Author's Note: One hundred reviews! Thank you all so, so much! For the curious: 2458 hits (second-highest of all of my fics!), 5 favorites, 11 story alerts (also second-highest). And at 26 chapters, it is now the longest fic I have ever written on this site. I feel all warm and fuzzy. C:
Pip, yes, Kuja is kind of overprotective of Neirin, largely because Neirin is somewhat underprotective of himself. Aaand yes, yes it does get interesting. XitaUnlucky, one missed review doesn't bother me, but miss several in a row and I'll start worrying that something in the fic turned you off and you just didn't want to say anything, and it will bother me forever. And like I said, Valia Pira? Eventually, yep. Blacktepes, I'm hoping that even if people guess at and figure out the various twists I have planned, the realization of those twists will still be interesting enough for everyone to enjoy. C: Which isn't to say I'm going to confirm or deny absolutely anything before it's time, because where's the fun in that? And WiREP (first of all: 100th review!), of course something bad is going to happen to Elisi. In this fic, something bad happens to absolutely everyone. The question is what. You raise an interesting point about souls, though, so I wanted to clarify a point: souls are sort of "wiped clean" each time they're reincarnated; they don't retain memories from past cycles. This is why Neirin doesn't strictly remember being one of the First Kings, for example. Genomes have artificially-developed bodies, but their souls function in precisely the same way. The only way to force those memories to resurface would be, say, Memoria.
Which is to say you should all play disk four again and try to pick out which rooms in Memoria turn up in this fic. Not really. Unless you're obsessed. Like me! :D
Origins
By LeFox
Chapter Twenty-Six: Hall of the Thief King
The sun was brighter than he remembered. Kuja shielded his eyes as, for the first time in several weeks, they emerged from the palace into the city. He wondered if they'd get in trouble for leaving; they hadn't sought or received Vehtra's permission. Maliris didn't seem to think it necessary. For his part, Neirin had never been especially concerned with obeying any imaginary rules or prohibitions placed on him by the desert king; as far as he was concerned, so long as he was not explicitly instructed not to do something, it was very much allowed.
"The Thief King demands more respect than Vehtra ever will," Maliris warned the young king, as they moved quickly down the warm streets. "The fact that he supposedly-" She snorted. "-Demands less respect from the people in no way means he doesn't have more power. And he's in a better position to do something about it if you make stupid remarks."
Neirin eyed her, raising an eyebrow. "As if I'd make stupid remarks."
"You make them like it's your job," Maliris replied.
Kuja had to agree.
He wasn't sure what Maliris's aim was in dragging them to see the Thief King, though. A few trinkets, she'd said, with no further explanation. Kuja searched his mind for some possible reason behind this odd decision, with mounting frustration. He could think of nothing. Was the Thief King an especially skilled mage? If so, why trinkets? Why not ask the man to perform the spells himself? Why wouldn't Vehtra have gone to him if he were a mage? Kuja scowled. He didn't care for not knowing the whys of things, particularly as they applied to situations he had suggested in the first place. He especially despised the realization that no one was going to explain it to him; likely they supposed that, being a child, he had no need to know such things.
As far as he was concerned, he was one of Neirin's guardians, and should therefore be entrusted with any and all knowledge the other four were entrusted with. Any withholding of such information, after all, could lead to danger.
Furthermore he was curious, dammit.
The sun was setting in the sky, and the streets were largely empty. The few Kierans who were still out and about paused to shout a greeting in Neirin's direction. The king returned the greeting in their own tongue. Most of the Kierans greeted this with a grin – otherwise they simply stared in surprise; they certainly hadn't expected the foreign king to attempt to learn their language. Kuja was rather proud of his own hand in the king's proficiency in the language, but doubted he'd ever receive the credit he was owed. Not, he supposed, that it truly mattered. So long as they weren't killed because Neirin had the poor sense to pronounce something incorrectly, he wasn't concerned with it.
Eventually the streets became broader, and the buildings and homes became steadily sparser and smaller, until Kuja realized they were walking among tents of varying degrees of elaborate ridiculousness. The heavy air smelled of spice and sweat, and there was music coming from an unknown source. Though the streets here were no longer clean-swept (or streets, for that matter), the dust never had a chance to settle – everywhere they looked were free-roaming animals and children of Kuja's age and younger. The children paused to stare openly at Neirin as he passed, and several took to following him through the village, chanting unintelligibly at his back. Kuja thought he heard the word for prince, and perhaps even the word for god.
For his part, Kuja was reminded uncomfortably of Belapest. Though it was unlikely that Maliris of all people would lead them into a trap, the boy found himself swallowing nervous bile as they drew closer to the largest of the tents – a truly opulent affair that stretched on for a seemingly impossible distance, crafted out of a shimmering black material laced with silver and gold thread.
"Behold the hall of the Thief King," Maliris said, gesturing toward the enormous tent. Her eyes slid toward Kuja. "Keep an eye on the brat. The slave trade is alive and well here. Ethics aren't." She strode toward the tent, and the two of them scurried to keep up with her broad strides. If there were any manner of guards protecting the front of the tent, Kuja didn't see them; Maliris simply swept aside the heavy tapestry that formed the doorway, and Kuja and Neirin followed suit. The children that had followed them this far simply dispersed, presumably to return to chasing the animals around.
Within was madness.
Torches blazed, revealing what seemed to be the entire population of Kiera. Dancing women with bells on their ankles and wrists twirled around a bright central fire, spinning flaming swords as if they were batons. Other men and women lounged at tables and along what passed for walls, casting appraising but absent glances at the dancers. Servants scurried here and there, ferrying drinks and food and even weapons in a seemingly endless stream of servitude – it seemed as if the moment one servant departed, another suddenly appeared to fill the gap left behind. Musicians sat near the fire, playing a tune for the dancers to spin to, just barely loud enough to be heard above the crowd. As Kuja watched, one of the musicians was accidentally kicked in the face by one of the dancers. The dancer immediately proceeded to stab the musician with her blazing sword, and resume her dance. No one seemed especially concerned by the death of the musician; the corpse was simply shoved aside and quickly replaced by another man who could, apparently, play the same instrument.
Kuja grabbed Neirin's hand and squeezed.
It was just like Belapest.
Seemingly unfazed, Maliris began leading them through the crowd, and they followed, if for no reason other than that to do otherwise would almost certainly lead to death or worse. They wove through the crowd slowly but steadily; no one seemed keen on interrupting their progress. Mercifully, no one had any comments to shout after them, either. Kuja wanted to keep his eyes closed, but he had the terrifying feeling that if he did so he might stumble and lose his grip on Neirin's hand, and be simply swept away by the sheer force of the crowd.
Kuja wasn't sure when the whisper began.
Suddenly, though, he realized the music had stopped, and the crowd had fallen suddenly, terrifyingly silent. Roshan, someone whispered, and the word spread ahead and around them like wildfire. Everyone was staring. Roshan. The crowd slowly parted ahead of Maliris, and they were flanked on either side by wide, staring eyes. For once, no one was staring at Neirin - they were looking at Maliris. For her part, Maliris looked straight ahead, sparing not even a single glance to one side or the other; for all Kuja could tell, she wasn't even aware that there were whispers.
Roshan.
The word became a hissing wave that crashed over them, but Maliris pressed on, until they at last reached what passed as a "throne" - an immense pile of gleaming treasures of every sort, into which a small concave dip had been formed; the dip was filled with pillows of questionable quality. Upon this makeshift throne sat a balding, muscular man with gold rings woven into his rather magnificent red beard. Serpent tattoos curled around his biceps and bared chest, but even with out them, the resemblance to Maliris was striking: he had the exact same stubborn set to his jaw; the same fierce eyes; the same expression predisposed to scowling. As they approached the throne, the Thief King rose slowly to his feet, staring at Maliris and taking no note of her trailing guests.
"Roshan." At his word, the rest of the tent fell silent, thousands of eyes directed toward the throne. Kuja felt Neirin's hand tighten on his own; neither of them knew what to expect. Maliris remained silent. The Thief King frowned. "You have no greeting for your father, my wayward heir?"
Maliris scowled. "I am not your heir," she said as flatly as was possible while still including just the correct amount of rage. "The fact that I fled from the continent to escape being your heir didn't prove as much, Father?"
The man didn't bother himself with a response; instead he at last turned his attention to Neirin. "And this is the foreign prince I've heard so much about."
"King," Maliris corrected, seconds before Neirin could do so, himself.
"All kings are as princes before the King of Thieves," the man yawned lazily, settling himself back down on the throne. Neirin's hand twitched, and Kuja gave it a reassuring squeeze. The older man was just trying to spark a reaction, and with any luck, he wouldn't get one. "I am Arros, named after the continent I was born to. It was my father's wish that I would grow to be as mighty as the land itself." He grinned, spreading his arms as if to indicate the entire tent, or perhaps the entire city. "And so I have."
Neirin had the grace to bow - if only a little. "And I am Neirin, King of Terra."
"You don't get to call yourself the King of Terra when you rule only one continent," Arros said smoothly, grinning wider and revealing several gold teeth. "And rule it poorly, at that. A mere cultist cast you from your throne, King of Terra. In my mind, that makes him the king, not you. What makes you think you're fit to claim the crown?"
Neirin didn't answer. Kuja peered up at him, willing him to come up with something; there had to be some reason why-
"I see fit to serve him," Maliris cut in suddenly, her hand resting on the blade at her hip. "And not you, Father." She spat the word. "In my eyes, even if he's not the most spectacular of rulers, at least he's more worthy of my service than you."
If nothing else, it served to wound Arros, who stared at his daughter for one long moment before looking away. Whatever had passed between them, the wounds had not yet healed. Kuja did his best to pretend he wasn't curious; he became quite suddenly fascinated by his own shoes, and refused to look up from them. After all, he had no idea what he was doing there in the first place. Perhaps it was in his best interest to pretend he was absolutely anywhere else.
Arros's gaze settled again on Neirin, and he cleared his throat. "You had some purpose in coming here tonight," he prompted, waving at the younger king. "Get to that purpose, and I'll decide how worthy your cause is. I can't help observing that you accepted Vehtra's help without seeking out my own."
"He found us first," Neirin blurted. Maliris sighed, but couldn't say anything; not after speaking up for him. It didn't seem to matter. "In any case, it is Vehtra who brings us here. He's asked me to safeguard the palace in return for my own safety." He folded his arms, resting his chin on one hand. "I've done a fair amount of research into condensing magic-"
Suddenly, Arros smiled. "Ah, now that's old stuff." He laughed, leaning forward. "I heard you were a magic-wielder. It's true, then." He didn't wait for confirmation. "Perhaps there is some merit to your claim on the throne. I'm not a magician, myself, but I can tell you this so-called 'condensing' magic works best when there is something to condense around." At their puzzled looks, he laughed again, then reached into the pile of treasures behind him and withdrew a dark armlet. "Start with this," he said, tossing the armlet to Neirin, who caught it with his free hand.
Neirin stared blankly at the armlet for a moment, then back up to Arros.
"Well?" The older king leaned back, grinning. "Give us a show of your power, King of Terra."
xxx
You'll never get out. Elisi dug her nails into the stone ledge above her, pulling herself up into the groove on the wall. You'll never get out. There's no way out. She shoved the voice aside, twisting at a bizarre angle to pull herself up to the nearest ledge. It was farther away than she'd expected, but she seized it nonetheless. It was something. It was anything. The grooves in the walls were deeper than she'd expected, as well; they were more than big enough for her small body to fit into. She didn't know why she was trying to climb the wall; there was no opening overhead, but there had to be some way out. There had to be. She couldn't be trapped here.
This wasn't how her life was supposed to end.
"Just keep going," she urged herself desperately, pulling herself toward the next ledge. "Just keep going. Just keep going."
The ledges grew steeper, and Elisi realized that sooner or later, she had to get back down. There was no escape waiting for her at the top of the room, and the higher up she got, the more dangerous it became.
Just jump off. She looked out over the ledge of the groove she sat in, and the distance between herself and the floor was dizzying. Just jump off. The fall would break your neck. Taharka couldn't use you then, could he?
The voice, for once, was making sense. Elisi leaned out further, willing herself to simply pitch forward, head-first. It would be over before she knew it; there wouldn't be any pain. This isn't how my life is supposed to end, she thought miserably, hesitating. I'm supposed to die of old age. I'm supposed to see Neirin back on the throne. I'm supposed to become a real guardian, just like Kraken. Elisi rested her forehead against the cold stone and wept. If she was going to die, at the very least she deserved the right to mourn for herself.
xxx
Well, this was rather embarrassing. Neirin turned the armlet around in his hands a few times, pretending to be getting a decent feel for the composition and shape of the thing, but in fact, he had no idea what the hell to do with it. He tried focusing pure energy on it, but with no direction or purpose, the magic simply dissipated the moment he stopped concentrating on it. Maliris watched him, looking absolutely ashamed to have brought him in the first place. Worse, though, was the fact that Kuja was staring at him expectantly, fully expecting him to master the technique in mere moments.
