Author's Note: this is a mostly canon-compliant attempt at a novelisation of Final Fantasy XII. For details about my headcanon, see my profile.
This chapter is set at the point where the party passes from the Ogir-Yensa Sandsea to the Nam-Yensa Sandsea.
Rating: PG (some mentions of violence, blood, gore; adult themes; light Basch/Vossler shipping)
Chapter 22: Light is Not Good, and Scarcely Pure
"Pirate, get up, it is your turn for the watch." Vossler had now been awake for 20 hours straight, if his pocket watch was to be believed. Though he could, and had many a time, survived on four hours of sleep, it would not leave him in an optimal condition to guard the princess.
Balthier thrust the tent flap open, holding his Sirius rifle, and glared at him. "You surely don't wake Basch up like this, do you?" He murmured. "All bluster and barked orders in your boudoir." Vossler deigned not to respond, instead removing his chainmail and helm, and setting up his bedroll one yard from and perfectly perpendicular to Ashe's tent. There he placed his armaments precisely alongside, lay down on his back, ramrod straight, hands folded over his navel, and his eyes bolted shut.
"Well, there goes any chance for decent conversation." Balthier prodded at the smouldering campfire a little, doing nothing to make it burn brighter, instead just liberating more smoke and sparks.
Some wild beasts could be heard in the distance, but none drew closer, or within visual range. With nothing to do, Balthier let his thoughts wander.
The Empire now had two shards of deifacted nethicite. The Midlight Shard, stolen from Nabradia's Verdpale Palace three years hence. The Dusk Shard, lifted from Vaan's hands in exchange for their lives. Individually, each had the power to destroy cities, as evidenced by the Midlight Shard's cruel sword ripping through the bodies of 40,000 citizens of Nabudis and their homes and histories with it. Balthier could not recall any historical use of any of the Dynast-King's three shards, not in his study at the Akademy in Archades as a younger man, a vessel for his esteemed father's will. Raithwall intended the nethicite to portent mutually assured destruction: Dalmasca, with Dusk, and Nabradia, with Midlight, would never raise arms against each other, but could come to each other's aid against another foe. The Dawn Shard was the wild card. The origin of these stones was shrouded in myth, a gift of the gods, so said the legends. Balthier paid those dusty tomes the same respect as one would adulate a children's book of nursery rhymes.
The city-states of Rozarria and Archades arose without nethicite, centuries after the establishment of Raithwall's Galtean Alliance, and the calendar reset, harkening the new yearly counting system denoted Old Valendian. On the first day of Aries, 706 years ago, the civilisations and nations that were held to the accord of the Galtean Alliance established a unified system of time-keeping, and 706 times, Ivalice had revolved around the sun. Now it was in the month of Cancer, bright summer blasting burning heat on all Ivalice. It was around 450 Old Valendian that Rozarria and Archadia arose, city-states founded by conquest of the nearby lands and peoples, without any gods-given stones to guard them or to lend them legitimacy. The Light of Kiltia religious order did not bless either state, decrying them as profane threats to the sacred sanctuary lands of Dalmasca and Nabradia, but that did not stop Rozarria and Archadia from expanding dramatically, encapsulating more and more land around them in the continents of Ordalia to the west and Valendia to the north-east.
Not once did they encroach upon the lands bearing nethicite, but they surely found different ways to assert their sovereignty. Rozarria stumbled upon expansive natural resources in Ordalia: bountiful soil, iron, copper, precious stones, precluding the need for reliance upon international trade. Archadia's population exploded under iron rule and brutal colonisation throughout Valendia and in isolated pockets of the southern continent, Kerwon, and the sheer might of their authoritarian culture subsumed the languages of the nearby cultures until all Ivalice spoke Archadian Common as a lingua franca, with Rozarria the lone resistor. With all the gods-willed, Kiltia-blessed might of Dalmasca and Nabradia, their reluctance to throw their weight around, as it were, made them bit players in the game of nations.
Looking over at Ashe's tent, and her lapdog twice her age sleeping right outside, Balthier leaned forward, resting his chin in his hands. So say you seize the Dawn Shard, Raithwall's last bargaining chip. What comes next in your narrative? When you are interred six feet under in sixty years, will a cursed rock be your legacy? What titles will the chapters of your memoirs bear?
"Pensive, I find you, once again. You do share in the gift of sentiment. So soft-hearted, Humes." Fran walked over to sit at his side on the magick-hewn seats around the smouldering campfire. "You are relieved, Balthier. You can go to sleep once more."
Balthier rose, yawning luxuriously, and put a hand on Fran's shoulder. She put a hand on his. "My thanks. What say you about the fool princess' desperation for the Dawn Shard?"
Fran pondered for a moment. Narrowing her eyes, seeking divination from the crackling orange glow, she said, "Her quest is not without merit, though Raithwall and all those who descended thereafter would have good reason to sequester it far away from the prying eyes of Man. I foresee significant tribulation in gaining the late Dynast-King's favour."
"That's exactly what I hope for, significant tribulation." Balthier squeezed her shoulder gently. "No pain, no gain, so they say. I do hope we can profit richly from seven-centuries' preserved relics. The Strahl does not run on goodwill and happy thoughts."
"A resource our party sorely lacks of late." Fran frowned, reflecting on the conflict of the previous day. "When well rested, I entreat our Dalmascan companions be…"
"Yes?" Balthier seemed amused as Fran tripped over the right phrase. Most unlike her.
"…more accommodating to each other's needs."
"Ronsenburg seems infinitely accommodating. That Azelas would rather sleep alone is telling. Good night, darling." Balthier returned to the tent and left her alone.
