Chapter Two: Terra and the King

Well well well – amnesia, eh? I bet you're all shocked to the core by this particular dramatic development, or at least you would be if it weren't the single most common excuse for a story after 'overly muscular man with huge gun goes on killing spree amongst fascists with socialist economic policies'. We all know (or at least I hope we all know) that in real life amnesia is pretty damn rare - but rock up in the wild fantasies of your average trash novel fictionist and you are, statistically speaking, more likely to get amnesia than the common bloody cold.

I will admit I can see the attraction. For example, let's say that you're a two-bit mongoloid of a writer who has, thanks to a particularly tenacious neuron, managed to cobble together a gripping, exciting situation. Unfortunately, as you're an idiot (in this example, you understand) the situation is so damn easy to resolve that it could probably be fixed up by a brain-dead monkey after a two-week bender on crystal meth. Solution? Give the monkey amnesia! Sure, it leaves a plot hole you could drive a barge through, but hey – let's ignore that too! Who's counting, right? Right?

At this point, you're probably sitting back and thinking 'Hold on, Firmament old bean, aren't you being both extremely patronising and rather melodramatic about this whole thing?' You know what? Yes – but for once I have a good reason. Firstly, I have at least three books in my bookcase where the plot can be summarised as 'Well, I guess that I was the lost princess / had the abort codes / had the key to the ancient tomb dangling around my neck but dang it all I just plum forgot about it! Isn't my face red!' Secondly, after the whole hullaballo that happened in my family as a result of the damn condition I could live, peacefully and totally happy, if I never saw or heard of it ever again. In conclusion, stop using it!

In local news, it looks like Terra and my fiancée had a fantastic time in South Figaro today, at least if their flower garlands, face paint, and grass skirts are anything to go by. Despite the faintly maniacal giggling, however, I still can't shake the feeling that there's something a little...off with Terra. I think I might check in with El Amour to see if she thinks my hunch is worth anything.

And now...the weather!

From my point of view, the rest of that day pretty much passed in a blur. Terra's amnesia had certainly caused a ripple of concern through the Powers That Be, as in almost no time at all we suddenly found ourselves up to our eyebrows in the best and brightest that the Sentinels had to offer. Personally, I had my doubts that they'd be able to do anything, but since these doubts were pretty much the result of hearing voices in my head I suspected that announcing them would probably be a really good way of assuring myself a place in the local psychiatric facility.

Still, as trying as the day had been on me, it was clearly even more trying on Terra, and after a good four hours of physicals and psychometric assessments she finally announced that she had quite simply had enough and really, really wanted to get some sleep. Clearly some information had managed to filter down the line, as upon this announcement every single last Sentinel immediately downed tools and quickly filed out, leaving the room feeling very quiet and very, very lonely.

"I thought that would never end," Terra said finally, "If I knew that that was all it needed to get them to leave, I'd have said that hours ago!"

"Was any of it useful?" I said, and sat down heavily on a nearby seat, "I didn't really understand what they were trying to do."

"Neither did I," she said, and smiled tightly, "I'm sure it was all very useful for their research, though."

"Yeah," I agreed. There was a long, awkward silence while the both of us tried to summon up the courage to talk about something a little less superficial. Eventually, Terra visibly gathered herself up and fixed me with a stare.

"Firma," she said, quietly, and for a moment she looked more vulnerable than I had ever seen her in my life, "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course, Tee," I smiled, "Anything."

"I-" Terra paused, and then rushed on desperately, "I kept on hearing the doctors talking about somewhere called 'Narshe'. It sounds...like something terrible happened there."

"Yeah," I shuddered at the memory of the town, all aflame, "It was pretty awful."

"It was my fault, wasn't it," she whispered, and there was once again a glimmer of tears in the corner of her eyes, "I've killed a lot of people, haven't I."

"Terra," I said firmly, and sat forward in the chair, "If you remember nothing else, I want you to remember this; what happened at Narshe was not your fault. You had absolutely no control over your actions."

"What happened at Narshe?"

