Chapter Twenty-Six: 707 O.V. The Strahl

He lay on his side in his bunk and the wrinkles of the under sheet irritated his skin. The rough wool blankets had long been kicked about his ankles and his knees were drawn up to his chest as he stared at the statuette in the corner of his sleeping cabin.

Arise my mortal; fly and be merry. Together we shall conquer the stars and enslave the moon.

Balthier closed his eyes and rolled over tangling his lower legs in the blankets and turning his back on the statuette. His head hurt and, although it was relatively quiet now, his ears still rang from the constant harangue of the Eagle's cries. He thought he must have slept a little, at some point, or perhaps he was merely losing time?

My host, the day is young, why not rise and claim her for your triumph?

Balthier tried to smother himself with one of his sweat soaked and flattened pillows. When it had become woefully apparent to him that he wasn't going to be able to oust the bloody Phoenix from his head Balthier had hit upon the notion of passive resistance. His research upon the myth of the Phoenix had provided him with some valuable information; he suspected he knew what she wanted from him and so, with little recourse to alternative action, his best line of defence was to deny her that which she wanted.

Thus it was that he had taken to his bed, refusing to eat, wash, dress, or otherwise participate in life's daily rituals. The vain hope that the Phoenix would quit his mind to find some more exciting sport elsewhere was growing ever more doubtful. Still if he starved to death at least he'd be free of the hateful mantle ornament.

My mortal such melancholia does not become you. Forget the Viera; she was merely holding you from your glory.

He knew that Fran was gone of course and thus it was all somewhat redundant. It was all bloody pointless actually. Not much point playing the leading man if no one was around to get the joke, was there?

Take wing and fly my host, as you were born to do.

Balthier rolled over onto his back again and pulled the pillow from his face. He stared up at the ceiling of his cabin. It was time to end this farce.

Balthier sat up, kicking his legs over the side of the bunk. His head felt heavy as lead and his empty stomach twisted like a nest of serpents, shrunken as a dried up corpse, against his spine. He felt sick and dizzy and dropped his head to his knees as the muted colours of the cabin swam under the blurry heat of his dry and aching eyes. He clenched his fingers in the tufts of his short cropped hair.

He knew what he had to do.

707 O.V: The Ifrit - en route to Landia

It was part misfortune and part serendipity that Fran chanced upon the Ifrit while making her own way to Landia, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the Ifrit chanced upon her?

Either way Fran soon found herself granted a not entirely wanted audience with Judge Magister Gabranth and his Emperor ward, one intrepid journalist who refused to be thwarted of her ambition for a story, and Vaan and Penelo, who had used happenstance and keen opportunity to find their way back into the weave of this tragedy in the making.

Thus it was to this company that Fran regaled her story of much woe.

'Wait,' Vaan's face was a picture of confusion, 'So you're saying you just left Balthier there alone with this Phoenix thing?' he seemed astounded.

'It is so,' Fran nodded wondering at the look of shock and almost reproach that touched upon Vaan's naked features. Fran shook her head minutely and dismissed such thoughts for later reflection.

Young Lord Larsa, pensive due to his imminent meeting with the Landis contingent and the absence of the Landis Phoenix, sat directly opposite Fran herself across the wide gold leaf embossed high polished wood table. He was pale in his high collar and padded red doublet with black work stitching. The ever attentive Judge Gabranth stood behind his ward and, absent of his helmet, the man's face was a mask of concern. Anna Zargabaath's pencil flew across a notebook faster than thought, her head bowed to her work.

'You say this Landis Phoenix is some manner of deity?' The journalist asked not looking up from her scribbling, 'Why would a god want Ffamran? He is hardly of devout character.'

Fran rolled one shoulder, 'Balthier sought to discover this fact himself. He found reference material to the story of the object's making.' Fran glanced at Basch, 'This artefact is from your country's past, know you not the tale of her forging?'

Basch stirred, shifting a little awkwardly where he stood in armour, 'Aye,' he admitted after a notable pause, 'but such myth and legend abound in Landis. I had thought this merely another tale passed down by old wives through the ages.'

