Chapter 21: All Shall Wither
We were hemmed in, piles of snow on the left and right, the avalanche before us, and the sloping mountainside behind. Well, we had one option...maybe.
I'd seen the troops at Shedairah learn this trick in basic survival training, though I'd never tried it myself. It couldn't be that hard, could it?
In any case, I was going to find out...or get buried alive in snow. "Slide on the tools!" I yelled to Mog and grabbed the pickax. Hopefully, the moogle understood this odd idea.
The slope just beyond the guard rail wasn't that steep. Leaping over the rail, I upturned the pick and stepped in the curved spikes, the wood handle between my feet. Gripping the tool as though it were a pogo stick, I leaned back. Mog took the hint, grabbing the hammer and scraper. Here came the slide of our lives. We let gravity do its work.
The mild slope was manageable. Turning wasn't necessary, as there were very few trees and rock protrusions on this stretch of mountain. But after a few heart-pounding seconds, we picked up speed. Jolts beat through every nerve in my body, as the rock under the snow was rougher here. Steering became an obligation, as there were pine trees and elms in our path. Pulling the pick handle in one direction would angle me in the opposite direction. This was a basic lesson taught at the army base.
The pines and elms whooshed by, though I barely took note. From the corner of my right eye, Mog was keeping pace. Neither of us dared look behind. We knew the snowfall was hot on our trail, and likely gathering mass in its descent.
Another batch of trees came up, and these had low-hanging branches which could tag us in our passing. Mog had the scraper in his free paw, but I had only gloved wrists. Making the best, I steered for the end of the branch, where it was less rigid. Raising a hand, I braced myself for the impact. The jolt was less than I expected as the branch was pushed aside.
More tree tops appeared in the distance. This barely registered as the incline dropped sharply. Before I knew it, I was over the edge. Risking a glance down, I could see more white snow coming up fast. I hit the ground sliding.
Was I getting used the rush of the diagonal drop? It didn't feel quite as intense now. Maybe I'd gotten used to it. Not bad, for my very first downhill...'tool sled'.
Or maybe, we were nearing the bottom, and the incline was leveling off. I could see trees in full, not just their tops. And I was slowing down. We hit the bottom of our slide. Mog pulled up alongside me on the hammer. He looked back.
"Kupo. RUN!"
Of course, the falling snow mass would catch up with our inert selves. Still oozing adrenaline, I was on my feet, sprinting for the distant trees.
It suddenly grew quite. The rumble of cascading snow died away. The avalanche was over.
I collapsed into a snow patch and started laughing. Why? Celebratory chuckles I guess. Mog and I had just evaded an avalanche by sliding down a mountain on mining tools. If that's not cause to gloat, what is?
The moogle flopped down next to me. "Kupo. That was a close one. I had no time to conjure a dance technique, and I doubt any of mine would make a difference against that falling snow mass. I guess the Shedairah people taught you a rather exotic use of mining tools."
I rolled onto my back, heart throbbing, chest heaving. "You know it as well, eh? Glad you picked up on it," I wheezed. My wrist started aching, or maybe I just started feeling the pressure of its impact with those tree branches. I pulled off the work glove and saw a round bruise.
"Ku...where are we Leonard.? Mog looked about. "I don't recognize our surroundings."
With efforts to slow my breathing, I sat up and looked about. To the east was the mountain we'd just descended. To the west was a line of trees, with more sloping rock walls behind. "You know, this might be the southern end of that gorge, the gorge that runs alongside the Shedairah base. Doesn't it end up north somewhere?"
"Umaro's old cave." Mog pulled his hammer out from the snow. "In any case, it's a long walk back to town."
I stood and reached for the pocket on the side of my pant leg. The work radio was still inside. I was about to pull it out when something touched my face, lightly and subtly. I looked up, and something else brushed against my chin.
Snowflakes. It wasn't just in the city. Snow wall falling out here in the gorge. In fact, a scan of the nearby area revealed snow had been falling for a while now. It wasn't just packed beneath our feet, it coated the trees too. This much snow, at this time of year, in such a widespread area meant a big problem. Someone had to know about it.
The hand radio still worked. I quickly pressed desired the numerical sequence. "Mining ops command, this is Leonard. We need a ride back into town."
The radio hissed its static, then came the Guild leader's voice. "A ride. Um, where are you, and why?"
"We're on the outskirts of town, at the foot of the mountain. Mog and I fled an avalanche that suddenly came down as we cleaned a vent."
"AVALANCE?!" The foreman's voice boomed through the radio speaker. "Are you hurt?"
"A few bruises, nothing major." I looked at Mog, who nodded silently.
"Okay, let me get a fix on your whereabouts." The Guild man spoke. "You must be at the southern end of the gorge. If you can, head south to the gorge's mouth. We'll dispatch a wagon to get pick you fellas up. Flag them down when you see them."
"Right. Over and out." The radio clicked once and went silent. By now, my breathing and pulse were slowing to a normal rate. "We'd better get moving."
We grabbed the tools and headed south. "Kupo. Something's wrong." There was unease in Mog's voice. "We have way too much snow right now. That avalanche was the result of extra snowfall, and our noisy job on the vent."
I had a theory, and probable cause to suspect it was true. As we headed to the gorge mouth, I started briefing Mog on what Varj'hai told us in Vardigga.
Change in s & n
Varj'hai had fallen unconscious, an inevitable consequence of the blood loss he experienced. At a damned in convenient time as well. I had so many questions, and the clock was ticking.
Yithadri's unexpected visit had revealed the local uprising and our broken alliance with the Council. With the Grand Elder in their clutches, they could reveal our 'backstabbing' to the loyalists, pitting them against us Returners in hopes we might kill off each other.
And who was that damned Goda-Gorshim? How'd he know about my particular usage of the dragoon fighting style? Was he a telepath, or something more?
With Varj'hai's life hanging in the balance, I needed answers from elsewhere. This was Jrysthovuh, and many of them were on my side following the revolt. I could ask another person of the Council body. Time and options were limited.
As I leaned against the wall of the Council House, a woman approached. Her dark hair was tied on a braid, and she wore a top plated lamellar. One shoulder plate was broken, and her face was bruised, damage from the uprising. Still, here spirits were high, her smile unbroken. "You've done us well, King Edgar of Figaro."
"That I have." I looked at the bandage across my knuckles. "But unfortunately, it's not over yet. Syuguhrn Talthkoan's in the Nyufalng's hands. He could reveal this act to Gathawen's people, endangering my friends, and my country." I faced the woman's dark brown eyes. "I might need your help some more."
She frowned. "Highness, I regret to say this, but we are needed here. The loyalists to the Council are not rolling over and giving up just yet. We must defuse what remains of the Council's influence."
