Chapter 11
Xehanort staggered along the corridor, stumbling from doorway to doorway. He felt nauseous: too many ideas, too many new feelings to take in. His mind had never felt so clear and yet he did not seem to be able hold on to any one thought.
He had not heard all of Ansem's conversation with the visitor but he had grasped the most essential fact: the visitor was from another world. His theories were vindicated. A whole new realm of possibilities opened before Xehanort. It was like the opening of a flower: each layer appearing more terrible and entrancing than the last.
The stranger had mentioned something else: the Keyblade. Xehanort dredged his memories of the castle library, assembling every reference to the legend he had ever read. The Keyblade had the power to open any lock, it was said. It holds phenomenal power. He had opened the door beneath the castle and a visitor from another world arrives, bringing tales of the Keyblade. Xehanort was sure of it: this could not be coincidence. The Keyblade, the door, the heart of all worlds: they must all be connected.
So what to do? He must find this world beyond the door, the place the Heartless seek; that much was obvious. How to accomplish it, though? The Keyblade. He must find the Keybearer. To open the door he would need a key, the greatest key ever made. So, the question: how to find the Keybearer?
What did he know about the Keybearer? There were few details. Only that his heart would be strong… and true. His heart? The Princesses! Yes: they were always there in the legends, together. One Keybearer and Seven Maidens of the Purest Heart: the Princesses of Heart. That was the link, he was sure of it!
So, Xehanort reflected eagerly, my path is clear: find the Princesses and he would find the Keybearer. Experimentation would get him no further. He must now use what he had discovered to seek a greater knowledge.
How to go about this, then? Should he try to convince Ansem? Surely even he could not fail to see… but it was too late. Ansem refused to see the truth. He had refused to see the necessity of Xehanort's early experiments; how much greater would his resistance be to this step, a step far greater than any yet taken.
The time for secrecy was past. This new path could not be one of half-measures and clandestine experiments. Xehanort knew with a terrible certainty that the moment had come: he must remove Ansem. The man who had set his feet on this path was now an obstacle, an impediment to greater discoveries. This must be accomplished first of all: he, Xehanort, must be supreme.
Of course he could not do it openly. The other apprentices would not be persuaded and, even if they were, they would soon be discovered and then not even Xehanort could avoid the reprisals that would surely follow. He needed someone else: someone new, someone unconnected to him or his work. Someone, above all, that he could control. How to find that someone, though…
Xehanort looked up from where he was half-crouched in an alcove. There was the sound of tearing; a soft and mellow sound, as if someone had taken the thinnest of knives and slit the very air of the corridor in two. For a second Xehanort thought someone had left the door across from the alcove open. He immediately realised his mistake: there was no room beyond this door. Only darkness: thick, swirling liquid-gas darkness. Wisps of it snaked out across the floor and walls.
Where had the portal come from, Xehanort wondered? Had he called it up himself? He must have done, for he felt sure with the certainty that had driven him on ever since that first, distant experiment, that beyond that portal lay the heart he was seeking: a heart as dark and malleable as he could wish for. With little thought to the danger or the consequences, he stepped into the portal.
That was the end of Xehanort. Something continued in his place, as like him in voice and appearance to be mistaken for him, but it was not. Nothing pure or noble dwelt in its heart. Only shadow remained.
Maleficent sat stiffly in the high backed chair, a glass of brandy cradled in her hand. After several minutes silent contemplation she spoke into the shadows of her chamber:
"The door is locked, and guarded by six of my minions. They are still alive; I can hear them.
"This tower is forty feet high, and beneath that is a gorge. You could not have climbed it. There is of course the possibility that you can fly, but the window is barred with iron, and has not been forced. Neither has the grate across the chimney.
"That leaves only magic. I detected no spells. None of my wards have been broken. Therefore I can only conclude that you are both a mighty and subtle sorcerer: a rare combination indeed."
"You are most perceptive," spoke a voice from the shadows. It was deep and rich: a man's voice, for certain. Its self-confidence lent it an easy, almost lazy charm.
"Perhaps you would come out so that we may speak face-to-face," suggested Maleficent. A figure in a shapeless brown robe appeared in the shadows between the bed and the wardrobe. Maleficent frowned slightly: there had been no footsteps, no sound of any kind. One moment there was nothing, the next the figure was there. His face was hidden in the folds of a cowl.
"I suppose this is the closest we will get," said Maleficent, a wry smile passing across her long, pale face. The figure did not speak.
Maleficent considered him. To fight was out of the question. This being had penetrated her most potent wards undetected: its battle magic was sure to be equally potent. There was no help to be found from her servants: a weak and craven pack to a man. Therefore she must play the diplomat.
"Why do you come to my chamber, and at such a late hour?" she asked in her most courteous tones.
