CHAPTER TEN


I. TOUCH OF EARTH

Locke had thought it his imagination upon hearing the roar of another airship's engines, but as they became louder he felt Celes stir and moan and realized she too heard it, so loud and vibrant that it shook her from what might have been a small coma.

Rising triumphantly from below them the Falcon came, the silver and gold of its canopy and riggings glittering in the sunlight. His despair lifted and he cried out, and Celes, forgetting her anger briefly, took Locke's hands for support and sat up.

Setzer was at the controls, his face full first of disbelief but then of sheer joy. Relm jumped up and down where she stood at the bow and screamed exaltedly, waving her arms and laughing.

Setzer threw a grappling hook and docked the ships together. Celes turned to Locke so that only he could see her face, and the brief snarl she elicited had this is not over written all over it. Locke nodded curtly to show he understood and helped her to her feet. Relm threw a gangplank over the void between the two ships and both treasure hunter and ex-General walked across it.

She hugged them together, and Celes stifled a grunt of pain. Relm laughed again, covering her face to try and hide her amusement.

"We thought you were dead, Locke!"

Locke sighed heavily. "It's a long story, and it's becoming even longer. How did you find us?"

"Setzer's been tracking you guys for days now," Relm replied. As she calmed down, Locke sensed restraint in her voice. Did he only imagine it, or was she really projecting her thoughts toward him, that she knew what had happened?

"Edgar," Locke whispered, and as she heard him he felt Celes squeeze the shoulder she leaned on, her nails biting into his flesh. "Did he . . . is he?" He couldn't even ask her. What chance was there that they had managed to save him?

"He's down below," Relm said. "He's pretty messed up, but I think he'll be okay. Sabin taught me medicine as part of training, so I think I can take care of him. I can make him comfortable anyway. What happened to him?"

Locke turned away, his face ashen. "It . . . it was horrible. I can't discuss it now. But I will. Soon." As he turned back to her, not to face her eyes, but to look in her direction and hope she would end the conversation, he saw Setzer across the deck, wrapping a tarp around a body.

"And Morgan?" Locke asked.

Relm waved toward the corpse. "Dead as a post. Ought to make a good ransom, though. I'll bet he's wanted, dead or alive, for half a million or more."

Locke nodded, then began to walk Celes toward the hatch that led to their quarters deep in the belly of the airship.

"We'll need some privacy, but afterward I promise to tell you everything," Locke said.


II. THOUGHTS OF ICE

The two of them retreated to one of the half-dozen small passenger rooms Setzer kept in the Falcon. Celes entered first, glancing around the room. She wavered a bit as if she was still dizzy from her collapse.

They had sparse living conditions on the road, but Setzer did what he felt necessary to keep himself and his friends comfortable during long voyages. There was a small straw tick mattress to her right with sheets and a small cotton pillow. Celes leaned down and pushed them to the floor. To the left was a dresser, upon which were a basin and an assortment of white towels. She caught her image in the mirror and looked away.

Staring straight ahead at the moderately dressed porthole, she waited to hear the door behind her lock, then unfastened her robe and let it drop to the floor.

Behind her, Locke winced. The injuries she sustained looked far more severe than he had imagined previously. He placed the jug of water he had drawn from the ship's supply on the counter, and beside it set down the small wooden box he had been carrying under his arm, taken from a storage closet in the hall.

Celes pulled a clean white sheet from the pile on the floor and spread it evenly on the mattress, then climbed atop it. She lay down on her chest, resting her face in her arms.

Locke ran his fingers along the design on the box he had carried, a simple symmetric cross. Opening the clasp, he found inside a number of gauze pads, some syringes, and numerous bottles. There was also a can of antiseptic salve, which he set aside along with the gauze and a roll of tape.

Locke took one of the smaller towels and dipped it in the pitcher of water, then wrung it out. He then turned to his wife.

Celes lay there, eyes closed, looking surprisingly content despite her ordeal. She had pulled her long hair aside so that Locke could see her injuries – at least a score of whip marks all over her back. Most were welt marks ranging in color from pink to dark red, but at last four or five still bled.