I patted her unbroken shoulder plate. "I understand, and expected such. But I do have one last question." Maybe she knew, or could refer me to a knowledgeable party if she didn't. "I fought this Nyufalng guy called Goda-Gorshim. He somehow predicted my attacks before I pulled them off, and was able to imitate them perfectly. Is that some kind of mind-reading skill?"
She blinked. "Goda-Gorshim of the Nyufalng. Ah, the Moihzadu."
"And what's that? Clearly something I should know if we're to battle him successfully."
"A Moihzadu is a cleric specializing in memorization and impersonation. If one gets close to a person for long enough and and knows his or her talents deeply, a Moihzadu can emulate those talents."
That explained how the guy imitated what I planned. But how'd he learn my style? She implied such understanding was not attained overnight.
Another soldier approached. "We are needed at the harbor," he explained. She nodded in response, and they left my presence.
Goda-Gorshim knew me, very well, too well for comfort. How that happened was another mystery to solve. When I'd get to that was a mystery all its own. The next action was crucial, and timing was everything.
Reformists were quelling the loyalists here in Jrysthovuh. My job here was finished. My friends needed me. At any moment, the Nyufalng could persuade their captive Grand Elder to alert his troops of my alliance-breaker. I had to warn them before such. My next step was to check in with Gathawen's unit. That meant getting a boat or an airship out of here.
That was the easy part. As the newly-endeared savior of this nation, the reformists had no quarrels about shuttling me off to the Albrook vicinity. I boarded a vessel with ease.
Contacting Gathawen's unit however, didn't prove so easy. All long-range transmission frequencies out of Jrysthovuh were jammed. This was to keep loyalists and Council members from alerting Gathawen's people to the uprising. So far, the Jrysthovuhn commander knew nothing of my 'treason'.
But that would undoubtedly change.
Change in s & n
The shortest distance between two points is a straight line. But is that always the best choice?
In this case, we decided no. The shortest distance from our downed airships to the Nyufalng base in Albrook involved trekking through the Logrius Mountains. Gathawen and Cyan both agreed the Nyufalng had set probable traps and ambushes in those mountains. The better alternative was the long route, skirting the north and eastern edges of those mountains. While this would place us more in the open, it would also force our enemies into the open if they were to engage us. Our presence was no secret, so sneaking through the mountains was impossible.
We'd scavenged all we could from the airships. Medical supplies, survival gear, weapons, anything that would prove useful was removed. The chocobos largely survived the rocket boats' onslaught, as they were held in a cargo bay deep inside the hull. Many of the war chariots remained as well, though some had been damaged beyond use. Between the birds and the wagons, not one person from our unit was demoted to a foot-soldier.
I rode alongside an artillery chariot, packing an all-purpose catapult. They'd prove essential, if a certain prospect came to be.
We already seen giant moths attacking our ships in flight. Now on land, we'd probably encounter another old monstrosity, the giant snapping turtle from the Shedairah cavern, with its neck tentacles and sonic explosive breath. Cyan and Celes had only seen pictures of the dead creature, but Locke, Sabin, and I had seen the beast firsthand. It showed intelligence by side-stepping our lightning cannons, and clawing at a chamber exit to block us inside. Leonard had to climb atop its shell and attach dynamite in order to break its protective armor and provide an opening.
For the first hour, nothing happened. We kept our eyes peeled for attacks from any angle, ahead, from the side, from behind. The Nyufalng were out there, organizing a ground force to meet us in round two. We were on their turf, so field advantage was theirs.
We kept riding south, slightly angled east. The Logrius range was visible in the west. Sabin and Celes were near the front with Gathawen. Locke and Cyan rode with me alongside the catapult car.
Something boomed, and not too far in the distance. It was to the south. A radio in the chariot buzzed to life. A man inside answered in Jrysthovuhn, then faced us. "Enemy engaging us at the front."
Finally, the Nyufalng had come back for round two. No longer was I restless, awaiting a battle that we could not avoid. It was here.
Our back ranks pressed onwards to meet the Nyufalng. Then, in my periphery vision, I saw this bright yellow flash. The chocobo next to me went down, and the rider was thrown astray. I pulled back to scan for assailants, motioning to the chariot crew. As the toppled rider stood, he shouted something to his fellows. An arrow sailed through the air and decked his leg just above the knee. Another one pegged his temple, causing him to twist and fall.
The Nyufalng got our attention up front before striking from behind. A multi-angled assault, a given with asymmetrical warfare.
I grabbed my shield and turned my mount, just in time to black an arrow. Nearby troops shouted orders to defend the rear flanks. The chariot aimed it catapult at the closest targets, of which there were several. One of those gold, lightning-breath wolves bared its fangs, and some of those large mantis creatures weren't far behind, sickle hands up and ready.
The chariot crew fired at one of the insects. Locke threw his boomerang at the giant wolf. The crescent went into the beasts right side, then tore a second hole as it came out. Cyan's weapon was glowing, and his target was one of the giant rolling insects with a spiked shell. Steering his mount, the Doman swung at the curled war monster. This was a powerful chopping technique he'd simply dubbed 'Slash', a very powerful singular strike with limited reach, best used on one opponent. While the bug's shell provided some defense, the Slash forced the creature to uncurl itself. Now exposed, it was easily trampled under my bird's talons. I kept right behind Cyan as he stabbed a Nyufalng rider in the face, following up with two more chops to kill the mount.
The big moths appeared. This called for hanging my shield in the ride gear and drawing my ever-present Scimitar. I'd use more force chops to get them from a distance, and swings or passes when they flew in close. Though I'd never fought as cavalry before, I was a Returner, and could adapt quickly as needed.
A shooter chariot was busy taking out Nyufalng troops in a wagon of their own. In this car was a 'big maw' creature, named by Locke for its wide mouth from which it puked exploding...kidney stones. A team of shield troops guarded the monster.
But not the car itself. I let loose another force chop, aiming not for the occupants, but for a wheel on the car. It struck, and the car wobbled. The shield troops lost their footing. Slugs and arrows burst from the chariot, sending three riddled bodies over the edge. However, this gave the big maw its opening. With a hideous belch, flaming cartilage flew from its mouth. Three projectiles crashed against the chariot's hull, starting a blaze. A fourth struck a gunner in the neck, causing a fiery decapitation.
The monster faced them, not me. So It was on me to take out the bug maw. I rode close and charge another force chop. But instead of releasing it afar, I shot out from close. The monster's olive green skin ripped apart, and some of its innards came out through its open mouth. As the chariot crew dealt with the fire, I took out the giant wolf pulling the flatcar, stabbing the canine's neck.
Not lingering in one place for too long, I pulled my steed away from the dead wolf and rode out. My ride suddenly shook, then swayed to the right. If the chocobo was going down, I didn't wish to get pinned underneath. With a leap, I dismounted, just as the brown avian fell to the dirt. Pulling my shield from the ride gear. I saw a large bone spike embedded in the bird's corpse.