"I come from the darkness," the figure replied. Maleficent raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"From the darkness? Then, are you from the world beyond the door?"
"I am."
Maleficent wondered at this. She had found the door deep in the mountains, hidden in a long forgotten cave. She had travelled there, at great peril, seeking power: power to revenge the insults done upon her; power to satisfy the lusts that had gnawed away at her these many years.
She had not reckoned, however, on what had lain beyond the door. It had frightened her; overawed her. It was all she had been able to do to heave the door closed again, to block out that terrible light. When she had returned she could find no trace of the door. She had assumed it lost.
"You know then of the power that lies beyond the door?" Maleficent asked the stranger.
"You understand… much" said the stranger thoughtfully. It paused for a moment, as if considering her.
"One who understands much may understand the truth."
"The truth?"
"The one truth: the eternal constant, the source of all power."
"Tell me!"
Maleficent leant forward in her chair slightly, eyes glittering with ambition.
"Darkness" said the figure. It savoured the word, drew it out, let it roll across the chamber.
"Darkness," the figure repeated, "the source of all hearts. From darkness they rose and to darkness they will return. In the darkness of the heart there lies power, and knowledge. And the greatest power and the greatest knowledge lie in the greatest of all hearts: the heart of all worlds."
"Yes, yes," said Maleficent softly. She did not fully understand the figure but something deeper than reason, something in her chest and her gut thrilled at his words.
"How does one find this heart?" she asked, "Does it lie beyond the door?"
"No. The door to that heart is hidden. It must be sought."
"Where do I begin?"
Some part of Maleficent, a part long silent during her years of wickedness, wondered at the suddenness of her question. She knew nothing of this stranger, or of the darkness of which he spoke. He could be dangerous, an enemy luring her into a trap. Maleficent was used to this dissenting voice however and had little difficulty in crushing it. Her ambition and her greed were burning strong, and they would not be held back.
"To begin you must have a stronghold: a place from which you may strike out in strength," said the stranger.
"I have my tower," said Maleficent, gesturing idly to their surroundings with her free hand.
"Forgive me, but this heap of stones is not fitting for one such as you," said the figure, with a small bow. The flattery was blatant but Maleficent's vanity still warmed to it.
"The mistress of all evil deserves nothing less than a fortress," the figure continued. 'The mistress of all evil': Maleficent liked that.
"You refer to the castle of King Stefan?" she said "Or perhaps to that of the other fool, King Hubert?"
"I speak of the greatest fortress in all the worlds," the figure said "It lies not within the boundaries of this world but in another star."
"It is a mighty castle, no doubt," the figure continued "but it is assailable; to one who commands the Heartless."
The figure raised its right arm. A circle of short, stubby creatures rose from the floor around Maleficent. They were black like the night sky, with great luminous yellow eyes and insect-like antenna.
Maleficent cried out in alarm. With a flash of green fire, a long golden staff appeared in her free hand.
"Be still!" the figure commanded, instantly mollifying her.
"They will not harm you," the figure explained "not while I command them."
"Can this power be learnt?" Maleficent asked, studying the creatures warily.
"Indeed. Only the strong of heart may master them, but once they are bent to your will you will find the Heartless make the most able minions."
Maleficent stood up. She was a tall woman, made even more imposing by her headdress styled into two long horns. Her dark robes, slashed with purple, completed the effect of stately menace.
"Come," she said imperiously "time is short. My future domain awaits me."
The figure stepped aside. With an odd tearing sound, a tall portal appeared in the space where he had been stood: a hole of deeper darkness against the shadow. Without a pause in her stride, Maleficent stepped through and out of her world.
"Well… goodnight"
"Goodnight," said Rinoa, a little frostily. Squall took a tentative step forwards. He bent down to kiss her cheek. She turned her head aside.
"Good night, Squall" she said.
"Good… night"
He watched from the gate as she walked up the drive to her door. He saw Angelo leap down from the porch to run barking around her legs. She squatted down to scratch him behind the ears. Taking hold of his collar, she stood up and led him back inside. Not once did she look back.
Squall sighed. It was just after sundown and the crystal lamps that lined the road were just beginning to glow. Squall moved slowly down the pavement, kicking stones ahead of him as he went.
What does she expect, he wondered angrily? He flicked another pebble out of the gutter and sent it skittering away into the shadows. How was he supposed to ignore Cloud's behaviour?
The evening had started well enough. The double date had been organised over the boys' heads, but as neither of them wanted to provoke a fight with their girlfriend they had agreed to come along. Rinoa and Aerith had chosen a popular restaurant on the north side of the city.
Squall had picked up Rinoa from her house and walked down with her. To mark their one month anniversary, he had bought her a present: a new coat. It was sky blue with a pattern of white wings on the back. She had been thrilled with it and insisted on running back inside to change her outfit to match it.
