CHAPTER NINE

I. PORTRAIT OF AN ARTIST

Relm sat on the very edge of the Falcon's bow, one leg wrapped tightly around the railing below her, the other waving into space. Her gi ruffled and snapped in the wind, the top often trapping air and ballooning outward, at which times she pulled the material close to her and crossed her arms over her chest. Otherwise, one hand remained near her forehead, shielding her eyes from the sun as she stared off into the distance.

Setzer watched her, at times entranced with her. There was nothing he could do, for he was a gentleman, and what more, a husband. But the young woman before him, the artist that was a work of art herself, was the sort of beauty Setzer saw so rarely that he couldn't help but watch her.

He wished he were a painter, too. He used to be one, once. But that was long ago. He wanted to paint her, as she sat now. He wanted to capture that essence of Relm that invigorated him so.

He wondered if other men felt the same way. More than likely, they felt something. The girl was clearly half succubus and half muse, and the type of emotion a man felt in himself while watching her must be a sort of mirror of his own desire.

Setzer considered himself above all else a student of the beauty of life, and as such his deepest, darkest desire for Relm was to dance with her in a field of wildflowers. Most men would want different things, dirty things. Things that would destroy the innocent image Setzer held of the Thamasian beauty with the fire-red hair.

She had changed so much, grown from the young girl he had once known to the young woman she was. How old was she, now? Twenty-two years, Setzer believed. Older than Celes was when he first met her. And yet, most of her growing up had happened before she became a teenager, back in the adventuring days. For this, Setzer would have expected her to be more mature than she was, but Relm catered to no one's expectations.

It was Relm's sharp eyes that first perceived the tiny ball of orange, a barely visible flash and soundless explosion. She jumped backward off the railing on which she was perched and turned to him, shouting.

Setzer turned the Falcon toward the place where Relm pointed excitedly, fearfully. Within a minute both of them could see the black cloud of smoke. He accelerated.

They were still at least a mile off when it became clear to Setzer that the ship he saw before him was Morgan's, and the few wisps of gray smoke off its side was more than likely evidence of a second airship lost in battle.

It was then they saw what looked like a sack thrown off the side and cascade through the clouds below. Relm screamed, absolutely howled, and began to shout again and again that it was Edgar who had fallen. Setzer had no idea how the young woman's eyes could be good enough to tell. Perhaps some Thamasian skill, perhaps a technique taught to her by Sabin. Whatever the case, Setzer believed her.

"Hang on!" he shouted, and the moment Relm grabbed hold of a sturdy length of cord attached to the gunwale, the airship plummeted through the clouds like the bird of prey of its namesake.



II. KINGDOM COME

I don't feel a thing
And I stopped remembering
The days are just like moments turned to hours.
Mother used to say, 'If you want, you'll find a way.'
But Mother never danced through fire showers.
- Rain, Cowboy Bebop


It was springtime, and as they often did King Edgar and Terra Queen left the Castle Figaro and took a week-long vacation in a place undisclosed to all but their most trusted advisors.

More often than not, the place they would stay was Mobliz, the village destroyed utterly by Kefka that had been cared for by Terra over so many years. With the flow of Figarian money and industry, the place had again become populated, a small but bustling town with a culture and livelihood all its own.

The children Terra had cared for during The Dark Year and had visited many times thereafter were teenagers now, many young adults. She still played with them, taking them on tours of the arboretums Edgar had helped build, and often spending the twilight hours catching fireflies with the ones that were still quite young.

The older ones were more interested in Edgar, and though the King was unused to caring for children, they had enough maturity to listen quietly as he told them about the adventures he had against the Empire. For hours he would speak to a group of mostly teenage boys who sat in the grass around the oak tree he would rest against. They would often come by in late afternoons, and Edgar enjoyed the company, for here in these young people there was such a want for his stories he couldn't resist telling them in full detail. And in his heart he hoped the young men and women before him remembered his stories in a deep and meaningful way, a living record of the trials that were required to ensure them and their descendants a chance at life and happiness, far more strongly held in their minds than in the stagnant written records he had dictated over a matter of weeks in his court.

And when the mothers of the town called their children home for the dinner hour and the stars burned in the skies, Terra would bring the children to their homes and then join Edgar beside the oak tree. More often than not he would have already set out the picnic blanket and their supper, but sometimes she would find him napping, and at such times she would roust him with gentle caresses and soft kisses.

