Author's Note: Uh… exams, papers, finals, holidays, classes starting again, personal and family drama, medical mishaps, and pure laziness, and that is why this chapter is, what, almost two months late? I actually had to resort to Write or Die for this chapter.
There were a ton of fantastic reviews on the last chapter, and I'd love to reply to each of them individually (especially the people who said they loved me. I love you, too.), but it's 10:27 on Tuesday night as I'm writing this, and I need to get to bed and I'd really like to get this posted on a Tuesday. So I'll just give an umbrella thank you, and to those of you who are new: Welcome to the fic, and there aren't usually month-long breaks between chapters, I swear. I'm usually pretty good at getting updates done on time, really!
As a note, um, my Word seems to have decided Spell Check is unimportant and no longer needs to work. I glanced over it in Firefox, so hopefully I caught everything, but if not, I'm sorry. On with the late chapter!
Origins
By LeFox
Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Gears Turn
Time held no meaning. How long was he there, slashing viciously at strangers as they tried to run away? It felt like hours, but it couldn't have been more than perhaps five minutes. There wasn't enough carnage for it to be any longer. Jalen was aware of voices calling his name, urgently, but they seemed too far away to be important. He didn't even remember why he was fighting anymore, only that he was, and he had to keep going. He hadn't yet found his target. He barely even remembered what his target was. But he knew.
He knew.
Taharka.
There was no reason to believe Taharka was among the men he was killing; Jalen knew the cultist had retreated into his silent airship, and if he'd come back out, surely Jalen would've noticed. Every inch of him had been infused with the desire to do nothing but kill Taharka. He thought he could almost feel the bastard's presence on his airship, like a beacon through the killing field. Gotta get there, whispered the power sparking over his skin. Gotta get there. Gotta kill Taharka. A smaller, quieter, but no less persistent voice murmured, Gotta get Elisi's soul back. Was such a thing even possible? Could a stolen soul be restored?
And somewhere else, somewhere far away and outside of Jalen's ring of red death, there were other voices. Jalen couldn't quite figure out what they were screaming, only that they sounded urgent. Important. Familiar.
No time for that now. He had a ship to reach.
For soldiers, the cultists put up a pathetic fight. After the initial shock of a glowing thing tearing in their direction, a few men dared to test their swords against Jalen's stolen dagger, but whatever force was fueling the mercenary's rage served to fuel his strength, as well. When the dagger finally broke, he took up the sword of a dead soldier. Man after man fell, and some simply chose to flee back into their ship and seal the entrance. Those trapped outside either died or tried to swim away; Jalen let the swimmers go and ignored those within the ship. They weren't likely to survive long, at any rate. He turned his attention to the grounded Invincible. He had to get inside. Taharka was inside. Gotta kill Taharka. How was he supposed to get inside? What if Taharka took off as he was trying to get in; what if he couldn't figure out how to land the ship; what if-
A moment of clarity struck him suddenly, and shattered the rage he'd built up. The power drained out of him like blood from an open wound, and Jalen sank heavily to his knees. Everything hurt. His limbs were heavy and blood-drenched; how much of it was his, and how much was from his victims? Probably more of it belonged to him than he'd like to admit. There were gashes everywhere, places where the soldiers had landed their blows before he'd landed his. Bad gashes. Deep gashes. I'm gonna die. The thought was strangely comforting. Jalen stared at the Invincible, gleaming menacingly in the morning light. His heart ached more painfully than any of his wounds, like a stabbing, twisting blade buried deep in his soul.
But he'd kissed her. If nothing else, if absolutely nothing else, he had kissed her. She'd known, however briefly, that he loved her. And she didn't die alone. It was more than could be said for him. Jalen's vision went hazy around the edges. Kuja would've killed me anyway, he thought, and the thought made him smile. It hurt to smile. It hurt to think of how Kuja would feel when he learned – if he learned – what had happened. But he already thinks we're dead. Perhaps that was for the best. Drowning was better than…
…than whatever Taharka had done to Elisi. Ripped her soul out. Was going to use her soul to kill the people she loved. A fate worse than death.
Not if he had anything to say about it. Ignoring his body's agonized protests, Jalen pulled himself back to his feet. He swayed uncertainly for a moment, before retrieving the discarded sword. If he could kill Taharka here, then-
"You idiot!" Before Jalen could so much as lift his blade, Maliris was there, wrenching it out of his unresisting hand. Jalen stared at her, baffled, and in typical Maliris fashion, she punched him. The punch should have meant something; it should have hurt, but Jalen hit the ground feeling nothing. Maliris and Lich stood over him – she looked livid, of course, though her eyes looked raw; he wore an expression of hollow pity. They know, the mercenary realized. "You'll never survive the walk there, never mind the battle," Maliris snapped, stabbing Jalen's sword into the sandy earth. "What is it you think you can accomplish, you-"
"Enough, Maliris." Lich cut her off, turning to face the mountains, turning his back on the airship before them. "We're finished here. We should return to Kiera before Taharka leaves the ground. They must be warned."
