Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters which appear in Hiromu Arakawa's manga series Fullmetal Alchemist.
Note: I'm sorry I needed much more time to finish this chapter than the previous ones. However, I'm afraid this will become my regular pace henceforth, as my 'real-life' duties, to school especially, restrain me from dedicating as much time to the story as I did in the beginning of the month. I assure you I will finish the story; there will just be some pauses between chapters. Forgive.
Part 12
Edward Elric reached the military headquarters in the capital city of Irkutsk. He disguised as a military officer and searched the building, seeking clues about Yolkin's and Williams' position. As he passed through a corridor, he experienced something he did not expect in the slightest. A feeling of angst overwhelmed him as he crossed paths with the Prior. The very presence of the man had kept him immobile until he managed to cage his feelings and focus on his target. He followed the man, believing he would lead him to his comrades. Just in time he began doubting the fact and paused his descent, much to his luckiness. The floor below him crumbled due to a mysterious explosion and he fell down uncontrollably, having hit the back of his head. Nearly an hour later, he was found by Drachman officers rummaging through the rubble.
"Hey! C'mere!" an officer shouted to two others behind him.
"Why? You found something?"
"Yeah, there's someone lying here," he answered.
"What?! No one could've survived that," said the other disbelievingly.
"He looks like he felt down or something," was the officer's way to explain what happened. He leant closer toward Edward and read the tag on his uniform. "Sgt. Gusarov, huh?" he whispered.
"What did you say?" the third officer entered the conversation the moment he heard Gusarov's name.
"It's Sgt. Gusarov," repeated the one leaning over Ed's body and pointing at his tag.
"Gusarov? Isn't he supposed to be guarding the eastern entrance? What's he doing here?" he said and leant over Ed as well.
"No idea. But we should definitely take let the doctors take a look at him. In case he's got a fracture or something," declared the one still standing aside and watching as his fellow soldiers cleared Ed's uniform and brown hair of dust.
"All right," one rasped as the other wrapped Ed's arms around his neck. He supported Ed's thighs with his hands and started slowly making his way through the debris – Ed's body on his back and his head resting on the soldier's. Off and to the headquarters' hospital the three went.
A forest near the HQ
"Perfect timing, that they had," Williams remarked ironically as he and Yolkin sat under a large tree in the dark woods. "I hardly had any strength left to run from all that beating."
Yolkin remained silent. It seemed suspicious to Williams; he was always the one to talk and scheme, but this time he just sat there and panted.
"What's the matter?" he asked, "Didn't things go according to the plan?"
"They did," Yolkin answered baldly.
"But…" Williams forced him to go on.
Yolkin sighed, realizing the dialogue was inevitable. "But, he's far too clever," he answered.
"And that's a problem? Wouldn't that only make things easier?" Williams asked confusedly.
"Oh, that sure might," came the response in a tone which was slowly reaching irritation.
Williams decided not to give up the matter, though, and demanded elucidation. "So, what is it? I still don't see your point."
"The point is, brother, that he might possibly arrive at a different interpretation; a one my father didn't think of, or at least decided not to mention anything about," Yolkin answered rather perplexingly, but it seemed to have made absolute sense to Williams.
"Might he? When you said clever, you meant that clever?" Confusion in his voice successfully converted into disbelief.
"I'm afraid yes. And he's also highly stubborn and self-confident. The issue is, he'll stay loyal to his own path no matter what the circumstances are," Yolkin kept explaining.
"What happened in the hall?" Williams enquired, deducing Yolkin's words had referred to events in the secret room.
"Oh, he did solve the riddle with the torches within merely two minutes, but that wasn't unexpected. What was unexpected was his reaction to the poem."
"Did he follow the instructions?"
"That's it, dear brother, he didn't and he still succeeded," Yolkin replied worriedly.
"How can that be? He couldn't possibly know what to do without reading it, could he?" Williams' eyes widened in concern and curiosity.
"No, he did read and analyze it, quite precisely, I guess. He realized all the main points. He realized the poem was meant for him only; he realized the meaning of it was he mustn't accept his fate without a fight," Yolkin explained.
"I don't understand. What did he do wrong, then?"
