Chapter 9
Silent robes walked in a line back and forth in the stubborn sunlight on one of the southern plateaus.
Even the sky was sinning. It should be dirtily red brown, and the sun should be almost unable to pass through the dark clouds. Like the master had decided. But now it was clear and blue, and the clouds were white and fluffy. Revolting against the master's will.
But it should be all changed, oh yes. Soon, when the greatest sinners were dead and their blood painted the master's altar, he would return and claim the world as his. Bringing true glory to the ones who believed in him and smash the worthless untrue, bringing them to their knees.
Soon.
The walking came to a halt when another robe emerged from the darkness of the cave. All dark hoods turned to that one.
This new robe was slightly different than the others. It had blood-red stripes on every edge of the cloth, and black, twisted embroideries were on its arms and back.
"The sinners entered our labyrinth one hour ago," the high priest announced with a smirk in his harsh voice, "strangely enough they have been able to avoid the traps so far. Should that continue, they might reach the temple hall within a few hours. In any case, we have preparations to do."
The dark hoods muttered in cruel triumph.
"Tonight the blood will give the master strength," the high priest continued, "soon he will return! Come, we must prepare."
He turned and went back into the darkness, and the lower trustful ones followed him. All walking in line, imitating his exact movements to avoid all the unseen triggers. Imitating exactly, mimicking every move. Perfectly.
But even though they served a great master, all of them must have lacked skill of counting. Otherwise they should have noticed that they seemed to be more numerous than usual.
"My yarns are out," Setzer muttered, "someone give me one…"
"How long have we been down here?" Locke concernedly said as Celes handed the gambler another tight heap of thick thread.
"A couple of hours, I think," Strago said and dried his forehead with a handkerchief.
They weren't running out of torches nor yarn so far, but they had taken so many turns in the dusky world that none of them had any clue about where they were. Relm bravely tried to keep up drawing her map, but she had used up more paper than she ever had thought was possible. Even though she tried to keep it small.
The labyrinth was much bigger than Kefka's tower, and even though there weren't any giant monsters the size of the place was enough to make the warriors nervous.
The traps were also rather unpleasant.
They had been battling a few times, but less than expected. Maduin always warned them for ambushes, but there had only been four of those. And then they had only face small groups of cultists, who had been the ambushed ones thanks to the esper.
"Stop," Terra said, for what felt like the thousand time.
Her friends breathlessly watched her as she sat down on one knee and picked a pebble from the ground. Then she slowly raised her hand, listening to her father's advices.
She threw the small stone, and it hit what looked like ordinary ground.
A perfectly hid net erupted from the smooth wall, swung over the path and then disappeared up into the darkness far above before anyone had time to react.
"Good grief…" Cyan muttered.
"They wouldn't have pulled me out of that one alive," Locke mumbled and rubbed his forehead, "I would have died of shock."
"Wimp," Relm sighed, with no real spirit.
All the traps had one thing in common, which wasn't a surprise. They weren't meant to kill. There were small spikes with numbing or sleeping poison, nets and snares, but nothing that would leave anyone with any greater wounds. People were meant to get trapped in the labyrinth, not die there.
Terra stood up and began walking again.
Eight traps of random sort later they took a well-deserved rest before continuing.
Edgar looked up with a frown as he heard the clinking of a key in a door. There seemed to be far too many people in robes outside of the cell… something was happening, and he wasn't sure if he liked it.
"The time approaches," one of the several robes standing by the door said, "you will come with us."
"Your charming company calls for more proper guests," Edgar coldly said, "something found below a rock, for example."
It was a lousy insult, but he was exhausted and weakened after the time in the cell. The food wasn't exactly made to give strength, and the circumstances provided little sleep. The only one who was able to sleep well was Shadow. But on the other hand, sleep wasn't really the proper word. Unconsciousness suited him better.
A couple of times a cultist had come into the cell and given the assassin something to drink from a small, dark bottle. Shadow was far too dizzy to provide any fight, and had just drunken even more of the drug that robed his senses. The fanatics wanted the clever man to stay in suspended mode, in case he had any tricks left. There had been nothing Edgar could do to help; out of reach.