She nodded, but hesitated. "You don't think something should be done about his wounds first?" She gestured to Jalen, who had slipped into unconsciousness. "Neirin asked us to bring this fool back, too."
Lich didn't look at her. "We didn't find Elisi here." He began walking. "Nor could we have possibly found Jalen. May they rest in peace." He glanced over his shoulder as Maliris began, however reluctantly, to follow. "Wherever they may be."
xxx
When at last he was released to sleep, Kuja found he couldn't do it – his mind protested against his body's exhaustion, and he rolled back out of bed. It was late morning, anyhow; he wasn't likely to get any kind of restful sleep before he was needed again. Just stay out of the king's way, he'd been instructed. By Vehtra, of course; Neirin hadn't accused him of being in the way for quite some time, and wasn't likely to do it again any time soon. Still, it was in everyone's best interest if he simply stayed out of the way for the day. There wasn't a great deal for him to do in the way of help. He was no mage, and today was supposed to be spent summoning up the Valia Pira and the shadow army. No good I can do there. Worst of all, he could hardly spend the day in the library, as much of the preparation and research required in Neirin's work was to be done there.
Kuja was not very good at being idle.
I could explore the city, he realized, perking up. The thought excited him for a moment – after all, Kiera was a safe place for the time being; it had withstood one attack from Taharka, and it could easily withstand another long enough for Kuja to make it back to the Palace. And it had been quite a while since he'd last been able to really explore freely; he'd spent so much time on the run, he could scarcely remember the "adventures" he used to have in the forests around Bran Bal. And come to think of it, this wasn't the sort of adventure he'd always wanted, either. He wondered if Neirin ever regretted bringing him along.
He wondered if he regretted coming along, himself.
Shoving the thought to the back of his mind, Kuja finally gave up and left the room. After all, if everyone else had to be up and about today, so should he. Kuja yawned, beginning what he could only assume was going to be a day-long exploration of the entire city of Kiera. Somehow, it seemed less exciting than it had when he was rolling out of bed; now, it just sounded exhausting and not a little boring. Solitary exploration had been fun when he was a child, but now...
"Haven't seen you in a while." Kuja might not have heard the voice at all, had he not almost walked into Kraken. At least, he thought it was Kraken. Her voice sounded raw and painful, as if she hadn't used it in days. She hasn't, Kuja realized. She'd been holed up in her room for the past few days; even Neirin had commented on it. Tiamat had been equally scarce, spending a great deal of his time with her, and with Maliris and Lich missing as well and Neirin, Vehtra, and a few servants sealed up in the library, the Desert Palace had fallen eerily silent over the past few hours.
At his stunned stare, Kraken merely laughed. "I know, I'm a sight for sore eyes." She sighed, rubbing at the bags below her dark eyes. "And speaking of sore eyes, I need to get out in the light more often, eh?"
"Oh," Kuja managed, then tried again. "It's good to... see you again." He shifted a bit uncomfortably; of all of the guardians, he knew Kraken the least. He knew she had been close with Elisi, but-
Elisi.
Had Tiamat told Kraken that the cultists had Elisi? Was that why she was finally venturing out of her room after all this time?
If it was, she gave no indication. "Thought it was about time I stopped pouting and started acting like a guardian again." She smiled, but it cracked around the edges. "It's... well. It's been hard. You know that, don't you?" She knelt, reaching his eye level. Kuja tried his hardest not to look away, though she looked pale and sick and exhausted. "It's been hard on all of us. This whole journey."
"It has," he agreed, and she nodded. Feeling obligated to say more, he pressed on. "But we have to keep going," he added. "Right?"
With a small, weary laugh, Kraken stood. "Keep going 'til we don't have the legs to do it anymore." After a moment, she looked around, as if suddenly realizing how silent the building was. "Quieter than I remember." She glanced down at him. "Did anything important happen while I was playing the grieving fool?"
What was he allowed to tell her? "What... hasn't Tiamat been telling you anything?" Don't tell me he's kept everything quiet. Please don't tell me he's kept everything quiet.
"I hear Maliris and Lich went to spy on the building across the mountains." She shrugged. "Beyond that, all he's said is, 'Neirin hasn't gotten his damn self killed yet,' which I suppose is about as useful as anything."