"Returner shit."
The voice a raspy hiss. I expected a mutated foe, and was nonetheless a bit surprised at what had found me.
It shambled over, its leathery hide a dull green. Its face was elongated front-to-back, with eyes too small to clearly discern. Its chest and arms were heavily muscled, and a long spike extended from its right wrist. A hole was in its left.
Another old nemesis. The talking reptilian humanoid recovered from the Shedairah base, the same thing that Leonard claimed spoke to him with mockery. It had just insulted me, as if the Nyufalng 'taught' it to specifically recognize Returners.
From the hole its left wrist, a spike began to emerge. With two blades against my shield and Scimitar combo, the dinosaur man rushed in. I was able to block its attacks, but they were very powerful. They could throw me off balance, and I'd tire soon if I blocked enough.
Still, this dino-man was preferable to any of the Pung Thoshidai. Speaking of which, I'd not seen any of them. Why? For a no-holds-barred assault like this, they'd typically be out and about. Did their absence mean something?
Change in n
Human, monster, and varied mixtures in between were swarming us. One of Gathawen's officers issued a war cry in Jrysthovuhn. Gathawen himself aimed his pole-arm. Sabin pulled some studded knuckles over his free hand, while my Strato was drawn with a single motion.
A gunner chariot was occupied with giant moths, which dove in for the kill. Two of the bugs fell from the sky in a hail of rifle and arrow shots. One of the minotaurs with flails in its hands rushed the chariot and clobbered it, sending the wagon off balance with a broken wheel. The staggering shooters were caught off guard when another moth swooped down, driving its leg spikes into a man's neck. It flew off as the man fell from the car, bleeding out. With Gathawen and some company taking on some winged snakes and spike rollers, Sabin steered his mount for the mintoaur.
No sooner did he leave my presence did my own bird squawk and stagger. It was hurt, but kept running. An arrows shot my way, and a swipe with the Strato shoved the weapon aside. A split second later, a mounted Nyufalng woman came at me, carrying a rifle. Instead of pulling away, I steered for her. Before she could adjust her aim, I swung down on her outstretched hand.
The gun split at the chamber, black power spewing out. I'd chopped into the loaded slug casing. Blood squirted as well, marking her severed trigger finger. With an upward pass into her lower jaw, she fell from her steed.
Large domes loomed in the distance, and they had spikes atop. These vague shapes took on more vivid details, like rough brown skin, fanged mouths, and glowing yellow eyes. The shaped were supported by muscled legs.
It was them, the giant spiked turtles from the Shedairah complex. The Nyufalng were hitting us with their best mutations, new and improved. I could see a nest of shooters perched atop the carapace.
The giant shelled beasts were hardly unseen by the loyalists. Shouts and bugle called filled the area. The remaining chariots amassed to counter the gargantuan reptiles.
We started an orderly charge of ranks, with chariots in the front. The artillery wagons were at the front line for obvious reason. Just ahead of me, one such chariot was aiming its catapult at the nearest turtle.
The monster took note, squatted, and opened its mouth. Its teeth rippled, and a fuzzy object burst from its maw. The chariot shattered, its crew thrown in multiple directions, its chocobos running stray.
According to Leonard and Terra, the turtle in Shedairah only used this attack when injured. This was definitely an enhanced breed.
As the turtle came closer, the snipers riding it started aiming their weapons. Distance meant nothing, and evading the sonic breath wouldn't be enough. The shooters were skillful. An arrow just missed my steed. We'd have to break ranks and ride more evasively.
A rider sped past me, his sword glowing. Maybe he had a soul energy technique in mind. Regardless, the monster caught on. It raised its clawed hand and gored him, lifting him right off the chocobo. It then proceeded to smack the ground, crushing the guy.
A gunner chariot broke to the side, its crew exchanging fire with the snipers on the turtle. One shooter atop took a hit, but kept himself upright and discharged a slug at the wagon. A man inside fell down. This called for a Shock attack, but that required getting close to the titanic beast. Still, it was my best option. As long as the monster itself didn't see me, I could deal with the snipers, as they were preoccupied with several targets down here.
A dark haired woman in a shirt of plate mail rode up along side me, a stack of javelins hanging from her saddle. She grabbed one, making it shimmer, and threw it. Sparks and blood intermixed at it stabbed the turtle's neck. It roared. We steered clear. "I'll get the leg," I shouted. "Throw another after my strike."
As she nodded, I readied the Shock, moving close to the monster's back leg. With a mighty pass, the pink light effects burst from my blade and slammed into the coarse brown hide. The skin split open, carnage spilling out, muscle and bone exposed. I pulled back before the tail could sweep my way. The monster was immobile, for now. The woman threw another javelin, this one even brighter than the last. White rays were spiraling around the shaft, following its trail through the air. It pierced the turtle's neck, drilling a wide crate in the bark-like skin, burrowing more than half its length inside. With a final growl, this turtle collapsed. The woman drew a scroll edge, like Shadow's favorites, and threw it high into the sniper nest. Lightning bolts reached in all directions. Some gunners collapsed atop the shell. One was thrown off, landing dead next to the turtle's carcass. One turtle down, but at least four others remained.
The next turtle was engaging another catapult. It fired scrap rocks into the shell from the monster's side. One spike broke, and a dent was formed. The snipers took note. Flame wads rained down, catching the catapult on fire. As the crew shielded themselves, one chariot rider pulled a Figaroan lightning cannon, undoubtedly provided by Edgar. Aiming, the loyalist fired at the crack in the shell. As the monster convulsed, other crew member fired back at the snipers. They had this one.
Smaller Nyufalng creations weren't completely left out. A flying snake swooped in. We spilt up, forcing the monster to fly between us. As though she read my thoughts, the woman followed my example and turned her steed to follow the creature. As its rider turned, my charged Strato hacked off a wing and nailed the rider's face. A close-up javelin pass nailed the snake in its backside. We made a fine team.
Another massive turtle had unsheathed the tentacles in its neck. One of them was getting shot full of arrows, the other impaled a chocobo. The riders and chariots scattered as the monster's mouth began pulsating. While the avoided the sonic belch, the snipers on the shell tried picking off the cavalry. We had another beast to kill, and rode in with such intents.
The woman charged past me and raised another javelin. This time however, a sniper took notice. A rifle slug was fired, and the woman dropped her weapon. She managed to pull back as more slugs came down.
She took a hit in the upper chest. Her armor was cracked. Otherwise, she appeared alright. A sniper took a shot in the leg and cartwheeled of the turtle shell. Rubble from a loyalist catapult was flung at the shooters nest, bashing another shooter off the perch. The beast rotated itself to face the artillery. "C'mon, we can take this one," I urged. She didn't hesitate.
No sooner did we charge the monster did something sail in my direction. It was one of those triple-blade throwing discs. I managed to block, but it was heavier than bolts or slugs. It was thrown off balance, and from my steed.