Shadow was pulled to his insecure feet by two of the cultists, and one of the others freed the assassin's wrists from the chains.
"This is just wondr… won… wondrous…" Shadow slurred with dizzy bitterness as he was more or less dragged out of the cell.
"And what about her?" Edgar growled, nodding at Kanai as two robes grabbed his arms while his wrists were freed.
"You don't need to know that, sinner," one of the anonymous figures sneered.
"Like hell I don't!" the king of Figaro snarled and desperately tried to get his arms free.
Kanai's fear filled eyes was tearing his soul into pieces. She was paralyzed with fright, fearing both her own and her beloved's faith.
"The master himself will choose her doom," another robe impatiently snapped, "now come!"
"Edgar!" Kanai hoarsely whispered as he was violently forced away from her.
He almost broke his own neck trying to look around at her, trying to give her some calming gaze before the thick door was slammed shut between them.
Edgar clenched his teeth. He loved that woman, for the first time he really loved someone like that. Kefka had seen to that her first husband died, she had lost everything. And now he, her new love, had brought her into this hell pit just by being her company. If she died, it would be his fault. Damn! Kanai!
But no matter how Edgar struggled, he couldn't get free. Too weakened.
"Drink this, sinner."
"Whaz…? Again?" Shadow slurred.
"Shadow, for all the gods' sake!" Edgar snarled as a green bottle was put by the assassin's cracked lips.
But the man in black helplessly swallowed whatever kind of liquid it was that was poured into his mouth. The robe with the drug moved back.
Shadow blinked and shook his head.
"Damn…" he muttered, harshly.
When he looked up at Edgar his eyes were focused and clear, but it seemed as if he still had little control of his body as he made a desperate attempt to break free.
An antidote, but only for his mind.
Edgar could only with sadness watch the horrid regret rise in the assassin's eyes as he finally to the fullest could realize what had happened.
Shadow said nothing, but his eyes were filled with burning rage. And he couldn't use his hands to live out his thirst for revenge.
"Kupo… Edgar, Shadow…" a weak, cute voice mumbled.
The king almost tiredly turned his head and found Mog hanging with his short arms in a fanatic's hands. But what was behind the cultist and the moogle made Edgar's throat thicken.
"My gods…" he whispered.
Even Shadow stared with disbelief and shock.
Five cultists dragged Umaro down the corridor. The yeti seemed even dizzier than Shadow had been, stumbling and not even trying to get loose.
"Come on," Mog yelped with tired anger, "he's not even six years old…"
No one cared.
The four prisoners were brought down the corridor and through some other torch lit tunnels before reaching an enormous, well-lit cave.
"Damn it…" Shadow growled, the only one of the prisoners who had seen the cavern before.
Umaro was too drugged to even know what was happening, but Edgar and Mog stared with disgust and horror at the great statue of Kefka, the irons on the wall and, most detesting, the altar before the throne.
"You're mad, but you already know that, don't you?!" Edgar growled as he was pushed up against the wall by the irons by the statue's left side.
No answer. The fanatics silently closed the irons around his wrists, trapping him by the wall.
"Psychos!" Mog snarled.
He was far too short and was left hanging a few feet above the ground as he was put in place.
Shadow said nothing. Umaro neither, but that wasn't much of a surprise. The yeti almost had to crouch, since all the irons were at the same level.
Then the fanatics turned and walked away, back into the side tunnels by one of the long walls.
"What's happening?" Mog blankly asked, twisting as he in vain tried to get free.
"I'm afraid that the others are coming for us," Shadow bitterly said, "straight into the trap."
"What?!" Edgar choked, "not that too! They can't!"
"Wanna bet?"
Shadow gave a bitter chuckle; the first laugh Edgar ever had heard from him.
"If those madmen don't kill me, Strago will," the assassin muttered, "and I'd really prefer the old man…"
He sighed.