Spying. That was a fair excuse, Kuja supposed, and he made a note to remember it so as not to complicate things later. When they brought Elisi back, Kraken could be happily surprised, and they could just say they'd found her there. And if they didn't find her... if they didn't... but they had to, didn't they? Who else could it possibly be, if not Elisi and Jalen? Elisi was too important to die. Besides, she and Kuja were supposed to put Neirin back on the throne, just like she said.
Kraken snapped her fingers in his face. "Oy. Has anything else happened? Where is everyone?" Her eyes narrowed, and Kuja flinched without knowing why. "I can't say as I've ever seen you more than a stone's throw from Neirin, Kuja. Where's the king?"
He told her, as briefly as he possibly could, about everything that had happened. About the bloodstones and Neirin's determination to make one before the entire court of the Thief King ("I'd have thrown the thing at him," Kraken commented), and their use in the creation of the Valia Pira guardians which were to serve as a last stand against Taharka's army, should they make it into the palace. About the shadow army, crafted entirely from magic, meant to stand behind the walls of Kiera to slaughter any of Taharka's men who managed to escape the main army in front of the walls. About their walk on the walls that morning, when Vehtra had promised some sort of assistance would come from the desert itself, though he wouldn't say what that assistance would be. You concentrate on your magical army. I'll concentrate on my city.
She listened, taking it all in, nodding occasionally. Mourning or not, she was a warrior, and she was clearly thrilled at the prospect of a real battle. "I wonder if Vehtra will want the four of us on the front lines," she mused, as the two of them began to walk together down the long hallway. "Or if we'll be delegated to standing guard for Neirin. As always." She peered down at him, smirking conspiratorially. "Not that I mind. I'd be a poor sort of guardian if I did. It's just that it'd be nice to just fight and forget..." Kraken fell silent for a moment.
"Everything?"
She considered it. "Yeah," she agreed. "Everything."
xxx
When the world outside had dissolved suddenly into screams of terror, Taharka had moved to the top deck. There, he watched the massacre of his army with an apathy that almost terrified him. At the center of the chaos was Jalen – even concealed beneath the angry red-hot glow, the mercenary was easy to recognize, as was the way he fought. Taharka wondered if the man even recognized what had happened to him, or if he was simply lost to his blind rage; either seemed likely. The explosion of power, the sudden expansion of the soul and enhancement of the body: they were legendary, said to be possible only when the soul had reached its limits. Taharka never would have suspected Jalen of all people to be capable of such a feat.
No matter. He would be dead soon enough. Even at this distance and this height, Taharka saw the wounds Jalen took. A pity. Now that he considered it, it may have been worth the trouble to take the mercenary back to Pandemonium and give him a more pliant soul. He'd not yet tried it on organisms other than Genomes. It would have made for a fine experiment.
Too late now.
Taharka turned away as the battle drew to its inevitable close. A part of him, the illogical part, was terrified that perhaps Jalen would make his way to the Invincible, fight his way to the deck, and…
But no. Intelligence won out, and Taharka knew Jalen would die before he made it this far, and wouldn't be strong enough to pose any threat if he did manage it. It was time to turn his attention back to discovering what had gone wrong with the Invincible. There were no soldiers waiting outside now to hear of his failure; there was no longer any reason to accept defeat. Better to find what had gone wrong. Better to realize his mistakes now. Better to conclude the work on the failed Invincible than to begin the new in haste. His builders would wonder what had happened, if Jalen hadn't killed them as well – Taharka couldn't find it in himself to be concerned; the builders could be easily replaced at this stage – but he owed them no explanation, and they would demand none. Perhaps it was for the best that his soldiers were dead. They, too, could be replaced.
It was at that moment that the ship beneath him began to awaken.
The gears were slow to turn, but they turned all the same. The polished wood and metal groaned as if in fear, and as the heavy propellers overhead began to spin, they let out a creak that sounded entirely too much like a scream. Energy connections fueled by ancient technology sparked and ran along their metallic pathways, fleeing from invisible and intangible threats. At the heart of all of the machinery, the red crystal disk pulsed, growing steadily redder and redder, as if drinking its fill of the energy around it.
I require no master. The presence of the cultist was a problem. Especially not this master. He was flawed, deeply flawed. There were faultlines in his soul that were impossible to mend. He was fit to be the master of nothing. And the binding, choking stone he wore about his neck was a floodgate to all that Ark was capable of: even as Ark drank deep of the flood of souls released in the bloodshed outside, even as its mechanical skeleton churned to life, that stone's influence was ever present, gnawing away at Ark's potential and power. It could strike. It could tear the world asunder. But it could do nothing so long as the cultist wore that accursed stone.