A crossbow shot. The woman gasped, her chest bleeding, just before another pointed bolt nailed her forehead. She slumped forward, sliding off the mount, landing face-down in the dirt. Above her stood a man with sharpened teeth, bow-gun folded on his back, large ax in his hands. He rushed me for the kill.
On my feet, I jumped sideways. The ax hit the ground, leaving cracks on impact. Before pulling out his main weapon, he swiped at me with mutated fingernails, much quicker than his broad ax. As I guarded the claw move, he readied the larger weapon. Instead of chopping now, the thrust with its point tip.
I jumped again, this time decking his face with my sword handle. His brow split open with a crimson mist, but he shrugged it off, shoving the ax's butt end my way. I peddled back, and anticipated his next move. His claw hand reached forth, meeting the Strato. He growled like a feral creature as the hand was chopped off at the wrist. With my left hand, I grabbed his ax handle and threw him off kilter. A lateral slash produced a clean decapitation.
Grabbing the reins of my stray mount, I climbed upon the bird. Once mounted, only then did I see the remaining turtles lumber south, their remaining snipers firing off to discourage our following. Land and air creatures were also pulling a back.
A retreat, or a move to lure us into a trap location?
Change in s & n
Ruqojjen sipped a steaming mug of back coffee, cringing at something more critical than the boiled beverage. The battle was on his mind, but it wasn't the cause of his tension. "It's going to happen once more," he announced after a gulp. "Something's already happening afar, and it's not even the biggest one."
A big one would hit soon, but its location and nature were still unknown. "Will it be like that volcano eruption in Figaro's mountains?" I asked.
"I don't know Ajalni." He placed his mug on a table next to the radio bank in the palace conference room. After blinking several times, he massaged his temples, and took deep breaths. It was an exercise to control pain.
I tried it, as my tongue was tingling hot once more. "At least we've got a battle going on. Their losses and our will provide another blood feast for the Divine. That should help, right?"
Unfortunately, given our ailments, we had to sit this clash out. The Pung Thoshidai were unable to charge their powers in full by the time our enemies touched down to the north. Concentration didn't come easy either. I'd periodically get double vision and buzzing sounds in my ear.
"At this point, blood feasts by themselves won't be enough." Ruqojjen inhaled some more. His knuckles were white as he clenched a fist. "If a wound is near the bloodshed, there's no need to channel the energy to it. But if the wound is far away, channeling is required. And channeling will be impossible with the Returner-loyalist army on our backs. They might very well collect the dead, just to deny us use of the spilled blood. Furthermore, blood alone won't revitalize the spirit stream. Think of it like this; if your stomach is injured or infected, food alone won't heal it."
His analogy was more than enough to get the point across. "So, how do we heal what's injured, the Divine in this case?"
"Yithadri's clerics have meditated on that one. As rich as our spirit stream well is here in town, we can't get to the inner auras with it. We have to go elsewhere, which is a task by itself. Yes, there are two places we can look, but we must dispose of both enemies first." The High Shenthaxa coughed, another symptom. "I'm sure the Returners have warned Vardigga against us by now, and the Council would never give us a taste of their prized possession. We're in no condition for travel right now, and must stay here to repel the enemy."
I pulled a chair from under table and flopped down. Edgar's fuck up of a plumbing project had injured the Divine so much, massive decay was imminent. Another disaster loomed on the horizon. Like Mt. Agudir's revival, it was all his fault.
The Divine had been through hell, more than once. The War of the Magi alone could've wiped this world from the known universe, but it remained, carrying on despite its massive injuries. The great collapse a thousand years later almost finished what the great war did not. The Divine prevailed, wounded and sick, but still rich with its natural essences. Little was needed to shove it over the edge however, and Edgar's digging up his own capital would be enough to deplete any last slivers of life the Divine still had.
There was so little time.
Ruqojjen's radio gauntlet buzzed. He put down the mug and answered. "Doyuhh ojin Kagasjori. Kawuem? Touh yamnas." He spoke more, then shut off the radio. "Ajalni, I've some bad news, with a silver lining of good news, maybe."
change in s & n
"Kupo! You mean...Edgar's digging damaged the environment enough to reawaken the volcano?" Mog was dumb-founded. I could hardly blame him. If not for Varj'hai's talk in Vardigga, I also would've written off such a concept as moronic hoo-hah.
"That's right. After the great war and the great collapse, our planet was left in shambles, at least its metaphysical essence was. It wasn't obvious to our untrained selves, but folks like Varj'hai have studied the so-called 'Divine' all their lives. I trust his judgment." The moogle had seen Varj'hai, when the Jrysthovuhn joined us for dinner after we reclaimed the capital. To the best of my knowledge however, the two hadn't spoken.
"So our physical planet has a metaphysical heart and soul?" Mog looked out the airship window.
Upon returning to Narshe after the snow slide, all mining ops were shut down. Mog and I went straight to the Narshean Chamber of Office to speak with Governor Hoff on the matter, how this early cold was unnatural, and would likely get worse.
Interestingly, we met Relm outside the building. Arvis tried getting her into a local youth academy, only to learn the school was closing down. The cold somehow froze the academy's heating system.
I briefed Governor Dwight Hoff on the matter as best I could. As he'd actually chatted with Varj'hai, it was easier to explain the secrets we'd learned in Vardigga.
It wasn't so easy convincing him. We could not prove much from here, and Varj'hai was still a relative stranger to Narshe's government. Dwight wasn't quick to just believe the Divine's metaphysical workings himself. Still, he advised the city to take whatever precautions were necessary for this early, unexpected winter cold.
How could it be fought? What could we do for the ailing planet, and maybe lower the intensity of the blizzard? Nothing, from here. As we'd learned of the spirit stream in Vardigga, that left us with a clear option. She was a native, and had to know something.
Two Returners (or three if I'd passed the entrance exam) was enough prompt for the Governor to provide us air transit to the capital. Snow pelted the windows from outside, blocking Mog's view and forcing the ship to fly at a lower altitude.
"A heart, I don't know. But Varj'hai was very specific that it has a spirit, or soul of its own, a kind of sentience. The Nyufalng use such energies down in Albrook to mutate their army, for a such an energy well rests just inside the town." I leaned back on my seat. "From what Varj'hai told us, Vardigga also has a rich supply of high-grade soul energy. That might explain the country's rich vegetation, the backbone of its agricultural and alchemy trades."
Relm gazed about. All this was new for her. "If the Nyufalng use this...planet energy, can anyone else?"
"Actually, the blitz is powered by it, in some way. This can hold true for various weapon techniques like the Doman sword arts and the Dragoon lancing style," I explained as best I could. I'd learned fast, much to my own surprise. Varj'hai had a knack for teaching, even if such was not his profession.
