Author's Note: An update so soon? Say it ain't so!
Origins
By LeFox
Chapter Forty-Six: Further Sacrifices
Traje was a city of crystal spires and glittering pathways, a city crafted out of magework and dreams. From the castle ballroom's balcony, the young woman could see the sprawling countryside outside of the city limits stretching lush and blue-green in the afternoon sun, and within the city itself, citizens milled about in quiet contentment. Fountains added a soothing undertone: enchanted fountains, these, and they played a gentle melody along with their own simple burbling. Traje was a beautiful city, nothing like the one she'd left behind…
…and she hated it.
Kiera is better by far, she thought, her grip tightening on the balcony's elegantly carved railing. The people here were so soft, so fragile; none of them would survive a second in the desert. Most of them didn't even know how to fight. Even the soldiers here relied too much on their magic and not enough on their own skill. Did half of them even know which end of the sword to hold? She doubted it. No, these northerners were weak, pampered, and-
"Roshan?"
Beautiful. She closed her eyes, sighing. How far did she have to run before she could escape from Bellanna? It seemed the young queen could find her anywhere she went, from the stables to the castle's highest spire to the barracks. "Your Majesty." She turned, bowing. "And how is the young prince?" Rotten brat.
Bellanna's smile put the sun to shame, and Roshan could look directly at neither of them. The queen joined her at the railing, gazing over the city she adored. "His arm will mend cleanly. Evidently he was pretending to be a dragon."
Forgetting her manners, Roshan snorted. "By jumping from the stable roof?"
"Dragons fly." Bellanna smiled again, and Roshan's heart tripped over itself. The queen didn't appear to notice; as always, she was too caught up in thinking about her son, the royal headache – Roshan had been doing her best to avoid the boy. Nearly half her age and twice as reckless, he was, and that was no small feat. "This is all a plot, you see, to convince me to get him a dragon of his very own." Bellanna frowned, but there was no real concern in it; her delicate brow scarcely knotted. "And I may very well have to, at this rate."
"It never hurts to start learning to ride at a young age. Your Majesty." Adding honorifics was something she was getting steadily better at. In Kiera, where any given person could be the king the very next second, titles were scarcely observed by any but slaves.
Now that pretty brow was knotted. "Oh, but what if he falls? Dear Roshan, he's the only child I have." She bit her soft pink lip, and Roshan had to look away again, pretending to be deeply interested in a fountain far below. "That… does raise a point I've been meaning to bring up with you, though, Roshan. I know you are royalty yourself, and perhaps my asking this may seem an insult, but I wish to assure you I would not ask if-"
Royalty? Hah. Roshan didn't look up. "Your Majesty is too kind."
"You say so now." Bellanna twisted a ring on her finger, frowning. "Roshan… historically, Traje's heir apparent has always been served by four guardians – the mightiest of protectors. My grandfather was the last to be thus served, but I…" She cleared her throat, lifting her chin. "I wish to reinstate the tradition. Roshan, my dear friend, I've seen you fight."
That made her look. "Me? You want me to serve as a protector to your son?" She might have laughed.
"Yes." Bellanna took one of Roshan's hands in both of hers, squeezing tight, a fierce urgency in her eyes. "Please, say you will. Say you'll keep my Neirin safe, Roshan, please…"
How could I say no? How could I refuse you anything?
But even as she watched, the pale queen was falling, collapsing, her throat splitting open…
Maliris's eyes snapped open, taking in a strange, unfamiliar room. The sharp pain in her arm was matched only by the throbbing at the back of her skull, and her vision slid in and out of focus. There was blood on the floor; was it hers? She couldn't tell, and didn't dare move to feel for injuries. The thought alone was enough to send shards of agony screaming through her arm. Drawing shallow breaths, she tried to look around, but doing so revealed nothing: a shapeless metallic darkness was all she could make out… that, and the thrum of machinery from somewhere beneath her.
The airship. Her stomach twisted, and it had nothing to do with her injuries – she'd been captured. Did the cultist think he could torture her into revealing Neirin's location? Fat chance of that; she didn't know where he'd gone, nor how to find him. Vehtra had been the one who took them to that darkened tunnel, and only Vehtra would ever be able to find it again… and she very much doubted the old king had survived. The other one certainly hadn't.
Father. The pain of that washed over her, worse than any physical pain. I wanted to ask you about Niusha, I wanted to tell you about the north, I wanted to prove how strong I'd become – it wasn't supposed to end like this, you and I.
With the two kings of Kiera dead and the reigning Thief Queen soon to die, that made Neirin the King of Terra in truth, she supposed.
"Ah, good, you're awake." There was a sharp, angry note in the voice that she hadn't heard there before, but she recognized it all the same. The insect.
Defying pain, she lifted her head, scowling at him. "Taharka." Speaking hurt. Looking up at him hurt. She refused to show it. Instead, she found the strength to grin. If Taharka was half as angry as he looked, it meant things hadn't gone according to plan – it meant Neirin was still free. "Missing… something?"
"Don't you taunt me, viper." He looked as though he wanted to strike her but didn't dare. "Where is he? I searched that ruin from top to bottom; there's no way out save for the cavern entrance. Where is he?"
"Gone." She didn't know more than that, and that was enough. "Vehtra… saw to that."
"I should have put an end to Kiera's meddling years ago." The rage in Taharka's eyes may very well have scared her if she wasn't already certain she was dying. As it was, it only served to amuse her, which in turn only made the cultist angrier. His face contorted. "I will have Garland's vessel, if I have to raze every city on Terra to the ground, if I have to search every forest, every cave –"
She laughed despite the pain. "Catch him, maybe. Hold him? Never." There was a rebellious streak in Neirin, as there had been ever since he was a child flinging himself from stable rooftops to get his own way. Or taking in an orphan just to spite his guardians. Or fleeing his guardians in a stubborn refusal to leave the continent. Or simply refusing to give up despite everything this cultist could muster. "He will… never be truly yours… cultist." She laughed again.
"Bring an epitaph," Taharka snapped to the nearest cultist, whirling and storming out of the room. "See to it this one suffers."
But in the end, even while her body twisted and she screamed in agony, even while the Fire Mirror bound her to its will, Maliris was laughing.
xxx
Silver dragons flew swiftly and smoothly, and these had been long penned up – their wings devoured the air as if they'd been starved, beating the way northward. Kraken's hands were trembling on the harness, and she didn't dare look over her shoulder, not even when the air quaked with the sound of Kiera's destruction. She thought she might be weeping, but the wind snatched the tears out of her eyes.
Fly now, Vehtra had commanded them, once the dragons were brought out and harnessed. Fly fast and far as you can, and don't come back. If we've any luck at all, Taharka might take you for Neirin and give chase.
He hadn't. Vehtra had sworn it wouldn't matter – that Neirin was gone, gone to a place Taharka couldn't hope to reach him, but Vehtra had been wrong before. Wrong about a lot of things. Kraken stared at the horizon far ahead, but her mind was wandering, wondering. If Neirin was gone – gone from Kiera, gone from Taharka's reach – how in the world were they ever going to find him again? Where could he even go? The world was a barren, desolate place now, grown more so in the time since their arrival in Kiera.
He'd evaded Taharka's clutches, but in the end, only death awaited him.
Was that any better? Her heart was torn. As this… this Garland Taharka wished to create, Neirin would be granted immortality, albeit a mechanical immortality. Kraken still believed the man's twisted plan would only result in death and failure, but if there was a chance…
If there was a chance Neirin might live – might live forever – didn't they, as his sworn guardians, have a responsibility to see it done?
Kraken could no longer see the clear road her duty had laid out for her for so long, and that terrified her. Oathsworn to guard Neirin's life, to protect him against all who would threaten him, to defend Terra against all who would seek to disrupt her peace… it seemed so clear only yesterday, but now, where could she turn? So much had changed. So much had already been lost. Lich was dead, delivered into Taharka's hands for the sake of a failed plot. Maliris was likely dead as well, crushed with her destroyed city. The friends, the allies they'd gained in Kiera, the safety they'd found in Kiera, gone in an instant.
How can they all be gone? She gripped the harness more tightly, her knuckles white. How can they all be gone, so swiftly? How can they all be gone, and I still draw breath? Ahead, the horizon turned blue, glittering. The ocean. She hadn't seen it in three years, but had never forgotten the last time they'd flown over it – a black night, a scream in the darkness… Kraken swallowed hard against fresh tears and pain from wounds she'd thought to be healed.
How can they all be gone while I'm still here?
She wanted to land the dragons, to throw herself into Tiamat's arms and let herself be weak for a moment, only a moment… but that airship could be following them any moment now that Kiera had fallen, and they needed to be well away.
xxx
She didn't want to keep living, but she was too afraid of dying. Safira found her feet again somehow – mostly so she would no longer have to see that thing every time she opened her eyes – and she followed in the wake of Kuja and his king, not troubling to listen to care what they spoke of, not caring what they planned.
Returning to Kiera, Kuja had explained, an eternity ago. They were returning to Kiera. For a mercy, he didn't try to reassure her that Kiera was still waiting for them; he didn't try to soften the knowledge that they were returning to a dead city.
He'd also tried to explain something about this world they were in, this… Memoria, but nothing penetrated, and she was too cold, too numb, to care. For all the emotion she could muster, she may as well have been another of Neirin's shadow mages; it walked at her side, unblinking. Safira supposed the mage was supposed to carry her if she collapsed again, though it hadn't been given any orders to that effect; perhaps it was simply walking at her side out of habit, or whatever passed for habit.
They passed through the bizarre, unfamiliar landscapes – they were returning to Kiera, Safira knew, but the lands they passed through weren't the same as the ones on their first journey.
"Different memories," Kuja murmured, looking around in quiet awe. "How could that be, though?"
"I expect there are plenty of memories to choose from." Neirin's voice was dry. "My soul is ancient, after all. Plenty of lives, plenty of memories. If I could only recall my own…"
She couldn't bring herself to care about the foreign king's deteriorating memory; if that made her heartless, if that made her cruel, she didn't care about that, either. You were supposed to save us, she thought, knowing all the while it wasn't fair to him; hadn't Kuja tried to tell her, time and again, that this man was no god? But he was supposed to be their savior, Kiera's greatest protector… and when Taharka finally came, when the moment finally arrived, Neirin had fled into this other world to escape.
Gods bring calamity with their miracles. Safira wondered which this was, her survival – she'd been saved, as well, carried away into the depths of this unnatural place, though she could not say why. Had Kuja spoken up for her, demanding that she be taken to safety as well? So very recently, her heart might have leapt at the thought, but she was too hollow now to care.
"How are you feeling?" Kuja dropped back to her side, peering at her face. "If you need to rest, we can ask the mage to carry you-"
No, no, anything but that. She shook her head. "I… I am well enough."
He looked doubtful, but didn't question it. "We're almost there." Almost to Kiera. The pain must have shown on her face; Kuja touched her shoulder with surprising gentleness. "Safira… if you'd rather wait behind…"
"No." This was my home. "I need to see for myself."
xxx
Beneath his skin, insects were crawling, scuttling along his bones and gnawing at his nerves, he felt their antennae brushing his veins, his organs. Taharka scratched and scratched until his nails turned red-brown with blood, but they remained out of reach, biting and burning, creeping and crawling. They were silenced only when he touched the mirrors, his mirrors, his beautiful mirrors. So important, those mirrors. The seal between Gaia and Terra. Very important. None of the other cultists realized how important the mirrors were, no, no one else could be trusted to watch over them.
He kept them with him, always.
Stroking the Fire Mirror, he loomed over the Invincible's oculus, fighting against rage. Only several hundred souls had been collected from Kiera – a city of thousands! The ship ought to have glutted itself on such a feast, yet it had yet to recover even a tenth of the power it had expended on the city's destruction. Was it a flaw in the ship's design?