'What is the story of the Phoenix?' Penelo spoke up from her seat next to Vaan. She and the youth seemed deeply troubled by Fran's news.

'Who cares?' Vaan interrupted, 'We need to get back to the Strahl and help Balthier.'

'The peace negotiation has already been delayed by a fortnight,' Larsa spoke up anxiety clear in his careful tone, 'Yet there can be no negotiation if Archadia cannot fulfil her requirements and return the Phoenix.'

He turned his large blue eyes to Fran, 'One must assume that parting Balthier from the Phoenix could lead to negative ramifications, perhaps from the both of them, yes?'

Fran once again rolled one shoulder in a gesture too bloodless to be called a shrug, 'That Balthier is complicit in this I am inclined to doubt. That he has history of his own with the Phoenix, I suspect most strongly.'

She shook her head to shake a hank of hair off her shoulder, 'I have seen enough of the power of the Phoenix that I doubt it not that the boy Balthier once was, upon awareness of the great advantage such would give him, would be most reckless in her use, no conscience or thought to future consequences.'

Despite addressing her words primarily to Larsa and Basch, Fran caught Vaan's reaction in the periphery of her vision. The boy shook his head vigorously so that his fine and over long pale hair floated about his head in his vehemence.

'No,' he said stubbornly, 'Balthier wouldn't do something like that.' The boy's blue eyes were very certain, 'I mean he's not interested in that kind of power. He doesn't like gods and he doesn't like people who use power to control other people.'

Fran almost smiled. It warmed her see that the apprentice held the master in such high esteem – more perhaps than was strictly warranted. Yet she worried that Vaan was over naïve and believed too strongly in the myth that was the leading man. Fran herself knew that Balthier's true forging was of much darker and bloodier making.

'That is not what she offers,' Basch spoke as if deep in thought and all eyes turned to him. The older man lifted tired eyes to address the room, 'The Phoenix was never a vessel for oppression.'

'Then what is she?' Penelo asked again and Basch sighed.

'It has been many years past since I have heard the stories,' he warned, 'And I am not much of a bard.'

The tiniest hint of a smile to his lips sprang and even Lord Larsa had twisted in his chair so he could face Basch, keen eyed and eager for a tale. 'I am sure you shall relate this tale most adequately.' The young man smiled generously.

Basch dutifully cleared his throat and nodded.

'The Phoenix once was said to be a mortal maid.' He began in almost stilted manner, dredging up the ghosts of tales from yesteryear. His faint accent thickening unconsciously as Landis' past he recalled.

'A strong and loving daughter of Landis was she. Upon the advent of a war, many, many centuries ago, when her brothers and her father were slain already, she took up arms herself to fight for Landis.' Basch's eyes twinkled, 'I have heard it said that she marched with Raithwall's armies and was there upon the founding of Dalmasca.'

'Wow,' Vaan breathed appreciatively. Penelo plonked her elbows onto the silkily polished table top and cupped her chin in her hands, leaning forward to listen with eyes bright.

'When, as wars do, this ancient conflict ended,' Basch continued warming to his story telling despite his previous protestations of inadequacy, 'This great warrior woman returned to her village a hero. She became a tribal chief, for in that time Landis was formed of many different tribes, and so great her fame for combat and fair rule did spread that many lesser tribes gave her fealty as well.'

'Indeed?' Larsa was now intrigued his brows contracting in thought, quick mind racing. 'This tale sounds much like the true history of the warrior queen Ista-bar-Badya, of the Incini tribe.' Larsa took pains to pronounce the ancient words correctly.

'I remember that the Incini were rivals with the Anches tribe, the ancient progenitors of modern day Archadia.' Larsa paused, 'At least that is what modern historical thinking would claim in Archades.'

Fran arched an eyebrow, 'Myth oft has basis in truth.'

'Aye,' Basch rumbled his agreement, he smiled at Larsa briefly, 'Whether this great warrior was Ista-bar-Badya or not, I am not able to say. I know that the warrior queen's tribe became the target of another tribe from across the great river of Saraches; the river that now winds a path through Landis and Archadia both.'

