their faces, yes, and varying slightly in position and size, but a damned remarkable coincidence, if you asked him.
It was disconcerting. The anger he felt when he thought of the man, deep and burning with an unspoken hatred rumbling in his mind, had no sensible origin. Having never met the man before, there was no reason for him to feel such anger toward his presence. However, it was impossible for him to shake the sinking feeling that the man knew something more about him and the past that he did not remember, and that aspect itself made him even more eager to gather the supplies he had been ordered to collect and return to the Inn as soon as possible.
As if in tune with his thoughts Seifer realized that he had already reached the general store, and he glanced up at the front of the building, examining the familiar dark wood, glass windows and old flowerpots that lined the stairs leading up to the large, oaken front door. The pots were old, cracked and dirt smeared, made of a rare kind of ceramic that the woman who had once lived down the street had been skilled in molding, and the flowers were from the floral shop that had gone out of business when the Darkness had become too thick, according to Ma.
The flowers that had once been in the pot were dried and wilted now, light brown in color and hanging, limply, from the sides of the pots, like the fingers of a beast reaching over the tan edge toward the earth below where they would strive.
He couldn't help but feel that the dead flowers were all too fitting with the current state of the world.
Quickly he tore his eyes away from them, stalking up the front steps and pulling open the door with a strong grip. The bronze bell that hung from the doorway jingled with his arrival, alerting the storeowner that he had a new customer, and he shut the door with a soft click behind him, turning his back to it and looking around the store.
The feeling of being watched and the burn in his tattoo that accompanied it had faded to the back of his mind as he stepped into the store, away from the prying Darkness that had crept around him before; he did his best to ignore that fact, shoving it away from his immediate thoughts.
"Seifer!" The deep, rumbling voice was accompanied by a strong set of arms gripping him firmly around the shoulders, and, before Seifer could even turn to face his assailant, he was being jerked back against a large chest and held in a friendly hug. "Good ta see ya. Been a while since you've stopped in, ya know." Warm and smelling of the fish that the man brought in, Raijin's burly frame was almost impossible for Seifer to break free from, and he chuckled under his breath as he struggled to push himself out of the overzealous man's grip. As if finally realizing that Seifer was unable to move away of his own free will, Raijin released his grasp on the blonde ex-Knight, smiling ruefully at him.
"Raijin." He tilted his head toward the dark-skinned man, a smile set on his face, and he turned, glancing to his left. Fujin was standing with her hands folded behind her back, all poised and stiff, but a faint smile was curving her thin lips, a gleam showing in her single, crimson eye in greeting to his arrival. "Fujin."
"ASSISTANCE?" Fujin's voice, a rough, brash tone that was laced with an accent from some country Seifer couldn't remember the name to, was unmistakable. Speaking in broken words and fragments of sentences, the woman's speech was just as much of her trademark as the silvery hair that hung about her face and the thick, black eye patch that was strapped across her left eye.
He had never dared to ask her what had happened to her eye: Fujin was more temperamental than he was sometimes, well known for her short fuse and strength, and even Raijin knew to never purposefully invoke her anger (which did not mean that he didn't do it every now and then on accident, resulting in a rather swift, precise kick to his shin that left him hopping about like an idiot).
Raijin was the complete opposite of Fujin in almost every way. Tall and muscular in build, he had tanned skin, dark hair, and a rather odd habit of speaking with the words "ya know" attached to the end of nearly every sentence that left his mouth, be it awkwardly placed or not. Brash and irrational, the man was a good person deep down, and Seifer valued his friendship and his strength greatly.
The three of them made a strange group indeed, but they had become the only other people in the town to warm up to him during his stay, and he would go out of his way to ensure that they had the best. They had become a bit of a posse over time, the three of them wandering the streets of Balamb City at night, hanging around the tavern so late that both he and Raijin would have to be dragged back to the little house where the duo lived afterward, drunk and exhausted but smiling and laughing like he hadn't in a long time.
He smiled fondly at them both, fishing through his pocket for the list that had been given to him earlier.
"Yeah – Ma sent me out shopping again. Mind taking care of this for me?" He extended the list out to Raijin, who beamed at him in the wide, warm smile of his, taking the parchment and giving it a quick glance before offering him a mock salute.