Cross-legged, her weapons and armour left inside the tent, Fran closed her eyes in a cleansing meditation. She could hear the squawk of far-off wyverns, grand dragons with a wingspan wide as the leaves of the Sandsea's grandest palms, hovering just out of overeager soldiers' reach, breathing deadly flames at them. Behind her, the chirp of dozing axebeak cockatrices, nested in their familial clusters of four or five. Ahead of them, the trundling of an enormous, weighty adamantitan, an enormous tortoise that dwarfed her in height, with a pearlescent, teal-coloured, bell-shaped shell protecting the beast's mighty body. That was peculiar. So too peculiar, the characteristic cutting scent of glossair rings, carried on the wind from the north.
Surely not. If not the Strahl, then what other airships may violate the peace of the Jagd? She shook her head and resumed her meditation.
"Hey, Fran, I'm just taking a leak." Vaan rasped, voice low with tiredness, his armoured shoes clinking and scuffing along the sandy ground. Fran scowled at the intrusion and could not push the sound of Vaan's relief from her mind. He then sat near her, leaving one seat empty between them, as a clumsy attempt at courtesy.
"So how's it going?" He asked, sipping from his canteen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Her eyes snapped open, and she unfolded her legs, sitting upright, ankles tucked together, her body turned just a few degrees away.
After a pause, she responded, "I am well."
"That's good," Vaan responded, completely unsure what to say next. He stared into the fire. "Y'know, I'd be happy to take over the watch if you wanted to grab some Zs."
Fran blinked. "Zs? I am not familiar with that expression."
"Oh." Vaan coughed. "It means get some sleep. Y'know, the typical thing in drawings and books, where the character is sleeping, and the author draws ZZZ above them. It means they're sleeping, right."
"Good to know." And the conversation ended. Fran sat upright, unmoving, breathing evenly. Vaan jiggled his leg, sipped little sips of water from his canteen – it certainly tasted weird, nothing like the water plumbed through Rabanastre by way of the Garamsythe Waterway, though for the last few months the quality had been dipping as the Imperials chased out the Rabanastre Civil Water Works officials – and looked around at anything that caught his eye. The waxing moon, the nearby palm trees that swayed in the breeze, the sparks shooting from the fire, his own calloused and hastily-healed hands.
"You're really good at magick," he blurted. "Are all Viera like that? I mean, or are you really good even for a Viera? I just…" What the hell are you saying, dumbass, he thought to himself, she's gonna light you on fire.
Fran tutted once. "All Viera do share an affinity for the Mist, but we train diligently for many years to harness it well. I am adept with all magicks and do not claim any one class as superior."
"Right, like you said when we were getting ready in Rabanastre," Vaan recalled. "I mean, I liked the sound of Arcane Magick, it sounded cool, and I'm not bad at it for teaching myself."
"Aye, I noticed." Fran turned to face him, and her posture relaxed somewhat. "The misery you have endured in your years is deserved by none, but if you may draw any solace from it, it does enhance the learning and wielding of the arcane arts."
"Yeah, I s'pose." Vaan said, holding up his right hand and contorting his fingers just so, like holding a chalice one knows is full of poison, until the characteristic violet-onyx swirls of a Dark spell burst into life. Vaan focused intently and held the vortex an inch above his fingers, sustaining it, carefully feeding more and more Mist into it until it was the size of his head. Fran watched on, wide-eyed. No Hume his age should have this natural talent for the arcane. She felt a surge of pity for him. Then, like a puff of dust, the chaos vanished as Vaan let the spell fall apart.
"You sure you want to stay up? I can protect us."
Fran shook her head mildly. "I am a diurnal sleeper. I sleep with the sun's setting and rising, and wake during the night as Ivalice turns away from the sun. It is entirely normal for me. I should think you need the Zs more than I," and she smiled just a little, the expression completely foreign on her tongue. Vaan met her smile and chuckled, then went back to his tent.
"G'night, Fran. See you in the morning."
Fran sat cross-legged once more and deliberated over the sorrow of being orphaned, of the lilac-and-pitch that threatened to swallow tortured, lonely souls, and corrupt them. She prayed that Vaan rise like the sun and stay in the light, always connected to those who loved him.
As the glow of the rising sun first emerged from the east, where Rabanastre lay, Fran gently woke Basch up and returned to Balthier's tent. Basch was almost entirely disrobed, just in smallclothes, and he didn't put his shirt, vest, or shorts back on, instead holding them, folded, where he erected a rough clothes airer out of branches, and used his canteen of water and a bar of soap to hand-wash them in front of the fire.
He thought himself discreet but Vossler still stirred and leaned up, resting on his elbows, watching. Vossler had not undressed whatsoever, not even having removed his shoes.
"You still sleep almost as naked as the day you were born."
Basch whirled around, hands wet with soap as he scrubbed the dirt from his shorts. "Old habits die hard. I sweat in my sleep. Do you not remember?"
"Oh, I remember. Even in the coldest Sagittarius nights, you were a living fire magicite stone."
"Some would say I was a fire magicite mineral. A superior class of Hume furnace." A stone cabin, a whole world away, and another boy sharing his bed on a freezing Landis night in the midst of a blizzard, where their parents couldn't see and wouldn't ask questions of their bareness.
"Some? Who would say?" Vossler narrowed his eyes.
"Nobody." Basch turned around and resumed scrubbing.
"Mind you that the Bhujerban sainikah vest you wear incorrectly does not take soap well."
"Who would say? The Marquis making small talk across the banquet table? Did he not trust you with weightier topics of conversation in our absence?" Basch retorted.