"That's where the issue lies, brother. Nothing and everything," Yolkin replied enigmatically.
Williams raised his left eyebrow in question.
"He made up something, even we, the very creators of the code, overlooked," he added.
"And that was?" Williams started to get nervous.
"He realized that by following the instructions in the poem to change his fate, he would only change it the way he was destined to change it, since he knew it had been his fate to read the poem to begin with. He decided to disobey the instructions and oppose the God's will his own way," Yolkin continued.
"Don't tell me the door opened when he didn't follow the instructions. You programmed it perfectly to react on seeker's mental and emotional state. He couldn't have opened it if he didn't control his thoughts and emotions flawlessly," Williams argued.
"Oh, but he did open the door. He was nowhere near the programmed state and he still advanced. That's why I'm worried about him creating his own interpretation of father's words." Yolkin got silent for a moment. "But, at least I'm reassured he's the one we're looking for," he then added.
"You are?"
"Oh, yes. He's the man from the prophecy, there's no way he wasn't. Whether he uses his power to create or preserve, or neither of the two, is something we'll find out no sooner but in the very end. For now, all we can do is fringe his path. If it seems his decision will contradict our plan, I'll intervene." Yolkin added decisively and gave Williams a piercing look reflecting that the conversation is clearly over.
"What now?" Williams asked indifferently.
"Now I'll fix our bodies. Our brethren are bound to be here soon," answered Yolkin unwillingly imitating Williams' voice. He took out a rusty knife from his besmirched trousers' pocket and began carving a symbol in the dry mud beneath his feet. In a few seconds he drew the symbol of the Preservation and enclosed the hexagon in a double circle, into which he wrote:
Sun shall inflame the living,
ocean shall swallow the land,
as one shall arise, seeking
what sacred to human hand.
The moment he touched the symbol it gleamed blue and sparks covered both Yolkin's and Williams' bodies. Before long, Yolkin's bruises were all gone, his suit clean as brand new, his hair shortened significantly and he also lost his slowly growing beard. Not only that, but also all wrinkles from his face faded out and he looked fairly younger. The same happened to Williams. His cheeks – which had been full of contusions and scars from his unpleasant meeting with Drachman soldiers just a while before – healed completely, his clothes transmuted into a suit like Yolkin's and his fake hair together with all other surgical changes to his face – for disguise –disappeared. They were replaced by his original ones – black hair and very distinctive dark green eyes. Rejuvenation did not overlook him, either, and when the two stood up, they looked like two ambitious, handsome businessmen in their twenties.
Their 'brethren' arrived as Yolkin had foreseen. Soon enough, three men, which had attacked the Prior a short time before, entered the woods. They directed their footsteps towards Yolkin the moment they sighted him and halted before him – all three at exactly the same time. They stood rigidly and observed him carefully not daring to speak prior to him.
"I assume you were unsuccessful, my brethren," said Yolkin calmly, without single sign of emotion.
"That we were, Prior," the three answered at once, as though their minds were connected in some way.
"Oh, and why is that?" Yolkin enquired, still omitting to put tone in his voice, even though he did not restrain himself from his typical 'Oh'.
"He brought Father's medallion along, Prior," only the one midst them answered this time.
"He anticipated your presence?" Yolkin asked – doubtfulness could be found in his voice upon closer inspection.
"If he did, we aren't aware of how he could have," the same one as before replied.
"No matter; we still have enough time before they fabricate enough stones for their plan to begin. When they slept, we appointed our man to the presidential position. He ought to slow it down a little; he can't stop it completely if he wants to avoid being suspected, though," Yolkin explained and gestured his four brethren to follow him through and out of the forest.
During their trek, one of them asked Yolkin: "Where's the Fullmetal Alchemist now?"
"He's supposed to be in, or on his way to, my villa, translating the documents," Yolkin mumbled in reply.
"He's supposed to? You haven't confirmed that?" Williams pressured, but his voice sounded worried.
Yolkin gave him a questioning and a little threatening gaze, reacting to his unexpected emotion. "I haven't had a chance to contact him since he left the secret room," he responded serenely, despite his facial expression.
"Chances are he went back for us," Williams remarked.