It was one of those kisses Edgar felt as he fell, and as he parted the last bit of cloud and could see below him the tumultuous ocean, he weakly put a hand to his cheek and thanked whatever God there was that he could live that one moment before he died, the one moment when all was perfect and good and the woman he loved more than anything was there to comfort him in his final moments, just as he comforted her.

Please let me see her again, he thought. Please let there be a place where I can see her.

And even as Edgar wished it, he could see the green waters below form into a ghostly image of Terra, smiling at him, her arms outstretched, her hair loose and billowing and her dress shining like the sun. She had the wings of an angel, and though he could not hear the words she spoke, they were comforting to him. Anxiously he reached toward her, and as he did so a terrific blow shook him to the core as if he had been struck down from heaven. He closed his eyes and did not open them.



III. VENGEANCE

"You killed him," she whispered.

Finding some strength unknown to her before, Celes got to her feet, brandishing her sword.

"You killed him!"

Locke stepped backward as she advanced upon him. Finding himself backed up against the railing, he quickly unsheathed his dirk. For a brief moment, he held it before him, ready to fight his own wife. Just as quickly, his feelings of injustice overcame his bloodlust, and he threw the weapon aside.

"What are you waiting for?" he shouted. He spread his arms wide, then pounded at his chest with his fist. "Right here, Celes. Right in the heart. You've been killing me all week." He leaned forward, sneering. "Why stop now?"

She growled, lowering her sword ever so slightly to the ground.

"And what about you? You leave me alone for days, even weeks at a time. You never write when you go. I was sure you were dead, Locke. And I come to find that you never were, it was just one of your tricks. You could have prepared me, damn it!"

Her fingers tightened around the hilt.

"And if that's not enough, you lead this psychopath Morgan to our door. Do you have any idea what he did to me? Can you even imagine the pain and the humiliation?"

She advanced slightly toward him.

"So I fucked Edgar, alright? So be it. But I'm not a coward of a man who abandons his wife, then exposes her to the insanity of whatever cutthroat you've decided to piss off that week. Nor am I the slayer of my best friend. Call me what you will - slut, harlot, whore. I call you murderer."

She swung, but already her strength was sapped, and as she fell forward Locke caught her arms. The sword dropped to the deck, and she found herself in Locke's tight embrace.

"Let me go," she shouted, her protests muffled by the fabric of his jacket. She grabbed at his lapels, trying to push free, but his arms were iron bands around her weakened body and she could not wrest herself away. Even as she struggled she could feel his breathing, his trembling, and know that he was sobbing.

Now she was crying too, and she could barely speak, the tears were so bitter. She found herself choking, clutching at Locke while at the same time pushing him away.

"Let me go, you son of a bitch."

She felt a terrible pressure in her head, an overwhelming dizziness, and she recognized her body was succumbing to the hunger, beating, and exertion she had gone through over the course of the day.

"I . . . I hate you" she whispered as she slumped against him.

Locke held her for a moment more, then placed a hand behind her head and gently laid her down on the deck. He wiped his eyes and gazed upon her unconscious form, now bending over to brush the hair from her face, now pressing fingers to her neck to check her pulse, now leaning down to put an ear to her chest and hear her slow but steady breathing. He adjusted her robe to cover her fully, then took her hands and placed them on her stomach, making her appear to him less like a bruised and beaten woman and more like a serenely sleeping angel.

He crouched on his knees beside her, squeezing her hands in his own. There was little more he could do, aside from search Morgan's airship for medical supplies for her. He wasn't going to do that, however - partly because he was unwilling to leave her alone for even a moment, partly because he knew Morgan would keep no item capable of healing; his devices were only that of suffering and death, evidenced by the woman he loved lying before him.

He knew if she didn't arise soon, she never will. There would be no rescue, as the only man who knew their danger was cast to the oceans in a fit of rage. There would be no escape, as he saw the state of the bridge and knew he lacked the skill to repair the controls and land the ship safely. There was no hope, only the assurance that within days or even hours the airship would begin to sink, accelerating until they met the sea with such speed as to ensure a quick death.

What struck him at that moment was the fact he had doomed her - the terrible realization came to him that had Edgar lived, he would know how to repair and land the ship, and they would live.

