CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE WALL OF FLESH
Swish, swish, swish. Warm, salty water mixed with earth and chemicals filled his nose and mouth. The powerful smells drew Setzer's mind out of its stupor. He attempted to swallow, but his throat was choked and raw, for granules of sea's seasoning had lodged themselves in the tiny hollows of his trachea, rubbing against the lining and bursting the delicate walls. Setzer, eyes still closed, got on his hands and feet and vomited; the smell around was enough to act as a remarkable emetic.
Feeling a mite better, he sat up cross-legged in the sand. By some miracle he had managed to retain all his clothing in the fall--fall from what, he wondered--but the cloth and leather chaffed against skin, already rough and abused by water and wind and sun. Every inch of him ached. Especially his face. Once he thought his old scars had ripped open at the seams. The pain was so bad, the sky looked to be tinted pale yellow, melting into bright crimson and orange at the edges. With another glance and a shake of a water-addled head, Setzer looked again, but the sky did not change. Jaundiced as a old man's wrinkled cheek. An even more sickly eye, now at its apex, flung waning rays on the silent beach, undisturbed even by a gull's cry. Bones littered at his feet, thousands of little fish bones. He took one up and cracked it between his hands in contemplation.
Memories returned to Setzer by degrees, starting at the unfortunate moment he discovered the four stowaways in the Blackjack's parlor, ending in the shattered airship and whistling air. The Statues had been moved, he remembered, and Strago had said dire consequences would come of it. Had some malignant force of magic gone and turned the whole sky its color? Surely it could not be so!
Setzer began to walk, limping in pain as his movements irritated his damaged skin, briefly called out his friends' names, but he soon gave up. Not a soul breathed near, and who would hear his beckoning?
Where was he? He did not know where he was. He could have been dead. No companions. No Blackjack! No Chocy!
Come, Gabbiani, he coached himself (he found that he grew more relaxed if he addressed himself when thinking), look around. You certainly can't stay here. It's best to start walking.
Yes, that's what he'd do. Some village or hamlet must be near. Just go walking away from the shore, something had to come up. And the sooner, the more the good; he craved a drink to wash away the coating on his tongue. He wrung out his coat, brushed off his shoes, and forced his legs on a march.
*************
The low-lying coast abruptly shifted into grassy plains, sand in one place, a line of brown grass in the other. Setzer walked over the plain, buckled here and there with a few hills; as mentioned, the grass was husky and brown and drooped under a thick layer of dust, which also fell underneath the blades like the most fine and sparse of snows; the sun in the cloudless sky blew pale blue shadows across the land in whispers, and the vagrant knew that this area had not received rain for a very long time. Gnarled old twisted stumps rose out of the earth occasionally, limbs too bent under the dust. And bones, bones everywhere: delicate bird skeletons, bones of the smaller prairie predators, growing into the stouter ossified remains of livestock and chocobos. No flowers bloomed, and no birds sang.
Utter silence is a terribly oppressive thing when one doesn't want or need it; walking under the sun and through the grass, Setzer's thin shoulders began to slump from an unseen weight. It would have been so much easier, if only there had been something else, like a storm or hurricane or earthquake! For these things are full of nature's screaming fury and you can scream back at them, like certain fiery, insane old men were purported to do. But here all was quiet, nothing to rage at and nothing to hear challenges or curses from, a creeping whisper of a world.
Setzer began an attempt to sing, though his voice was not good. "I am," he hummed aloud, "I am climbing--yes, I am climbing the mountain top, yes, and soon I'll come to the end, and I can give the gods my glory--Yes!" He didn't keep it up for long. There's a limit to how long a person can lie to himself. As he continued to make his legs walk, Setzer realized that he could sing, dance, shout, strip off his clothes and run naked; none of his actions would be of any consequence of themselves. There was just himself. He turned his head. In the distance he could make out black remains...of villages, were they? Once he began to notice, he saw many such sights. Small pits dug for foundations, an old stone well or two, and whole lot of cinders. He walked right through the skeleton of one village at one point.