Yolkin's feet experienced an abrupt stop. He turned around to face the two pairs. "Why'd he do that?" he queried, although he foresaw Williams' answer.
"He's the type that never abandons anyone in danger," came the presumed elucidation.
"Even those who aren't close to him?"
"It doesn't matter to him. He always seeks to protect everyone, no matter whether he can or not. His nature and instincts command him so," Williams informed him.
"It might be troublesome, if he did come back," whispered Yolkin and rubbed his chin. "I must ask you to part with us for some time now, brother," he told Williams. "Go back to the HQ and find whatever you can about his current whereabouts. We need him to translate the documents anon. It'll take him some time to understand them as well. Make sure he does it right," he ordered.
Williams promptly drew the symbol Yolkin had beforehand – the symbol of Preservation within a double circle – and all his former attributes were back. His black hair changed to fake brown and his face was newly covered by bruises and scars. A torn grey coat covered him and so did an old white shirt with black jacket over it. His black suit trousers were transmuted into pale brown ones with holes all over. He looked just like his past self that had left the HQ about an hour ago. His transformation complete, he nodded at his companions and trotted away.
"Do you think he's right?" asked one of the men walking behind Yolkin when their eyes lost Williams' figure.
"Oh, that we'll find out. He's had some time to analyze him, after all. I trust his judgement," Yolkin rejoined disinterestedly.
Brig. Gen. Roy Mustang's office, Eastern Military HQ, Amestris
It was 8 PM. A phone rang in Mustang's office as he was finishing his regular daily paperwork. He picked up the handle and, forcing himself ineffably, he spoke in a voice as polite as someone who spent twelve hours behind a desk could possibly get: "Brig. Gen. Roy Mustang, Eastern Military Headquarters. Whom am I speaking with?"
"Hey, Brig. Gen., it's me, Alphonse," the voice on the other side replied.
"Alphonse? Hey, it's sure been a while," Mustang said surprisingly, smiling, happy the caller was someone he knew.
"Yep, I guess it was. 4 years, huh? Since we last saw each other," Alphonse seconded.
"What can I do for you? I assume you haven't called me just to chit-chat…" asked Mustang, the irony in his voice nearly undistinguishable due to his tiredness.
"Well, I guess I'll get right to the point then. Do you happen to know where brother is?" Alphonse asked directly. Mustang's side remained silent, so he continued: "You know, I couldn't reach him over the phone and Winry said he's journeying again. But, she won't tell me anything else. I've known her for a long time and she was never this quiet or kind to me like when I talked to her. Her voice was trembling and I'd bet she was crying, too. So, I figured out he's somewhere dangerous. Do you know anything about it?" Alphonse recounted the phone call with Winry he had had about twenty minutes ago and, although he had basically raised a question to the Mustang, he was sure the Brig. Gen. knew something of his brother's whereabouts.
Mustang still did not answer, but Al could overhear a silent sigh.
"You sent him on some risky mission, right?" he queried calmly, but Mustang knew he was angry with him.
"Alphonse…" Roy was about to explain himself, but Alphonse cut in abruptly.
"Where to?" he demanded, his voice started to shake slightly.
Mustang thought lying would only make things worse and he could not bring himself to deceive a friend, either. He answered frankly: "To Drachma."
Al's side went quiet. Mustang closed his eyes and clenched his teeth preparing himself for a rough scolding. Al was not the type to get upset easily, if, and only if, the matter did not include his family.
"What the hell were you thinking?!" Al exploded.
"He asked for the mission himself," Mustang explained.
Al froze, his anger suddenly lost to his consternation. "What did you say?" he said in low voice.
"He asked for the mission himself, I said," Mustang repeated.
Al's eyes widened and tears glittered in their corners. He was overwhelmed by sudden feeling of guilt. 'It's all my fault;' he thought, 'it was me who advised him to do this. It was that stupid advice "Listen to your heart." that made him do something so reckless. Why didn't I just keep my mouth shut? He could be home now, with his family, and not running all over Drachma, hunting something that might just as well turn out to be a trifle, or some bad joke.' Suddenly, a thought crossed his mind and he burst out: "He's not alone in there… he isn't, right?!" But before Mustang could even open his mouth to reply, Al went on shouting: "Dammit, answer me, is he alone?!"