"Our dance meditations." Mog spoke up. "They were never derived from a source like esper magic, but I had no idea of their actual roots. I just learned what I had from those before me, not asking about their origins."
I'd been wondering if there was any connection between Mog's dances and the blitz. The moogles had devised their own special techniques, in a manner similar to the blitz's creation.
How far did the snow storm reach? I thought we'd be out once we cleared Narshe. Well, we were out of it...sort of. Thick snow had blown off the windows, but small amounts of ice remained. Outside, the sky was gray, with dark puffy clouds.
We landed in Figaro City, at the docking pad near the castle. Although it wasn't snowing in this desert capital, something else awaited outside the vessel. The hailstones had gone southwest, and were now pelting this town.
By now, the abnormal weather came as no surprise. Figaro City got mild rainfall at most, and it was usually in the winters, when snow had already blanketed Narshe. Hailstorms down in this region were a first. Although the town had regained some functionally after the Nyufalng's eviction, it was by no means refurbished. In any case, the city wasn't built for cold ice showers. Unlike Narshe, the capital lacked geothermal heating networks.
Relm and I brought our coats, but not umbrellas. Fortunately, A covered stagecoach came our way. Without hesitation, we rushed inside. As we reached the front steps of Figaro castle, the hail fall increased. Stones were already piled on the stairs, the pavements, in the gardens, and surely on the roofs.
Charise was in the main dining room, eating a lunch of duck meat, vegetable soup, cornbread, and cider. She invited us to sit with her, and ordered additional meals.
"Mog, Relm, and Leonard. I did not expect such company, though I'm enthused you're all joining me." The young Queen cut off a piece go thigh meat. "Gathawen's team reached the southern land, though we have no word from Edgar or Varj'hai." She looked tense and uncertain. It was mutual.
"They'll pull through, but regardless, we've got problems for ourselves right here." I was to-the-point. "It's snowing up in Narshe, much earlier than usual, and probably more intense than even a winter cold. It blocked venting ducts in the mines and forced the Guild to halt production." I gripped Mog's furry shoulder. "We tried unclogging a vent, only to just barely escape an avalanche."
Relm took a bite of duck. "And it's getting so cold, the school's heating utility broke down."
Charise's eyes and mouth widened. "You mean, this abnormal hailstorm is not the only change in weather?"
"No." I bit off some cornbread. "And it's not the worst either. Though I'm not absolutely sure, I've a pretty good idea what's causing it." There was no point in holding back. Edgar's failure was glaringly obvious by now. "All the digging in this capital has triggered a backlash of disasters. The volcano was the first. This hailstorm and blizzard are the next in line. Do you recall what Varj'hai told your parliament, about spirit energy from the planet itself?"
"Yes. He later told us that a loss of such energy in a given area will bring disasters to that place." The Queen drank cider and stirred her soup. "So this capital is losing spirit energy. If that is true, Narshe might be losing some as well, hence the extreme cold. Leonard, we've identified the problem. What of the solution?" Her stared longingly into mine. And I wasn't the decision-maker of this kingdom. Still, I chose to speak with her for a reason. Even the minimal options were worth pursuing.
I chewed some white meat. "Varj'hai said your country is rich in Spirit Stream energy, and environmentalism is Vardigga's stock and trade. It's a long shot perhaps, and I can't make any promises. But could someone back in your home know how to replace the lost energy?"
change in s & n
The green dinosaur man was powerful and struck fast, but I prevailed, with even faster speed. Using a rapid hacking move that much resembled Sabin's pummel blitz, I was able to counter the reptilian's blade attacks, eventually severing one of its arms, before splitting its skull down the center.
I'd never performed such a blitz until now, and felt a little winded. Oddly though, circumstance was in my favor. As the monster died, so did the assault. The remaining Nyufalng withdrew.
"So, yet another cavalry person becomes infantry. Join the party wagon." Locke waved from inside a gunner chariot, which pulled up alongside the reptile-man's carcass. He too had lost his chocobo.
I took up his offer and climbed aboard. One of the shooters was getting treatment for a slash wound, using med supplied we'd salvaged from the airship wrecks.
Celes rode up, along with her living steed. "Why the sudden retreat? They weren't on the verge of losing, were they?"
"I dunno." Locke shrugged, leaning on the chariot's railing. "But they're gone. We should make the best of this opportunity and regain ourselves. The next clash is literally just beyond the horizon."
"Maybe they want us to follow them, into a trap they've set." Celes looked off in the distance. "My intuition says the retreat was done for tactics, not necessity. It's part of their battle plan."
I gazed upon my scratched, dented shield. It took loads of punishment against the reptile-man's blade hacks without failing, but if such brutal onslaughts kept up, it would eventually fold and crack. Such onslaughts could very well be part of round three. "You know, I didn't see any of the Pung Thoshidai in this fight. Did you?"
"Um, actually no." Locke stood up straight. "I can't think of any reason for them to avoid this battle, unless..." He tapped his lips in thought. "Remember Baokiydu, just before the earthquake that broke the plumbing in Figaro City? He was ill, saying the Divine, the planet, was ill, and we'd experience it. What if the Nyufalng super mutants are ill once more? That would explain their absence. It could prove advantageous, to us."
"Maybe," Celes muttered. "But is that really the case? Even so, if they're ill, that means more natural disasters will follow. If they happen around here, it won't be so advantageous."
"One thing about such disasters," I put in. "They play fair, proving a disadvantage for everyone, Returner, loyalist, and Nyufalng alike. I've been wondering about such ever since we set out from the capital. If Locke's correct, such disasters are even more probable."
Gathawen approached, carrying a spear that was bent from the fighting. He jumped off his mount, allowing injured troopers to ride instead. "Attention. Before pushing on, we'll rest up here, to help the inured and decide the fates of the dead. We'll set up a camp, and keep watch for any Nyufalng who might come back to finish the job. Celes, the wounded need your mount."
The blonde woman dismounted, and the bird was led to a makeshift triage unit. "We should look for Cyan and Sabin." She didn't say why, though I had an idea. Locke nodded, without elaborating.
We had to contact Edgar somehow, to see if his revolt had gone successfully. One essential for that was a radio. Space away from these loyalists was another. The first step in making contact was getting a radio. They were all in loyalists hands right now.
But if you want something, just ask. We agreed Gathawen was the in charge of the communication devices, so finding him was a given. We tracked him to one of the triage units.
Before we could ask anything however, the commander presented a request. "Ah, Returners. Before we continue, I'd appreciate if you'd help in treating the wounded." There was no point in arguing. We needed as many loyalist troops as possible against the the Nyufalng, and tending to the injured would keep the numbers high. Additionally, it would prolong our fake alliance. Anything to mask our true intentions.
The wounded were sorted out from the dead and fatally injured. The gore was a spectacular sight. Not all bodies were found in a single piece, and even whole corpses had burns from lightning attacks. Organs were strewn about, and it was difficult telling human parts from augmented monster parts.