What unlucky people had their lives smashed here? How many dreams and hopes and quarrels and lies and truths rose from these ashes? How easy it was! Setzer looked behind the human elements of these things, past love and survival and the strive for creation, and he saw--
A white bird suddenly made its presence known in the sky, low enough that Setzer made out the spreading primaries. The man gave a glad cry. Gambler's superstition told that this must be a good omen. He ran, following right on the trail, never distracting his gaze. At intervals he clapped his hands and cooed to it.
The bird sank by degrees lower. Its wings did not beat as often.
"Please, little bird, don't get sick on me now," Setzer cried. But the bird did not heed his entreaties and kept on its descent. Eventually it disappeared altogether. Setzer's foot snagged itself upon a tangle of grass, spilling him head over heels down the gentle declivity of a hill.
He got up to his knees, under much protest from his ragged skin. The bird had fallen to the ground, stretched its wings out over the earth, head twisted slightly and breathing slow. Setzer picked the unresisting animal up and stroked its feathers.
The bird did not give any response to his ministrations. It was set gently down again. Setzer, unencumbered, saw where he was.
One hill was at the gambler's back, the other in front; in between these slopes reposed yet another hamlet's skeleton--but it was not deserted. People were here.
Stacked upon each other in piles that reached Setzer's breast, hundreds of pairs of eyes coated with dust stared at him. Many of them had no light. Some of the eyes, however, moved ever so discreetly at the new arrival, their chests hardly moving, eyes dried and corners crusted. Setzer had difficulty in perceiving who was alive; the sleeping and dead are but pictures, as the adage goes. Dust covered every inch of their skin, and several were wedged in between those not living, but no-one minded the heat or the smell. Old men, young men, women clutching babies to their bosoms, girls, boys, men of every conceivable age and shape and color. Off a ways lay rows and rows of livestock, chocobos and cows mostly, in very much the same condition, but all of their dead eyes were sightless.
What had happened? Why were all these poor souls here? Surely there were too many of them to have come from just one village--had this been a spot chosen by lot so that the spiritless folk who could no longer continue could be left alone by their relatives and friends, indifferent and in despair but not yet immobile? It was a wall of flesh.
Setzer put a hand up to his lips and stood rooted in place. Not one sound was uttered. Mercifully, the face of a pretty young woman drew his line of sight, a face that betrayed some awareness in it yet. She had her arms around a man next to her, whether it was husband, father, brother, who knows. Sometimes she lifted her hand to brush away a half-hearted fly. Her eyes flickered once as the intruder approached.
"Why are you here?" he asked softly, embarrassed to talk in a normal voice. "What happened? Don't you have a place to go? A village, a town? What is all this? Please, tell me!"
She opened her lips, cracked out a note; she tried again after spitting out a bit of debris. "Our homes are gone. All the villages were destroyed when the magic came."
"And your families? Did they do this?"
"Nowhere to put us. But it don't matter to us. What matters now? Here's just as good a place as anywhere else, and the important people--" she shifted towards the man in her grasp-- "are with us."
"Things cannot, mustn't be so bad..."
The face hardened. "Hush. I've answered. I won't speak no more. Keep your mouth shut and take your place. There's a nice patch for you." A skinny finger indicated a space near the furthest stack.
"Never! I won't give up so easily." Setzer cried.
"Never!" the girl repeated. She could have been mocking him, if she had the grain of energy mockery needs. "Never and never and never..."
That horrible voice sent her auditor's hair on end and skin crawling. He did a shameful thing: he blindly struck the poor girl right on the face. She didn't seem to mind; at least she stopped talking.
He looked over the wall. The older men and women reminded him of his mother and father, the younger of his friends and companions. Had this been their end as well? His poor old parents--! His friends! Jidoor must be the same way.
Setzer was so ashamed and nauseated by the whole affair he sprinted over the hills, away from the horror.
*************
No rain, dearth, and despair had toppled Kohlingen, little Kohlingen of all places; the inhabitants there were neither sophisticated nor prosperous, but plenty smart. Of the towns in the area, only Kohlingen had the sense to build an expansive network of granaries and hoard the plentiful years' overflows for any long crisis. The people were well-fed and in no immediate danger; they had so much grain that even a few pubs and breweries kept on their business. To this town Setzer wandered in, not particularly glad but grateful for the allowance of rest.
Door opened on creaky hinges, Setzer entered a bar, filled by sunburnt, hard-faced men and women who spoke little, smiled and laughed none, and did not bother to move their hunched shoulders at the new acquaintance. A grimy-aproned barkeep wiped a glass.
Setzer moved to the counter, took a chair, and said, "One, if you please."
The barkeep wiped his glass further. "Ten gold."
He rifled through his various bleached pockets, but he had lost his money-pouch in the fall, and he had no way of reaching his financial reserves, if they still existed. "Mmm. I--don't seem to have any with me. How about of glass of water?"
"Gotta pay to drink here. Cash. I don't take paper, and I can't give credit."
"Listen here, you piss-faced rube, don't you know who I am!" Setzer grabbed the barkeep's collar; that insufferable hayseed shoved his aggressor backwards and spoke very coolly: "Yeah, I know you. You're that Gabbiani fellow. A real stuck-up prick, I heard you were. But look at you. If you can't pay, then get out."
Poor Setzer was confounded, stultified beyond description. He moved back and hid his grubby, rough hands in his pockets. His throat constricted, phlegm welling up. "Please. I'm so thirsty. All I want is a drink of water."
"Get the coin, then."
"For pity's sake, man!"
"Only one way I'm gonna pity you, mister."
Setzer heaved a sigh, tilted his scars to the ceiling, but not one patron came forth to offer the smallest comfort. Liviuses they weren't. He peeled his father's coat from his shoulders and held it out. "Will you take this?"
Eyes squinted, the barkeep leaned forth. He scowled at the old worn leather, the faded gold braid trims bleached and ragged from the salt and sun. "That?"
"This is real gold thread, real leather! I've had it for years, it belonged to my father, and it's not something you can say 'That?' at. And I can't even buy a damned glass of water with it? You go to hell!"
At such an outburst of feeling the barkeep altered his stance a bit. The coat was enough to buy a drink or two of beer, but didn't he have a little more on him to make his visit more worthwhile? Setzer rummaged through the coat's pockets and produced a pack of his darts, two knives, and the rusted chain of his broken stopwatch. Put together, the hoard bought a whole afternoon and evening of happy hour, unlimited drinks. Setzer found it satisfactory.
Now, Setzer had made it a point of lifestyle to quaff a glass of wine or two daily; however, he was not a heavy drinker. At the first glass of beer (it tasted awful), his throat burned. He had another, and it didn't hurt as much this time. Then another, followed by another. By evening he was thoroughly pissed. He staggered out the bar doors, whereupon he promptly proceeded to raise all hell, running around, laughing at the top of his lungs. Mornings came and went. Setzer always found himself in interesting places at daybreak--in one occasion, he woke up in a tree with his pants dangling from the lower limb. It ended up the same: scrounge around for anything that could be pawned or bartered at morning, get firmly ensconced at the bar by noon, spend the afternoon, nibble a bit of bread or two between rounds, whoop head off at night; repeat process for a week.
On the seventh night, something very strange happened. Setzer had exhausted himself early in the night and lay on the wooden sidewalk. A small light hovered among the stars.
"Kwah, what have we here, eh?" an old man mused, cupping a hand around his candle. "Did another one go over the wall? Feh. Why can't you stay put like a good near-dead person, like the girl? She never gives me this much trouble. Kwah, ha, ha, well, you've just got more of an itchy foot, I suppose. Up we go! Time to get home!"
Docilely, the soused man suffered his hand to be taken and his body pulled away off the pavement. Would he never be free from these queer personages that hounded his life? It was just an idle thought, a passing fancy, but it was more on the mark than Setzer knew. For his captor, whom the townspeople called "Patriarch," had a reputation as a quack and loon, albeit a harmless one, more of a town amusement. Children liked to put about tales that Patriarch kept spirits alive under his house, had seen him pick magical herbs in the light of the full moon, and practiced the black arts. In reality the old man was nothing more than an expert herbalist, one of the greatest living if not a bit deranged--he constantly forgot how many people he was 'treating', never knew if he had one or two or a thousand. Only one of his patients stayed put. The rest had escaped, and Patriarch was very glad to have found one before it got away.
In spite of his leader's strangeness, Setzer did not attempt to break free. At best, he would have a warm place to stay the night, maybe a hot meal; if it came to the worst, he could always break free, half-drunk as he was. Patriarch was not particularly strong.
"Here we are! Home sweet home! Kwah!" The old man opened the door and ushered Setzer into a house that smelled of cinnamon and thyme and rosemary. The smell made his head cloud, there was so much of it, like a lady wearing too much cheap perfume.
"Bedtime! To bed, to bed," cried Patriarch. He tugged his prize down a flight of rickety stairs into a large basement that smelled even more strongly than the rest of the house. Herbs, flowers, and weeds in pots tiled the floor. A small path through the little meadow led to a low table.
A dark-haired young woman, creamy olive skin sprinkled with petals and pollen, was propped on the table. Her chest moved in almost imperceptible sighs. Setzer thought she wasn't breathing at all. Large eyes closed in a mask, lips spread horribly in a death-pale face, she looked dead. Setzer knew who this was, Edgar had described her to him in a time long gone: Locke's lady love, Rachel. To Setzer, that pale, artificial face was terrifying and sick. Good heavens, he thought, Locke's a necrophile. The vision burned itself into his mind. Dead, dead, dead.
Setzer wrenched away and ran up the stairs to freedom. Patriarch did not give chase. A 'kwah!' of exasperation followed him, nothing more.
On the street Setzer whirled around. Death and madness would not be erased out of his mind; was he forever doomed to see that face, those dusty eyes, hear the cackling? He began to sprint again.
The bar was closed for the night--a fact that Setzer forgot. He pounded at the door, not knowing why he wouldn't be admitted. "Gods, gods, let me in! Let me in!" he shouted repeatedly; the wood did not budge!
Finally, the maddened besieger knocked out the glass panes in the door. He slashed his arms and watched the long rivulets of blood stream down his skin in the moonlight, blood dribbling in small jagged furrows. One grisly arm snaked through the broken panes; the door unlocked. He entered and sat at one of the tables.
When a very angry and bewildered barkeep came in from the back rooms, he was unarmed. One bonus of this brave new world was that crime fell to nil because nobody had the spirit to kill or steal. This act or breaking and entering was unprecedented audacity.
"Damn your eyes, you stupid sot, get out!"
A sense of great clarity steeled Setzer's heart. He took the barkeep's throat between his hands and summoned up the faintest traces of a fire spell, heating up his palms. "Let me stay here. I won't bother you, but if you don't let me stay here, I'll do something very terrible. This is a fine establishment, isn't it? It'd be a shame to lose it. I know quite a bit of magic, dear sir, and it'd be so very easy to cast a fire spell and burn this place. You've insulted and humiliated me, and by deuce I've had enough!"
"Please, don't do that. Just...leave, mister. This's the only thing I own, and my family's all dead. I couldn't bear to have it burned! Leave me in peace," gibbered the man, in tears.
"Not so sarcastic now, are you? I'm going to stay right here, at this table. You won't even notice me after a while."
"Anything--anything you say, mister, just don't destroy my bar," came the sobbed reply. Setzer released the barkeep, who slunk back into his living quarters, and quietly sat in the darkness. The calmness and cool imperialism deserted the gambler at that moment, and he laid down his head in his arms and shuddered.
*************
Thence on, the bar became Setzer's abode, and he measured his days in tankards at his permanent seat. For near a year he sat at his table in a half-stupor. The barkeep never attempted to get rid of this unwelcome guest because he was afraid of the gambler. He really didn't have much to fear: Setzer was too wrapped up in a world of his own to make good his desperate threat.
Except for being rendered near-oblivious, the year in the bar had no immediate consequence; but drink combined with meager food intake ravages the body. Setzer never did fully recover as he should have from his binges, always had a bit of weakness in him afterwards, and was fated to suffer from liver problems as he grew older. He would not have cared had the future been revealed to him, though, for in each glass he made a resolution. The world lay on its deathbed, his joys had perished in the ash, what cause had he for grunting under the oppression of his existence? But he hadn't the resolve to die. He could not lift a hand to stave off death or hasten it. Therefore, the decision was to let Luck take life into its own hands: should he die, he died, and should it be willed for him to live, then he lived. How simple it all was!
Often in more lucid moments Setzer thought about leaving. Kohlingen was not distant from Daryl's tomb. There was a secret known to him how to break the seal and go into the belly, where--but no. Such a thing was monstrous to even contemplate; he would not do it to her. It was a sin. And what was the good? Why fly to be struck down once more? Fate and Time had undone him, and all was futile.
Time crawled on, and it seemed he would stay there forever. Yet he did get out. However, it was not Luck or any deity's grace that snatched Setzer Gabbiani out of the bar. Human beings did.
One morning, slightly over a year since the terrible day, the stripped gambler was partaking of his first meal, beer and bread soaked in beer. The door slammed. A small break of quiet.
"Setzer!"
An angelic face descended before him. Two twin visages took their places beside the angel, all blonde and more than a little glad to see him. Celes Chere and the Figaro brothers.
"Ah!" Setzer breathed. "So you are alive! Oh--how droll." Then he fainted.
The scenery had shifted upon coming to: he was lying in a bed in a room, and the three were sitting next to him. For the first time, Celes obliged her comrade with a genuine smile of joy. "I wish the circumstances were a bit more cheerful, but it is good to see you. We've missed you."
Edgar and Sabin echoed the sentiments. Edgar asked how he felt. "Like hell, but I'm still here," Setzer answered.
"When you get your strength back," Celes said, "you can help us. We're after Kefka, and--"
"And now you need Setzer Gabbiani to save you," he finished. "Well, you've come this far for nothing, I'm afraid. I'll be of no help to you. I'm only a petty gambler." Sinking back down into his pillow, he covered his face to the bottom of his nose. "Besides, I've lost my wings. Just leave me be."
"It's because you're not well. Even if you're not in your right mind, I...I can hardly believe what you're saying." Celes spoke very slowly. "When we last parted, you were fighting with every ounce of strength in you! You were absolutely fearless."
"And you weren't given to delusions, General Chere. Look at what's right in front of your face! Perhaps you might be able to defeat Kefka. But how can that bring the old world back? It's gone and dead. Why lose your life over such a wretched dead hunk of rock? It's too chaotic. I can't do it. There's no purpose, never was, and never will be."
Celes's hand flashed as slapped him hard, force so great in the blow that Setzer was knocked against the headboard. She did not cry, but her eyes lined red.
"You coward,"--slap-- "you stinking coward."--slap-- "I've never heard anything so wicked in my entire life." --slap-- "You spoiled little bastard, you think everything's gone to hell just because your stupid airship's been broken."--slap-- "Here you are, moaning for the moon and drunk off your ass..."--slap-- "I can't stand it, I just can't!"
"For pity's sake, Celes, don't hurt him," Edgar cried, finally managing to restrain the assault. Setzer's face throbbed, and he stiffened, dumbfounded.
"My family and friends are dead; the towns are in ruins," he murmured.
"No! Jidoor stands, I know it does. I'm alive. Edgar and Sabin are alive. You're alive. Why wouldn't the others be alive? We saw Terra herself in Mobliz."
"So some of the Returners are alive. That's all?"
Celes removed her pack and kicked it across the floor; platinum and gold coins, jewels, weapons, and other essential equipment scattered about. "We have money! Weapons! Magicite! What we don't have we can buy."