Locke sat on the bed and began to clean her wounds with the washcloth. She didn't cry out, but Locke could feel her tense up with almost every touch, and he could hear her sharp intake of breath from time to time. He washed the area between her shoulders first and worked his way down to the three small red marks that interrupted the gentle curve of her buttocks.

He then dried her and applied the salve, which he gingerly massaged into her wounds. She seemed less bothered by this, even moaning contentedly at times as the cool fluid soothed her. That done, he put gauze over the worst of the injuries and taped it in place.

Gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder and prompted her to roll over. She did so, and accepted his kiss. But when one hand strayed to her breast, she caught him by the wrist and pushed him aside roughly.

Locke stepped back and looked incredulously at his hand, as if it had grasped her by its own will alone.

"Celes, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that."

She said nothing as she stood up and walked to the small closet at the edge of the bed.

The Falcon was not large enough to facilitate dedicated sleeping quarters to them and all their fellow adventurers, so they used the sort of "hot bunk" system where they would sleep in shifts. This room had been taken by Celes and Terra. There were a number of arguments on days both had been fighting and wanted rest, but more often than not Celes would back down and they would share the room, Celes sleeping uncomfortably but without complaint on the hard floor. She wouldn't admit it to her friends until long after, but she really did have a soft spot for Terra, an inexplicable love that was beyond sisterly. None of the men could understand the sort of connection between two women bound with magic, though they might see the pity Celes held for the girl.

As their living quarters dictated, they shared the closet. It had been cleaned out long before, but still Celes found a few items left behind – a barrette, a comb, a length of pink ribbon, a single yellow stocking. Farther in back she found what she was looking for: a simple white cotton nightgown.

She unfolded it and shook free the dust, sending up a cloud of particles that waved in the sunlight from the porthole. Locke watched her as she slipped the garment over hear head, which came down to her knees. She tugged at the elastic cuffs at her wrists and fastened the buttons in front up to her neck.

The nightgown was very old, but not too bad off. She could see tiny moth holes here and there, but nothing indecent. She thought about the last time she had worn this, the last night she had slept in a bed in Vector. The night before she set off for Maranda. She tried to think of the name of the soldier who had given this to her, but her memory failed her. It was long ago, far too long.

It was one of the few things she carried with her out of that cellar in South Figaro. Locke had saved her, and all she had were the clothes on her back, her Runic Blade, and her bag of supplies. Inside were a change of clothes and a bit of meat and bread, all of which she would use later on. But the nightgown served little purpose, as she knew she was in for many months of sleeping beneath the stars, and changing her clothes every night was not an option. She might have been able to do so at some of the more permanent Imperial encampments she had commanded, where she had a private tent and guards she trusted, but both of those were rare events in themselves.

With the Returners such a luxury could not be had, and Celes wore her Imperial uniform day and night, taking it off only a few dozen times when she had the time and privacy to bathe in an available river.

"Celes?"

She looked up. Locke was watching her with concern.

"You looked distant. Are you okay?" He paused, shook his head. "I mean, how bad are you?"

Celes fingered the hem on one sleeve. "Not too bad, considering." She lowered her arms, breathed in slowly, and let it out.

"Locke, I'm going to see Edgar now. I need to talk to him about a lot of things, and I need to talk to him alone."

"I trust you," he said.

Her hair hung in strange angles as she inclined her head. She wanted to be mad to what she perceived as sarcasm, but he looked too honest. He still looked hurt, and ashamed, but sincere.

She nodded and left without a word, and as she stood in the hall and closed the door behind her, she smiled, just a little bit.

He really does love me.


III. DREAMS OF FIRE

Relm talked to Edgar softly as she swabbed his forehead with a damp cloth. She didn't have much to say, but she talked anyway, hoping that he would come back to wherever his mind had gone by following her voice. She talked about living in Doma, about his brother – well, the parts that were appropriate – and her painting. She talked about her training, about how much she liked her home, about the weather. She whispered at times, laughed a little, though she found that hard to do.

His fever was getting worse, and he seemed to drift in and out of consciousness every once in a while. In his dreams he called for his wife, and when he awoke he merely stared at Relm in disappointment, saying nothing.