An hour after Gathawen's first request, he made another. "Care to join me for lunch. We have an opportunity to dine, and I'm sure you'd like to eat."
"I did work up an appetite," came a hardy voice. Sabin wore a plate link armor vest much like Gathawen's. Behind the blitz master was Cyan, lending his shoulder to a limping loyalist. Our group of five joined the commander and some of his officers for MRE's of stew and drinks of water. A basic meal, as battlefield rations were practical in their simplicity. One officer suggested cooking meat from the dead Nyufalng monsters. While none of us had ethical objections, skinning and cooking the dead beasts would consume time. For now, the simple meals would suffice. If sharing a meal with Gathawen bought more of his trust, we'd do it.
As we finished our meal, it was time to make a request of the commander. Locke appointed himself as the spokesman. "Gathawen, would you perchance have a radio? We'd like to update Queen Charise with our battle progress." A wise man, he said nothing about Edgar and the Council.
The Jrysthovuh commander pulled a radio from a shock-proof case he'd stashed in a chariot. "Do tell her all, but understand we're moving out shortly. I've already sent off the recon parties."
"Will do." Locke accepted the communicator. Now came spacing ourselves from our company. "It's a bit noisy here in the center of camp. Let's go someplace more quite." He motioned for Celes, Cyan, Sabin, and I to follow him.
On the outskirts of the makeshift camp, we found very few loyalists. They paid us no attention. If we kept our voices down, they wouldn't hear us. Celes and I kept eyes on them while Locke, Cyan, and Sabin worked the com gear.
"Would it hurt to actually contact Charise?" Sabin eyed the radio. "She probably is curious after all."
"Anything to look less conspicuous, sure." Locke pressed a frequency of numbers on the radio pad, the numerical sequence to reach Figaro City. Both the castle and the military base had function radios now.
The treasure hunter tapped the numbers, put the radio to his ear, and waited. "Static, I'll try a different frequency." His fingers moved a dial here and there, before keying in Figaro's number code once more. "Damn. Still fuzzy." He tried another frequency. "Fuckin' aye. All I'm getting is noise."
A nearby loyalist took note of his unsuccessful communication. "I'm trying to call home, and update the Queen," he explained.
"Maybe you should move elsewhere," suggested the trooper.
"Right. How about there." Locke pointed at a patch of trees to the west. They weren't dense enough to hide a Nyufalng ambush, would provide elevation if need be. We headed for the tree patch, where Locke tried the frequencies yet again.
After fifteen minutes of dialing just about every possible frequency on the hand radio, he gave up, kicking a tree trunk. "What the hell's going on? I tried everything, and got nothing." He examined the device from all side, looking for damage. But the piece was in fine working order. He pocketed the radio and frowned.
"Do you supposed they're having issues up in the city?" Celes folded her arms. "Maybe it's not us."
"Could be?" Sabin glanced at the radio, then to the southeast. "Try the Jrysthovuhn capital. Varj'hai gave you the code before he left with Edgar."
"Yeah." Locke tried the Jrysthovuhn contact code, and tried again after dialing up the frequency. Several minutes passed before he gave up. "Again, it's no use." He examined the device from all side, looking for damage. But the piece was in fine working order. He pocketed the radio and frowned.
"Maybe we should talk to Gathawen," I suggested. "It's Jrysthovuhn technology. He might know if there's a problem with it."
No sooner did I mention his name did the military commander appear, his face grim. "Returners, I've bad news."
"Oh?" Cyan inquired with genuine curiosity. "Tell us."
"Grand Elder Syguhrn's been captured by the Nyufalng. In our absence, they sailed to Jrysthovuh. When Sygurhn rallied a team to confront a suspicious vessel docking at the harbor, they were slain, and the Grand Elder was taken hostage."
I gazed at my companions. All our faces were stiff. Not that we gave a damn about the leader of Jrysthovuh's oppressors. But we had keep up our friendly charade. "How do you know this?" I asked, with honest curiosity.
"I got an incoming radio transmission from the Elder himself. He said his kidnapping was easy, thanks to a riot in Jrysthovuh's capital." The commander pulled his three-chained mace weapon. "A riot set by off by none other than your friend, King Edgar Roni Figaro."
Good news; Edgar and Varj'hai revolt had been successful. Bad news; the Nyufalng learned of it, and used their captive Syguhrn to inform Gathawen. Our secret was out. The alliance was gone.
We'd been so focused on Gathawen, we'd not seen additional troops gathering around us. To our right were some shield carriers. Behind them was a man carrying a spear and a woman holding a rifle. Another shooter stood next to Gathawen. To our left was a man with a crossbow, and next to him, another guy with a great word. A short woman approached next with some javelins. Next to her was a man with shield and mace. At least one more archer joined the swarm. I stopped counting after that.
Gathawen's stale face took an expression of pure malevolence. "You are traitors! Cut them down!"
"RUN!" Cyan's voice called our attention to the back of the tree patch. The loyalists handn't boxed us in, so the General took that exit while it remained. We sprinted after him.
Rifle shots rang out. I turned and deflected a slug, feeling the impact ripple through the grip of my scimitar. Celes bobbed and weaved as she dashed through the vegetation. A shining javelin sailed after her, stabbing itself into a thin tree and exiting a few inches out the far side. A steaming burn mark surrounded the penetration hole. I didn't look back, knowing they were chasing at us, aiming for our persons. I used zigzag movements, an early lesson taught in all basic training methods. A serrated crescent blade flipped through the air, splitting a tree stump. So far, so good. But I knew we couldn't run forever.
Up ahead, smoke appeared, with a some orange and yellow flames. They'd used a fire edge to cut off our escape. Now they had us boxed in. We had to fight them off, at least until we made another opening.
I turned and faced an older man with a staff. The ends were studded with spikes, and this weapon could separate into three segments, connected by a chain. Twirling the middle part caused the end parts to spin excessively.
I flashed a tiny Aurabolt in my left fist, to distract and flash blind him for a moment. As he blinked, a second man appeared behind him, with a crescent discus, hand scythe, and an armor mask. Quick moves were needed, so I decked the staff user in the face with my sword pommel. The new foe charged.
I pulled back from the scythe reach. Knowing the crescent could be thrown, I watched its movements. He was trying to hook my legs and thrown me down, so I jumped and kicked his chest, following with another pommel blow to his face. Mask or not, he staggered and fell, just as the first man came back with a bloody nose and lip. Watching the staff ends I blocked and grabbed one, driving my pommel into his cheek bone, before he could react. I chopped at his neck guard, and kept doing such in the rapid-slicing blitz I'd used on the reptile man. The collar broke, and his jugular followed suit.