"I killed us all, didn't I?" he whispered sadly. "I guess I always knew my temper would do me in." He squeezed her hands tighter, clenching his teeth to hold back a rage of self-effacement. "I just never thought I'd hurt so many of my friends along the way."

He sighed, bending down to hold her face in his hands and kiss her just once more, softly, on her lips.

He kneeled beside her and took her hands again, bowing his head and closing his eyes. Here he would stay until the very end, until death had taken her, and long after. Until they fell from the sky and they had both perished, he would stay at her side.

And until the mountains fell and the seas boiled away, he would love her.



IV. SETZER EX MACHINA

The Falcon raced toward the falling object, and as Setzer positioned the airship so that he was in free fall directly below it, he could see that there were in fact two objects, not one. Now he saw clearly they were people, and since he could not identify either of them just yet, he hoped he was saving two living people from the sea and not corpses.

Once he was in position, only a few hundred feet above sea level, he pulled up sharply. The two bodies struck the deck hard and rolled about twenty feet aft, each leaving long trails of blood.

Now he could see one of those bodies was Edgar, and he muttered a prayer as he strained against the ship's controls, desperately pulling the Falcon out of its dive. Relm didn't wait for the airship to level out, for already she was on all fours, clawing her way to the fallen king.

She grabbed at him, hugging him, cradling his head, and clearly she could see he was unconscious and dying, run through with some sinister weapon. Anxiously, she ran her fingers along the flat of the blade sticking from his chest, then touched her fingers to her tongue. A sickly sweet but acrid taste filled her mouth.

She felt lighter, and saw Setzer running towards her, then realized the ship was leveled out.

"Help me pull this sword out," she yelled. "It's poison. It's killing him!"

Setzer kneeled to Edgar's side, but as he did so a movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention.

As he turned he saw the other man standing at the edge of the deck. His face was a broken mess, his eyes dark and lifeless, and as he moved his head lolled from side to side. His arms waved back and forth, and his feet seemed to drag along the deck rather than walk.

That's him. That's Morgan, or what remains of him.

Setzer got the impression he was not looking at a human, or anything like it. What he saw was a corpse, a gruesome puppet of a man whose strings were now becoming tangled

Setzer rose, and with a flick of the wrist a razor-sharp playing card found its way to his closed right hand.

"Morgan!" he cried. "Stay where you are!"

The thing before him shook his head and moved side to side like a rag doll in the teeth of some dog. Almost comically, Morgan stuck out his right hand and waggled his index finger back and forth. His mouth opened, enunciating the words, but no change in his expression was to be seen. His voice echoed like the stone walls of a crypt.

"Careful now, Setzer. I've lost this battle, but I can still take a few more with me, if I must."

Slowly the thing backed away, and for a moment it floated and he could see the toes of its boots scraping the deck. Now its hands gripped the railing.

"This is not the end, my friend. I do not die here - merely rest, and wait. It will take many years; I do not deny that. But someday your grandchildren will know my wrath, as will the children of Cole. I will destroy the families of your friends, and I will sit on the bloodied throne of Figaro and rule as I see fit. All this will happen and more."

Setzer had always been a man of words, and yet he knew the wisdom when the time for words had passed and the time for action was at hand. He let fly his weapon, embedding the card in the very iris of the eye on the cursed medallion. Morgan collapsed on the deck like a sack of rocks.

Setzer stepped toward the body, and as he did so a wave of strange and oppressive heat struck him. He paused for a moment, then reached down to where his throwing weapon lay embedded in the amulet. As he pulled, the chain holding the medallion snapped. Setzer stood, holding the medallion and the card in his hands. He removed the card and placed it in his pocket.

Slowly he perceived a new sound besides the thrumming of the Falcon's engines, the creaking of the ship's boards, the laments and curses of Relm, the churning of the seas below, and the rush of wind.

He heard the roar of the ocean over rocky shores, and as he closed his eyes he heard the cries of gulls. He opened his eyes and found himself no longer on the deck of his ship - rather, he stood at the edge of a vast promontory overlooking the rocky merging of sea and land. It was a place he had been before, so many times before, and the power this place kept over him made his heart heavy.

He heard a light rustling behind him. Setzer turned and saw a young woman appear from behind a group of blackberry bushes.

She stepped toward him, and Setzer's eyes took in her bare feet, tight black leggings, and ruffled white shirt. A red scarf wrapped around her waist waved in the wind, as did the raven tresses that lined a dark, smiling face.