"In short? It was burned to the ground," I said, rather tersely, "You and your handlers were looking for something. We –well, I- still don't know what it is or how you became separated from those bastards – but for now, I don't care."

"You don't?"

"Tee, at the moment I'm..." my voice cracked, and I felt tears brimming in my eyes, "Tee, I'm just happy you're safe! This past week I've been so scared for you I've barely been able to think straight, and to actually have you back? I-I..."

Another silence followed, and then Terra coughed awkwardly, "Um, would you like a tissue? They've given me this box of them..."

"I'll be okay," I said finally, and swiped at my eyes, "It's been a rough week."

"Possibly," Terra smiled wanly, "I wouldn't know."

"Well, no," I admitted, somewhat lamely. Once again a long, awkward pause descended on the conversation, broken only by the sound of Terra's fingers drumming arrhythmically on a bedside table.

"Go ahead, Tee," I said, finally, "You may as well ask."

"I'm sorry?" she blinked, evidently surprised.

"You always drum your fingers like that when you're psyching yourself up for something," I raised my eyebrows and indicated her fingers; "So, what's the question?"

"I...well; it's silly, really," she said weakly, "I just...well, um..."

"Yeah?"

The words all came out in a rush, "Was I...was I a good sister?"

"Were you a good sister?" I echoed, and my mind whirled as I tried to think of the best way to answer it.

"Be honest," Terra pleaded, "Please. I want to know."

"Well, if you want honesty..." I smiled wryly, "Yeah, you were. Sure, you may have had an unholy fascination with making sure all my bloody socks were in the right place, and don't even get me started on your bloody filing system, but at the same time, you...you," I paused for a moment to stop myself choking up again, "You sacrificed yourself so Kefka wouldn't kill me!"

"Really?" Terra had inclined her head and was staring at me, appraisingly, "You?"

"Yeah," I shrugged, "Why do you want to know, anyway?"

"I...don't know, really," she said, and shook her head sadly, "I want to know what kind of person I was."

"Oh," I coughed, somewhat lost for words, "Right."

"Yeah."

Another awkward silence would have descended, but right in the nick of time there was a knocking at the door, followed shortly by a familiar Kohlinglese voice, "Alright, guys! How're we doin' in here?"

"Hey, Locke," I said, thankful for the distraction, "Where've you been all day?"

"Oh, doing this and that," Locke said evasively, "Figured I'd probably be in the way in here, what with all those high-rankin' Sentinels bustling around."

"Indeed," I raised a suspicious eyebrow, "What were you doing, exactl-"

"Terra!" Locke turned to greet my sister enthusiastically, and I got the distinct feeling he was rather desperately trying to change the subject, "It's good to see you up an' around. How're you feeling?"

"I'm very sorry, sir," Terra replied politely, "But I have absolutely no idea who you are."

"This is Locke Cole, Tee," I cut in, "I told you about him, remember?"

"Oh, yes!" she said, her face lighting up in sudden recognition, "The thief!"

"The what?" Locke turned to give me a thunderous stare, "Did you call me a 'thief' when you were talking about me, pal?"

"Thanks, Tee," I muttered under my breath, before giving Locke a disarming smile, "Actually, that was the, uh, condensed version."

"Oh, aye?" Locke smiled too, although for some reason his had a murderous edge, "What did you actually say?"

"Something along the lines of 'human-magpie crossbreed kleptomani – oh, what am I saying?" I threw up my hands, "You are a thief, mate!"

Locke's face darkened yet further, "That's treasure hunter, you scrawny little limey!"

"You threatened to steal my lungs, Locke!" I pointed out, "And unless I'm grossly mistaken about my age, I don't really think my organs qualify as timeless antiques!"

"Well, I-"

There was a sudden giggle from Terra, and our argument was immediately brought to an end as we both turned to give her a somewhat bemused stare.

"You two are funny," she said, smiling easily for the first time all day, "I think I like you, Locke."

"Um…yes…well," Locke coughed, and extended a hand, "Locke Cole, treasure hunter-"

"Thief!" I coughed.