No. Not that. No flaws in the Invincible, no, that couldn't be. It needed a powerful central soul, yes, of course, a soul to compel and command all other souls the ship consumed, a soul to be connected to the Invincible's commander, but in all other ways it was perfect.
No. This had Vehtra's stench all over it.
Taharka scratched angrily at the already-raw gouges on his arm, recalling those faceless creatures in Kiera's broken streets – they were soulless. Empty shells! Neirin and Vehtra, ever scheming to thwart him, had filled Kiera with empty shells, devoid of souls and therefore useless to the Invincible.
"I will have you," he hissed, clawing at his own skin and unconsciously smearing blood on his mirrors. "I will have you." Finding Neirin was more important now than ever. Finding Neirin, solving the dilemma of manipulating the soul of a First King, and creating Garland – he must complete his mission soon, very soon, before the insects creeping along his spine and burrowing into his brain claimed what remained of his sanity.
xxx
There was nothing left – nothing but sundered walls and sand that had twisted itself into glass beneath the airship's attack. I should never have returned. Neirin walked silently through the ruins, picking his way through the debris like a sleepwalker. There were corpses everywhere. Most of them were his own shadowy mages, showing no sign of decay: the magic that had crafted them was not meant to break down easily, though he supposed they would fade someday. The others, though… Kiera's own mages lay burned beyond recognition, mangled and crushed by a force Neirin couldn't begin to imagine.
He'd promised to return, and so he had: too late to help, too late to be of any use.
The girl, Kuja's friend whose name he could never quite recall, had collapsed to her knees back at the cavern entrance, weeping and screaming; he could hear her even now. Did she despise him? Neirin found he hoped so; it would be a fine change to have someone genuinely angry at him for his failures. Kuja walked silently at his side, expression unreadable – but Neirin knew the boy attributed none of the blame for this to him, none of it was his fault, and besides, all that mattered in the end was that he was alive, after all.
Can't you just hate me a little? He wanted someone, anyone, to tell him this was all his fault, to admit that if he hadn't been so reckless, so careless, his power might have been better-used in knocking Taharka's airship out of the sky! Eliminating Taharka's army was one thing, but the army had never even been the cultist's true plan of attack, and Neirin had fallen for the distraction, taken the bait without question. Now the city was destroyed, its people were dead, and his guardians had likely sacrificed their own lives for nothing.
And he still didn't even know where he'd learned the spell.
Keepers of Memory. "Kuja." He glanced at his quiet shadow. "Before we leave here, I want you to search the library for anything you can find on the Keepers of Memory."
"I've read every book in that library." The boy frowned. "I don't remember anything about-"
"Yes, but you said that about the tree, as well," Neirin pointed out. "And something turned up after-"
A dry, pained cough interrupted him. He and Kuja stared at one another for a moment before hurrying toward the direction the cough had come from, climbing over rubble and avoiding glass shards. A survivor, Neirin thought, lightheaded. Someone who could tell them what had happened after Taharka arrived with his airship – and someone who might be able to tell him where his guardians were.
Pinned beneath rubble and clinging to the last threads of life, Vehtra nonetheless found the strength to laugh at the sight of them: a rasping, scraping sound. Neirin knelt to offer the old man some of the water left from their traveling rations.
"My thanks." Some of the water dribbled down the ancient king's chin, tinted red with dried blood. "I'll be damned. Never thought you'd really come back."
"Vehtra." Do you blame me for the fall of your city? "What happened here?"
Another choking laugh. "Taharka. Those mages of yours… we had so few dead. Of our own. So few." He cackled. "Cultist was so angry." When he grinned, Neirin nearly had to look away; the man's face was a ruin. "Our people… sheltered in the palace caverns. They fled this morning. To the outposts. Safer there, for a time."
There were survivors, then. Most of the citizens had been sheltering in the caves, Neirin recalled. "What became of my guardians?"
"The man and the other woman. Sent them on dragons." The smile fell from the old man's face, replaced by grief. "Roshan…" He made a small jerky motion with his head, as if trying to shake it. "She was on the wall. With me. When the attack came." Another small jerk. "Sorry, boy."