'So did this Ista…..whatever fight with the Archadians?' Vaan asked conveniently muddling myth, history, and present together in one simple question. Larsa winced delicately and Penelo rolled her eyes in despair of her friend. Basch suppressed a smile and cleared his throat.

'Aye, and many times; Landis' warrior queen and the forces of the rival tribe were evenly matched. They might have spent many decades fighting each other had it not so happened that the rival king summoned a great and canny man to his service,' Basch explained sagely before his expression darkened.

'It was this man who would bring down the Landis queen.'

702 O.V: The hills above Cahahouli Bay

Balthier was feeling rather pleased with himself, all things considered, as he wandered down the tumbling hill roads towards the lights of the bay. He whistled a jaunty tune between his teeth as he swung the Landis Phoenix from his still bloody right hand.

It would seem that his fortunes were finally turning and he anticipated that his life would be considerably less stressful from here-on-in. Remus would owe him for providing the revenue from his own bounty and Ruthy was unlikely to show her face for some time. Nylous could be placated easily enough with some clever word play to convince the man that creating a permanent schism between Remus and Ruthy was a necessary step on the path towards assassination, and not in fact a way to avoid it.

Balthier smiled, yes, indeed his prospects were looking up. His father would give up on him and he would be free to live his life out of that man's shadow. Perhaps, just perhaps, Balthier might even persuade Remus to teach how to pilot an airship?

He might even manage to see his Strahl again.

It was into this happy introspection that a purring voice intruded, 'M' young sir, a word wit' you?'

Balthier's heart rammed into the roof of his throat in total shock and he twisted in a taut predator's crouch, almost dizzy with surprise and alarm. From the trees, bushes, and materialising from the bloody darkness itself, a number of highly sinister figures, humes, bangaas and seeqs, appeared and surrounded him on the road. Mary-Belle sat on a tree stump, a clump of fungal mushrooms blooming by her feet, and took a long toke from her pipe.

Oh bugger, Balthier thought with some passion. He had forgotten all about Mary-Belle and her brigade of murderous adherents; so much for that bright future.

Somehow a smile found its way to his face regardless, 'Mistress Mary-Belle, what brings you out on this quiet night?' he gave the woman a shallow bow trying to grow eyes out of the back of his head to keep watch for knives to the back.

Mary-Belle regarded him with jaundiced eyes from a miasma of drifting pipe smoke. 'We 'ad a deal, young sir,' she said.

Bugger, bugger, buggering hell; Balthier affected a look of grave solemnity and nodded gravely even as cold sweat crawled down his spine, 'Indeed we did, madam. I am most grieved to find you and your crew in dereliction of your word.'

There was a general shifting of murderous intent from all angles as Mary-Belle's crew reacted to his words. Mary-Belle in contrast merely smiled, flashing bad teeth in the gloom. She tapped out the spent tobacco from her pipe and pinched out some more from a battered tin case the size of a child's palm withdrawn from the tight enclosure of her décolletage.

'We be 'ere to rescue you, as you ask o' us, Bal't'ier. How dat be in dereliction of our bargain?'

Balthier's nose itched as she lit her pipe and he had a strange moment of disconnection to wonder what smoking weed tasted like. He had never tried it and pondered whether or not, should he live, it was worth it to try a pipe himself; he'd heard it rotted the teeth and the lungs after all. Of course he was likely about to die horribly any moment now so his previous line of thought was most assuredly redundant. He would not have the luxury of time to rot his teeth and lungs.

'It is true, madam,' Balthier agreed calmly, 'That you are here now, but alas, as you can see, I do not now need rescuing. Thus any agreement we had is null and void. You were not present when a rescue was needed so I was forced to employ other means.'

Mary-Belle sucked in a double lungful of her smoking weed and pulled the ivory pipe from between her lips. She shifted on her perch upon the tree stump, her mouldering petticoats rustling like the discarded skins of serpents; dry as old tombs.

'An' de Gil you offer to me firs' you den grant to de pirate Remus,' she pushed the pipe back between her lips, yellow and black teeth champing down hard upon the end, 'You are foresworn firs'.'