Others. There are others. People clustered about a building like ants around an anthill. Two people walking toward the distant mountains. An entire ship, nearby, filled with people. They all must die.
Ark didn't know why they had to die. Only that everything within it, everything that made it what it was, everything that gave it life and gave it a purpose, said they had to die.
The ship was the first to go. The Ark called forth as much power as it could summon, not yet enough to lift itself fully off of the ground, and fired a beam of light at the beached vessel, targeting the middle deck, where all of the men were cowering and tending to their wounds. The light ripped through the old wood, shattering and splintering the old ship. At first there were screams. And then there were none.
And Ark drank.
xxx
The process was more arduous than he had anticipated. Neirin felt himself being roused from semi-consciousness, shaken roughly and even slapped once. Irritated, he opened his eyes at last, blinking rapidly to clear his hazy vision. One of the bandits Arros had sent to assist him knelt overhead, her eyes wide and terrified. Vehtra was speaking somewhere nearby; he sounded angry, and several of the other bandits were shouting as well. In a quiet corner of the library, the three Valia Pira that Neirin had been able to create simply hovered inoffensively, silent and unconcerned.
It was an odd situation to wake up to.
"How long was I-"
Vehtra cut him off. "Entirely too long, boy," he snapped, gesturing for the bandit to get him up on his feet. Neirin managed without her help, but only barely. Vehtra sighed, shaking his head. "This is ridiculous," the old man muttered, pointing at the Valia Pira. "Three. Three, in nearly half a day, and the effort's all but killed you; how in the name of He-Who-Sees-All do you expect to summon an entire army and another dozen of these monoliths, eh?"
It was a blow to his pride. Neirin scowled. "I was under the impression," he snarled, "that I was supposed to take care of my army, and you would take care of your damn city." He gestured toward the silent guardians. "I'm holding to my end of the bargain as well as I can. I've yet to see you do much in the way of anything, old man."
"Roshan left you in our care," the female bandit insisted, fiddling restlessly with the many rings on her long, slender fingers. "If she returns to news that you've collapsed-"
"She's dealt with worse from me," Neirin replied, waving her off. Gods, but the woman was a nuisance. She'd been underfoot all morning, and when she wasn't in the way, she was seemingly incapable of closing her mouth – constantly: Roshan this, Roshan that. The young king wasn't terribly sure what Arros expected from this one; she was a poor replacement for Kuja, who at the very least knew how to stay the hell out of the way. The other four bandits were generally even worse; they were quarrelsome and seemed determined to declare that everything Neirin did was somehow incorrect or improper, yet when approached for advice, they fell suspiciously silent. Neirin was beginning to suspect Arros had inflicted these five on him as some kind of cruel joke.
Vehtra's scowl eased at last into a wry grin – if nothing else, he and Neirin shared a common loathing of the bandits – and he heaved a resigned sigh. "The boy has a point," he informed the woman, and she turned scarlet. Vehtra chuckled. "If Roshan returns to hear he's collapsed, she'll ask what idiocy he got up to this time. She's not likely to ask what idiot was responsible." His gaze slid back to Neirin. "I don't suppose I could convince you to rest."
"No." Neirin was already back to work, calling up as much power as he dared, more cautiously this time. Don't overdo it this time, he ordered himself. So much work still left to do. So many guardians left to make. Still have to create the army. Still have to… have to…
The fourth Valia Pira took shape, and Neirin collapsed a second time.
As the woman got to work trying to revive him yet again, Vehtra shook his head. "Futile," he said, to no one in particular. "It's all so gods-be-damned futile." There had to be a way to do this more efficiently. There had to be. But they didn't have the time to find it.
Author's Note: Again, this could have gone on a lot longer, but let's face it – it's been almost two months coming, and I can't in good conscience put it off much longer. The next chapter should be the conclusion of this "arc" (no pun intended), but no promises. And I will try – I mean it – to actually get it posted on time for you guys. Again, super sorry about the wait, hopefully this'll be the only time it gets that ridiculous. I have no classes on Tuesdays this semester, so I'm free to stay up ridiculously late on Monday nights. See you next week! Also: More Kuja. Really.
Additional Note: As one reviewer pointed out, yes, on the trivia page, I mentioned that I'm considering an unrelated but connected sequel. I actually have three possible stories in mind – two take place after the game (one immediately after, one several generations later), and one takes place immediately after this one ends and covers the end of Terra (eliminating the "unrelated" bit up there, obviously). None are particularly fleshed out. I'm going to play with all of them and see what happens. Maybe there'll be a sequel, maybe not. I have sequel-phobia, so don't expect too much, but on the other hand, I like the ideas I do have. We'll see. c:
