Disclaimer: I make no claim whatsoever to the characters or world of Final Fantasy VIII, which is the property of Squaresoft/Square Enix.
Chapter XIV
"Are you recovered?" Edea asked.
"I think so. Yes."
Rinoa took hesitant steps into the kitchen, glad that her legs were managing to support her weight again at last. The first use of her power to travel between places had left her as shaky and unsteady as a newborn chocobo chick. After her sudden arrival on the threshold of the house, she had slept for a night and a day without waking, and each day since had been slow and frustrating as she waited for her strength to return.
She sat down at the table, hiding her frown in clasped hands, and stared into the flames that danced cheerfully under Edea's copper kettle at the hearth.
"Then what troubles you this morning?"
Rinoa, still watching the fire spit and crackle, tried to remember, to grasp the image before it vanished again.
"My dreams," she said. "I find myself in the same place often. A walled town, with great wooden gates, surrounded by tall pines. I have never seen it in waking life. What could it mean?"
She could not say for sure when the strange town had begun to appear. Perhaps it had been after Squall left, or only in these past few days since her first use of teleportation. It was so very fleeting, almost impossible to retain in her mind's eye. Rinoa lifted her gaze to Edea, to see her nodding in understanding.
"It is often so. When one becomes a Sorceress, the flow of Time becomes a little less straightforward. No, we cannot traverse it freely. Would that we could!" Edea gave a small sigh, and sat at the table. "But you may see visions, most often in dreams, of things that have not yet come to pass. Some never come to pass at all. Dwelling on such visions takes us away from the moment we are living in. I have found it best to pay them little heed."
"I suppose you are right."
Rinoa wondered where such a town might be, or whether it existed at all. It did not have the look of Esthar, nor of Galbadia. It was unlikely to be Balamb, either, whose houses were built with whitewashed stone and marble. The trees could have been Centran pines, she supposed; after all, she knew precious little of the South. Or it could be some minor outlying town in Dollet, or Monterosa, that she had never had cause to visit...
The steaming bowl of sweet gourd soup that Edea placed in front of her interrupted Rinoa's thoughts, and she tucked in with relish.
Some days later, with several more successful teleportation trips under her belt, Rinoa was climbing the age-worn stone steps that spiraled up to the higher levels of the lighthouse. It was dark and musty inside the ancient tower, with crumbling walls and precarious footing, but over the past few days she had developed a burning determination to reach the top. If she could, she would see all around for miles; see the curve of the land, and choose her next destination in her daily practice.
The first trip had been the worst, in terms of recovery. After the second, and then the third, Rinoa's strength had flowed back faster, once the initial sickening exhaustion had cleared. In her subsequent experiments, however, she discovered that the greater the distance traveled, the weaker it left her. If she were to be serious about her half-formed plan of using this new skill to carry her inside the gates of Galbadia Castle to reason with her father, she would need to build her endurance first. Such a leap across continents might leave her a weakling for days.
Sometimes her power brought her almost exactly to the place she had envisaged, and at other times, she missed her target by varying degrees. Precision, it seemed, was all but impossible, so Rinoa instead focused her efforts on increasing the distance traveled. She had now explored every patch of the beach, the nearby woods, and Edea's sprawling garden and orchard. There was only one place she could not bring herself to visit: the flower field. Even the thought of it brought her mind dangerously close to Squall, and she did not trust that she possessed enough self-control to stop herself from slipping away to wherever he was.
She reached the final steps, scattered with rubble from a broken wall, and hauled herself over the debris to the topmost chamber. The light room, at last. A small circular room, it was even narrower than those that had come before, but it had wide, unglazed windows on all sides, and the sun streamed in to fill the space with light.
Under a central chimney stood a deep, curved stone bowl mounted on a pedestal, with traces of sticky yellowed oil at the bottom, and the frayed remnants of a thick rope wick. Rinoa wondered who had last lit this lamp, and how long ago. Edea had said that the lighthouse was already long-abandoned when she first came to the Cape. Rinoa closed her eyes, and imagined a storm raging outside, a lighthouse-keeper shouting orders to pour more oil into the lamp, to keep the light burning so that the South Centran fishing ships would not be dashed against the rocks.
But the ocean was calm on this sunny morning, and ships no longer sailed in these waters. She crossed to the window and looked out at the expanse of blue that unfurled before her. Far out to sea, she thought she saw the shimmer of some sea creature's tail, before it vanished under the water with a distant splash. The glint of its scales had looked more like a Blue Dragon than any fish she knew. Rinoa blinked, and shook herself. A trick of the light, no doubt. Dragons could not live at sea.
The opposite side of the tower offered her a spectacular panorama of the cliffs and meadows inland, all the way to the dim blue hills at the horizon. There was a far plateau, its grassy plain lit almost white by the sunlight, and Rinoa grinned, the spark of a new challenge flaring in her chest. The plateau would be her next destination. The furthest one yet.
