Disclaimer: These are not my characters. They are the sole property of Squaresoft. I am merely borrowing them for the purpose of storytelling, stepping briefly into their world to influence their actions.
"Absolute Zero"
Part Four: Wild cats in the grass
Trail Song
Locke, never one for letting a day start sour, had invented a traveling song.
"Oh bye and bye, I sees the sky . . .
A million pennies for a lie . . .
Of fields an' glens, I sees no end . . .
My faery friend and I."
Locke spun round to face Celes on the last line, his face all wide and sassy. She groaned, shook her head. Regretted ever telling Locke about her conversation with Danae, which he had obviously found most entertaining. Still, his singing voice wasn't bad, and he wasn't completely mangling this old song of his, reinterpreted into yet another incarnation. He was being ridiculous, but she thought the world of him, all the same. Even when he was silly, something she never really achieved herself. No, she thought, especially when he was silly. Celes tried to keep her smile hidden.
"Must you? You're butchering a perfectly good song there, Locke. And don't look at me with that cheeky grin!"
"Oh, don't say, now! You love it!"
"You think so?"
"Bloody sure of it! C'mon now, dear, try to hum along, at the very least . . ."
"You try me, Locke, you . . ." But he had caught her smile emerging, clapped his hands in glee at her, and ceremoniously plucked her off the ground she was standing on. Spun her around.
"Oh bye and bye, I sees the sky . . .
The perfect place for you and I . . ."
Locke released Celes, and they continued. The song continued, with Celes even offering a few verses, once she caught his rhyme scheme. The sun passed in and out of the clouds, with a scattering of snow dust falling around them. They moved from desert steppe to grassy plain, all in the general direction of Kohlingen.
Quagmire
The drop in climate had caused harsh rains on the fields of the Western Continent, along with the snow. The rains brought floods. Some areas sinking into shallow recesses of wetness. The waters towed debris across these fields and it wasn't uncommon now to discover large fallen trees and even parts of houses lying in a traveler's way.
One niche in the vast plain of noh-grasses, was particularly waterlogged. Not quite frozen, but the temperature here was hovering as close to the freezing point as water could stand. The grass was a soppy sponge, seeking to devour unwary visitors. It was here, for several days, that a challenge, of sorts, was being held.
Travis was the ringleader. The latest rogue produced from the Mackey tribe of Miranda, a family notorious for their feisty youths. Travis Mackey was fierce, and a pack leader to rival any breed of wild dog. His entourage wasn't large, but consisted of the roughest, crudest little pills anyone in that area had ever laid eyes on. The twins, Aaron and Orion, had fled from Zozo, and thus their shady credentials went without saying. Nib, which was apparently not his real name, had only one decent eye and even less in the way of manners, charm, and goodwill. Nobody knew where Travis had found him, or even how they had met and not killed each other on site. Nobody asked either way. Nobody with any sense went anywhere near them, and lately, this meant that they kept off the plains outside Kohlingen.
These boys were brutal, and as Locke had been known to comment on their sort, "a bunch of quite shoddy blokes."
They had taken to criminal activity, of a kind even unusual for them. The snow was to blame, the villagers howled. The snow would be the end of them all. All these youths gone bad. Everyone turning on each other. And with the miscreants of Zozo forced to flee and roam the decent country, it was as good as declared.
Every man for himself.
Ambush
"You there! Ya Slag! Don't move your bones or you're finished!"
The man, who had inadvertently wandered into this unlucky stretch of the plain, froze in fear. A flash and there, downward, was a knife. In his thigh. "Who's there?" He froze in fear and pain, but unwavering. "Bastards. Show yourself."
"Now why'd ya have to be so nasty, now? Me mates and I are just having some fun here. Right?"
A boot to his back and the unfortunate traveler found himself face down in frigid soggy turf. "What's ya got there, maggot? I'll bet this one's full of goods. Looks bloody rich." The man raised his head, face to face with Nib's boot. It was even dirtier and more scratched up than his face. "Posh Jidoor scum, I'll bet." Mind reeling, the man twisted on the ground. So they wanted his money, fair enough. But the knife. His leg twitching with pain.
They would kill him, that was for certain. But he wasn't about to just die. Not the sunniest of situations, but the choice wasn't exactly his to make. He reached toward his thigh, cautiously, removed the knife. Prepared to jump to his feet. Pushed the dagger into and across the leg of the rogue standing above him.
After that, things progressed rather quickly.
Interference
Locke heard the skirmish before Celes. He was hot-wired for trouble. And this, was definitely his sort of trouble.
He had been knee-deep into the fight before Celes could do anything about it, and realized that she would have to assist him. Avoidance was a much preferable tactic in her opinion, but Locke hadn't asked for it. Locke never avoided anything.
So, they were soon engulfed in the melee. Outnumbered but not outmatched.
The plains, however, were not an ideal location for any sort of activity, let alone a brawl. The bandits had this in their favour. They lost footing often, and all parties had become drenched to the skin. Limbs numb and losing agility. Freezing losing pacing lunging. Figures flying, parrying. The slumped form of the unfortunate victim lay wet below them, briefly cast aside in favour of these two new wanderers. In their own way, also bandits.
It was eye for eye, and two to one.
Welcome stranger
By contrast, in another part of the world, someone was in the right place at the right time. He had wandered for weeks, following the snow. However one follows snow, the results are usually surprising. His surprise was the unlikely fortress of cliffs, earth, and embellished ruins.
Mobliz.
He hadn't had a name for it at first, it was unrecognizable from its former self. He would not remember the soft days there of his youth, until the day when someone names this fortress for him. He did realize, on first glance, that this would be his salvation.
Terra had felt his approach, and in little time, had appeared before him. He marveled at this gentle beauty. Her unusual locks. He bowed a humble greeting, putting her at ease, and instantly becoming the newest member of her ever-growing colony.
Recognition
"So the little bitch can move too, eh?"
"Some piece of ass too, that one!"
"Shut it, alright! Bloody crooks."
"And what you gonna do, ya pansy! I'll gut you right up the . . . "
"No, you won't. You can deal with me."
"Oh, the lady is addressing me, aye? I'll deal ya, then, righty-o!"
Locke tensed, ready to intervene, but held back for Celes' dignity. She thrust towards Orion, and the passing was brief. Blood fell from his jaw. She kicked him from his standing, drew back. All in one clean movement. Even Locke was awed.
"Whore! Ya bloody slut!" Orion cradled his head, hands dripping blood.
"You . . . "
"That Whore!"
"That whore is General Celes, ya slag! The bloody witch who torched my town."
Celes stiffened at this title, but remained, unrelenting. Held a cold hard gaze, held her footing. Her hair plastered to her forehead, dripping wet. Standing there, in her cloak, she did look the part. An unrelenting Imperial General. Her eyes, cold, menacing.
"Let's git outta here."
"Right."
"Won't be the last, though, deary! I promise ya that! "
The turned tail and fled, like a pack of red dogs. Celes remained standing, unsure whether to drop her front quite yet. Below her, the man writhed in the muddy filth. Her shoulders dropped. She lowered her eyes, and Locke could see a stream of tears run down her cheek with the rest of the moisture.
Kohlingen skies
The man's name was Barryn, a farmer from Kohlingen. His wife, Anise, was all over the three of them once they stepped through the door. She was flying strands of red curl, and flour-doused aprons. Their home was soft and warm. It smelled like butter and soap. Burning wood.
Locke reclined on a couch, sopping his forehead with a damp cloth. The cut was not deep, but it had bled quite a bit. He was wearing a tan pair of pants, and matching shirt, much to loose for his liking. Anise had ushered them both out of their wet clothes instantly, and had tossed him some of Barryn's work clothes.
Celes wore a large fluffy robe, her long legs exposed to her upper thighs. The robe had been the only thing she could reasonable fit into, and that wasn't very well. If Celes had what would be considered a tall, lithe figure, then Anise had the opposite. She sat upright in a billowy chair, gingerly sipping a warm cup of tea.
Barryn lay prostrate in his bedroom, above them. He was wounded badly, but going to survive. Anise had informed them, and they believed her. With her in charge, they had no doubt he would recover from any ailment.
"Now what are two fine young characters like yourselves doing that brought you here? All the way out here, and in the swamps, no better!"
"We're trying to make our way to Narshe." Celes spoke over her cup. Locke smiled from his chair, mostly jazzed that he had been referred to as young. Despite all the paths he'd trodden and pains withstood, he still took pride in retaining his carefree demeanor, his youthful character. His experiences certainly hadn't aged his spirit, and he did recognize that people still saw this in his face. And at just over thirty years, he could hardly be considered old by any standard.
"Narshe. You don't say? That's one place I can say I certainly don't want to go."
"We want to see the scholars. About the snow . . . "
"Oh, very good then. That's something else, altogether. I can get you passage, fair enough."
"You mean it? Really?" Locke sat up, absently dropping the cloth. "How you say?"
"There's this man. Devilishly handsome. Much like yourself." She took a pause to smile wryly, curls bouncing. Locke smiled. "He's always about in that great ship of his. Traveling is hard now, but he's still at it. Yes, handsome devil. Not much older than you, I'd reckon. But that hair. Silver like the sky before it pours. My God, I've never seen anything so incredible."
They locked eyes, shared an incredulous look.
It was Setzer.
Edgar's letter
In Figaro castle, by light of candle, a letter was being written:
I'm not completely sure how I am still functioning after all this, and I can't say that I expect to make it through the Winter. Not to alarm the reader of this note into thinking this is a suicide, though. Locke, you are right, old friend. I'm too vain, too arrogant to die in such a way.
No, the reason I put pen to paper to articulate these thoughts, is that I fear the worst for Figaro and for myself in particular. There has been much whispering among my subjects. Inquiries into my health, into my abilities to lead them. There have been no attempts at disloyalty, but one cannot deny that the climate in this, my kingdom, is a foul one indeed.
I am hoping that this letter will wither and turn brown, alongside myself, into old age. Hopefully, it will remain in its seal and never be opened. All the same, I now write it. Because I am writing this, I cannot say I invest my faith toward believing in this end. These words, then, will articulate my last thoughts and wishes.
Locke, friend, you I speak to first of all. You must . . .
The pen continued to write into the deep hours of night.
A Man of Faith
In Mobliz, things were changing.
The man who had recently arrived, Sebastian, had come to be known there as the parson. Everyone in Mobliz loved him immediately, and often asked him for advice and prayers for good graces. He had once been a fanatic of the magician's tower. Here he spent years in silence, engulfed in complete devotion to the acquiring of the mystical powers of magic. The Esper's ill-gotten curse. Once the temple of sin, built to appease the fury of these creatures, was struck down, he traveled the world to find a true path of devotion.
He came to know of the nothingness of the remaining world without these powers. This, he felt, was their punishment for abusing the grace of these great creatures. They had believed they had destroyed them, the Espers, but he began to see differently. As a wandering ascetic the truth was revealed to him.
The snow was the result of the removal of the blessing of the Espers. They were released from the bondage of this world. Not destroyed though, he somehow knew. No longer contained behind the Sealed Gate, they had taken their true place among the cosmos. From there, they now watched the world crumbling. A punishment for the misuse of their blessings. A punishment for greed and sin. For war.
The proof was in Thamasa, he told them. That's when he began to know for sure. They had become kin with the Espers and thus one with the cosmos too. To harness the power of these godly creatures, by accepting their role on the earth while the Esper's lay sealed behind the gate. Somehow, these magician's had been avatars of the gods, and shunned by the people who would fear their power, or worse, use it for their gain. They had been removed from the coming apocalypse, not destroyed, just leaving their earthy forms and now removed to be with the Espers in the stars.
No, not destroyed. The mages had been good, sure enough. The Winter, and all its destruction, was meant for the others. The ones who had abused their goodwill. They would be left here in the freezing cold.
The people of Mobliz loved Sebastian, and eagerly listened to his promises of a salvation from this snowstorm. They believed his words and knew that the good Espers would indeed save them if they were of the right mind and heart. For they had brought Terra to them, and she, Sebastian said, was connected to them in her heart.
Terra was a daughter of an Esper, and her heart was full of kindness.
Warmth
"The cloak is ruined. Soaked right through." Celes fretted in front of the closet.
"Not ruined, Celes. It will dry, it will do."
"It's suede, Locke. It's ruined . . . " Her voiced trailed into a whisper.
"That's not it, is it, dear?" Locke glanced at her withdrawn form, motioned toward the space on the bed beside him. "Come here, now. Celes, please?"
She stood hanging there listless for a moment and then slowly settled down next to him. She had an empty melancholy about her, and Locke frowned. He wouldn't ask, didn't need to. All these memories, these things falling around them, frozen. He could feel the ice overtaking her spirits again, and reached for her. "Just let it out, now. Alright?" She slumped over his shoulder, and he held her, whispered, "Go ahead and cry if that'll right things. You can be safe here, Celes. It's me."
She didn't say anything, just shook, quietly. Locke rocked her back and forth, finding that his own breathing matched hers. Felt her heartbeat. Before long, he realized that he was crying too.
"I'm so cold."
"No, no love. You're warm. Very warm, now."
"Locke . . . "
"Very safe . . . "
"You. You're so good to me. And what about me? What good . . . "
"Everything. You know that. Always. For eva and eva."
Celes stopped crying. She rested her neck close to Locke's, breathed on the nape of his neck for a while. Locke closed his eyes tightly shut, inhaled, held his breath. His hand firmly attached to her back.
She drew back from him. His eyes slowly opened to meet hers. They were both red. Bloodshot. She smiled. "Thank you . . . Locke . . . " She voiced his name slowly, as if it was the first time she had ever spoken it. Locke sat, frozen, watching her lips form the words slowly. Watched them move toward his own. Closed his eyes again.
Her lips were, indeed, very warm.