Vossler sighed. "Put some damn clothes on, Landis." From his vantage point, Vossler looked closely, as a physician would, at the bruises and welts spread thick over Basch's back. The muscle he once bore, earned from days and nights in full plate armour, wielding greatswords, firing arrows from tense bowstrings, riding chocobos into battle, and losing arm-wrestling contents in Rabanastre and Nalbina's many taverns, was gone. He was too lean for comfort. He was too lean to be the man from his memories. He was too lean to be the man he held tightly. Once. How did he not notice in Balzac's bathroom? He didn't even search for Basch in the wake of Raminas' assassination, didn't ask for him, didn't beat down Ondore's doors demanding answers, demanding amnesty, demanding exoneration. The shame too strong, Vossler kept the room dark. Bathing Basch in a dank commode, he didn't recognise him; Vossler the nursemaid, bringing Ronsenburg back from the brink of death, not Vossler the shieldmate, caring for the man who stood by his side for 15 years and returned to him in all faith and desperation.
He went back to a fitful, too-light sleep, plagued by bizarre dreams. Basch finished his ablutions, then dressed carefully, thinking of the alterations and repairs he would need to make to the shirt so that it would fit him properly instead of revealing a patch of too-pale wiry muscle most unbecoming of a middle-aged man sworn to protect a young woman. He cursed himself for not bringing a sewing kit. He sat around the fire as it burned lower and lower into coals. He thought of getting a fire magicite mineral from their collection and using it to invigorate the flame enough to burn through to sunrise. He thought about walking directly in the fire and using his own flesh as a holocaust to Dalmasca's future.
The sun rose over the cliff faces of the Nam-Yensa Sandsea, and Basch wakened the party. They ate rations and drank water to break their fast. Fully armoured and armed, all of their belongings thrown into the magick pouch again, seven wayfarers proceeded west again.
The principal difference between the Ogir-Yensa Sandsea and the Nam-Yensa Sandsea, Basch explained, was that Rozarria expounded very little effort on the Nam-Yensa side because of lower oil yields. The endless rocks and sand persisted, but instead of metal tanks and catwalks and the stench of crude oil, there were wooden bridges collapsed to the ground, salty water churning to their right and casting short, choppy tides on the sand dunes, and more palm trees and cactoids. Able to spread out, Basch and Vossler took point, Vaan and Ashe on the flanks, Penelo in the centre, and Balthier and Fran at the rear, though Fran seemed to watch the two youngest in the group more closely.
They saw very few signs of life for some time until they happened upon a lone moogle adventurer. Wearing a blue denim skirt, a white tunic, and a jaunty blue scarf, and bearing a fuchsia pompom, she appeared to be conversing with an Urutan-Yensa, about three feet apart, though none of them could hear exactly what language was being shared. Not even Fran could divine the topic of conversation. The Urutan was stamping its feet, the Moogle was shaking her head, and some distressing accord was reached as the Urutan ran ahead towards the Nam-Yensa.
Vaan and Ashe approached the Moogle, whose name was Lute, sojourning from the archipelagic islands north of their location, a place contested by both Rozarria and Archadia with a détente of airships hovering aloft. She said, a little breathless, "Did you see that Urutan-Yensa just now, kupo?" Vaan nodded. "They're usually a violent lot… but this one wanted help."
Ashe put one hand on her hip. "I should think rendering aid to the Urutan-Yensa a fruitless exercise."
"Yeah, seems pointless."
"Don't interrupt." She snapped. Immediately softening her expression, she asked Lute, "Would you please tell us more?" Lute nodded.
"The Urutan-Yensa are all up in a panic about a creature on the Nam-Yensa Sandsea…" Lute shuddered. "Their blood enemy, it seems?"
Vaan and Ashe exchanged glances.
"What do you think?"
"I think it's a bad idea," Ashe murmured. "We must needs avoid this obstacle. We are most grateful, Lute," she bowed, and Vaan copied her, stilted, "but we may take an alternate route to the Tomb of the Dynast-King."
"The Valley of the Dead?" Lute fluttered in the air with her tiny wings, shocked, then fell back down, smoothing her skirt and adjusting her scarf. "That's a fool's errand, kupo."
"Well, we gotta go there. It's important," Vaan declared. "Something for the sake of Dalmasca." Ashe willed Vaan to stop talking.
"I'm sure it is, but none I've met even entertained the notion of getting close, kupo-po. There's some foul beast protecting the entrance, its screams heard all the way through the Valley."
"We'll take that under advisement," Ashe demurred. "We wish you safe travels, Lute." She turned around and returned to the other five.
"There's some monster on the Nam-Yensa Sandsea in which the Urutan-Yensa are engaged in combat. A blood feud, or some such."
Balthier blanched. "Well, that's about all I want to deal with for today. Good show, everyone, we're to Rabanastre, enjoy your little historical trip to save your little kingdom." He turned around and made it one step before Basch had grabbed his elbow tightly, mouthing, She needs you, and dragging him back.
"We ought deal with the threat directly," Vossler declared. "Claiming the Dawn Shard is of utmost importance."
"I agree," Ashe said, with equal weight.
Penelo was less committed. Holding her arms behind her, she stepped from side to side. "I don't know…" she started. "Couldn't we just wait for the monster to be defeated? The Urutan-Yensa were savage enough, I'm sure they can handle it."
"We must tarry not, the Empire hold two stones of nethicite." Fran rested a hand on Penelo's shoulder. "For Dalmasca to prevail, you must achieve something akin to parity." She walked right up to Ashe, looking directly into her eyes. Ashe shrank just a little, Fran's height difference unnerving her in a way that Vossler or Basch's didn't. "I think I know what their blood enemy is, and it is a beast we can conquer, working together: an adamantitan."
"Oh, I read about those in Montblanc's Clan Primer," Vaan interjected. "Big turtle thingy, right? Weak to wind magick, which we've got in spades. Let's do it." He rocked on his heels enthusiastically.
"Working together, as one platoon, we shall overcome anything," Basch said, shades of the good Captain emerging. "We have strength, we have magickal and technickal talents, we have potions and sundries to spare. And we have Penelo to heal our wounds until we grow old and tired."
Penelo gave a wan smile. "Sure, I can do that," she said with a touch of sarcasm.
"It is settled. Onwards." Balthier hung his head at the finality of Ashe's marching orders.
Not twenty minutes' walk further west, all the while witnessing a horde of Urutan scurrying ahead of them to where the adamantitan must be, the party finally saw the beast ahead in the clear morning air. Libra revealed its name as the Urutan Eater, which sounded both absurd and prophetic to Ashe's ears. It was easily four times Balthier's height, as the tallest one in the party. Its shell was the turquoise of a fine jewel placed at the centre of a Rozarrian madam's necklace, its dull shine promising poison if you looked too closely. Markings like scars bloomed over the shell, and it was edged with a brass filigree twelve inches thick, gently curving along the base of the shell. Its four legs were thicker than the most portly pine trees they had passed, anthracite in colour, with a loose golden mesh carapace on top. At the beast's ankles were enormous cuffs wrought of stainless steel, and a chain connecting the front right leg to the shell along its left size, but the chain had been snapped along its next length, dragging a channel through the sand. A faded gray armour protected the beast's neck, throat, and jaw, terminating in four fearsome incisors jutting out from its underbite, each tooth as big as Penelo's closed fist. Its eyes glowed orange with danger. About thirty yards away from the party, who stood near an embankment of plants, it was preoccupied with fighting off about twelve Urutans dancing around it, slashing at its legs with stubby little wakizashi blades, firing roughly-hewn arrows at its shell that bounced off ineffectually, and jabbing daggers wherever they might find exposed flesh. In retaliation, the tortoise jumped up about a foot, which because of its gargantuan size seemed trivial, but it still kicked away a few of its brown-clad attackers several yards; then it leaned to one size and flattened a few more Urutans; then it summoned a chunk of magicked ice to its face and then shattered it into a hail of bullets, peppering the Urutans with Blizzard magick.
The seven stood in a line and watched the melee with mixed expressions. Vossler and Basch, oh so very military, drew their weapons and watched intently. Ashe held her staff, white-knuckled, to her side. Balthier folded his arms. Fran put one hand on her hip. Vaan and Penelo just stood there, watching with some distaste.
"What are we gonna do?" Penelo asked quietly.
"Wait for the Urutan to prevail, or tire out, at which point we shall intervene." Basch said, inching closer. "Libra advises that the Urutan Eater is weak to wind and presently has lost half its stamina." His face fell when the tortoise summoned a greenish breeze around it, which restored lustre to its shell and stymied the slow gush of oily black blood coming from its rear left leg.
"It just Renewed," Vossler said. "Highness, I advise we engage immediately, or the beast will heal itself to full strength without ceasing."
Ashe held up her staff. "If that's what you think is best, then we shall proceed with your orders." Vossler nodded, looked at Basch once, and not waiting for the blond to follow, charged at the Urutan Eater and executed a grand upwards slash from right-to-left, strengthened by Mist, that cut right through the air and cast a slash of wind at the beast, successfully leaving a thin scar in its shell.
"Well done," Basch called, and charged, his wind-summoning Gladius held low, so he could strike at the beast's belly. Ashe ran after him, and Fran followed, both waving their arms in sweeping circular motions to summon Aero magicks. Ashe pointed the head of her staff right at the head of the Urutan Eater and blasted its face with a shot of wind, while Fran leapt into the air a few yards on a pocket of wind, flipped around twice with gymnastic flair, and landed, casting an Aero spell that manifested as a vertical slice through the air of dusty-gray wind. It knocked the Urutan Eater back a foot and disturbed its footing so that it crushed a few Urutan-Yensa beneath its right side.
Vaan and Penelo just looked on with awe. Balthier noticed and smirked. "She is really very good," he said breezily, aiming at the tortoise's legs, popping off a few shots. It slumped, angrily roared, and retaliated with a Thunder spell that crackled right at Balthier, catching him right in the chest.
"Balthier!" Penelo cried, quickly Curing him and helping him up. "Shall I give you Shell?"
Coughing a few times, he shook his head. "Best pay attention to the front line. Look there, Basch has been knocked over." Penelo nodded, and cast healing magicks at Basch from afar, but the spell fizzled before it could reach him. "Stage one Cure magick has limited range, Penelo. You must get closer."
"But I-" the beast's size stilled her footsteps.
"You must get closer," Balthier repeated urgently.
"Come on!" Vaan encouraged, grabbing her free hand and yanking her forward. "I'm just going to sling a few spells at the thing, see what happens. You keep us standing."
"Okay, this is close enough," Penelo said loudly, shakily, stopping ten yards away. Basch was about to be trampled by the beast's leg, but Ashe and Fran's combined magicks were keeping it at bay, and Vossler and the remaining Urutan-Yensas, who were mercifully ignoring the party, were distracting it with repeated blows to its strongly-armoured front.
"We ought Dispel its protective enchantments!" Vossler shouted. "Dispel them!" The whole party looked to Fran, who shook her head, then to Penelo, who looked puzzled.
Disbelieving, Vossler jumped backwards and changed his stance to something more defensive. "None here have Dispel magicks? Not even the Viera? What good are you?"
Basch got back on his feet. "Vossler, hush. Jump again and attack its jaw from below."
"Inverted Westersand Midfault?" Vossler asked, not quite asking permission. The Inverted Westersand Midfault was a modified greatsword strike from the Dalmascan school, which Vossler learned a decade ago, then taught to waves of soldiers who dared engage him as a tutor. From fool stance, where the wielder crouched slightly, held the hilt of the sword at head height, and let the tip of the blade touch the ground, Vossler would lift both arms sharply with the cutting blade facing directly up, and jump, bisecting the target from tail to head in one neat, brutal action.
"So by-the-book, Azelas. Just hit the damn thing." Basch rolled to his left and jabbed the beast's belly behind its front-right leg, drawing blood, then narrowly avoided its counterattacking stomp. A fire spell sparked into being and shot at Basch, but true to his word, it didn't even touch his armour, instead curling away into tongues of flame no larger than his own dagger, his magick resist was so high.
"Are we any closer?" Ashe called from the other side of the Urutan Eater's shell. "I am almost spent of Mist."
"I can end it if you can stun it for long enough," Vossler replied. "Highness, if you please, stand to my right. Viera, stand to my left."
"Fran," Ashe corrected.
"Of course. Quickly." The two magick casters shuffled into position. There were no Urutan-Yensa left standing; Vaan scampered forward to drag their bodies away, then looted their pockets, looking for anything of worth.
"Pirate, keep firing. Basch, distract it. Penelo, Faith on Her Highness and Fran."
"I don't have-"
"Never mind. Highness, Fran, wind magick right at its face. Now!" He roared.
In the first coordinated effort the party had ever managed, the seven acted as one. Ashe and Fran maintained a flow of high-speed winds right at the beast's face, causing it to screw its eyes up in discomfort. Basch dug the tip of his dagger into the underside of the Urutan Eater and successfully found purchase, dragging the blade with difficulty down the length of its body, loosing forth buckets of blood and entrails. Balthier kept shooting at its shell from the other side, hitting the same point over and over where Vossler had successfully gouged out a scar earlier. The shell began to fragment and leave shards all over the sand. Penelo quickly cast Protect and Shell on the three at the tortoise's front, while Vaan threw a ball of magicked darkness at the beast's leg for good measure. Finally, Vossler summoned some Mist about him, and leapt up, aiming the cutting blade of his greatsword at the front of the Urutan Eater's body, successfully slicing right through it. He made it six yards into the sky, having left an enormous gouge in the beast's body that killed it quickly, then landed in a precise barrel roll that left him skidding to a neat stop at the beast's rear.
The battle was over. Vaan, Penelo, and Ashe watched with amazement.
"Ashe, I gotta say, you're in good hands." Vaan walked up to the slain Urutan Eater and surveyed the carcass, which was oozing black blood all over the sand that dried in the sun. "Is the shell worth anything?"
"Quite a lot," Balthier replied, joining him. "Leave it to me-"
"No way!" Vaan knew exactly what the sky pirate was doing and prised off enormous chunks of the turtle's turquoise shell, inspecting them, then carrying them off, dumping them into the pouch, where they shrunk to the size of seashells inside.
They reported their victory to Lute, who was shocked, clapping her hands gleefully.
"You killed the wild scourge of the sandsea, kupo? Amazing!" She drew out the last word. "By the way," hastily bowing, "that Urutan-Yensa from before, he just went by, kupo. Maybe he was going to look for that, uh, treasure, for you? Unusually kind of him!"
"Unusual, indeed," Balthier said under his breath.
"He was headed for the Ogir-Yensa Sandsea…"
"Treasure from an Urutan-Yensa?" Vaan inquired, thoughtful. "What d'you think it could be?"
"A set of brown robes?" Penelo suggested, elbowing him gently. "Who cares, honestly?"
"I do," Fran said pointedly, and Penelo straightened up, almost humbled by Fran's words. "This occurrence is rare, and I would like to witness it." She waited for nobody's approval and went in the direction Lute suggested. Ashe protested to Balthier, who waved her off. The rest of them followed Fran at a distance for some time, and they found themselves back at the Rozarrian oil constructs, but the characteristic briny stench of the Urutan-Yensa intensified, and there, Fran pressed a finger to her lips and ferried the other six to one side where they could see what intrigued her so.
At the shoreline, where waves of sand and water lapped up against the edge, there were about 40 Urutan-Yensa gathered in a loose cluster, one yard away from each other. They were hunched over, supposedly in reverence, their weapons sheathed, their robes fastened, as one Urutan-Yensa stood at the front, trembling, in front of another, taller creature. Two Yensa fish, floating in air, swimming in the wind, were situated one each, flanking the mob.
Lute had followed them from a distance and now was caught up. She whispered to Fran, "The Queen of the Urutan-Yensa summoning her clan! A gathering of the Urutan-Yensa is a truly rare occurrence, kupo!"
"I was right to see it through."
"Proud of yourself, Fran?" Balthier demurred. "'twould be just our luck if the Empire left the Tomb in ruins, plucking the Dawn Shard from the rubble, all the while we played natural philosopher in the Sandsea."
Fran ignored his jibe. They all watched the events intently, including Lute. The Urutan at the front was apparently communicating with the Urutan Queen, who was taller, standing on two spindly legs with a curious curvature not unlike the blades of a scythe. Her face and body was still crustacean in form, and she possessed not lips, but hard flaps that closed over her maw. Her arms terminated in claws rather than hands, and she was not garbed in the same brown robes as her minions; instead, a bone-white armour covered her shoulders and bust, and formed a headpiece thrusting up-and-back from her forehead. They were making the softest, high-pitched clicking noises. Her gesturing seemed uncaring and dooming. Lute, who must have possessed some ability to interpret their language, seemed more and more distressed, wringing her hands as the condemnation continued.