Her hands still resting on the stone windowsill, she closed her eyes, and pictured herself on the plateau, windswept grasses all around, the sea sparkling in the distance. She felt the pull of the void before it came. It was almost easy now.
Then it was upon her. Empty, dark, nothing, nothing, there was nothing all around her—no she wouldn't be frightened, not anymore—
When the void spat her out against the grass, the impact knocked the air from her lungs, and she did not realize how far she had missed the plateau by until she opened her eyes. A canopy of wildflowers bowed over her head, the scents of a dozen different blooms jostling for her attention, and Rinoa let out a strangled moan of defeat. Not here. She was not supposed to land here, because it turned her thoughts to... to...
She stopped herself, but it was too late. The flower field was whipped away, and she was in a cramped wooden building, the floor strewn with hay. It was dim and gloomy, the only light coming from a small oil lamp by the entrance. She knew this place. The stables of Esthar Castle.
She was there—floating, disembodied—in front of Squall, whose back was turned to her as he applied feather-oil to a chocobo with a leather cloth. The bird's feathers were dark, almost black, or perhaps indigo. It must be the one he had ridden during the ill-fated charge across Bika Snowfield, Rinoa thought. The scene reformed in her mind: a streak of black racing across the white, bringing Squall closer, and how desperately she had reached for him.
They had not been Bonded back then, she reminded herself. Her love for him had grown of its own accord, not cultivated by sorcery. There was a comfort in knowing that. She watched his hands as he worked the oil into the chocobo's feathers. Squall was using the same methodical, precise movements as when she had seen him sharpen his sword, but every now and then he would reach up to pat the bird reassuringly or scratch its neck, and it trilled softly with affection.
Rinoa was reminded of the words of her father's old stablemaster. You can always tell the measure of a man from how he treats his mount. Always.
This, then, was the measure of Squall, she thought approvingly. Seifer, on the other hand, had always used sharp spurs on his boots to make his birds run faster. A jab to the flank, a frenzied squawk of pain. Rinoa shuddered, and felt it, even with her body so far away.
Squall had stopped his motions, and stood paused, the cloth held in his clenched fist.
"You should know better than to compare me to him."
He dropped the cloth in the bucket of oil at his feet, stilling the chocobo's chirp of protest with his other hand.
"Rinoa, I know you are here."
"Can you see me?" she whispered, but no words came. Her voice belonged to her body, in the meadow of wildflowers, half the world away. She tried again, this time through their unseen connection.
Can you see me?
"You do not need to be seen to make your presence known. What do you want from me?" He turned, his eyes scanning the air for her. "Why are you here? You do not want to be with me. Have you changed your mind?"
It is not a matter of the mind. My heart pulls me here. It seems I cannot fight it.
"Then do not fight it."
Even if she could have withstood the force of her own longing, compounded with his it was too much to bear. Every emotion of hers was doubled and reflected back at her, a chaotic sea of painful desire that she had suppressed in waking life, but now she stood no chance; she would drown in it all.
Squall reached out his hand, searching for her, determined to find where she was, and she could not help but move her fingers to touch his, fingers that were not even on the same continent, oh, this was so confusing—
Their fingertips made contact, impossible contact, and Rinoa lurched forward, propelled by the rapid dragging of her body through the void to rejoin her consciousness. The collision left her seeing stars, with a roaring heat surging through her body as her nerves and synapses flared to life. Something solid had stopped her from stumbling against the stable floor, and she realized that Squall had caught her mid-fall, and she was trembling violently in his arms.
The chocobo squawked loudly in alarm, spreading its wings. Squall patted its neck and hushed its warbling. Rinoa heard an anxious chirrup spread among the other birds in the stables, echoing the discomfort of Squall's mount. Her arrival had caused quite the commotion.
Squall's bird prodded Rinoa's hair with its beak, with more curiosity than aggression, but it made her start in surprise, covering her face with her hands. Squall tugged her away from the chocobo, and led her by the hand to the feed room, a dark, windowless antechamber stacked high with bales of hay and Gysahl greens. She pulled herself free, turning to face him, and in the process backed into the pile of bales until she was pinned against them. Rinoa did not know which of them initiated the kiss, only that they were kissing, and with far more heat and urgency than they ever had in the languid days spent together at Edea's house.
She might have accepted it as a vision until now, remained in denial that her power could have brought her halfway across the globe to Esthar. But not now. Every sensation told her that this was real. The rough press of his lips, the sharp spikes of the hay bale digging into her back, the raw smells of the stables overpowering the sweet scent of the feather-oil on Squall's hands. She could taste him, feel his hardness pushing against her thigh. A vision could never be so visceral.