Maliris, dead? It was a harder blow than he'd expected it would be. Neirin swallowed and closed his eyes, taking a few unsteady breaths. Hold it together; you are a king, act like one.
Behind him, Kuja took a step forward. "Neirin-"
"I'm fine." It was a bit sharper than he'd intended. "The others are likely alive, then. We'll need to seek them out."
"Flew north." Vehtra closed his own eyes. "A favor, boy?"
Neirin wondered what it would take to heal the man – if healing were even possible at this point. Then again, he had been able to heal himself nearly completely despite falling from Kiera's high walls… and he had much more power at his disposal now than during his first hasty recovery. "I can heal you," he offered. "It won't be easy, I expect, but –"
"Kill me."
"Wh-"
"Kiera's king… whoever kills the old king." Vehtra's eyes opened again, studying Neirin with quiet ferocity. "Do not… let the cultist… rule my city. Do not."
But there was no more city to rule. Neirin shook his head, baffled. "But if I heal you-"
"Five years."
In five years the world will end. Neirin swallowed. "Then you want to die now rather than face the end of the world?"
"Never liked… putting things off." Vehtra grinned again. "Must have some spell, whelp. Kill me. Quick."
With one spell, he'd crushed an entire army into oblivion. And now, with one spell, he was tasked with the death of one old man. Neirin stood, considering the man in tense silence. Then: "Kuja. Leave us, if you would."
After only a moment of hesitation, Kuja hurried away, making his way through the winding paths the crumbling buildings had created through the city. The boy searched his core for the grief he knew must be lurking somewhere just below the surface, but found instead only a curious emptiness, a strange numbness. Maliris was dead – Maliris, who had always seemed invincible, always ready with a sharp word and a sharp sword. Maliris, who had been the one to allow him to follow Neirin into the darkness of that tunnel in Traje all those many years ago. Maliris, gone just as quickly, just as suddenly, as Lich.
Where was his pain? Was he already so cold that the loss of yet another friend and ally meant nothing?
He could still hear Safira wailing. There was the pain he should be feeling, raw and bleeding – the pain of losing Maliris, losing Vehtra, losing Kiera. Instead his mind had already turned to the problems ahead: finding Neirin's remaining guardians, finding these Keepers of Memory, finding a way to travel north without dragons of their own. He supposed this would be the final time he would ever be able to visit the palace library; it was a shame he couldn't afford to carry more books than the one Vehtra had lent him…
…well, that was one book he supposed he hadn't read yet. Kuja frowned. It was a book on world fusion; what it would have to do with Neirin's missing memories was beyond him, but short of discovering another of Safira's faerie tales, he wasn't certain where else in the library such information might be found. He'd never even heard of these "Keepers of Memory." They should have asked for more information from the spirit in Memoria – where to find these Keepers, first of all. Far to the north, the phantom said; the Erras Continent was furthest south. They couldn't possibly have been less convenient, could they?
Footsteps from behind him caught his attention, and he turned just in time to see Neirin approaching before the king caught him by the shoulders, gripping them tightly.
"Neirin-"
"Promise me you won't die." There was a wildness in the king's blue eyes, as though a fever had seized him. "Promise me. Swear it. As your king, I command you."
You've gone mad. "Neirin." He gripped one of Neirin's wrists, squeezing gently. "I can't promise that."
"I command it." The king's grip tightened. "Swear to me you won't die. Not you."
Kuja considered his friend. "Swear you won't forget me."
"That's..." Some of the fever left him. "That isn't fair."
"Asking me to survive the end of the world is?"
"If ever anyone could, it would be you." Neirin scowled at him. "Fine. I solemnly swear not to forget you, so long as I live." He watched Kuja expectantly.
The boy couldn't help it; he chuckled. "Very well, Your Majesty. I vow to do everything in my power to live forever. Fair?"
"Good." Neirin let out a sigh that sounded uncomfortably like relief. He rested his forehead against Kuja's shoulder, trembling slightly. "Good."
Author's Note: I'm gonna miss Vehtra a lot, not even lying. He was one of my favorite characters. :c