"Kupo? Kupo-po?" Lute's face fell, her tiny jaw dropping. "Wait, what's happening, kupo?" She crept forward, listening more intently. "Wait, no!" She swung round to face Fran and the rest. "They're going to execute him!"
"Best we leave this grievous tragedy behind," Balthier declared. "Seen enough, Fran?"
"Hush." Her hands crept closer to her bow. Lute was now running forward through the crowd of Urutan, pushing them aside as the made it to the front of the pack. The rest of the party drew their weapons, but didn't move from their position.
"Don't do this!" Lute appealed to the Urutan Queen, who surveyed the moogle with disdain through beady black eyes. "The creature would still be at large if it weren't for his plea for help, kupo!"
Vaan and the rest were ready to engage the entire pack of Urutan and their Queen if they were to attack Lute, but for now, the Queen didn't seem intent on attacking Lute, so they stilled their hands wisely. The Queen instead turned to face the Urutan sentry that raised the alarm.
In an oddly low voice, with clicking consonants and absent sibilants, the Queen pronounced, "You shame us by seeking aid outside the tribe! Urutan-Yensa are lords and masters of the great sea! We seek the aid of none!"
Lute rubbed her cheek, facing the sentry, who clicked and rasped at its Queen desperately. It trembled ever more fiercely. The rest of the mob remained unmoving, as did the party, waiting for judgement.
"Your words are the howling of the sand to my ears! I condemn you to dust!"
Lute wheeled around and gave a look of complete terror to the Queen. Ashe prepared a dervish of wind in her hand, but Vossler grabbed her wrist and mouthed, desist. She glared at him.
The queen then, without moving, without any visible effort, cast her magicks, a black-and-orange destruction centred right on her victim's chest. It enveloped the Urutan, immolating its body into ashes, leaving the scent of brine and fire on the wind, and no trace behind. Lute gasped, witnessing the execution from just one yard away, holding her hands over her mouth. The rest of the Urutan watched in silence and stillness, apparently accepting their Queen's judgement of their kin.
"Wh-what have you done, kupo?" Lute ran over to where there was once an Urutan. She turned and faced the Queen, stamping her feet. "You bring him back!" She bellowed in the biggest voice her tiny lungs could muster. Basch made a small sound, taken aback by Lute's resolve.
The Queen decreed, facing her subjects: "Those who sully our name will be punished, be they foeman or kin. They must pay the honour-price. There can be no forgiveness!"
Lute stood, frozen.
"I would destroy you, too-" and at this, the party advanced from their position and faced the Queen directly from their vantage point, all pretense of espionage gone, "-but I am merciful." Seven sets of feet stilled. "Better you live to tell the world that the Urutan are not to be taken lightly. Now, leave!"
Lute scrambled away towards Fran. Fortunately, the Urutan mob didn't notice, or didn't care, about that, as they followed their Queen due east, the two Yensa fish following right at the back. The smell of burning remained.
A moment later, Penelo asked gently, "Are you all right, Lute?"
The moogle swallowed, then nodded bravely. "I am, kupo. Thanks. Though I could do with an ether, I've been scared of all my Mist." Penelo dug around in her pouch and proffered a vial, which Lute accepted and chugged down, wiping her mouth.
"So what was this treasure that was being sought?" Balthier asked bluntly.
"Oh. Well," Lute said, "that rogue Urutan wouldn't have been happy back with his clan, I'm sure of it, kupo. I think it was trying to find a treasure to give to me to entreat peace. But it never gave me anything."
"We wasted all our time for no gain?" Balthier complained. "Unbelievable. Princess, let us proceed before we waste any more of our time."
"Still your feet, Balthier." Fran was looking closely at a flower blooming in the soil. "I have found our treasure."
Lute caught on and walked up to the flower at which Fran's gaze was fixed. "That flower… it's rare to see one blooming in the sandsea, kupo. I have seen three only in several months of crossing. That may have been the treasure he found."
Fran walked up to it and plucked it from the sandy soil. The flower was coronate in shape, possessing two purple lanceolate petals sitting opposed each other and gently curving, and a golden anther that faded from a rich burnt umber to a pale caramel, being composed of overlapping teardrop shapes. The flower's sepals were a bright green flecked with a spear of orange-yellow, and the stem curved smoothly. Adjoined to the flower were some berries, a rich maroon, spherical and smooth. Two such flowers were attached to the plant, and its roots were very long, the taproot being twice as long as the length of the stem.
"These are the flowers and berries of the eksir plant, also named the Flower of the Dynast-King. These are valuable for their soporific properties as applied to certain avion beasts with affinity for the light." Lute interjected, something about an enormous avion called the garuda with an aversion to the plant. Continuing, Fran concluded, "Ashe, this detour may save us many unwanted battles with the beasts of the Nam-Yensa Sandsea." She snapped off the flowers and berries, then handed them to Penelo. "Keep these safe."
Ashe seemed desperate to be off. "Very good, let us continue."
Lute continued east and waved a quick goodbye. The seven wayfarers returned to the carcass of the Urutan Eater, where, in a disgusting irony, more Urutan-Yensa had taken to feasting upon its ample flesh. Several hours passed, and the sun's heat reached unbearable levels as the light reached its zenith, but the many speartongue toads they found and slaughtered along the way liberated some water magicite stones, which Basch explained were a reliable source of hydration if one chewed on it.
"That's it?" Ashe asked, looking at the blue-and-brown rock in her hands. "One just… chews on it like a candy?"
"Indeed, Majesty. I assure you of its safety."
Looking to Vossler once for confirmation, Ashe put it on her tongue and bit down, hesitantly, and to her relief, the stone sundered sweet, clean water, which she swallowed with relief. The stone gradually wore down to nothing.