He was kissing her neck, and she gasped, twisting her head free to hear the bootsteps in the courtyard outside. The chocobo's frightened cries had roused the castle guards, and someone was coming.
"They will find us," she breathed. "We cannot—"
"I don't care." Squall's voice was rough with passion, and his grip on her arms tightened. His kisses moved from her neck to her breast, his hand tugging her gown down low enough to expose one side, and she fought against a spike of sharp pleasure as he began to flick the tip of his tongue across her tightened nub of flesh.
"No." Rinoa lifted his head away, and pulled her gown back up to her shoulder. "I should not be here. I have my own path to tread. We cannot do this."
She closed her eyes, because to look at him now would prove her undoing, and concentrated hard on the flower field. A blue sky overhead, daises, milkweed and silverbush under her feet, grasses as tall as her thighs—
Her form began to melt away, and Squall's hands passed through the skin of her arms to the hay bale beneath.
Squall swore, and pressed his fingers to her cheeks, cupping her half-ghostly face in his hands. She could feel him willing her in place, keeping her solid. She relented, letting herself fill the space once more, and Squall took immediate advantage by capturing her mouth in a fierce kiss.
"Stay," he growled when her lips parted. "Stay."
The bootsteps hammered closer, the chocobos' cries had risen to a chorus of alarm, and Rinoa's only thought was that she could not be caught here, not like this, she was a Sorceress, and no matter what Squall said, the people of Esthar would surely not accept her—
The void embraced her, and she was torn out of his arms, back to the flower field, under a bright morning sky.
She sank to her knees, staring at her shaking fingers, fingers that had been pressed against his skin only moments before, her lips still raw from the crush of his mouth against hers.
Rinoa slipped into unconsciousness before her head hit the earth, and did not move when Edea found her two hours later, nor when she was carried into the house, nor the next day.
Propped up in the bed on three pillows, she swallowed the last of the broth and smiled weakly up at Edea.
"Your strength returned before. It will come to you again. Do not fear." Edea took the cup from her hands, and placed it on the nightstand next to the silver chain that bore Squall's ring.
Rinoa held a hand up to her face, looking at her fingers forlornly. She tried one more time, but there was nothing. No spark, no glow.
"My magic... I cannot make it flow. It has vanished."
Edea knelt at the side of the bed, resting her chin on folded arms. "Ah, yes. I wondered if it might."
"Has this happened to you, too?" Rinoa asked, eyes wide.
"Not to me. To Quistis. When she was a girl, she loved to play with her gift of instant travel." Edea smiled at the memory. "There were several times when she tried to leap too far a distance, and her magic went into slumber during the days that followed. The natural result of overexertion, I suppose."
"Then I can get it back? Quistis did, didn't she?" Rinoa struggled to sit up straight in the bed. "Tell me how!"
"Calm yourself, dear child. It will return to you in time, when it is fully healed. Rest some more."
She lay back against the pillows with a soft thud. Rest some more. Did she have time for all this resting? While time trickled away, what plans might Seifer, or her father, be making in the meantime?
But there was no use; she could not even lift herself from the bed. Rinoa closed her eyes as soon as Edea left the room, and another day was lost to her.
"I still cannot feel it."
She was well enough to walk now, and to join Edea in the garden, sitting on a blanket in the shade under the vines while Edea tended to the plants. Rinoa's magic, though, had not returned to her. It had been four days. She missed it, craved it, with a hunger that took her by surprise. No, she had never asked nor wanted to become a Sorceress, but to have her newfound powers taken away so soon was a loss that gnawed at her each and every second that she was awake.
Edea gazed out to sea for a long moment before she spoke. "There was one thing that often helped Quistis, if I remember. When she bathed—"
"I thought you did not have a tub here," Rinoa interrupted, frowning. All the times she had taken a stand-up wash at that tiny sink, when there was a bathroom, hidden away in some corner of the house?
Edea gave a gentle laugh. "In the ocean, child. What need have I of a bathtub when the Southern Sea is at my doorstep?"
"Oh. But I cannot swim," Rinoa said, disheartened. Sea-bathing was not a pastime for noble ladies. Lord Caraway had always said that the coast was a place only fit for fishermen, fishwives, bandits and smugglers.
"You need not. Just submerge yourself in the waves at the shore. Let the water cover your body."
"How could that possibly help?"
"I am not sure. There is much we do not understand about the ocean. It may possess a magic of its own. The Centrans call it the Great Mother of All, did you know that? Or perhaps..." Edea's eyes returned to the blue horizon. "There is a Guardian of the Ocean that visits these waters. I sometimes thought I could see its tail rising from the waves, far out at sea, when Quistis was bathing. I began to think that maybe it was fond of her; that it came here to protect her." She brought a hand to scratch her cheek, looking almost embarrassed. "Of course, my imaginings could be mere nonsense. No-one can claim to understand how a Guardian might look upon a mortal girl."