Neirin wished he'd bothered reading more thoroughly.
It's a simple enough principle, he thought furiously, holding the dark armlet tightly. Just like ice. Everything is concentrated. Everything becomes solid. So why can't I do this?
In a moment of desperation, he glanced at Kuja. A flicker of expectant hope died in the boy's green eyes, and Neirin looked away quickly, anger boiling at his core. This wasn't fair. He didn't know what he was doing. This wasn't common magic; this wasn't just dredging up energy and directing it properly with the desired element or purpose; this was using magic to make something, and as far as Neirin was concerned, that might as well have been impossible.
Still, with the eyes of half of Kiera on him, he could hardly fail.
He stared harder at the armlet, his grip tightening. You won't win, he thought, as if the armlet itself were maliciously avoiding properly accepting the spell. I'll show you and this entire city why I'm Terra's king.
xxx
In all of his life, Jalen didn't think he'd ever moved so quickly. He flew across the sand as if his life depended on it, into the growing building. Elisi had been locked away for weeks now, he realized; and who knew if they'd even bothered with keeping her alive? What purpose did sealing her away serve, anyway? Was it all a ploy to get him to admit he wasn't loyal to Taharka? Did they know he was the mercenary who had betrayed their master? …No; how could Taharka even know Jalen had betrayed him? That couldn't possibly be it. But why? After all, he'd done more than his fair share of the building; he'd worked harder than most of the real cultists. They couldn't fault him for that. He supposed he'd make a fair spy; he'd been to rituals and meetings, and to be fair he had spied on them, but why take Elisi? Why not simply kill him? It wouldn't be hard. He wasn't nearly as suspicious of others as he supposed he ought to be.
And none of it mattered.
What mattered was Elisi, and finding out whether she was alive. If she was, Jalen was going to take her through the mountains to Kiera, as fast as she could possibly travel.
If she wasn't…
If she wasn't…
…But she had to be. Jalen refused to think she might be otherwise. He slammed into the locked door as if doing so would somehow force it open. The stone door didn't even budge.
"Elisi!" He called, pounding on the door. "Elisi, do you hear me? Answer me!"
The answer was perfect, horrible silence.
xxx
The ship was immense. There was no escaping that: it was enormous, easily half again the size of most normal ships. At first glance, it looked rather like a normal battleship; it was well-armored and well-armed. But in the place of sails this ship had a massive pair of propellers, designed to pull the ship up on the wind currents: it was an airship. An enormous, deadly-looking battering spike protruded from the front of the hull, nearly the same length as the ship itself, polished to a gleaming finish. At its heart, though, deep within the ship's hull, was a gaping hole.
Taharka had not yet found the soul to fill that hole.
"The Invincible needs to serve as a channel for souls," he explained to the idiots who couldn't understand his vision. "A place to trap unwanted souls, preventing them from re-entering the cycle." But first he needed the power to give the ship a life of its own: a soul. At first he had considered one of the First Souls, but the difficulty involved in finding only one of those had proven… irritating. A pity he couldn't locate Sonia's soul again, though she wouldn't have the power necessary. In any case a First Soul wasn't necessarily needed, simply a powerful one. A half-soul would be ideal.
But even they had become a rarity in recent times. Taharka cursed his own short-sightedness; had he only tried to find the necessary souls prior to beginning the process of ending the current cycle…
But it was too late for "if only." What he had now was a useless airship and a channeling crystal with nothing to channel, and he was no closer now to the creation of Garland than he had been two years ago.
Worse, the planet he had selected for the next fission was beginning to display signs of life. He wasn't aware yet if it would be enough to interfere with the merge; there were too many variables to consider, and no way of knowing how much longer it would be before Garland was created and Terra could successfully and safely be allowed to die.
He sighed, resting a hand against the deck of the lifeless ship. "Nothing is going according to plan," he lamented, as if the behemoth understood him. "But it will," he added. "It will."
Slowly but surely the ship, laboriously towed by a normal ship, moved toward the Erras continent, where its empty heart awaited it.
xxx
Do you hear me? Answer me!