This meant that Squall was already tetchy when they arrived, half an hour late, at the restaurant. Cloud said nothing but it was obvious that he saw the late arrival as an insult. The two boys had not seen each other since the incident in the cafeteria. Cloud's new duties as part of SOLDIER, on top of his regular training, kept him so busy that his spare time was practically nonexistent, but the boys had not gone out of their way to find one another.
The girls tried their best to get them to talk but all they got were one-word answers. So they had given up and had begun chatting to each other, making the occasional biting comment about stubborn men or pig ignorant boys. For their part, Cloud and Squall had concentrated on eating and avoiding the other's eyes.
Squall wanted the whole stupid mess to be over but he was determined not to apologise. Cloud had reacted out of all proportion, Squall thought. Besides, how could he help being jealous: there wasn't as if there was anything distinguishing about Cloud. If anything, Squall felt he was better than Cloud; at least at certain things. At least he didn't get travelsick. He got in trouble a lot less than Cloud too. At least, Cloud was always the one who got him into trouble.
It probably would not have helped if Squall had known that similar thoughts were going through Cloud's head at the same time. If anything, it would have made Squall even more determined not to apologise; not until Cloud admitted that he was totally in the wrong.
The meal had ended under a dark cloud, with both Rinoa and Aerith seething mad at their boyfriends. Squall smiled as he turned the corner and began to walk down towards his neighbourhood: he was sure that Aerith would have given Cloud the cold shoulder at the front door, too. The feeling of solidarity this created was all too brief: Squall refused to be the one to back down first. Let Cloud do it, he thought, he's the one who started it.
Ansem touched the hidden panel on the wall of his study. The section of wall glowed white for an instant, then vanished, as if it had never been there. Ansem stepped through and began to descend the spiral staircase. He reached up and mopped his brow with the tail end of his scarf.
Why am I so nervous, he wondered? His mind returned to the meeting out in the woods, barely an hour ago. There, in the shadow of the strange rocket-ship, he had knelt and embraced his friend the King.
"I am most sorry that you cannot stay," he had said.
"An' I'm sorry you can't come with me," the King had replied.
"I envy you. Your queen must be an extraordinary woman indeed."
"Yeah, she is," the King had said, with a wistful look in his eyes.
The King was halfway up the ladder to the cockpit when he had paused. Turning back, he spoke to Ansem. His voice was low and grave:
"When you get back to your castle, check your laboratory again."
Ansem had asked why, but the King would say nothing more, only:
"Just a hunch, that's all"
Why am I so afraid, Ansem wondered as he reached the foot of the staircase? He had not been to the laboratory since the incident last week. What was here that he should fear it so? Slowly, it dawned on Ansem: the true question. What depths did he fear his apprentices had sunk to? The fact that he could even suspect them of such a thing was terrible in itself.
The ruins of the laboratory lay exactly as he had left them. Already they were covered in a thin film of dust. Ansem tried the light switch: nothing. He raised his hand, a simple illumination spell playing between his fingers. Picking his way through the rubble and broken glass, he headed for the far end of the laboratory. Thankfully, the central computer terminal had not been damaged during the fight. Something like gut instinct told Ansem to start there.
He had just logged on when something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Turning, he saw a thin red volume that had been left slotted between the keyboard and the desk proper. Picking it up, he opened it at the title page:
--- A Report Concerning the Heart and the Darkness That Dwells Within It---
Beneath it was the author's name:
--- Ansem ---
Ansem frowned. This was identical to the title of his report. But that was in his desk drawer in the study, upstairs. He turned the page. The first section was identical. It appeared to have been copied word for word. However, he had only completed two sections. This volume contained eight.
Ansem read on, in mounting horror. They were recorded here, so detailed as to be obscene: his apprentices' experiments. Not just on themselves, either. They had taken others; civilians, even children. There was no mistaking that bold, distinctive hand. Ansem had helped its author rediscover it as he recovered from his amnesia: Xehanort's.
Ansem's legs buckled beneath him. Tears rolled down his face.
"How… how could I not…" he sobbed. Then he noticed. At the bottom of each section, the author had signed his name. Each time it was the same:
--- Ansem ---
Hey all, just the author here asking you to review to tell me what you liked about this, what you didn't and any improvement you think I could make.
Also, a note about a revision I have made. I recently came across a scan from the official walkthrough for Kingdom Hearts II – Final Mix +. It contains information about the Organization, including the correct translation of their Others' names. It appears that the attempt to correct a mistranslation in the English version was itself a mistake: Lexaeus's Other was named Aeleus, not Elaeus. I have been through the previous chapters and attempted to correct this but it's over 28,000 words so chances are I've missed a few! From now on, the character will be referred to by his proper name. I'm telling you all this just so you don't get confused! Just to clarify: the character Elaeus is now called Aeleus. Nothing else has changed about him, just the name.
Thank you!