She sat up, startled, as she heard a knock at the door. Edgar mumbled and his eyes opened, darting around the room with confusion.

"I'll be right back," she whispered lovingly into his ear.

Relm opened the door and found Celes standing there in a white nightgown, her arms crossed over her chest. She leaned over the threshold to see him, and gasped as she saw a small wet patch in the blankets over his chest.

"He's still bleeding," Celes said.

Relm put an arm around the woman and turned her toward the door so that Edgar could not hear them.

"His blood is thin with the poison," Relm whispered. "It's also given him a fever, and besides that he has a collapsed lung and a leg fracture from the fall."

Celes put a hand over her mouth to stifle a wimper. Relm tightened her grip on her shoulder.

"Be strong, now. It won't do him any good to see you crying for him. Makes it look like he's already dead. And he's not dead, you hear me?"

Celes nodded. She wiped her eyes and took a cleansing breath, and she felt ready.

"Okay. Just give me a while to talk to him alone, alright?"

"If he's in pain," Relm said, "if anything happens, you call me, alright? I'll be right outside."

Relm left and Celes closed the door behind her. She turned to Edgar, paused a second to steel her will, and sat down at the edge of his bed.

He smiled, but only with his mouth. The pain in his eyes came through clear.

"It seems I'm quite the popular one today. So many beautiful women lavishing their attentions on me."

She let loose a half-laugh, half-sob, and though she was smiling too there were tears in her eyes.

"I love you, Edgar. I love you so much."

His hand clasped hers.

"I loved you too. Ice Queen, we used to call you." He squeezed her hand. "But you're so warm, Celes. Hot. You were like fire to me." He loosed his grip, and his voice seemed to fade away like a cool breeze. "But that's all over now. It wasn't meant to be."

She shook her head violently. "You don't know that! And even if it's true, who cares?"

"You were meant for someone else, Celes. And he was meant for you. It's not my place to take you from Locke."

"I don't belong to him," she sneered. "And I don't love him. Not after what he's done to you."

Edgar shook his head. "He did nothing. I saw in his eyes when he cut that rope. I saw the struggle. I saw Morgan take hold of him. That man, that demon, he can control the minds of men and women. I know he can. It may have been Locke's hand that wielded that knife, but it was Morgan's will all the same."

He smiled. "Besides, we all have one true love. I've already had mine. It would be the greatest injustice to take another."

"Terra? But she's dead, Edgar."

"I know she is. But she's still alive. In here." Edgar tapped his chest lightly through the blankets. "She's my conscience, Celes. I can't do her wrong. I can't take you, even if you want me too."

She leaned toward him, pressing her face to the uninjured side of his chest, her golden hair pooling over him.

"I can't ever love him again, Edgar. I just can't."

She felt his arm encircle her shoulders as she cried.

"Forgive him," he whispered into her ear. "Love him. Forgive him."

She kissed his cheek, and when she leaned back she saw that his eyes failed to focus on her, and his mouth hung open, and the wheezing rumble of his breath was not to be heard.

Celes screamed, and Relm burst through the doorway so fast that the molding broke loose and flew across the room.


IV. REFORMATION OF WIND

Locke had given up the solitude of the empty cabin and instead taken up the solitude of the quarter-deck, the exposed section of the ship at the very aft of the Falcon. He leaned against the gunwale and stared at the clouds in the wake of the airship. He would rather have stood on the foredeck, but doing so would keep him in the company of Setzer as he piloted the ship, and he'd much rather be alone right now.

The roar of the engines was enough that he didn't hear Relm approach until she grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

"Relm?"

"Take out your blade," she shouted, just barely audible over the churning of the massive engines on either side of him.

"What? Why?"

"To make it fair."

"Huh?"

"Too late."

With blinding speed she struck him hard in the face, breaking his nose for the second time that day. He nearly pitched backward off the deck, but he regained his balance, then fell to his knees. His face hurt too much to touch, and he gasped as he looked down and felt the blood pour from his nostrils and down the back of his throat.

"You killed him, you bastard," Relm hissed. "I heard Celes and Edgar talking. I heard what you did to him."

"Edgar's dead?"

She kicked him in the ribs, sending him sprawling on the deck.