Rinoa caught her breath, remembering the flash of dragon-scales she had seen from the top of the lighthouse.
"What is its name?" she asked.
"Leviathan."
She stood at the water's edge, feeling foolish and nervous, and waited until a thin layer of foam came close enough sweep over her toes.
Cold.
Rinoa stepped back onto drier sand, clumps of it now stuck to her feet, and pulled the black gown over her shoulders, letting it fall onto the beach. She hesitated before adding her undergarments to the pile.
The air was warm, but she shivered as she disrobed. How utterly strange it was to be so exposed, fully bare, under the wide blue sky. No eyes were on her, she was sure of that; there was no other soul around for hundreds of miles, other than Edea back at the house. Even so, she could not help but feel vulnerable, standing naked and alone on the sweeping coast.
Well. There was no point in delaying it now. Rinoa waded into the water up to her waist. The initial contact made her skin tighten in protest, but as the sea welcomed her, she found it to be warmer than expected. She spread her arms wide, trying to find her balance, the waves rocking her gently as they rose and fell, the crest of the water rising up to cover the top of her breasts. So this is how it feels, she thought. Twenty-one years and more, she had lived without knowing what it was to touch the ocean. Rinoa shook her head at her own childlike ignorance, and waded further out. The water reached her neck now. A wave came that was taller than the others, and it crashed against her face, leaving her gasping and spitting salty water. She started to laugh, thinking how ridiculous she looked, but the laughter rapidly turned to panic as she lost her footing. She could no longer feel the seabed under her feet, and she did not know how to keep herself afloat.
She went under for a few moments, the waters closing over her head, and fought to scrabble back towards the shore so she could pull herself upright again. Soon her foot struck against a rock, and she emerged from the water in a spluttering, coughing mess, a slimy tendril of dark red seaweed plastered to her forehead and nose. Rinoa staggered back to the shoreline, and flopped down on the sand to catch her breath, and the laughter bubbled back.
"I am not sure," she said out loud to the sky, "if I have ever looked such a fool."
She dug her feet into the wet sand and sat upright, allowing the edges of the waves to run up and down her legs, washing away everything: her fears, her embarrassment, the pain of her longing for her faraway Knight. She closed her eyes, and it could have been one minute, or ten, or thirty before she opened them. When she did, Rinoa felt wholly calm, refreshed, and reawakened. Yet still, she could not feel the return of her magic.
She looked out over the waves, her eyes lazy and unfocused. After a while, a flicker of light caught her notice, and there it was again: the shimmer of dragon-scales. Rinoa rose to her feet and shielded her eyes with one hand from sun's glare. Yes, there was definitely something there, far out at sea. She stood rooted to the spot as the lights danced, the surface erupted in white waves, and an immense sea snake rose from the water. Its body was a pale, luminous blue—the same color as Quistis' magic, Rinoa thought with a wild twinge of excitement—with deeper green and purple along its head-spikes, and dark violet edging the tips of its spindly wings.
The Guardian. Was it acknowledging her? Was it waiting for her to do something, say something?
Rinoa walked out into the water again, until it came to her chest, and tried to remember how Quistis had addressed Shiva on the day of the Esthari army's attack.
"Lord Leviathan," she called over the water.
Her voice was quickly lost in the crash of the waves. But sound travels across water, she reminded herself, and tried again.
"Lord Guardian, Leviathan. The girl you protected is gone, but her gift lives on in me. Will you grant me the same favor?"
The great beast's head was hovering over the waves. It was too far away for Rinoa to make out its eyes, but she was sure it was facing in her direction. She held its gaze, all the while thinking that this was sheer madness, a naked girl staring up at a god-beast—what if she had displeased it?
The Guardian rose high above the water, and its enormous tail, ending in a wide, flat fin of pale primrose yellow, curved and splashed back into the sea with a sound like a thunderclap. As the creature disappeared below the waves, sparkling lights raced from the spot where it had hit the water, darting across the surface of the ocean, to the shore. To Rinoa.
The light was coming for her, and whether it would come as pain or healing, she had to make a choice now, and Rinoa's choice was to trust the Guardian.
She held out both hands, and when the wave of pale blue light hit her, it filled her with pure power, with sacred energy, with magic. Magic that was hers. It tingled all over her bare skin, danced across her breasts and belly, and crackled from each black strand of her soaked hair.
"Thank you," Rinoa called.
She received no answer. There was only the calm azure ocean, for miles and miles, until the very end of the world.
Each step firm and steady, she walked through the waves and onto the wet sand, her skin a thousand points of light, and a sky-blue fire lit once more in her blood.
Sorceress Rinoa had returned.