Quite abruptly Balthier lost patience with all these games. He sighed and pulled at his one remaining shirt cuff, horribly aware of the fraying mess of his right shirt sleeve. He was going to die in a horrible state of dress and it was all so completely pointless, really.

'Madam, are you to kill me?' He asked simply.

Mary-Belle chuckled sounding like an asthmatic but contented couerl, 'Yes, I do t'ink dat I will.'

Balthier merely nodded. One step forward, two steps backward. It would seem he was damned to spend the remainder of his life (all thirty seconds of it) caught in a constant bind of intrigue and treachery. He was almost glad to be shuffling off this damnable mortal coil if this was all life promised.

'Very well, madam. We could argue who is oath breaker and who is not until the chocobos come home, but frankly I have had quite a hectic day already and have not the energy for such lively debate.' He glanced at the woman curiously, 'I wonder though, before you have one of your men murder me, if I could possibly try your pipe?'

707 O.V: Aboard the Ifrit en route to Landia

Basch frowned in thought before resuming his narrative, 'I have heard it said that the man the enemy king summoned was called "the whistler" because he could call the wind and the rain and the rising of the sun and moon to his whim.'

Basch smiled faintly, 'Sometimes he is called in tales the trickster and the laughing man; he was said to be of great charm and devious wits and he bargained with the king of the rival tribe that he could bring down the queen of the Landis peoples without the need for more bloodshed and loss of life.'

Fran cocked her head to the side, 'Such a man sounds familiar,' she murmured almost dryly and Basch actually chuckled.

'Aye, Balthier has much of the laughing man in him.'

'What happened with the queen and the laughing man, Basch?' Penelo asked forgetting pretence of dead brothers in her state of rapt attention.

'The laughing man came to the queen's tribe as a representative of the rival king. He claimed to want to broker peace, but not trusting him, our warrior queen had the laughing man imprisoned.'

Penelo's eyes widened and Vaan frowned; both children involved completely in this story. Anna's scribbling created a scratchy melody to accompany Basch's tale. Larsa spoke up curiously, 'One assumes that the laughing man was ready for this reaction and had contingency plans?'

Basch nodded, 'They say that on the first day the laughing man whistled a merry tune that summoned the birds from the trees, on the second day he summoned rain clouds to drench the village and on the third day ice to freeze the well; on the fourth day he made it night at day and day at night and on the fifth day the queen summoned him before her.'

'What did she do?' Penelo was fascinated.

Basch smiled, 'All in the village were much moved by this display of power, not least the queen. She told the laughing man that she would consider an alliance and marriage with the rival king if the laughing man would tell her how he came by command of the sun and moon, and to summon the birds from the trees.'

'Really?' Penelo was leaning forward even more over the table top, 'What did the laughing man say?'

'He told the queen that she did not really want to learn all his tricks: "for to do so is to be as the sky, the dancing winds, and the inconstant moon." Basch began to quote as he remembered the line spoken from his youth, "I am free and bound by no one; I am the sky walker and the traveller, to follow in my footsteps is to become as the wind in the trees."

Fran's ears twitched, '"Sky walker and traveller"?' she murmured almost sadly, sensing now a twisted perfection in Balthier's fate; for who better to the title of sky walker and traveller than her partner?

'What did the queen do?' Vaan asked curiously. 'I mean if it was Ashe she'd lock the laughing man back up until he agreed to do what she wanted.'

Basch's smile grew slightly larger, 'And that is what our queen in the story did as well, and every day she would come to his cell and demand his secrets. She insisted that she was prepared to pay the price for his great powers. Thusly, with secret smile, or so it was told me, the laughing man agreed.'

'That's what he wanted all along, right?' Penelo spoke up, 'To make the queen so desperate for his secrets that she'd take risks and not pay attention.'

Basch nodded, 'True enough. The tale goes that the queen became enraptured by the laughing man and would follow him hither and thither all over the land. She neglected her people, neglected her realm, and slowly the rival king's forces began to take territory from the queen without her notice.'

'Oh dear,' Penelo breathed out, 'She fell in love with the laughing man, didn't she? This queen I mean.'

'Aye,' Basch nodded sagely, 'So the tale goes. Eventually she returned to her tribe only for them to turn on her, blaming her for failing them as the tribe was now under the dominion of the rival king.'

'What did the tribe do to her?' Vaan asked grimly already suspecting that this fable did not have a happy ending.

'She was imprisoned and sentenced to burning upon the stake.' Basch said simply. Penelo clapped a hand over her mouth in shock.

702 O.V: The hills of Cahahouli Bay

Mary-Belle blinked at him and pulled the pipe from her lips, smoke rolling out from her nostrils to float on the balmy night air like the mythical fumes from the equally mythical greater wyrms breath of flame. 'M' pipe, you wish t'smoke of m' pipe?'

Balthier nodded and smiled, 'I've never tried you see and I would hate to die without at least knowing if I am missing out on something.'

There was a heartbeat of silence so complete that it seemed deafening, Balthier waited oddly calm now that death seemed nothing more than a dull inevitability. He might even find eternal rest a pleasant change of pace from the constant strife of his life.

After a moment however he became bored of the penetrating silence. He sighed casually and plucked at his one remaining sleeve, 'I'll take that as a no then, hmm? I suppose a lady's pipe is a rather personal thing?' He smiled politely.

Mary-Belle's yellowed eyes shifted flickering to the Landis Phoenix he held in his hand. She tapped her long nailed fingers against the hub of her pipe, 'You 'ave de Phoenix, young sir.'

Balthier blinked and hefted the ornament, having almost forgotten he held it.

'Ah, yes, about that….' He began wondering if it was worth trying to explain, or even better, attempting to bargain his continued existence by using the Phoenix as leverage. In the end fatigue decided him and with a sigh he simply held the ornament out to her.

'For you madam, you have paid for her after all.' Balthier paused a moment having caught the scent of backstabbing in the wind, 'I assume Remus has already collected what is owed for her delivery, hmm?'

Interestingly Mary-Belle did not answer and her pack of trained killers were so still and watchful they seemed to Balthier as no more than a piece of the night. So much so that he had trouble remember to be wary of their presence. He was so tired he just wanted to find a warm dry place to lay his down and sleep. Right that moment he did not care if he never woke again.

Mary-Belle's worn ivory regard flicked from his face to the Phoenix and back again, 'She 'elp you escape, no? De Phoenix speak to you, yes?'

Balthier stared, 'Speak to me?'

Mary-Belle smiled cagily, 'Ah, so she no' speak to you yet…..or mebbe, you merely no' hear her?' Something keen and sly flittered through the woman's eyes, and, quick as a striking Tchita serpent, she sprang to her feet and closed her two be-ringed hands over his as it clasped the Phoenix.

'So young a slip o' manhood, you be. You not yet ripe for her, I wager.' Mary-Belle purred darkly amused.

Balthier tried not to show how tense he was as Mary-Belle caressed his hand, taking hold of his arm and running her long, dirty nail over the scabbed over knife cut running length-wise up his forearm. He hissed in a breath as she opened the cut once again and dabbed a finger into his hot blood.

'Mm,' her pink tongue flicked out to lap at his blood on her nails, 'I taste quicksilver in you veins, chile, but no' yet potent enough. You lack de wings to please her dat is in chains of ashes still, but me t'ink dat should I strike you down, her dat is power beyond power, would raise you up again.'

Balthier found that his mind was shutting down and he could not follow any of what this woman said, 'Madam I do not understand you.'

Mary-Belle smiled, 'I know it well, me young laug'ing man.' she plucked his fingers away from the statuette of the Landis Phoenix, 'You see now, how I part you? Were you ready for her, chile, she woul' strike me dead 'ad I tried it.'

Balthier supposed that his expression of total confusion spoke eloquently enough without the need for words. He shook his head dumb-founded wondering who this "she" was that Mary-Belle referred to.

'Madam?'

Balthier spoke up as Mary-Belle took the Phoenix into the cradle of her arms like one might hold a babe and began cooing to the statuette in a language he did not recognise and certainly could not comprehend. 'Madam, I ask again: are you to kill me?'

Mary-Belle confused him (and probably most of her crew as well) with her next words. She looked up at him and smiled crookedly, 'No, I t'ink no.'

She waved the hand loosely holding her pipe, 'Dere be Gil enough to be foun' in marks wit'out de paltry t'ousands you carcass woul' bring me.' She set the pipe back between her teeth, 'I t'ink you be o' more wort' if'n you be allowed to grow, m' young quicksilver boy, den Gil alone can bring.'

Balthier felt his eyebrows fly up his brow, 'You do?' he asked without thinking, 'Um, by that I mean, of course I am.' He amended hastily and was rather grateful that Mary-Belle appeared to be ignoring him completely anyway.

'I taste in your blood, m' young massuh Balt'ier, de will to drag down prince's in blood an' fire, an dance in spite o' deat' across oceans o' sky.' She murmured through mumbling lips in the manner of seers of ancient past. Her yellowed eyes watched him shrewdly.

'To shoot down de shootin' star now an' feed you to de cold clutches o' clammy deat' before you 'as ascended de skies is blasphemy to dem ole, an' vicious gods dat I do serve.'

Balthier felt some clarification was needed, 'So you are saying that you will not, in fact, be killing me this night?'

'Dat right,' Mary-Belle's hand darted forward and she rather painfully tweaked the end of his nose, making Balthier shy back like an untamed Nabradian war horse. He frowned at the indignity; killing him was one thing but treating him like a child was quite another.

'Am I to assume I now owe something for your beneficence?' he grumbled rubbing the tip of his nose peevishly.

Mary-Belle chuckled and went back to fondling the hard cold statuette in the crook of her elbow. Balthier thought he heard the cooing of a bird for a moment before the assassin spoke again.

'Not I, m' young sir, dis debt be not owing to me, but to her dat is ever in waitin' for him dat took all from her.'

Mary-Belle's horrid teeth flashed under the pallid moonlight as dawn threatened upon the horizon out to sea, 'De women scorned be a force in dis Ivalice more terrible den you men can ever be knowin' truly. I shall not take de rightful prey from de lady now she claim you.'

Balthier tried to think of something to say. He tried to ponder all this out and found he could think of nothing at all of any relevance; his mind was a buzzing blank slate and he longed for his hammock in the engine room of the Antarii with a near physical ache. He blinked dazedly and found himself hoping someone would have some form of instruction for him as he was at a loss for what to do now.

'Go home t' you bed Balt'ier.' Mary-Belle looked at him with something approaching indulgent amusement, 'In time to come call on me you shall, an' deals be brokered betwixt us den dat make dese broken bargains, as ashes on de wind,' she chuckled as if amused by some secret joke and petted the Phoenix.

Balthier felt like a man drowning in subtext he did not understand. He cautiously took a few unsteady, leaden, steps upon the road leading back to the town, his shoulders twitching in expectation of a knife to the kidneys that never came.

Ten feet from where Mary-Belle and her shadowed killers watched his every footfall Balthier turned back, a thought finally forming in his mind and reaching his lips.

'The Phoenix,' he called back to Mary-Belle, 'What is it really?'

Mary-Belle's laughter, dry and rasping, slithered over the night air to him, 'Ah m' laughing chile, you don' wan' to ever find out.'

There came a cry like an eagle's keening and Balthier jerked his head up skywards only to see nothing but the dwindling stars upon a dawn ravaged sky. Of course, he thought ruefully, he should know that birds do not fly at night. He looked back up the slope of the hill to find no sign of Mary-Belle or any of her crew – the road completely deserted.

Balthier shivered in the pre-dawn breeze and shook his head as to clear it of foolish superstitions and fanciful notions of sentient mantle ornaments and phantom eagle cries.

'Enough of this nonsense, I have better things to do.'

Turning on his heels the youth Balthier took to running all the way back to the town. He did not look back, despite the creeping of the flesh of his scalp and the stinging of the cut upon his arm. Only when he approached the bronze and gold hulk of the Antarii and the dubious safety of Remus' domain did Balthier stop to glance up, just once, at the dawn pinked sky.

A shooting star, fast as lightning and blazing across the sky, seared by his sights; he tracked the trailblazing light until it crashed down beyond the horizon behind the jagged mountains beyond Cahahouli Bay.

Balthier repressed another harsh shudder. He did not know why, but that one showering comet streaking by the staid and stationary stars, seemed a very bad omen to him indeed.

707 O.V: aboard the Ifrit en route to Landia

'What did the queen do then?' Penelo whispered her question to Basch, horrified on behalf of a possibly fictional character from an old Landissian fable. 'Did she fight the tribe? Did she try to run away?'

'No,' Basch said, 'The Landis queen knew that she was guilty of neglecting her duty and thus surrendered unto the just punishment that her people had prescribed.'

'Burning does not seem very just to me,' Penelo muttered, 'She fell in love, she didn't hurt anyone.'

Basch arched an eyebrow ironically at this naïve and romantic argument but all he did was shrug in grating armour and continued his tale.

'On the night before the queen's execution the laughing man did appear to her as if from thin air.'

'Oh,' Penelo instantly brightened, 'And he rescued her, right?'

Basch shook his head almost reproachfully, 'Nothing of the sort. Instead the laughing man reminded the fallen queen that he had warned her that to follow him was to give up all she had. Still, he claimed that she knew enough of his tricks now that she could disappear upon the wind should she wish to, and ne'er need to burn.'

'The queen refused, did she not?' Larsa too was solemn as the story moved towards its sad conclusion.

'Aye,' Basch nodded once again, 'the laughing man, while capricious as the changing seasons, was not without pity. He told her that even as she burned if she reached for the sky he would come to her and carry her ashes upon the winds for ever more. She would have her wish of being one with the sky.'

'Did that happen?' Penelo asked, 'Did the laughing man keep his word?'

Basch sighed, 'It matters not, for things did not fall out as either expected. The wise men of the village suspected the queen might use her ill-gotten magicks to escape and erected a walled and covered chamber with which to build the pyre; as the fallen queen burned she was cut off from wind and sky.'

Penelo's eyes were wide, 'That's horrible. What happened then?'

Basch shrugged, 'The tale varies; some say that it was the rival king who collected the fallen queen's ashes and placed them inside the statuette he forged. Others say that in remorse the tribal elders of Landis crafted the Landis Phoenix to house their queen's ashes so that she might rise again in glory.'

Basch shrugged his armoured shoulders, 'I have also heard tell that it was the laughing man himself who fashioned the object as a curse on Landis, warning the men of my country that if they did not honour and keep the Phoenix as the treasure she was, he would see that the sun upon Landis would ne'er rise again.'

Larsa was thoughtful for a moment, 'There is some caveat to this tale, is there not; something pertinent to Balthier's situation?' He looked keenly at Basch who shifted his stance once again, nervously.

'Aye, the tale says that the queen in the Phoenix yearns not for freedom, vengeance, or even the sky, but for he who was the means of her downfall: the laughing man.'

Basch's grave regard washed over each person in the room, 'It is said that she seeks any man with the quicksilver spirit of the laughing man to be her consort.'

Penelo's lips formed a perfect 'o' and her eyes darted towards Fran, 'Oh…..oh, that's not good.'

Basch cleared his throat, 'In years gone by, dark days of Landis' long faded past, young men were sometimes sacrificed to the statue; their blood, youth, and spirit surrendered to appease the longing heart of the Phoenix.'

The silence which met Basch's words was complete; even Anna's pencil stilled its manic run across the page. Fran's ears twitched once, twice, thrice. Vaan leapt from his chair and turned to stare at her.

'We have to go back!' he jerked an arm in wide swung gesture. 'Balthier's in trouble and we have to save him.'

Larsa turned to face Basch, 'How would we go about such an action?' He asked keenly, 'If the Phoenix has fixed on Balthier as the embodiment of this laughing man, how do we break her hold on him?'

Basch pursed his lips and his eyes sought Fran above any other, 'I know not,' he shook his head ruefully, 'Until today I had thought the tale nothing but fancy.' He hesitated, eyes filled with warning, 'The tale states that the Phoenix is always death to any young man she comes to cherish. It is said that the knife is the only freedom from her yearning clutches.'

Fran met and held Basch's sorrowful eyes for three, four, and five heartbeats of time and then, without a word, she pivoted smooth as a dancer upon her heels, and left the room, Vaan and Penelo swift behind her.

'We'll take the Galbana,' Vaan jogged to keep up with her, 'I don't care what Basch says, we'll save Balthier.' Penelo chimed in her agreement but Fran did not speak a word.

She found herself wondering, had she condemned Balthier to his fate already by leaving him to fight alone?

707 O.V: The moors of Mara – Landis

Sweat, acidic and burning, fell into his squinted eyes and the stench of glossair oil and burning wiring filled his nostrils with acrid dark and billowing smoke. Balthier coughed and choked and covered his mouth and nose with his arm. Blind and staggering he stumbled away from the engine room.

He held the Deathbringer sword Fran had acquired for him many moons ago in one hand and stumbled through the main passageway of the Strahl, banging his shoulder against the wall as he struggled dizzily onward to the cockpit of his ship. The Phoenix screamed and screamed within his mind; driven to frenzy by his actions.

No….my host, no! I forbid this; I forbid it! Do not do this, my mortal. Do not do this! To you I will return the Viera, but do not do this – I beg of you.

Lurid writhing tongues of phosphor orange and jagged black danced against the walls of the Strahl's main gangway, rising up with the thick and noxious smoke that ghosted up from the engine room. The scent of fire burned his sinuses even here in the cockpit.

Balthier lurched forward, stumbling for balance against the back of his pilot's chair. Nose gushing blood from both nostrils as the Phoenix dug her talons deep into the contours and recesses of his mind, he fumbled to activate the control console of the Strahl. He pulled the lever to supply power to the shattered engines and was almost brutally satisfied when the Strahl lurched in grounded dock and released a mechanical wail that filled the valley from end to end.

No! Stop this, my mortal – you clip your wings!

Balthier fell silently to his knees as the Phoenix struck back at him. Blinding points of agony ignited behind his eyes; stripping him of sight. He fell back onto the hard floor of the cockpit as waves of biting pain stole feeling from his limbs. He opened his mouth on a desperate breath of air as the Phoenix's ethereal talons clenched his ribs together and flattened his lungs. His heart, already haemorrhaging hope from both chambers, was now fit to burst with the pressure, but Balthier would not surrender.

He would fight against the eagle's cries even if he must destroy everything he lived for to do it.

Dragging himself to his feet he spat great gouts of dark blood from between his teeth to splatter over the lighted console of the Strahl's flight controls. He set the commands and once again the Strahl cried out in pain under the stabbing of his fingers. Commands set the Strahl disconnected left and right ventrilated wing support joints and Balthier heard the deep groan as the Strahl's wings, onto the shaggy moor, did fall.

The Strahl, one of his two only great loves, was now crippled by his own hand. She would not fly again any time soon.

Rearing back with a savage cry of his own, Balthier thrust the vicious tip of the Deathbringer down into the mesh of controls and levers of the console and watched the sparks fly, even as the Phoenix tried to squeeze the life from him. Again and again he slashed and stabbed and rendered his ship, his treasure, his home, to pieces.

He could not free himself of the Phoenix that had already cost him Fran. He could not fight her influence and he could not make her leave. Therefore, as it seemed to please her that he fly, he would rip his own wings apart to spite her. He would make sure that never again would he ever fly.

As the flames from the engine room began to lick black scorches up and along the metal walls of the Strahl's main corridor and the smoke proved nigh near fatal Balthier half fell and half threw himself out of the exit hatch and onto the blade sharp grasses of the moor.

Kneeling in the tall grasses, which hissed like laughing serpents, he watched the red tipped thick and noxious smoke rise from the Strahl's shattered carcass towards the sun. He watched for a very long time; his blood dripping into the Landis soil. Balthier ignored the screaming of the Phoenix in her impudent rage as a single salt tear from his eye fell to mingle with his blood. It was the first tear he had ever shed; it might well be his last.

Somewhere, Balthier was sure, the stars were falling.