"Treasure hunter at your service," he finished, and shook his head, "I swear, Firma, I've known you less than a week and I already want to punch your lights out."

Terra giggled again, before replying, "Terra Branford, supposed Mage Knight and…and," her face fell suddenly, "amnesiac."

"What?" even considering the circumstances, Locke's reaction to that news could have been just a touch overblown. From my perspective, it looked like someone had slugged him in the solar plexus, "How?"

"Locke-" I began warningly, but Terra seemed to want to speak.

"The doctors said it was that thing that the Empire put on my head…the, um…" Terra looked to me for sudden support.

"Slave Crown," I said grimly.

"Yeah," she nodded, "Apparently I'm the only person who's even regained consciousness after its removal. They seemed quite excited by that."

"Can't you do anything, Firma?" Locke looked towards me, and I was stunned to see tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, "With your magic and all, I'm sure-"

"If I could have, don't you think I would have?" I replied coldly, "Brains are complicated things, y'know – and Locke, what in the world is wrong with you?"

"I'm…I'm sorry," Locke seemed at a loss, but I had a sudden unnerving sensation that he was about to do something very, very silly, "Terra, I give you my word that you'll be safe with us. Until you regain your memories, I promise that I'll protect you!"

"Oh, Callista."

"Be nice, Firma," Terra said, admonishingly, "Thank you, Locke!"

"Moving on," I said quickly, making a mental note to find out what was going on with Locke, "How's it going in the outside world?"

"Not well," Locke said, and I could see the sudden tension lines on his face, "It's all gone very quiet."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Not at all," Locke shook his head, "I think you're misunderstanding me – it's not that there's no news to report, it's that no news is being reported. All of the informants in and around Figaro have gone quiet."

"Gone to ground, bought off, or dead, right?" I raised my eyebrows, and Locke nodded, "That's…strange."

"Ester's investigating," he snorted, "Whether or not that'll help you sleep at night is up to you, though. The only other bit of news I've got is that Edgar would like to meet our wayward Mage Knight now that she's up and about."

"Really?" my eyebrows went up, and then something about Locke's expression clicked in my head, "Now?"

"Can it wait?" Terra asked, meekly, "Only I'm very tired…"

"Sorry, Terra," Locke shook his head, "Kings have this habit of making everyone else work to their schedule – you'll find that out soon enough, I'm sure."

"Oh," her face fell, "Can I at least get changed? I feel like a mess."

"If you ask nicely, I'm sure that His Majesty will be only too happy to call for his royal dressmaker, but...ah, that sounds like him now."

If I strained my ears, I thought I could make out a faint 'clip-clip' noise, echoing down the corridor from far away. After a few moments, they resolved themselves into the steady rhythmic beat of several pairs of boots thudding in unison, and I had to admit that I was at least mildly impressed with Locke's apparently superhuman hearing.

"He'll have brought a few of the heavies, I reckon," Locke remarked, casually, "Can't imagine Stor'll have let him within a mile of this place without him agreeing to at least some form of escort."

"What 'heavies'?" Terra's voice rang with sudden worry, "What's going on?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary, I'm sure," I sighed, and clambered wearily to my feet, "These guys just seem to have a habit of turning up."

"Don't worry, Tee; they aren't here to hurt you," Locke added, "They're just here to stop you guys from causing another, uh, incident."

"You mean stop me, right?" she replied accusingly.

"He can't be referring to me," I said, maybe a little smugly, "I'm incident-free."

"Are you balls!" Locke muttered, before commenting, "Ever since I've met you my life's been one sodding incident after another."

"That's hardly my fault!" I protested, "I just attract trouble."

"An' bullets."

"Bullets are a form of trouble, mate," I pointed out, "And - oh my, they're...fancy."

At that exact moment several rather dramatically dressed men rounded the corner and quickly took up positions throughout the ward. Although their dazzling green-and-gold costumes and apparent lack of weaponry didn't immediately lend themselves to any definition of 'heavy' as I understood it, the speed with which they had deployed and the cold, alert air that surrounded the group as a whole immediately put me on edge.

"Speakin' of trouble..." Locke murmured, "These guys're the Figaran Royal Guard. Watch yourself around them, guys; they've got a bit of a...reputation."

"Oh?" I said, scanning them over for any hint of weaponry. After a moment, I had to admit that if they were armed, they had their weapons pretty damn well concealed, "I assume you're not referring to their dress sense."

"Well, their sole purpose is to protect the King from any threat," Locke said, and added ominously, "Sometimes they get a wee bit overzealous – look, just don't any sudden moves and we'll all be fine."

Before I could voice my opinion vis a vis our chances of getting gunned down by the amateur dramatics society, Edgar appeared. There wasn't any particular fanfare or any form of dramatic entrance; one moment he wasn't there, and then the next he was staring at us from the doorway with a carefully appraising eye that I wasn't entirely sure I liked.

"Your Majesty," Locke said evenly, as the king approached, "Do you think all these guards are really necessary?"

"No," Edgar said, and shrugged helplessly, "On the other hand, protocol requires that the royal personage be suitably protected at all times. Given the excitement of today –no offence to you, dear lady-" he said, casting a quick glance at Terra that lasted just slightly too long for my liking, "but where security is concerned I must bow to my advisors."

"Hang on; there weren't any guards when we met for the first time," I pointed out, but was quickly quietened by Locke.

"They were there, pal," he said quietly, "Believe me."

"Indeed," Edgar brushed the objection aside with a smile and turned to address my sister, "My lady, on behalf of every citizen of Figaro, allow me to welcome you to Figaro Castle. I am King Edgar Roni Figaro, and you are..."

"Terra," Terra mumbled, "Terra Branford."

"Charmed, I'm sure," his eyes twinkled as he gently kissed her hand, "I'm sure our castle shall look all the prettier when graced with your radiant presence."

"I'm...what do you mean by that?" for her part, Terra sounded genuinely confused.

"My dear lady, I am simply captivated by your...exotic beauty," Edgar continued, "In all my years of travel, I have never met anyone with features as luminous and exquisite as yours. Truly-"

Locke coughed awkwardly, "I really hate to interrupt this...this..."

"-hackneyed, purple prose?" I supplied helpfully. Edgar fixed me with a baleful stare.

"Monologue was what I was going to say, pal, but yer right," Locke shrugged, "Edgar, don't we have more important things to be doin' than for you to be hitting on this poor girl? She's had a rough enough day as it is without being subjected to your...your..."

"-hackneyed purple prose?" I supplied, once again.

"What he said."

"I...suppose. Very well," Edgar said dubiously, before turning back to Terra, "My lady, you can rest easy here. I assure you, no harm will come to you within these castle walls. If necessary, I myself will hurl-"

"Edgar!"

"Etcetera and so forth," the king finished quickly, and kissed Terra's hand once again, "Good night, my lady. I hope to speak more later."

"Catch yer in a bit, pal," Locke clapped me on the shoulder, "You too, Terra."

"Firmament," Edgar nodded, a little stiffly. With that, both he and Locke turned to leave, taking almost all of the king's excitingly dressed royal guard with him. Once again, the ward seemed like a very empty, lonely place, and the sudden silence was almost oppressive.

"That was quick," Terra said, eventually, "I suppose he's a busy man."

"Yeah," I rolled my eyes, "So many women, so little time."

"That's not very nice," Terra said accusingly, "I liked the personal welcome."

"Tee, is it possible that you managed to miss the whole subtext of that introduction?" I said acidly, "I mean, c'mon - the only things he didn't give you was a handy map to his bedroom and a signed copy of the bloody Karma Sutra!"

There was a short pause while my invective echoed around the ward. Terra gave me a look that suggested that I was being unduly cynical, but thankfully said nothing further on the matter.

"Where do you think he took your friend?" she said, "Locke sounded very serious for a moment there."

"I'm not sure," I said, "I think we may have stirred up a hornet's nest when we pulled you out of Narshe, but...I don't know. Look, Tee," I gestured at a handy bedside clock, "it's late, and you've had a long enough day as it is. Why don't you get some sleep and we'll worry about this tomorrow?"

"That sounds like a good idea," Terra said, and yawned dramatically, "Do you think it'll be safe for us to sleep here?"

"If it weren't safe, he would have moved you already," I pointed out, "He's a smarmy, womanising, silver-tongued slick bastard of a man, but he's clearly no fool. You'll be fine here."

"Oh? You're not staying?" Terra sounded a little downcast, "But..."

"I'm just going for a little wander, Tee," I reassured her, "I'll be back in a little while."

"But...where are you going to go? What're you going to do at this time of night?"

"What do you think I'm going to do at this time of night?" I shrugged, as if this should be obvious, "I'm going to see if there's a bloody pub!"

There may be some people who would take a rather dim view of me rushing off and leaving my poor, amnesiac sister to the fates. You know what? Too bad. It's damn near impossible to fix someone else's problems if you happen to be a bit of a wreck yourself, and to be honest by that point it was just getting to be too much effort holding myself together for her sake. I'm sure that everyone's been in a situation where you just had to get out of there, and this was no different.

Despite what I had said to Terra, my actual plan was pretty much to wander aimlessly while I tried to get my head in order. As it turned out, that plan lasted about as long as it took for me to walk into a bar, at which point I decided that I should probably go and do what I said I was going to do. Besides, I was probably owed a drink considering everything that had happened recently. A drink...or two. Three at the outside.

The next hour passed in a blur of clinking glasses and sloshing liquids. The instant I slammed down one glass, it was gently moved to one side by the shadowy figure beyond the bar and replaced with another concoction strong enough to etch metal. At some point, food was involved - well, food was possibly involved, but it was so quickly replaced with yet more alcohol that it was entirely possible it was just a figment of my imagination.

Suddenly, there was a indistinct noise from somewhere behind me, and a hand laid itself very, very tentatively on my shoulder.

"Eh? Whassu want?" I slurred, and turned around unsteadily to see a vaguely familiar face swimming gently in and out of focus, "Hey, Locke! Pull up a seat!"

"Hey, pal," Locke said, warily, "How're you doin'?"

"I'm doin' great, pal!" I replied cheerily, and then something occurred to me, "Wait...you didn't say that yer had a twin brother, Locke? Where'd he come from?" I thought about it for a moment before concluding, "It don't matter; he can pull up a seat too!"

"How much have you had to drink, Firma?" he said, and his eyes widened as he took in the extent of my debauchery stacked neatly across the bar, "Oh, fantastic."

"'Said it was on the house," I grinned madly, "I've got to say, the service here is amazin'."

"Yeah...I may have to talk to them about that," Locke said slowly, and lowered himself into a seat. Almost immediately, a glass of strong-smelling amber liquid was placed in front of him, "How...how have you drunk this much without ending up in the hospital? Hell, how are you still alive?"

"Weelll..." I began, swaying gently back and forth on the chair, "Professor Cid says that we have the most...most advanced antidote delivery systems in the world. It...it in-inactivates the ethanol 'fore it gets into my bloodstream. You see all this?" I waved vaguely at the stacks of glasses across the bar, "I had to drink alla this jus' to overload the damn thin'!"

"'We'?" Locke's eyebrow may have jumped slightly, but I couldn't be sure, "You mean you an' Terra?"

"Yeah," I said, and felt a cold stab of pain through my gut, "Me an' Terra."

Locke paused for a moment, and then downed his drink in a single gulp. It was added smoothly to one of the stacks, and another slid gently into place beneath his hand.

"This isn't going to help, Firma," he said, seriously, "Not in the end."

"Wha'?"

"All this," he said, looking carefully at the piles of glasses, "It might help you in the short term, but you know what? You're going to wake up tomorrow with a splitting headache and you're still going to be a refugee and your sister's still going to have amnesia. Alcohol ain't going to fix those problems."