"My thanks, Basch," she said, breezily, wiping her lips with a handkerchief, as they reached the edge of the Nam-Yensa Sandsea, and an enormous cliff face entered into view.
Taken aback, Basch replied, using words he hadn't for at least two years, "I serve at the pleasure of the throne." Vossler clicked his tongue.
The sun was setting low again. Balthier had hung back for a while, and even dipped into the entrance of the Zertinan Caverns while nobody was watching, not even Fran, for she would have protested, and had done enough hunting and looting to fashion himself water-impregnated shot, which he loaded into his Sirius rifle, pleased. Their supply of potions and sundries was shrinking, but their supply of valuable loot was growing at thrice the rate, Vaan and Penelo dutifully scavenging the carcasses of the beasts that Vossler and Basch had slain, or that Ashe and Fran had magicked into oblivion. Along the way, when there was a moment of calm and still, Vossler continued to train Vaan in Dalmascan sword arts, Basch continued to train Penelo in Dalmascan rod striking technique, and all except Basch improved in their magick. Ashe returned Penelo's white magick scrolls matter-of-factly, thrusting them into her hands. Penelo shot Vaan an exasperated look before pocketing them.
There didn't appear to be a way forward, just a cliff face hundreds of yards high curving from their left, blocking their further advance. The sun was setting now, and they moved to make camp again. As they set up their tents and gathered firewood and fetched food and water, two chocobos entered into view, upon which were a Hume adventurer each, and each chocobo and Hume carrying enormous packs, stinking of bait and with fishing rods sticking out the back.
"Lo, travellers!" The man called jauntily in an unidentifiable accent, waving. He was bald, bearded, around Basch's age, with curious red tattoos over his scalp, wearing a pirate's garb, including a dark tunic, a necklace with a gaudy serpentine design bouncing over his chest, a red obi, bronze cuffs fashioned like rope on his forearms and bicep holding his sleeves down, loose trousers, knee-high boots, and knee guards over the top. His female companion, around his age, looked like any Dalmascan woman: brown, shoulder-length hair, with a blue cotton bandana over it, a short-sleeved shirt in a dull brown, cotton trousers with a slit in the cuff for airflow, and sandals. He seemed parched, red in the face, while she did not, though she possessed none of the enthusiasm he did. "It's unusual to see people out here… we're trying to catch some sandfish, but," he looked at her, and she folded her arms, "they're not biting."
"You must whip up the sand under which they hide, and then they will awaken and be responsive to your effort." Vossler instructed.
"Oh, truly?" He replied. "Gratitude, sir! You must be leading this cortege on a similar journey, if you've this advice to give out freely."
Ashe stepped forward. "Actually, on the contrary. We are to visit the Tomb of the Dynast-King." She waited to, once again, be told that she was insane, suicidal, foolish, any manner of negative adjectives to describe her state of mind, for daring to seek the only reasonable way to take back her birthright. Would she always be questioned, challenged, by those without the knowledge or licence to know her fully?
You never questioned me, she prayed to the memory of her late husband. You believed me the first time, always.
The man laughed raucously, surprising them all. "Incredible! Find me some treasure, then. I am somewhat of a merchant, naturally," he said, waving his arm over the multitude of packs and bags strapped to his chocobo and that of his companions. "I am Dyce. Pleased to make your acquaintance…?"
"Amalia." Ashe responded, automatically. Safer, this way. Without the telltale Dalmascan accent, best to be anonymous.
"Amalia. A lovely name. Well, what can I do for you?"
Dyce and his companion, Rulette, presented a panoply of arms, armour, accessories, and sundries. He also paid good money for the loot Vaan presented, mightily impressed at the Salamand Halcyon jewel Vaan found inside a crate near the oil complex. Penelo purchased a handsome pole made of sturdy cypress, reinforced with strips of metal, and brought it to Basch for his approval. Vossler suggested to Vaan to purchase the Zwill Blade, at a mere 3,000 gil – "It holds the element of wind and its hilt can catch opponents' blades," Dyce professed, smiling widely – but Vaan refused.
"My brother's sword is still good." He inspected the mythril, noticing a few dents and chips, frowning. Vossler shook his head and walked away, back towards the pile of firewood that Balthier was stacking.
Out of courtesy, Ashe invited Dyce and Rulette to join their camp. The nine of them sat around the fire, Basch and Dyce went fishing, while Rulette and Vossler talked about the many changes Rabanastre had experienced in the last two years, Vossler careful to keep his life story vague. Vaan and Fran fed the two chocobos greens that Dyce had tucked away in his collection, and the birds began to doze off. They ate, Fran once again refusing the fish that was being flame-grilled, and drank, Dyce offering a bottle of madhu, which they all sampled, except for Fran. She was the first to retire to her tent, complaining of a headache from the liquor's fumes, followed by Vaan and Penelo, and Ashe, who still hoarded far too many blankets to be fair or sensible. Penelo didn't bother to ask this time around.
Finally, it was just Vossler, once again taking the first watch. Hours passed, and Vossler again woke up Balthier with a barked order around midnight, the pirate aiming his rifle out of his tent and at Vossler's head in retaliation.
"What stills your hand, pirate?"
"The potential need to clean half-breed blood off my brigandine."
What surprised Balthier this time around was that Vossler removed his armour and placed it not outside Ashe's tent, but outside Basch's tent, and what's more, Vossler dragged his bedroll and toiletries inside Basch's tent. Balthier whistled.
"Another shot at romance for our two knights, mayhap?"
"Go to hell, Balthier." Vossler's inelegant crawl inside Basch's tent led to a temporary pause in the Landisian's ugly snoring, and some quiet, rumbling conversation. Balthier just shook his head and took a seat.