"Of course he's dead. He didn't have a goddamn chance, between getting run through, getting poisoned, and your neat little trick of dropping him out of the fucking sky."

She leaned down and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him to a stand. With seemingly little effort she lifted him off his feet. Here she was, a woman barely half his size, the muscles in her arms exposed to him and trembling slightly, the tendons in her neck visible, the strain in her chest so great that through her shirt he could see the size and definition of individual muscles as she flexed them, her pectorals tightening so much that her breasts seemed to double in size as they stretched against her shirt, large and feminine and strong.

That was when he realized he couldn't breathe, and that she truly meant to kill him.

"Relm, put him down."

They both turned to where Celes stood, still in her nightgown. She held her hands to her sides, clasped in tight fists. Impatience shone through her.

Relm lowered Locke to where he stood again, but did not relent her grip.

"I heard everything," Relm yelled. "We know he killed Edgar." She shook Locke, who gagged on his own blood for a moment. "We can take turns if you like."

Celes stepped toward them. "Edgar's last wish was for me to forgive Locke, and I'm going to try to fulfill that." She stepped so that she was face to face with Relm, only inches away.

"Whatever he's done, he's my husband, and I won't let you hurt him."

Relm growled.

"Let him go. Now." Then, a bit less forcefully: "There's been enough killing today, Relm. I can't afford to lose someone else."

Relm seemed to relax, letting go of Locke and patting him on the shoulders, as if to say it was all in good fun. She stepped backwards a bit, keeping her eyes on the two of them, her instincts preventing her from turning her back to them until well out of range. Then she turned and ran to below the superstructure on which they stood, disappearing belowdecks.

Locke wrapped his bandana over his face to staunch the bleeding. Celes stepped toward him, and he backed away from her. She paused, opened her arms passively, and looked down.

"I'm sorry for what I said. And for trying to hurt you. I'm sorry for everything," she said, looking at him fearfully. "I know it seems trite, but I can't argue with you anymore. I don't have it in me. I just hope we can forgive each other, and try to make the best of this godawful mess."

She walked past him and leaned against the gunwale. The wind coming around the ship's superstructure pushed her hair forward, obscuring her face. The bottom of her nightgown was pulled tight across her legs and backside and flapped in the breeze. It conformed to her so well she might as well have been naked, and Locke turned to her and held her hand.

"Aren't you cold, Celes?"

She turned to him, her hair still in her face, stuck to her wet cheeks.

"Always."

He put his arms around her, and she allowed herself to burrow into him, to take his warmth, to survive in him. She stayed there for a while, feeling his hands all over her back, rubbing heat into her flesh, and staying above her waist in a gentlemanly fashion.

Hand in hand, they walked to their cabin, talked a little, cried a little, and held each other. As the sun set, holding led to exploration, exploration led to lovemaking, and before the night was over they were husband and wife again, their marriage re-consummated and purified, and much that had happened in the days previous became as bad dreams to them and were quietly forgotten.


AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've read this section over at least a dozen times over the past few months, and I can't help but believe it's been over-edited, that I've become so familiar with it I can't even enjoy the words anymore. But every week it remains hidden on my hard drive it grows more stale, and it's best to present it now before I tire of the endevour completely.

I have three completely contradictory stories written for Chapter 11, but I believe I picked out the best one and will have it revised and ready to go shortly. Unfortunately, if my work this coming January is as busy as it was for the past six months, I probably won't be writing again for a while.

I can't say I'm terribly concerned about abandoning fanfiction, though. Fanfiction.net has changed significantly, and it seems I've lost a large number of my fans as well as one of my stories and the 80 reviews or so that came with it. I suppose I could go back and put the story together again, chapter by chapter, but I won't do so without some revision, and that will take time.

What of the story itself? All I can say is that it's not over - the adventure continues in my mind, and sooner or later it will find its way to text. Edgar's death won't be trivialized by any means.

I'll be accepting hosting offers so I can have a backup site in case of R-rated stories being ousted later on, but I'll probably be pretty picky with those. Email me if you think you'd like to help out. If you're familiar with my work you'd know I don't need much help editing, if any.

-Scribe