The words held some meaning for her, but she couldn't be bothered to pay attention. Elisi inched slowly down the wall, feeling gingerly with her feet and trying carefully - oh, so carefully - to slide her way down to the floor without falling. In the end, she couldn't bring herself to fall to her death; she didn't have the strength or willpower for it, and she was afraid of death. Instead, she began the long climb back down, ignoring the mocking voice in her head; it didn't know anything. It didn't seem to know that she could fight her way out if only she had her knife, if only she knew how to use magic, if only she had Kraken or Kuja or Jalen-
Jalen.
The person calling from outside of the room was Jalen.
In her surprise, she slipped. Her hand slid away from the smooth stone surface like it had a mind of its own, and her feet weren't close enough to the ledge below to catch her. Elisi watched the wall fall away in slow motion, realizing suddenly that it was a pale blue, rather than the grey she'd thought it to be, and it was strangely smooth and oddly beautiful. The grooves in the wall were perfect ovals, the room itself was a perfect dome. She watched the wind ruffle her hair as she fell, and wondered when it had grown long enough to ruffle in the first place. She wondered if she was going to die. How ironic that she should die of the very thing she'd decided she didn't want to die from!
And then, before she could quite accept that she was going to die, she collided with the ground. It didn't kill her - she'd fallen from perhaps her own height, no more - but it left her winded and choking on useless air.
"Elisi! Elisi, is that you? Dammit, Elisi, say something-"
"Will you shut up?" Elisi choked on the words, but they got the point across. She sat up slowly, rubbing her sore back. "I'm not dead, but I will be if Taharka gets here before you get me out."
Damn it all, she could almost hear the gears turning in his head through the stone door. "What are you talking about?"
She sighed, staggering painfully to her feet. "How about," she growled, "you get me out of here, and then we talk about Taharka's plans for me."
xxx
"Perhaps you should give up," Arros suggested, having laughed his fill. The crowd, taking their cues from their king, had laughed quite a fair amount, as well, and it was all Neirin could do to keep himself from simply killing them all. "I think you'd have better luck if you simply stood in the entryway and showered everyone who dared to enter with as many spells as you could summon up."
Neirin ignored him.
Mostly.
Focus everything on one spot, he thought, for the thousandth time. And for the thousandth time, he felt it almost work, only to shatter and slip away at the last minute. Disgusted, he tossed the armlet to Kuja. "You read the book," he said, sighing. "You figure it out."
To his credit, the boy did try his hardest. Neirin watched in bitter amusement as Kuja turned the armlet over and over in his hands in much the same way he had, tapping and poking at the thing as if doing so might somehow unlock the thing's secrets.
Unlock.
Neirin's jaw dropped. "That's it," he exclaimed, plucking the armlet back out of Kuja's fingers. "The armlet doesn't hold the spell, the spell holds the armlet!" Grinning like a madman, he tried to explain the procedure to Kuja - it all seemed so simple now - but the boy simply stared at him with what looked like mingled amusement and hope. Neirin then tried to explain it to Arros, who didn't seem to have the slightest idea what the hell he was talking about, so he decided that at the very least he ought to try it.
Enchanting does no good, he thought; the armlet simply couldn't hold the spell. But a few well-placed barrier spells and a gravity spell or two, and…
A pinkish-violet shell appeared around the armlet, steadily shrinking and compacting as Neirin carefully applied gravity spells. If he was correct, the armlet itself would remain unharmed when the spell holding the barriers in place was broken, but until then, it was contained within a sphere approximately the size of Kuja's fist, which was precisely where Neirin placed the finished product: a perfect sphere, glowing radiantly in the darkness that had settled over the tent. A few oohs and aahs traveled through the crowd. Neirin didn't especially care about them; those idiots had laughed at him only moments before. They were easily amused. Kuja, on the other hand, grinned exuberantly at the stone in his hand, and at the tiny armlet contained within.
"I'd say," Neirin began, turning toward Arros. "That I passed your test-"
Before he could finish, though, a man tore to the front of the gathered audience, panting and clearly in poor shape from the road. "Arros," the man said, kneeling, only to collapse onto his hands and knees. "Arros, I have news from the cultists' site."
"What news?" Arros rose, and Neirin felt his spine go rigid.
The man looked up. "A prisoner," he panted. "They took a young woman prisoner. We suspect they're holding her for Taharka."
Author's Note: Dun dun duuuuuun.