"No, he isn't."
Al's heartbeat slowed down a little. 'At least one good message,' he thought in relief.
"I sent our very best expert on Drachma along," Mustang had added before Al asked the foreseen question.
Al decided to calm himself down and was partly successful. He thought it best to discuss the matter with Mustang in peace and logically, without shouting at him. He was still very irate, though, that he let Ed infiltrate a hostile country with his alchemy unusable. He was glad he talked with him over the phone, otherwise he would have certainly punched him by now.
"He's there because of the painting, isn't he?" Al asked, pushing his voice to the point of serenity, albeit slowly.
"Hm…" replied Brig. Gen. in confirmation.
"Do you have any reports from him?" Al enquired more.
"Unfortunately not. The only phone line we share with Drachma starts at Briggs and ramifies to three secret places in the country. Ed was informed about their location in case he needed to use them, but it seems he decided not to," Mustang spelled out.
"Or didn't manage to…" Al added fiercely, regretting the remark a second later.
Mustang leaned back in his swivel chair, closed his eyes and rubbed his nose with his left hand's fingers in vexation. He was aware this moment would come, the moment he would have to face Edward's family and take responsibility for his insecurity. He just did not expect it to strike him so deeply. He was uncertain whether it was caused by his exhaustion or not, but he realized he cared for Edward and his family much more than for any other of his subordinates or fellow men in arms. He repeated to himself that a commander must judge all his inferiors equally. Yet, he knew it was impossible. He knew the rather close relationship he had developed with Edward throughout the ten years they had kent one another was dear to him. This phone call made him believe, though, that it was dearer than he had expected. He had never had as much trouble taking the blame for his actions as right now. He was forced to use a good lot of his residual energy to subdue his feelings and keep his mind clear. He was just about ready to keep explaining when Alphonse raised another question.
"You've got no idea where he is, then?" he asked, not showing his feelings, either. The two, though unconsciously, entered some kind of emotional battle about who would manage to suppress his feelings longer.
"I believe he should be in the capital city of Irkutsk, in Northern Drachma, since that's where Williams' – the soldier I sent with him – best acquaintance lives. As far as I recall correctly, they aimed to contact him first before proceeding," Mustang informed Al.
"But, it's been a little over two weeks since he left. How can you know he's still there?" Al doubted rightfully.
"I can't," replied Mustang honestly.
Al kept silent for a moment.
"I'm going, too," he declared abruptly, much to Mustang's stupefaction and disapproval.
He violently shook his head and determined to make Al forget this idea immediately, he spoke: "I can't allow that, Alphonse. I know how much you're worried about your brother's safety, but there's no way I can let you go after him. You're not even member of the military." He could very well imagine Al's face reflecting disappointment, so he added: "Your brother is a capable man, both physically and mentally. He'll be all right. But, I don't have to tell you that, do I?"
Al, however, despite Mustang's words, could not accept the idea of his brother being on a dangerous mission, while he, his brother, enjoys comfort and peaceful times studying alkahestry in Xing. He decided he would find his brother and help him out. If Mustang did not help, he could still ask Lin for support; he was the emperor and Xing did border with Drachma, after all. And if even he refused to help, he would just find another way. He was not going to abandon his brother, no matter how hard it might be to get to him under these conditions. One of many things Edward had taught him was how to be stubborn when situation required one to. Now he was determined and nothing could alter his decision.
"Thanks for your help, Brig. Gen.," he thanked Mustang and hanged up swiftly, already scheming his audience with Lin.
Mustang watched the phone handle firmly for a brief moment and then he sighed, knowing Alphonse had decided to follow his brother, regardless of his objections. The brothers lived for each other, after all. One could not abandon the other; even if he wanted to, his instincts would not allow it. He was worried about the consequences, but on the other hand, he was somehow happy. He aligned the stacks of papers on his desk and placed them neatly in the drawers of his desk. He took a look around at his empty office and rose to his feet, stretching his arms widely. As he approached the door, he delivered one last gaze to the black phone on his desk and, having smiled in content, turned off the lights and crossed the threshold.