The second foe was back on his feet, weapons at the ready. Instead of charging, he stepped away and threw the curving discus. Not expecting this, I felt steel cut into my leg, just above my boot. Hissing, I saw him raise the scythe. I lunged, knocking him down. My scimitar stabbed his naval region before he could rise again.
Sabin used a full Aurabolt to deform a shield. He then pummeled the wielder's face. Behind him, Cyan cut off a woman's arm before cutting her chest three times with a red-glowing blade. Celes used her new Shock to take out another shielded trooper. Locke blocked a rifle slug with his full moon discuss, sending the slug back into the shooter's arm. He charged the loyalist with a blue shining Atma weapon, beheading the man.
My leg was bleeding, and the fires were spreading. If we stayed around, we'd be trapped. More loyalists were probably en route here.
Celes impaled her latest foe and pretty much read my thoughts. "We should get out, before the blaze traps us in."
Cyan was already taking hint, with Sabin close behind. Locke was just as keen. We broke to the north away from the blaze and the remaining loyalists. We'd been lucky enough to break a hole in their lines leading that way. Or perhaps we'd done it subconsciously, knowing it was the best route.
Beyond the tree patch was open ground. Not much room for hiding, but we'd not get trapped in the fire. We still had loyalists breathing down our back, enemies who we'd falsely dubbed 'friends' until an hour ago.
To prove our point, an arrow came from behind us. Sabin shouted, having taken a bolt in the leg. Another one stabbed his shoulder. It was like they knew he was formidable, and were targeting him for that very reason. Indeed, he was the Returner who impressed them when we first visited the Council House. Edgar got us in the door, but Sabin got us the full tour. Their once favorite Returner was now top of their hit list.
We ran to help him, weapons ready. The archer was hot on our heels aiming for another strike. Injured but not out, Sabin threw an Air Blade blitz, throwing the woman down. Locke's boomerang finished the job with a neck slash.
Sabin growled in pain, his injuries deeper than mine. Another bladed crescent came our way, then another. Locke and I blocked them, and they sailed back to their user.
"You played us, used us for your own fight against the Nyufalng." Gathawen caught his boomerangs and drew his three-chained mace. "You foreigners are backstabbing shit with no honor."
"Honor?" Locke snarled back. "You call tyrannic oppression of your own people 'honor'? You deserve betrayal."
"Your words are moot now. I'll main all of you myself if need be." His eyes were on Sabin, as the wounded blitz master would prove the easiest kill. Cyan stepped up to guard him. The toothed boomerangs came their way, in waving paths this could only mean telepathic control. They circled the Doman a few times, altering their height and range without pattern. Cyan tried deflecting them, but their erratic motions evaded his own. He received a few scrapes and cuts.
Celes, Locke, and I charged Gathawen. He countered with his triple chains, sending one each in our direction, all of them glowing silvery. One snagged my leg, aggravating my slash wound. Celes was decked in her stomach by the weight on another tip, before it snagged both her ankles. Locke strafed to avoid the last one, but it was also controlled mentally, tracking his movement. I was then pulled of my feet and flung astray.
Change in n
Sabin and Cyan would get lacerated if this kept up, and Terra had already been threw back a few yards. Gathawen no doubt planned on doing such to me. To prevent that, I knelt down and gripped the chain encircling my feet. Unless I hopped with sword in one hand, chain in the other, I'd get nowhere. Moving like such would be slow, however.
It was on Locke, who closed the space between him and our enemy (it felt honest and empowering to call Gathawen such, even if our cover was blown). Using the handle of his triple mace, the Jrysthovuhn commander tried batting Locke away. The Returner tried guarding with Atma, but in such close quarters, the lengthy board sword proved cumbersome. Locke's guard was almost too late, and he was thrown back as a result. Gathawen threw a high kick to Locke's jaw, and the treasure hunter was knocked for a loop.
Quick on his feet, Locke regained his balance, slung Atma across his back, and drew his combat daggers. They'd work perfectly up close, if he could regain that distance. Dodging the chained weight again, that was exactly his plan.
I tried moving in, as Terra's chain came at me next. Gathawen Ezzeduvayar was a formidable, worthy nemesis, to split his concentration amid all of us like he was doing. I wondered if the Nyufalng Pung Thoshidei stood a better chance against him than we did. So far, we'd done alright, but not good enough.
Maybe there was a breach in his focus. Locke was able to rush him once more. The mace handle caught one dagger, but the other one made it past Gathawen's defenses, cutting his face. Locke followed with a handle bash to Gathawen's temple. It struck, but the impact was reduced thanks to Gathawen's quick swaying with the attack's momentum.
I swatted the weight back again, and had enough time to see Gathawen's fingers glow pink. He jabbed them at Locke's wrist, causing Locke to yell. Then, his glowing fingers made a thrust at Locke, hitting him in the solar plexus. He shouted louder this time, then his cry went dead. Gathawen threw him backwards. He landed at my feet, eyes shut, motionless.
"LOCKE!" I cried his name. He didn't respond, or even move. Had Gathawen...
I'd been trying to prep a Shock for a while. Unfortunately, the snaking chains impaired my focus, and the one tangling my feet was probably draining energy. I had something, and it would have to count. I thrust down, causing transparent magenta flashes to radiate from the Strato. The chain on my ankles broke apart.
Terra rejoined us, her leggings covered with dirt and blood, her armor top scratched and dented. Sabin and Cyan were on their knees, the latter with bloodied pant legs. The crescents were still circling them. Sabin hadn't even pulled the arrows from his body.
"Fuck you, Gathawen Ezzeduvayar, FUCK YOU!" I narrowed my eyes and clenched my teeth. Locke still didn't move.
"Is he..." Terra asked, unable to finish. She'd seen Gau die in her arms.
"I hope so." Gathawen pulled the the boomerangs and remaining chains back to himself, as if to charge them again with his essence. All three weapons glowed brightly. "If you care to join him, I'll arrange a little reunion."
Sabin looked at the fallen treasure hunter, then at the commander. "Bastard!" He spat. He made a fist, blood dripping off the knuckles. We held our weapons ready. If five-on-one did nothing, what could four-on-one accomplish? But we couldn't bail. He'd only chase us, and maybe summon backup. And where could we run to?
Something moved under my feet, and kept moving. The motion grew stronger, and I wasn't the only person feeling it. Terra looked down. "Huh?"
"What the hell?" Sabin glanced at his feet, then at Gathawen. "That's you, isn't it."
The commander ignored him, splitting his attention between us and the vibration. It not only grew more intense, it grew noisy. A rumbling filled the area.
"T'is an earthquake!" Cyan's voice competed with the rumble. As I struggled to keep my footing, I saw a dark jagged line appear in the ground...right beneath Locke's prone form.