"But the odds...there is so much. No chance, and Luck has deserted me."
She leaned in very close, her breath cool against his flushed, bruised face. "You'd better stop thinking like a common gambler, Setzer, and more like a Returner. You think there's no chance. I say there is, and I've been thrown into despair as deeply as you have. Agree to fight, then think of the odds. Only the most vile of cowards mourns for things lost when nothing has been done yet!"
Setzer met the three pairs of eyes and it was as if a lifeline to the light had been thrown into his hands, strong and sustaining. Such passion, such anger...no hopeless ragtag band, this. And she had said his family and dear ones still lived. Not once had Celes ever lied; she was above common deceit. She was too beautiful to be able to lie so egregiously--and they had the funds and equipment, but not the mode of transportation. Was it possible?
"You really--need my help?"
"As never before. And I daresay that we've grown exceedingly fond of you, Mr. Gabbiani. It would be a pleasure if you would accompany us."
Oh, what a wonderful thing to be truly wanted! Looking back on his previous words and actions over the past year up to a few seconds ago, Setzer grew absolutely mortified and cringed. How foolish he had acted, how like a child!
"You're right, as always," he cried, spirits rising to catch and nurse the glimmer of hope sparked within him. "I'll throw in my hand. It's worth a try; we have to give it a shot, stupidly long as it is. But that's what makes it fun."
"I knew you'd come around," Sabin declared brightly. Celes smiled and gently kissed Setzer on his damp forehead.
"First things first," Edgar said. "How do you we get to the others? Figaro Castle can submerge, but our mobility is limited."
"That's easy enough," Setzer came back. "We'll go and get ourselves another one. Another airship, that is! I've got it stored near here. A trifle, child's play."
"Excellent!" Celes cried. "If you're too weak to come, only tell us where we can find this new airship, Setzer. We'll come back when you've recovered."
"I'll be fine, dearest lady. One night is all I ask. I'll be sufficiently rested then."
Edgar clapped a hand on Setzer's shoulder. "It's settled, then! We can discuss strategy further once the airship is firmly in our grasp. One thing at a time. Now, for pity's sake, go take a bath, dress in new clothes, eat a good meal! We'll help you with the last two things, but I don't want to see you in the buff."
Setzer deemed this good advice and, laughing after a year had passed, he rose to do all those things. Celes turned to the brothers.
"Actually, what I said before was a bit of a fib," she admitted. "But I had to get him up somehow."
"Of course. You don't even know his parents' names." Edgar accused her, shaking his head in wonderment. "I didn't know you had it in you. I'm impressed. It's always a shock to me when a pretty woman lies."
"You didn't grow up in Gestahl's court. They lied to me so often, something had to rub off eventually. It almost makes me grateful," she said.
*************
The following morning, Setzer rose along with the others. His legs were weak and breath short, but he was in good enough physical condition to walk and had regained a good portion of his former spirits. A hot shower, new clothes, and sleep do wonders for a man.
Prior to departure, Setzer wished to patch up all his lose ends. While his companions waited on the front porch, he entered the bar one last time, carrying a small pouch of platinum. He threw down the payment in front of the barkeep's face, snatched back his father's coat that hung behind the counter, flipped the lovely faded leather around his body, and said exactly what he thought of his former master's lineage and mother's respectability and sexual activities. Then he swept out of the establishment and did not ever look back.
"I trust you handled everything gracefully?" Edgar asked.
"I was the height of propriety."
"You're sure, now," Sabin said, trying to remain unaffected, "that you can do this, Setzer? It's going to be draining from now on and'll go downhill from here. You can always chose to rest here a while longer."
"Bah! What's the point in waiting? I can't be of any use here. Be quiet and let's shove off." He paused and added to tease them: "Before I change my mind. Vagrancy is quite below me."
They shouldered their packs and walked towards the city boundaries. Did Setzer doubt and regret? Certainly. Was he frightened? Of course. But sometimes a man had to be more arrogant than usual and make his own luck.