"'Course it can," I said confidently, "You just haven't drunk enough to see that yet. Why don't you 'ave-"

"Firma, take it from someone who's been here before," Locke shook his head, "This isn't going to do the blindest bit of good. It's rough, pal – I know what you're going through, and-"

"Like hell you know what I'm going through, you damn thief!" I snarled suddenly, showing Locke with spittle in the process, "How can you possibly know that?"

"Terra ain't the first person in the world to become an amnesiac, Firma," Locke's glass clinked heavily on the bar, "I…well, I knew someone who, um…"

"You knew 'someone'?" I got the feeling there was a story here, although I wasn't entirely sure that I wanted to hear it, "Sounds like you were really close."

"She was my fiancée, pal," Locke said dangerously.

"You 'ad a fiancée?" I laughed, and then immediately regretted it, "Sorry. I'll be quiet now."

"Good," he continued, "Now listen up. Maybe you'll get a bit of perspective…"

I'm going to co-opt this tragic little tale, partially for the sake of brevity but mainly because at this point in time I was so damn drunk I have no recollection of what, exactly, the Kohlinglese Kleptomaniac said. Thankfully, however, Locke has seen fit to subject me to this story again and again over the years, so I'm just going to cobble together a composite of the different tellings and hope that nobody notices the difference.

Observant readers may remember that, a little while back, Locke mentioned that he had a more responsible brother who used to watch the store while he wandered around the world looking for fountains of youth and such. Everyone remember that? Good. Right, well, the rather crucial point that Locke missed out before was that he didn't wander around the world alone. Actually, and in the truest traditions of every roguish adventurer everywhere, Locke had an alluring sidekick with a sexy accent and an extremely…limited wardrobe. Her name was Rachel, and she was the only child of an extremely wealthy steel magnate whose name, unfortunately, eludes me at this time.

If you're anything like me, however, you aren't worried by little details like that. You're probably asking the same question that I was at the time, which goes along the lines of 'I say old bean, how in the world did Locke Cole, of all people, manage to attract the attentions of an attractive upper-class socialite?' Well, to hear Locke tell it, Rachel was the sort of rich girl who thought that hobnobbing with the well-to-do was just too damn boring for a girl of her age. She wanted excitement, and as far as she could see the seedy underbelly of Kohlinglen, with its crime and its hardship (to say nothing of its tuberculosis) was just what she thought she was looking for.

To cut a painfully long story short - she was totally wrong, and things were right on the verge of going extremely badly for poor Rachel (to, uh, be circumspect about it) when Locke, at this point a dashing young scoundrel stepped in and saved the day. The rest was pretty much fate; she was smitten by this strangely honourable thief, he was smitten by her dressmaker's apparent material shortage, and when he suggested that she join him in searching the world over for artefacts and whosamacallits she jumped at the opportunity to get the hell out of dodge. They skipped town just ahead of her daddy's heavies and spent the next three years scouring the globe, having wild adventures and being, in general, just young idiots in love.

Unfortunately, they were star-crossed lovers, and the tragic end to this tale came, predictably, just as Locke had gotten up the courage to propose. He'd gotten a lead that there was a ancient underground temple up near Kohlinglen and suggested that they check it out. This was a bluff, of course; as with anything within a fifty mile radius of that damnable city it had been picked clean years ago, but Locke had planned on asking Rachel on marrying him in front of its crumbling altar. She said yes, everybody was happy, and they were on their way to tell her father the happy news when fate decided that it, like everyone else, had had enough of this whole story.

You see, the only way into this temple was an old rope bridge. To put this in perspective, by 'old' I mean 'well in advance of half a millennia', and when I say 'rope' I really mean 'decomposing vines and bits of twigs'. This thing was probably incapable of supporting the weight of a ant, let alone two fully grown adults who were, at the moment of disaster, skipping across it with nary a care in the world.

Clearly, Rachel realised that something was wrong first, and in an act of true selflessness she hurled herself at Locke, knocking him onto firm ground just as the bridge gave way and plunged our young socialite into the abyss. For his part, Locke somehow managed to retrieve her unconscious body (to this day I have no idea how; I've run the numbers and the Sentinels would've gone in with ten fully equipped specialists as a minimum) and dragged her all the way back to Kohlinglen.

To say her father was displeased with this series of events would be a mild understatement, but we'll return at this point to that nice bar in Figaro Castle; Locke can probably explain it better than I.

"He wanted to run me out of town," Locke said thickly, "Heck, he wanted to have me killed at first, but I think...I think he saw how much I truly loved her."

"Mmm-hmm," I nodded indistinctly. To be honest, I was long, long past caring, but Locke wasn't about to be stopped by a little thing like that.

"He let me stay with her in hospital until she recovered-"

"Wait, she didn't die? She fell head-first into a chasm and she survived?" I thought about this and nodded approvingly, "That's one tough cookie."

"She survived, but..." Locke stared deep into his drink, "She didn't remember anything. Not me, not our engagement. Nothing. 'Course, it didn't take long for her father to run me out of town for good after that. All she knew was that I was making her dad miserable, and that turned her against me too..."

"So you hit the bottle, right?"

"For six months," he said bitterly, "Holed up in a small town called Taemarith just south of Kohlinglen and drank my savings away. Thought I was going to die some days; hoped I was, some of 'em."

"I think I'm beginning to understand," I said, finally, "You don't want me to spend the next-"

"I ain't done, pal," Locke cut in, "You remember when the Empire bombed Kohlinglen, yeah?"

"You mean the attack that killed your brother?" I nodded, "Yeah."

"Well, they also hit my Rachel's family mansion. Blew it to smithereens."

"Oh," I really didn't want to ask the next bit, but I knew he was waiting for it, "Rachel too, right?"

"Yeah," he said, and downed his drink in one, "But y'see, just before she died, she remembered everythin'. Everythin', Firma. Apparently, the last thing she said before she died was my name."

"My word, Locke. I'm sorry," I shook my head, "That's rough. I think I get why you were acting so strange in front of Terra. Would I be right in saying that her amnesia's brought back a lot of bad memories? If you'll, uh, pardon the expression, that is."

"Aye," he said, "An' that's why I can't stand to see you in here wallowin' in your own self-pity. Your sister's scared and alone up in that ward, and you're wastin' time down here drinkin' until your...your antidote deliverymajig fails? I'm not saying you ain't got problems of your own, pal, but you need to put those on the back-burner until she's back on her feet. It's-"

"Okay, okay, you've made your point," I said, and ran my fingers through my hair, "I've probably been out 'wandering' for long enough as it is. Get me a bucket, mate, and stand back. This promises to be moderately unpleasant."

I should probably describe exactly what I meant by 'this'. By now, you've probably deduced that there's a fairly large set of magical disciplines that dovetail rather nicely with classic medicine, and one of these is the removal or in-situ destruction of various toxins like snake bites, heavy metals or that old classic, alcohol!

Actually, I think I'm going to use that last one as an example. Before I came along, the classic method of dealing with a Saturday night special in was to stick the stupid drunk bastards in a bed and leave 'em until they could walk unaided. This changed a little when I started getting steady employment as we could literally bring someone in, magically purge them, and throw them back out onto the streets within five minutes of them stumbling through our doors. As far as the hospital was concerned, it freed up beds, saved on money, and stopped our valuable doctors and nurses' time from being taken up by some berk who had drunk one too many dirty pints. As far as the drunks were concerned…it wasn't so great. The process really defies description, but the closest I can probably come is the feeling that your head is being fed to a steel press while a bunch of roided-out gorillas work your ribcage over with twelve-pound lump hammers. In all honesty, if I was given a choice between being purged and living with a two-day hangover, I'd probably take the hangover.

For that matter, we'll also skip a lurid description of the actual purging itself. Let's just say that it was a testament to both the endurance and the durability of my oesophagus and leave it at that, shall we? I'm sure you get the picture.