Without thinking, I grabbed his arm and pulled him back. The line in the ground grew thicker, extending in both directions. Parts of the dirt began to sink. Terra grabbed Locke's other arm and we pulled him away, just as the ground shattered and caved into itself. Then, a huge crack appeared. Cyan and Sabin joined us, as the crack reached out on both sides. It was about six feet across now, forcing Gathawen to pull away next. It was probably reaching a hundred feet in both directions now.
As the shaking went on, we faced off across the huge ditch. Then, white curtains of steam burst upwards from the lengthy crevice. I'd have no qualms if Gathawen fell into the steaming trench, but the Jrysthovuhn wasn't about to let that happen. The rumbling died out and the shaking diminished. "You may have escaped today, traitors, but we'll come back to finish the job." He scowled, then turned and walked back to the tree patch, from which smoke continued billowing, much like the steam from the crevice. The ground cracks reached out, towards us. Like Gathawen, it was time to flee. Despite his wounds, Sabin grabbed Locke, hauling the inert man over his good shoulder.
A good distance from the crack and the loyalists, we could finally catch our breath. Cyan gently reached for the arrows and pulled them from Sabin, who growled a blue streak during the procedure. When the Doman finished, all attention was on Locke. "Is he...dead?" Terra had to force out the last word.
Sabin put his fingers to Locke's neck. "I...don't know. I thought I felt a slight pulse, but maybe it's just my wishful thinking."
"What did Gathawen do?" I asked, my voice brimming with hate.
"Beats the hell out of me." The blitz master could do little more than check once more for a pulse.
"C'mon Locke. If you can hear my, snap out of it." I touched his face. "Wake up Locke. Do you hear me?!" I wanted nothing more than to cripple Gathawen and bring him to a military tribunal. If I had to cut off one or two of his limbs to accomplish that, so be it. I detested that man ever since he abused that poor slave girl in our presence, in our name. It was official. He was our enemy, as were his loyalist fellows. "God dammit Locke! I'm here!"
Cyan touched my shoulder. "Lady Celes. Your temperament will gain you nothing. He needs medical help, not your emotions."
I breathed deeply. Cyan was right...but how could we get medical attention out here? We were pretty much stranded amid the plains of Albrook's eastern territory, with a huge ocean between us and home. The only company we'd get here would be enemies, old and new.
Something hissed. We listened. It came from Locke. It hissed again. The noise was coming from inside his jacket. Yes, the radio he'd used. Someone was calling us, but who? I pulled the device out and listened. I could barely decipher the voice amid the static. "Are y...ere? Co..in?" The speaker's voice was drowned out, so much that I couldn't even tell if it was male or female. "Thi...ga..o...pe...is..on...figar..."
Figaro! Someone had mentioned the name Figaro. That had to mean something. I pressed the reply button. "Figaro? This is Returner Celes Chere. I've got a party of four others, one wounded severely." I hoped that was the case with Locke. It was the best possible scenario.
The radio hissed again. I could hear the mystery voice, but the words were garbled. "Copy that? Celes Chere and four companion, one of them ill. Hello? Do you copy?" More static, then the radio went dead. I sighed, putting the communicator back in Locke's pocket.
"Who was that?" Terra folded her arms. "Someone from home? They said Figaro."
"Maybe it was a reference, not a self ID." I bit my lip. "In any case, let's keep the device on, just in case they try calling back."
Ten minutes later, the radio stayed quite. However, a different noise came about. It was a distant rumble. Not like the earthquake. It was much smoother, and almost had a whistle to it. In fact, it almost sounded mechanical.
It grew louder...and revealed itself. An airborne vessel loomed upon us. It had a gun deck near its underbelly, and a flat deck up top. It was a Jrysthovuhn ship.
"You're alive! Come over here." The voice was familiar. It almost sounded like the radio caller. It was not a hostile voice.
The ship landed, a door slid open and a man stood in the doorway. He was tall, with a long blonde ponytail, a torn and stained blue coat, and a bandaged hand.
"Big brother." Sabin was the first to speak. "You made it. Gathawen told us about your success. He wanted to kill us because of it."
"Let me guess. The captive Syguhrn told his commander, and they turned on you." Edgar descended the ship's ramp.
"Yeah, just as we tried to call the capital, and then you. Something was amiss with the radio." Sabin gave his brother a back pat. "Then Gathawen came along and broke the news, citing your actions."
Edgar saw the motionless treasure hunter. "Shit! Is he dead?"
"We have no idea," I blurted out. "If you've a med clinic on board, we need to get him there."
"Right." Edgar nodded. He and Cyan took the load off the injured blitz master, carrying Locke into the ship. We followed close behind. The ramp withdrew and the door shut once we boarded. Ship medics rushed Locke to the infirmary. Would that make any difference? The rest of us were given lesser treatments for our lesser wounds.
Afterwards, we gathered in the ships main quarters. "Tell me your story, beginning with your departure from Figaro." Edgar folded his hands on a tabletop. His bandage looked soiled, and he'd surely explain later.
Sabin volunteered. It wasn't all that special. Just before reaching the northern shores, we were attacked from underneath by rocket boats, and from above by a monster assault. We fended off both. Despite heavy damages, including one totaled ship, we reached the shores and rode south, avoiding the mountains. Then came clash two, from which the Nyufalng inexplicably retreated.
"Then we tried the radio, without success. Then Gathawen came with the news, turned on us, and you know the rest." Sabin paused. "Okay, there was an earthquake, which made a steaming ground crack. That got Gathawen off our backs. Then you found us. Hey, was that you on Locke's radio earlier."
"Yes, of course." Edgar spoke as if the answer was obvious. "Did you not recognized my...Well, maybe you couldn't. I got the radio numbers from Gathawen, before setting out. When I called the radio, I kept getting this fuzzy distortion. That usually occurs when someone's intentionally jamming the frequency waves."
"Someone did." I put it all together. "That's why Locke couldn't reach the capital, or you. The Nyufalng jammed the long distance radio frequencies. They blocked outgoing communications, then retreated, so Gathawen could hear of our 'treason' and turn against us. They used a shorter range incoming transmission to inform him."
"You know, that makes sense," Sabin acknowledged. "That would explain why Edgar's transmission was garbled, but not a total loss."
An officer entered the room. "Your Highness King Edgar. As you know, my ship is still under the command of he who brought down the Council. Where to next?"
"My city Captain. Let's pull out for now. I don't presume we can sit this out while the loyalists and Nyufalng maim each other, but we should head home at the moment."
"Aye, You Majesty." The man bowed, palms together.
He turned to leave, but a crewman rushed through the door. "Sir, there's a problem, and even if we pull out, I don't think the issue is confined locally."
"Oh? Alright. Show us." The Captain motioned for us to follow him and the crewman.
The crewman led us to a window. "See that?"
How could we not? The crack that separated us from Gathawen was now spewing a light green mist, not unlike Terra's hair color. It was visible even from this distance. What did it mean, besides something very negative?