Daryl . . .

"I survived," she said. "I survived the crash, and I've been searching the world for you."

She embraced him, and suddenly her lips were upon his. Setzer sighed, then tensed. His eyes widened in fright as he seized her shoulders and pushed her away.

This isn't real.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her eyebrows knit with concern.

"You're not Daryl," Setzer said, quietly but firmly.

He looked to the sky and shouted. "Demon, tempt me no more!"

As he looked back to Daryl he saw she was no longer there, and where his hands had grasped her shoulders he found he was holding either end of the broken chain, the scratched medallion hanging between them, the eye upon it glowing red, filling his head with strange thoughts he had never possessed before. Thoughts of power and superiority, thoughts of always taking and never wanting. Thoughts of abandoning his friends and his wife, of taking Relm for his own and hurting her, of viewing and controlling the thoughts of anyone at anytime. And over it all, the eternal promise of more power, more wealth, more sex, more everything than any man could ever want.

If Setzer was tempted, it was only for a moment, for immediately the horror of having his own mind invaded sized him. With a shout of revulsion, he threw the medallion overboard.

He leaned against the railing and gasped for breath, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow. He kicked Morgan's corpse in frustration, which did nothing but gurgle slightly.

Setzer turned to where Edgar lay, seeing that Relm had already removed the deadly sword and was staunching the bleeding with her rolled-up overshirt.

"We must take him below decks," Setzer shouted from across the deck. He approached her, but was surprised to see her pick Edgar up in her arms and walk briskly to the hatch. The man must have weighed close to two hundred pounds, not counting his armor, but Relm seemed to have no difficulty in carrying him. Clearly, Sabin's training was quite effective.

They took him to one of the rooms and placed him on the bed. They stripped him of his armor and shirt. Relm began to tend to his wounds, but it appeared their attempts would be futile.

"Wait a moment," Setzer said. He ran out the room to his own quarters, throwing open the closet and digging through piles of clothes until he reached a small lockbox. He took a key from around his neck and unlocked the box, removing from it a small crystal bottle filled with pink liquid.

An Elixir. The healers who made such medicines had died long ago, perhaps before the first War of the Magi. Twelve years ago, before he had met the friends he would go on and fight Kefka with, there were no more than a few dozen still in existence, each worth a fortune. They had collected many and used them all before the battle was over. It was hard to estimate how many were still around today, given how old they were and how many were yet to be found, but Setzer believed less than a half-dozen Elixers existed anywhere on Gaia. Setzer himself only had one, and it was worth a thousand airships, a hundred casinos. The entire Treasury of Figaro could not afford to buy it.

For only a moment Setzer hesitated, staring at the vial in his hand. It was a moment Setzer would regret for the rest of his life, but the guilt would come later. Now he rushed to Edgar's side and poured the very essence of life down his throat.

He could feel a pulse again and see Edgar breathing, and Relm's tears suddenly became those of joy. She hugged Setzer roughly, then sat beside Edgar and held his hand, staring into his face eagerly.

"We need to investigate Morgan's ship," Setzer said. "I really don't know what we'll find there, but I want you out on the deck with me." He found it hard to breathe, and as Relm turned to him with wet eyes he knew she saw his thoughts, realized how scared he felt, how inadequate.

Setzer was terrified. He was usually quite strong in his nature. He prided himself on that. He was a loner, a wandering gambler, a gentleman of fortune. But seeing what had been done to Edgar rattled him, and he couldn't recall the adventurous demeanor he was so famous for.

There could be quite a fight to be had, as surely Morgan brought his personal guard with him for his horrific errands. That did scare him, but not too much. He wasn't afraid of death.

What chilled him to the very core was the thought of finding Celes slaughtered on the deck of that cursed ship. He couldn't face that alone. It would break him utterly. He wanted Relm there. He needed her to be strong for him.

Relm wiped her eyes and sniffed, and as she stood she seemed much taller. She was wearing a sort of tight sleeveless shirt, and he saw the muscles in her arms flex. She was psyching herself up. Pumping herself up. She wanted to stay with Edgar, as did he, but she thirsted for a serious fight.

And as she spoke, the years of training by Sabin's hand, the years of mental and physical preparation, and that ineffable Thamasian attitude came through clear as the sun.

"Let's go."