Chapter 11
"We must take care that the forward movement does not degenerate into a headlong run. We must see to it that enthusiasm for the future does not give rise to contempt for the past." - Pope Paul VI
"We can neither put back the clock nor slow down our forward speed, and as we are already flying pilot-less, on instrument controls, it is even too late to ask where we are going." - Igor Stravinsky
Lexaeus worked his way around the centermost beaker covered desk and stopped near to where Vexen was shifting through papers. He added his own documents to the other man's pile already having alphabetized them. Their work was important in and of itself but Lexaeus knew it was predominantly just to keep them busy, to give their hands something to do. It was an excuse not to talk and, ultimately, it allowed time to ruminate on their situation. He soon broke the unspoken trend, however, as it became apparent that the silence was not going to settle his nerves like it used to.
"What is the status? Have any of us been able to gather anything?" He had not been entirely single minded when he went out with Axel previously for provisions, but in the short amount of time he wasn't able to come by much. Keeping up with the red-head had prevented him from venturing off on his own agenda. "It's going on day two and I still don't know how long we've been gone. I've heard the topic brought up time and again but has anyone been seeking answers?" The stillness of the room—indeed the feeling of emptiness throughout the entire castle—gave the man's voice a hollow touch. The hour was roughly around three thirty a.m. and Lexaeus suspected he and Vexen to be the only ones up.
Vexen nodded curtly as he bent slightly to reach the drawer hidden beneath the counter top. He pulled out another bundle of manila folders before speaking, "Xemnas spoke again to that girl. From the information he gathered from her—we're going to assume it's correct—we've been gone six years."
Lexaeus swore under his breath and absently set to work, skimming one of the stapled packets Vexen had unearthed along with his folders. "Now we really need to start sending people out for reconnaissance."
"Does it not disturb you that we're back?" Vexen questioned while putting the papers aside for a moment to regard the larger man. His jade eyes met with the sharp cobalt of his reserved companion's. The stark white of the light reflecting from the likewise white walls seemed to give the man more defiance, adding to his already impressive stature hidden beneath the plain grey T-shirt and denim pants. "I've talked with Zexion on the matter already. We can't think of any conclusions yet. Xigbar reminded me earlier and I quote, 'Everything in the universe is made up of subatomic particles. It's long been held that the info stashed away in those particles never disappears. It can be scrambled, chopped into little pieces or whatever, but it's a very basic principal of physics that information is never destroyed. Hypothetically, according to the strange laws of quantum physics, if one can retrieve all the information about an object, you could reconstruct it magically from scratch.' "
Lexaeus shrugged, "I have given the subject some thought, but after running in circles I decided to put such puzzles aside until I could get hold of a few more pieces of it. What Xigbar says makes sense but that doesn't exactly explain the why, just the science possibly behind it. I find it more proficient to focus myself to tasks and planning on which I am knowledgeable." He turned around and leaned back against the dark granite of the work desk and regarded the polished chrome of the door for lack of anything better to train his attention to in his current comfortable position. "What do you suppose we should do next? What has Xemnas to say on the matter?"
"Not much." Vexen said with a roll of his eyes, "Like you he's spending his time working on the concrete things of the here and now. You'll have to wait at least a week before that man will start to look at the future on large scales."
Lexaeus smirked, "Yes, you're probably right about that. I doubt he's changed any, but at least he's no longer the procrastinator Xehanort used to be back in the Garden."
Vexen shrugged but did not answer.
Tomorrow. Tjaldin found the need to remind himself of that fact. He and the other Elite soldiers would be heading out the next morning from Stehen. He found himself at odds with that information.
Their King was ailing. The people were not informed of this, but his personal guards knew this fact all too well. Lord Gyo would be passing soon, and his son Damien would have to rise to take his place. The King's soldiers should not be sent away in such a time, but it was necessary. Lyra made it so. At the remembrance of her name Tjaldin shifted in his bed.
He knew sleep was needed, their journey would be no trifle, but it escaped him. Every time he shut his eyes, which concealed their russet hue, he witnessed her trial again or saw her broken smile. What had they done? He let out a long exhale and sat up, the moonlight reflecting off his waist-length auburn hair that lay loose from its usual braid.
It had been essential; there was no way they could have avoided the excruciating torture they put her through. Tjaldin began to believe that less the more he pondered it. The poor girl was strong, but deep in his heart he wondered how much so. He still wasn't sure why her dramatized exile trial had been vital. What need did they have to break her psyche to those agonizing extents? Damien was the leader, the superior of Stehen's Elite Guards, but Tjaldin felt his trust in the man dwindling every moment he remembered the girl they had wrongfully banished. Damn it! He didn't even know why she had been, nor why sending her to the Realm In-between was needed.
He leaned his head back against the headboard and stared out into the starry night sky. The moon was only a sliver of opaqueness. Soon, the sky would be moonless. 'Fitting,' thought Tjaldin. Surely dark times were falling on their world as well as their neighbors, and since that man Riku had come along the situation was appearing even more dire. Something was going horribly wrong, but the irritating thing was that no one around him knew exactly what.
Rumors of worlds falling just like in the years of the Dark Wars had reached Stehen, but now, Tjaldin clenched his fists, those rumors stood as fact. Was this to be the fate of his world as well? Was Stehen destined to crumble?
His eyes glared into the dimness. In a very uncharacteristic gesture for him, he even acknowledging that anything his world and their armies could do might prove useless, and his head fell forward. He propped one arm atop his thigh and balanced his forehead in one of his hands. He was thinking too much and it was only causing him grief. He hated feeling helpless and yet here he was, lost for any explanation as to what was happening. Damien knew something, but his knowledge was not being shared with anyone.
The gunner groaned in frustration. Damien was marked with the tattoo of a man who knows more than what he speaks of. Whatever intelligence the prince now had in his possession was the reason behind the ordeal Tjaldin and his fellow soldiers found themselves in. There was a more complicated motive to every decision Damien made. He was smart and he had a good heart, Tjaldin admitted, but he had an insufferable habit of withholding troubling information—opting rather to try and face it all on his own.
Tjaldin was letting his emotions get the best of him. When it came right down to it, he was upset with his commander for only a few reasons. He was affronted that he was not trusted with the true plans of his leader and long time friend. He was second-in-rank after all! And then he was agitated by the situation he had been forced to witness at Lyra's expense. What moved Damien to do that? What was he hoping to accomplish? Tjaldin slammed his free fist into the comforter pooled around his waist. What if she died? It was quite obvious the charade had affected her psychologically.
Tjaldin lifted his head. He didn't think his heart could take knowing that he had somehow inadvertently caused the death of one of his closest friends. Had he known any sooner than he had what was about to take place with the young lady he would have tried his damnedest to stop it.
Why hadn't he stopped it?
He should have. It would have been so easy to voice high disagreement, but he had not. That guilt would gnaw at him until he was enlightened of her wellbeing.
He lie down once again, tempting sleep to drug him. He needed to confront Damien soon. He didn't need a leader who favored carrying a heavier burden on his shoulders than trusting his own men. And he didn't need Damien to get too full of himself. None of them were battle scarred. They had become the Elite in times of peace, or what had once been such; none of them had not experienced full combat yet.
Tomorrow they were heading to a world called Disney Castle, where apparently a monarch who had strong influence over Riku lived. A King Mickey if Tjaldin remembered correctly. He needed his wits about him to greet this man and thus he tackled the effort to sleep despite his mind's protest against it.