It was late by the time I got back to Terra's ward, and although the hospital itself had settled down for the night the same could not be said of the Royal Guard watching over my sister. Their alert, stern gazes played over me as I approached, and although there were only two sentries in front of the door I had the distinct, unnerving sensation that I was being observed by many more.

"Firmament Branford, correct?" one of the guards asked, in a cold, hard tone of voice that brooked no mischief. I nodded mutely, cowed into silence by the tense atmosphere.

"You're late," he observed bluntly, "Miss Branford has been asking after you for some time now."

"Sorry about that," I winced, "May I go in?"

The guard looked over at his comrade, who nodded curtly. Quickly, the two guards took a hold of the ward doors and opened them wide, allowing me into the large, darkened room. As soon as I was in the doors were immediately shut behind me, cutting off the light from the corridor and plunging me into darkness.

"Terra?" I said quietly, "Are you awake?"

There was no response, but as my eyes adjusted I thought I could make out a dim, flickering glow from a little private room just separate from the main ward and, with a mixture of curiosity and concern, padded over to take a look. As I had half suspected, the source of the glow was my sister, who was staring, transfixed, at a small ball of fire that was hovering gently just above her palms. She gave no notice that I was even there, and continued to gaze into the heart of the flame until I finally walked up and snapped my fingers in front of her eyes.

"Oh, Firma," she shook her head, and the flame flickered out, "You were gone a...long time."

"I'm sorry, Tee," I said, addressing the hurt in her voice, "I shouldn't have left you alone. How're you feeling?"

"I'm doing okay, I think," Terra smiled bravely, but I realised, with a sudden stab of guilt, that she had been crying buckets, "I keep thinking that this is some kind of horrible dream that I'm going to wake up from, but, well," she shrugged, "I haven't had much luck in that department."

"Sorry, Tee," I shook my head, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Will you be here when I finish?" she replied sharply, but her gaze softened at my expression, "I'm sorry, Firma; you're here now, and that's what matters. It's just..."

"What?"

"I don't know what! I mean, I feel angry and upset and confused and who knows what else!" she threw up her hands in frustration, "I want answers, Firma! I want to know who did this to me! I want to know why they did this to me! Why me, Firma? What's so special about me?"

"Well, there's the pyrokinesis," I said, after a moment's pause, "Some people might think that's a little speci-"

"Right, well that just raises more questions! I mean, take a look at this!" she grabbed her ponytail and shook it in my face, "I spent an hour just looking out of that window over there, and how many people with green hair did I see? None! Why do I have it? Why do you have it?"

"Beats me," I shrugged, "'Figured it kinda came with being a Mage Knight."

"And what is a Mage Knight?" Terra, clearly, needed to vent, "Everyone keeps telling me I'm a Mage Knight, but nobody tells me what it is! I'm guessing it's special, because they said you're a Mage Knight and you're the only one who I can hear in my head! Come to think of it, what's th-"

"Okay, Tee," I said, and patted her on the shoulder again, "I know you want answers to all these questions, but maybe it should wait until you're feeling a little better. Tzen wasn't built in a day, after all."

"But-"

"It's okay, Tee," I said gently, "It's going to be okay."

"Are you sure?" Terra said waveringly, and I thought I could see tears forming in the corners of her eyes, "Everyone thinks that I'm some kind of really important person, but I don't understand! Even that intelligence officer-"

"Ester?" I said suddenly, "Ester was in here?"

"Y-yes," Terra said, taken aback by my question, "He said that the Sentinels forgot to take some blood samples, and he was the only person with clearance who could do it..."

"Really," I decided to file that bit of information away for future reference, "Anyway...Tee, you don't have to be afraid, because no matter what happens we'll face it together as a family. As long as we have each other, there isn't a damn thing that the Empire or anyone else can do to us. I promise you, Tee, we'll get through this together."

"Firma...I-I-" the thin veneer cracked, and suddenly Terra was sobbing into my shoulder, "I'm so scared!"

"I know, Tee," I said, and gave her a tight, comforting embrace, "Believe me, you're not the only one."