"I'll get whatcha want – be back in no time, ya know?" Seifer nodded in response, watching Raijin as he turned away from them both and headed into the back of the store, vanishing from view.
Raijin and Fujin were always around to help Seifer whenever he needed it, be it at the inn or simply a need for a sudden companion, someone to listen to him as he told about the past he didn't remember. For that very reason, they had both become very skilled at reading his moods, and, when Fujin stepped up before him, her crimson eye watching him critically, he was not surprised that she had sensed the disturbance in his mind.
"ALRIGHT?" He smiled at her, stepping away from the entrance to the store and leaning comfortably against the wall next to the door, watching her with softened emerald eyes.
"Yeah. Just been doin' some thinking lately." He knew he wasn't really telling her what was bothering him, but she nodded, respecting his avoidance of the subject. Fujin knew when to speak and when to provide him with a silent companionship, and he thanked her quietly for that.
He wasn't sure what he would have told her anyway. That he was beginning to think he had found a key to his past? That he had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that something or someone was watching him?
It sounded crazy to his ears. He wasn't even sure if half of it was true or just his mind and hopes getting carried away, providing him with wishes and desires that were unlikely to really come true.
"DINCHT?" Fujin's voice brought Seifer from his thoughts, and he tilted his head toward her, catching her eye. She was speaking to draw him out of his current state, the subject typical and simple, and he was once again thankful for her intuitive knowledge of his defenses. He thought about telling her everything later, when he had figured it out himself, but, for now, he'd leave out the details. He didn't want her to worry.
"They're doin' good. Got a new guest in last night. Strange guy; he just woke up today. He hasn't said much." His voice was nonchalant and carefree, yet it was obvious that she had picked up on the emotions that lay beneath, and she watched him for a long moment before nodding slowly at him. "Hey, Fuu? Thanks." He wasn't sure why he was thanking her, but he felt a need to do so, nodding his head toward her and offering her the best replica of his normal smile that he could muster in reassurance.
She looked like she wanted to say something more in response to his words, but she was stopped by the heavy sound of Raijin's footsteps as he walked back into the main room, a dark sack hanging over his shoulder, stuffed with the supplies that had been on the list from Ma. Seifer cast Fujin one last glance, reaching out and placing his hand on her shoulder, before he stepped up to Raijin, taking the bag with a grin.
"Got everything?" He asked, taking the bag with one hand and the list with the other, shoving the latter into his pants' pocket while tossing the bag over his shoulder, holding it by the twine that tied it together.
"Yep, everything ya asked for. Hope ya like the gear I picked out – I figured it'd fit ya, ya know?" Raijin beamed at him, seemingly quite proud of himself for taking so little time to get the supplies, and Seifer smiled back, a warm, sunshine smile of thanks.
Pulling the pack closer to his shoulder, he turned back toward the door, stepping up to it and pushing it open with one hand. A blast of cold, frosty air swept over him, chilling him deeply, and he grabbed at his borrowed cloak, wrapping it closer to his body in preparation for the walk back to the inn. Leisurely he looked back over his shoulder, locking eyes with Fujin and offering the duo another brief smile.
"Tell old man Cid I said 'hello' for me, guys. I'll see ya later." He heard them both mutter their respective goodbyes: Raijin's a loud shout of "visit again soon, ya know!" and Fujin's a crisp yell of "careful" in that strange speaking habit of hers. He stepped outside, into the pre-winter chill, and shut the door quietly behind him, making his way down the front steps of the store and back onto the dust and darkness thickened street.
As he stepped outside, he had a sinking feeling that he was once more being watched, and he pulled his cloak closer and tilted his head down and picked up his pace, trying to put the feeling and the slithering Darkness behind him.
Squall, angry little lion that he is, is finally awake. The poor boy has been complaining to me about his lack of importance thus far, and he's finally managed to work his way into the main plot. I promise things will start to get much more interesting now that setting up the characters and plot has been tackled.
Once more, thank you to those who have reviewed so far. It really makes me glad to know this fic has caught some interest.