Fran took her watch next, meditating while Balthier washed and dried his clothes, then used magick to iron out the creases as his tailor in Archades taught him once. He whispered to Fran what Vossler had just done, and her eyes opened wide, then she chuckled. As the sun's glow appeared in the small hours of the morning, she deigned not to wake Basch for the last watch.
At least, peace amongst our Humes.
Basch's snoring stilled to a distant muttering. Ashe woke early, needing to relieve herself, and was surprised and speechless at not seeing Vossler sleeping outside her tent. Fran shrugged – a gesture Balthier taught her – and waved her away.
"I wager you 1,000 gil that you shan't reach the entrance of the Tomb, and that you'll run screaming from it, holding your lives in your hands."
"I accept your wager," Fran said to Dyce, threading the eksir berries onto the shaft of an arrow, hand-selected from her quiver.
The nine of them found the entrance to the Tomb in the morning. It was a magickally-carved tunnel through the cliff, completely devoid of light, yet chock full of Mist. It took very little effort for Fran, Ashe, and Vaan to cast enough fire magick to light their way. Penelo clung to Vaan, while Basch and Fran took point, and Vossler took the rear, with Dyce and Rulette, and their two chocobos.
Carvings along the wall were in a writing that none could decipher except Fran. "It is in the Old Galtean tongue. It is the full text of the constitution of the Galtean Alliance."
"What's that?" Vaan asked.
"When King Raithwall brought peace to this region seven-centuries-and-six years ago," Ashe preached, recalling the words taught to her by her tutors as a young girl, "he issued a charter of rights and responsibilities to all of the landowners in the region. With it, he established the Kingdom of Dalmasca, under House Thickmede, and the Kingdom of Nabradia, under House Borus. Those houses are gone, being eventually succeeded by House B'nargin of Dalmasca in 588 Old Valendian, and by House Heios of Nabradia in 611 Old Valendian. Each kingdom received the blessing of the Gran Kiltias of the time, Epanidris, and Raithwall's gods-given nethicite. The constitution set out the boundaries of each kingdom, the structure of their governments, and a common currency for all Ivalice, which we now call Gil."
"All that comes from Raithwall?" Penelo asked.
"How do you not know these things?" Balthier raised an eyebrow.
"We didn't get much in the way of schooling," Vaan retaliated. "We're not from rich Archadian families like you." Ashe felt a little burst of guilt at this statement.
"Never too late to learn," Rulette said, her voice carrying forward through the tunnel, and echoing slightly. "I myself learned potion-making from a Viera in Rabanastre not three weeks ago." Fran's ears twitched.
"As I was saying," Ashe's voice grew a little strained here, "The constitution of the Galtean Alliance was in effect for almost all of Ivalice for many centuries, until the establishment of Rozarria and Archadia challenged the sovereignty of Raithwall's accords. Dalmasca and Nabradia both changed their constitution at some point thereafter."
"The original document was displayed within the audience chamber at Verdpale Palace in Nabudis. I have seen it with my own eyes." Basch added. "I was surprised to read it; it specified a gubernatorial structure much unlike what Landis had."
"Oh? How did your fallen republic subjugate its citizens, as all lands are wont to do?" Balthier said drolly.
"I…" Basch didn't have enough to form an answer. "I am not sure. It is lost to conquest, at any rate."
"One day we will find out," Vossler said, an olive branch in Basch's direction. "But for now, let us protect our own kingdom."
His eyes widened as he realised his mistake. He had implied the real purpose of their exploration of Raithwall's Tomb, and with it, Ashe's real identity. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment and he looked directly ahead, not meeting anyone's eyes.
Nobody said anything for a while until the light at the end of the tunnel appeared. Dyce and Rulette offered Fran one last chance to renege from her waiver, but Fran shook her head, leaving the merchants behind. As the seven approached the grand temple, flanked by a formation of two-by-five stone columns hundreds of yards high, there was no sign of any guardian, any paling, any obstacle to preclude their access- until there was.
From the right side of the temple sitting over the tomb, an avion that Libra screamed into Basch's mind was called garuda swooped over the party. They all unsheathed their weapons and charged their magicks, but Fran waved them down. The bird's wingspan was sixty yards wide, its body shimmering with pearlescent white and vivid orange-and-pink accents. The edges of its feathers were aflame in gold, and its beak shone with the telltale luminescence of electrum, a metal alloy used to fashion holy relics and altars. Its roar bellowed through the space, unsettling Dyce and Rulette's chocobos, and deafening the party temporarily.
Aiming precisely, Fran loaded her berry-soaked arrow into her bow, and fired. Her aim was entirely true, striking its forehead, the berries leaching their crimson juices over its eyes and beak. The beast screamed in pain, its vision disabled and its flight disrupted; it slammed into one of the stone columns, falling to the ground with an earth-shaking rumble that made that column fall directly onto the bird's body.
Fran blasted the bird with dark magick, thinking only of the losses and mourning she herself had endured in her many years, and picturing an older boy that looked like Vaan, wearing Royal Dalmascan Army armour, who witnessed the death of his homeland. It seemed entirely too easy, and too shocking, for Fran to amplify the venom within her magick; a curse, a malediction, given physical form in amethyst-and-anthracite claws, shredding the body of the bird apart. Vaan cheered her own and lent his own dark magicks, while Balthier idly shot the bird's belly with the rain of tears spewing forth from his rifle. After only minutes, the garuda stirred no more, and melted into pinpricks of light that soared into the air and right to the entrance of the Tomb of the Dynast-King.
After letting Vaan and Penelo scavenge the body, Fran walked back to Dyce, who was grinning incredulously.
"Pay up."
Next is Chapter 23: Flicker, O Flame, and Pierce the Dark