A Katharine Frost Production
Chapter ThreeDoctor Tot and Fratley were awaiting their return when Freya and Amarant came back into the laboratory. Freya was vaguely aware that Amarant was stewing grouchily behind her – no doubt still focused on their game of cards – but what was most important was Fratley. "We didn't keep you waiting long, did we?" she asked politely.
"Not at all," answered Doctor Tot. "Your timing was near-perfect; we've just finished up. Quite a fascinating life your Fratley has had. And that's only the half of it." The scientist's eyes twinkled.
"And?" Freya pressed.
"Memory is a curious thing, my dear," Tot said obscurely. "Nobody really understands how it works, how things are coded irreversibly into our minds. Fratley here has a sharp mind, actually; he knows the tiniest details about everything that happened after whatever – incident – caused the memory loss in the first place. There are a lot of documented cases where a person remembers something in place of a lost memory, a fictional remembrance, or even the essence of a colour or a familiar sound – a fragment, so to speak. But Fratley is quite blank."
"He wishes to hypnotise me," Fratley added quietly.
"We've discussed it and decided it a wise course of action," Tot explained. "Hypnosis is far from an exact science, but if we are able to extract something, anything, it may be worth it. We need to know how the memories were lost in the first place in order to determine how we should go about looking for a solution. It's entirely possible that this information is somewhere in Fratley's – er – subconscious mind."
Freya bit her lip. Hypnosis and other such practices were regarded as little better than witchcraft in Burmecia, but, then again, she was no longer in Burmecia. "Is it safe?" she asked, keeping all of her other questions safely in her mind.
"Let him try, Freya," Amarant said curtly from behind her. "No harm in trying."
Freya opened her mouth to snap back at him, and then closed it wordlessly. He was right even if his intonation was less than kind. She nodded her head in quiet assent and sat down on a cushion to watch. Amarant followed her example and sat on the opposite side of Fratley. Fratley himself sat perched on a chair, waiting with an impassive and altogether soldier-like expression on his face.
"Ready?" Tot asked.
"Yes."
"I need you to relax," Tot said, and suddenly his voice seemed different, soothing and mellifluous, like liquid honey. "To calm yourself. Be as calm as you can. Be as focused as you can. Do not think of anything but what I am saying to you – you hear nothing but my voice." Then Tot leaned down, close to Fratley, and began to whisper in a strange, rhythmic language Freya had never heard before. It was almost like the chanting of fairies. She glanced at Amarant, who only shrugged.
When Tot drew back, Fratley was lying bonelessly in the chair, staring blankly at nothing with lifeless green-brown eyes. "When you enter into the state of hypnosis, I want you to say whatever comes to you, no matter what is," the doctor continued. "Anything you recall. You are before you woke up in that forest in Lindblum – hours before of days before. Nod if you understand."
Fratley's head jerked once, nearly involuntarily. Freya gasped a little, in spite of herself. Tot stepped back even further, eyed Fratley carefully, and then plunked himself down next to Freya. For a long while, ages to Freya, no one spoke.
Amarant shuffled uncomfortably. "I don't think it worked—"
"He is strong," Fratley shouted suddenly, interrupting. All three of them jumped, even Amarant. Fratley's eyes were wide and unblinking. And that voice – the voice that had come out of Fratley's mouth certainly wasn't his own. It was odd, disconnected, high-pitched and disturbingly familiar.
"Was that—" Freya whispered.
"Zorn," Amarant finished flatly.
"Curious." Tot blinked. "I wonder—"
"Strong, he is," Fratley said loudly, in a similarly detached voice.
"And Thorn," Freya added. There was a cold chill working its way along her spine, and, unconsciously, she wrapped her arms around her shoulders. "Doctor, how is this – possible?"
"Quiet," said Tot. "I am not certain. The mind is often inexplicable, and sometimes capable of mimicry, of course. But listen, he is remembering something important. Perhaps even how his memory was lost." The possibility was enough to keep her quiet.
"He may be able to defend Burmecia when we attack," came the first voice – Zorn – again. Fratley was still staring depthlessly in his trancelike state. "Defend Burmecia when we attack," and now it was Thorn again, "he may be able to do." Then he lapsed, his head falling back.
Freya got to her feet and bent over him with concern. "Do you think he's—"
"You fools!" Fratley screeched loudly, causing Freya to stumble backwards in surprise – directly onto Amarant, who caught her by the upper arms and held onto them tensely, pulling her back down with him. She was only dimly aware of the fact that his sharp claws were digging through her clothes and hurting her. The voice that had exited Fratley's mouth, if it were possible, was a hundred times more frightening than Zorn's and Thorn's. Creepy, harsh, resonant, even cavernous, and decidedly female.
"Brahne?" Tot was astonished.
"It can't be," Freya choked. "She's dead."
"Get back. There's no need to worry about him," Brahne's voice continued, cold and calculating. Fratley's face was no longer static; it was miming that of the late queen's in a repulsively flawless impression. The disdainful quality of her voice was spot-on. "I have someone to take care of him." Then, sharply: "He is waking up! Did you bind him properly?"
"Yes, we did."
"We did, yes."
Freya was transfixed. She could hear herself breathing, quite loudly, but her mind couldn't connect. She could not tell herself to calm down. They had captured him. They had planned it all. Those bloody bastards had been planning to attack Burmecia for months.
"Where am I?" Fratley's own voice, disoriented, at last. She thought for a moment that he was out of the hypnotic state, and finally angled away from Amarant (who let go instantly), but then Fratley continued. "Who are you? What have you done to me?" The questions were quick and panicky.
"We are your enemies."
"Your enemies, we are."
"I thought you did it properly!" Brahne again, sounding enraged. "Put a Silence spell on him, you incompetents!"
"Our apologies, my Queen."
"No – you can't – help–" Fratley was sobbing. Freya looked down; it didn't seem right, somehow, to watch him cry. The pain must have been awful – torture? She had never seen him cry – not for fear, not for joy, not for anything.
"You will be silent." His mouth was twisting, clownish and terrifying, coloured repulsive by the voices of the two jesters. "Be silent, you will."
"Freya! Freya, I—" Fratley's sob, brought back from a forgotten incident, was cut short.
There was a long, quiet stretch. Freya's throat was caught. Her name. He had screamed her name in whatever horrible hellish torture chamber those monsters had thrown him in. She knew she should be crying, screaming, but her throat was just too dry, as if she could never speak again, and the back of her mind had to point out what a sorry relationship it would be if she were mute and Fratley was still without memory. Belatedly, she realized that she had careened forward on her knees, and was resting on her elbows in a prone position. She felt two separate people, a wing on one shoulder and a claw on the other, drawing her back to them.
"The shock's gotten to her. Go and get her some water," she heard Tot say to Amarant, quietly commanding. "I'm going to take him out of it." Amarant went without protest, and the doctor turned his attention to her. "I am sorry, Freya," Tot whispered, "that you had to bear witness to that. It cannot have been easy."
I will be fine, Doctor. Don't worry. Please take him out of his trance. That's what she wanted to say. "…trance…" was what she managed to choke out. Her eyes were burning, too; in fact, it felt as if her entire body was a brushfire. She nodded towards Fratley, and Tot – blessedly – seemed to understand.
It seemed, regardless, that Fratley was done speaking. Tot went up and shook him gently. Freya watched. She felt a cold glass of water being pressed against her lips, and her claws came up to cup it near her face. She didn't bother looking up at Amarant; instead, she took a long sip and shook her head. Her name. She still couldn't believe he had called her name. How long had he been gone from Burmecia before they'd found him? Had he thought of her every day before then? She took another drink and let it sit in her mouth, willing herself not to cry and knowing she was dangerously close to it anyway.
Fratley was blinking back into consciousness. His eyes flickered rapidly, then opened slowly, as if he was coming out of a pleasant dream. Tot looked at him solicitously, waiting until Fratley realised where he was again. Fratley's gaze went from Freya to Amarant to Tot, then back to Freya again. His eyebrows lifted with concern. "Oh," he said undramatically. "Freya, are you ill? It didn't work, I assume?"
"It didn't – you don't remember what you just said?" Freya asked disbelievingly.
Fratley looked lost and a touch hurt. "No," he said slowly. He surveyed them all again, confused. "Nothing. I remember – being told to relax, yes – and then nothing after all. Just blankness."
"It was Brahne who did it," Freya said dully. It struck her suddenly just how terrible it was. There was no way to get vengeance, really. Brahne was already dead and gone, probably still beached as a skeleton. "I – we heard her speaking, commanding. In your voice, but in her voice." Was she making any sense? She didn't think so. "Brahne and her henchmen, the clowns, and they had you trapped and Silenced—"
"Silenced? Freya, what are you on about?" He slid off the chair and sat down across from her, gently removing the glass of water from her claws and rubbing her shoulders. "I don't remember—"
"That's exactly it. You don't remember."
*
Sir Forgetful was finally sleeping, two hours later, fitful and bunched up on a stack of cushions. Amarant watched him, not sure what to think. It had been disconcerting, even for him, to hear all those voices coming out of one mouth. And then there had been Freya's reaction. He recalled holding her still; it had been like gripping somebody Petrified, like when he had dragged a stone Lani half day to Conde Petie because neither had been carrying any Softs.
Freya and Doctor Tot were in the other room, talking quietly to each other, even though it was two in the morning. Amarant thought of the previous night and wondered if Freya ever slept. He resolved to remind her about it, and went closer to the conversation, leaning into the doorjamb, near enough to hear little snippets but not near enough to have to contribute.
"I don't think," Tot was saying, "that there is much you can do. Even I don't know much about the magic they had in Burmecia. If he ever regains his memory, it will be by his own terms, and by grace. It's not – uncommon – for memory to return in fragments, or even all at once. It could happen. All you have to do is help him through it."
"I will try."
"I have some books in my personal library that I shall lend you in the morning. There may be more in the shelves at Alexandria Castle – mine are unspecific, but they may demonstrate some valuable mental techniques that Sir Fratley can try – that you can assist him with. Tomorrow. As for now, Freya, you should get some sleep."
Freya chuckled humourlessly. "After all that? I don't think I can."
Amarant chose this point to step in. "You damn well better," he grumbled. "You weren't sleeping last night, either. Don't need you falling off your chocobo tomorrow."
She turned to him and pursed her lips. There was an odd and somehow disheartening glint in her eyes. "Amarant," she said. "Amarant Coral, he who never speaks, is telling me what's good for me. Oh, how awful must I look?"
"You look like hell," he said candidly. It was true. When he took a good look at her, it was hard to imagine that he hadn't noticed straight away. She seemed thinner, and paler; there were purplish hollows underneath her eyes. And had her hair shone before? It certainly wasn't shining now – it was dull, without lustre.
"Must not be too bad. You're still being honest." There was the briefest of changes in her demeanour; for a second, she was like she had been when they had played cards, which seemed now like centuries ago. It was gone in a flash, and Amarant wasn't sure if he'd imagined it. "Okay. I'm going to rest," Freya breathed, disregarding Tot's cluck of approval. "Please remember the books. And please wake me early."
She exited the room. Amarant stepped back to let her by. When she was past him, she turned and said, "I'll see you sometime, I suppose." Her voice was dry, polite. "Have to call in that favour one day, so don't go off and cheat me out of my winnings."
He didn't understand. "What?"
"You're leaving, aren't you? Back to gambling, I thought?" Her brow was furrowed.
Of course. After all the excitement, he'd forgotten completely about why he'd come to Treno in the first place, and recalled the dearth of decent bounties. "I intend to return to Alexandria." He didn't know this until he said it, and, were it not entirely uncharacteristic of him, he would have clamped a hand over his mouth. Stupid. Now he was stuck riding back with her. He slouched back against the wall. "There are as many drunks to win money off of in Alexandria than anywhere else," he explained. "And a free place to sleep."
"I see."
"I've no great drive to get back to working with Lani anytime soon."
Freya smiled, weak but genuine. "Then I shall ride back with you in morning." She paused. "I know – it's nothing to you – but I am glad you came. I loved fighting with you, all of you, and this feels like having a part of it back, even if it is just only a little part." She bent over to arrange a bed of pillows herself to sleep on, fussing a little. "Never mind. I suppose I'm just wishing—"
"It makes sense," he said shortly. "Good night."
*