"But who asks for my opinion nowadays…"
Edgar's eyes wandered over the empty floor. It was huge. Like the whole cave. There was room for hundreds of people on the clean swept ground. And beyond it was a great opening in the wall, much bigger than the ones by the long walls. There was darkness past the big entrance… for the moment.
"No, no! For all the gods' sake!" Edgar whispered as he saw a distant, flickering light staining the pure shadows.
But no matter his prays a green-haired woman stepped out of the duskiness, followed by a muscled man holding a torch. And behind Terra and Sabin were all of those people that Edgar knew as his dearest and closest friends; the ones he had been fighting Kefka with. The ones he trusted with his life. The ones he had to get away from the danger before it was too late.
"Get out of here! It's a trap!" he shouted.
"Edgar!?" Sabin called, throwing the torch aside.
"Stop! Leave immediately!" Shadow growled.
"Kupo! Do as they say!" Mog yelled, "go back, hurry!"
"Go back?" Locke called, holding his sword in a 'I'm not going anywhere' style, "you're out of your minds. Have you any idea what we've gone through to get here?"
"It's a bloody trap!" Edgar desperately shouted, "get out of here!"
"Look out!" Terra yelled, "from behind!"
The ten intruders spun around as one person by the woman's call.
"Great…" Setzer hissed and backed as everyone else, holding his cards ready but saving them for the moment being.
In terror Edgar watched his friends move backwards into the huge cavern, followed by a group of at least fifty cultists armed with thin daggers.
"Well, there's only half a hundred of them," Sabin growled and balled his hands into fists decorated with clawed knuckle-dusters, "we've seen worse, haven't we?"
"Have no read books?" Gau snarled, "never say that! Go bad!"
Nice to see an enlightened one, isn't it?
"I fear our young friend speaketh the truth, my comrades!" Cyan growled.
From the several entrances in both the long walls robed figures hurried, all of them armed with two daggers each.
"In a circle!" Celes desperately commanded, just like everyone else knowing that it was pointless.
There were at least four hundred fanatics surrounding the ten warriors.
They formed a circle anyhow, holding their weapons stubbornly.
'Good powers!' Maduin moaned in horror, 'by the holy Phoenix, Terra, forgive me!'
'It's not your fault, father…' she bitterly thought, 'we walked into it…'
"There's no use fighting, sinners!" a hoarse voice called out.
It was three more cultists. But their robes had black embroideries and blood-red edges. They stepped out in front of the four prisoners, hiding their hands in the wide sleeves of their clothes.
"Oh, and who might you be?" Locke coldly said, pushing Relm and Gau into the center of the small, surrounded circle.
"We are the high priests of the great master," the right robe said, sneering, "now drop your weapons and succumb to the superior power of Kefka. Fighting is useless."
"I think I've heard something similar a couple of times…" Celes hissed between clamped teeth.
Setzer threw a glance around his company.
"Gogo, do something for all the gods' sake!" the gambler harshly whispered.
But there was no answer. The mimicker didn't even hold his sword properly, as if he'd already given up.
"Gogo!" Relm growled, "please!"
Nothing. It was as if he wasn't really there. As if he didn't remember or understood that he was the last hope for his friends and himself.
"If you won't give up there's always the hard way, of course," the middle high priest said.
The robes drew closer, the small group of outnumbered heroes backed tighter together.
Gogo was the first one to go. He was pushed down and dragged away; hardly even resisted.
His friends had no possibility to help him.
The mimic's backpack was thrown aside, then his back hit the cliff and one of his guards closed the irons around his wrists.
They were only nine left.
"Touch my wife and I'll make you wish you never saw a sharp piece of metal!" Locke growled and parried a pair of daggers.
Celes was by his side, with her own sword ready to protect him too. She managed three times. Then somebody got a grip of her arm and she disappeared into the ocean of dark robes. With a piercing scream of rage Locke blindly threw himself after her.
The married couple put up a real fight, but there were four fanatics on each one of them to bring them to their place by the wall.
And so they were seven.
It was a complete chaos. Terra tried to stick close to the others, but the circle was helplessly split as the cultists pushed on, without caring for the weapons the warriors fiercely insisted on using. Even if one enemy got a cut in his leg and stumbled, that didn't bring him away. It simply turned him into a pillow, pushed forward by his uncaring companions.
"Sabin!" Terra shouted and tried to see him somewhere among all the bodies surrounding her.
She could hardly breath, they were all trying to grab her from all directions, no escape, no possibility to defend…
All of a sudden she was out of it, stumbling forward between four of her enemies. They held her arms, too strong for her to break free.
She lost her breath as they threw her back into the wall after ripping off her backpack, lifted and pressed her hands against the cliff…
Coldness surrounded her wrists, and she was trapped.
Even though she knew there was no point she desperately tried to rip her arms free, not caring about that she made her wrists burn by scraping them against the harsh metal encircling them.
Six.
Strago was dragged out of the massive, growling crowd, the ones who had taken him captive surely wishing they had kept away. But as the four fanatics and the old man came past the silent high priests, Strago suddenly stood still. This surprised the cultists so much that they also stopped for a moment.
Relm's grandfather looked at Shadow, strangely calm. The unveiled assassin looked back, silent.
"Clyde Launreah," the old man said, "and why am I not surprised?"
"Hello, Strago," Shadow muttered.
"I'll kill you when I've got my hands free," Strago said, strangely lazy.
"I'm looking forward to it," the assassin replied, just as idly.
They had no time to continue their rather bizarre conversation since Strago was forced into place by his guards.
Five.
Setzer knew his cards were worthless since there was no place to throw. He dropped the metallic game pieces and pulled a dagger. One cultist fell before the gambler also got completely outnumbered.
Four.
"Sabin!" Terra called again, and she wasn't alone.
"You sons of rats…" the prince slurred as he was dragged/pushed/carried out of the commotion.
He was bleeding from several wounds on legs, arms and chest, blood ran from his nose and mouth. One eye was already swollen after a bad hit. He had been a hard catch. But now he was defeated too.
Three.
A couple of fanatics carried Relm to her irons, having to put up with both her foul language and knowledge of unfair battle (she was in that kind of age, you know). But after all, she was a young girl and they were grown men. No matter how good she was at pinching and scratching, it didn't help her much.
Two.
Cyan was in just as bad shape as Sabin, also more or less carried into the place that the priests of madness had chosen for him. But with that strength, it takes rough treatment to take you down. Sadly.
The brave man's right arm didn't look like it was meant to look. Cyan gritted his teeth in pain, very close to screaming, as the cultist mercilessly forced even his broken parts into the unpleasant position.
One.
There seemed to be a bit of confusion going on.
"Where is the boy?" one of the high priests growled.
A bewildered mumbling was the answer.
"Where is he?" another one of the three great fools snapped, "find him!"
"Grahhh!!"
With a roar Gau leaped up above the heads of the many fanatics, and before anyone had time to react he was on top of the middle high priest, tearing and biting the dark robe into pieces. The hood fell back, revealing a face that could have belonged to any man. A trader, a sailor, a farmer, anything. Short, not very thick blond hair, a normal sized nose, no scars after fights. But his eyes were as empty as the captured cultist's, the nothingness still visible through his surprised anger as he tried to defend himself against the raging, thin but strong fighter. Gau had the upper hand.
For about five seconds.
The young man still had cloth between his teeth as the attacked one's two companions managed to rip the attacker away from him.
As the last warrior was put in irons the high priest stood up and with his face pale with rage pulled his hood back into place to once again become an anonymous robe. Well, a very torn anonymous robe.
Terra's blood was beating the inside of her head, the roaring almost turning her deaf. Her wrists hurt, her father cried in rage inside of her mind. But above all the noises and feelings was the one, painful realization; they had lost. They were lost. In the hands of the Cult of Kefka. The followers had managed what their unbelievably powerful master had failed to; they had won.