Chapter Eight:
Eripio
He could feel it growing stronger.
Do you love me, Squall?
You know I do, Rinoa.
"Then, why won't you say it?"
He whirled. Underfoot, loose, frost-covered shale crackled and slipped over the precipice, tumbling through the swirling snowflakes. Down, down it fell, to shatter on the boulder fields thousands of feet below; unseen and unheard amidst this wasteland of great rock peaks.
Squall blinked tears the stinging wind drew from his eyes away as he squinted at the ledge. There was no one behind him. There was no one for hundreds of miles. Squall's world was an isolated pocket of reality stuck in the midst of a cloud-enshrouded limbo. He was only the tiniest of specks, flattened against the dead gray granite of an ancient monolith raised from the planet's crust eons ago by forces unimaginable.
The wind roaring in his ears quieted momentarily, and he released his grasp on the wall of stone. The clouds parted momentarily. The storm lashing the peak did not clear enough to see the deep blue of the frozen high-altitude sky, but it did reveal miles of torn and twisted mountain peaks. Scoured clean of everything but the eternal snows of this place, the broken teeth of the world stretched off into the obscure distance. Everywhere Squall looked, he saw only the white and gray shades of the lifelessness. In the valleys lay darkness and on the summits darkness, and in-between a great drifting field of cloud snow and rock. Then the storm closed in again and the narrow icy ledge became Squall's sole companion once more. Or, perhaps not.
The visions had started shortly after he had left the motorcycle. The narrow dirt path through the foothills had at last given up the ghost to the range of mountains guarding the entrance to Mare Lela—impassible to any and all motor vehicles. At first, only the occasional rumblings of avalanches high up the sides of the rocky valley had broken the stillness of the dead highlands, but after three hours, Squall had began to feel a ghostly, half-imagined presence in this world of ice and granite.
At the flash of blue fabric and chiming of sweet laughter, Squall spun once more—and stumbled. Instinctively, his hands reached out, grabbing solid purchase on thin air. As his feet slipped from the tiny shelf of rock another vision flashed before Squall's eyes.
He was falling, falling. A great spear of ice protruding from his chest. His arms, his feet, the sky… Rinoa. They wheeled above him, but greatest of these was Rinoa. Reaching for him, he could see her calling his name. Then he hit the side of the cliff and everything disappeared into darkness. His body did not stop its lifeless plummet until, seven hundred feet below, it was crushed against a giant boulder.
…
"So… what are you saying?" Folding his arms across his chest, the president of Esthar, Laguna Loire, leaned back in his chair. It was—he thought—a very presidential pose.
Standing to one side of the massive wooden desk that occupied a good portion of the middle of the Estharian Presidential Office, Kiros Seagill slapped a hand to his face. "Come on, Laguna! They just spelled it out for you! Quit posing and listen, for Hyne's sake!"
Looking over to Irvine, who nodded in support, Selphie addressed the former Galbadian foot soldier. "I guess the bottom line, Mr. President, is that SeeD is in big trouble. And, as you probably realize, the Gardens are… were the only thing standing between Galbadian and Esthar." She spread her hands in supplication. "We don't know what Squall's situation in Galbadia is, and… well… we need your help, again."
"And, uh, one more thing…" Irvine spoke up. "We have reason to believe that one of your premier scientific minds—Doctor Odine—may be in danger."
At this remark, Ward and Kiros both turned to look at each other, then at the president.
"Odine's dead." Laguna blurted. Then immediately turned bright red. "Uh…" He could not come up with anything else to add, so he just waved his hands in the air for a bit.
Selphie's eyes widened. Odine dead? But…
"He was assassinated by sorcery, I assume?" Irvine placed his hands on his hips.
Laguna's eyebrows climbed skyward at the sharpshooter's remark. "Well, yeah. How did you know?"
Ignoring the president of Esthar, Irvine turned to his cabinet member, Kiros. "How long ago did this occur?"
The aging warrior frowned. "Nearly two weeks ago, just after the Galbadian attack on our communications satellites." He raised one dark eyebrow. "You seem to be remarkably well informed on this subject…"
Irvine nodded and launched into a synopsis of the events that had taken place after the foiled assassination attempt by the SeeD sniper.
As Irvine spoke, Selphie's mind raced. So Rachel was telling the truth. Her friend must have made it back into our time too. Her hand drifted to her mouth. She really is a white SeeD. And… and all those terrible things she said about the future really are going to come true… and we left her—her and Quistis to try and stop it all, alone. She turned to Irvine, who had finished his abbreviated report. "Oh, Irvy… what about Quistis? What have we done?"
Seeing the sparkling moisture creeping into Selphie's eyes, Irvine drew the small SeeD close. "Hey, hey, darlin'," he said softly, brushing a finger gently down one bouncing brown curl of her hair. "Don't worry now, ol' Quisty can take care of herself." His brow wrinkled slightly. And I'm not totally convinced that Miss Young was telling us the whole truth. After all, if that guy—Borland—if he completed his mission then…
"Why didn't she disappear?" Selphie had recovered from her momentary bout of self-doubt. She mentally chided herself for jumping, emotionally, to conclusions. "She said that if Odine was killed, she would disappear." She frowned. "And it makes sense. If Odine is dead, his research will be over, and her existence here would be a paradox." She turned to the president for support. "Right?"
"Right." Laguna nodded gamely.
"Not necessarily." Kiros broke in. "I can see a way in which she could continue to exist in the new 'timestream'—as you called it." He folded his arms across his chest. "You know that Odine was killed, but what you don't know is that upon his death, an apparatus he had rigged sent out all his data to top scientific minds across the planet." He scowled. "All his research, all his design work, everything is now public domain on Esthar's computer networks. I wouldn't be surprised if Galbadian scientists haven't gotten at least some information on his findings as well. So the sequence of events the sorceress described could very well come to pass—even without Odine." He paused, then continued. "I had a chance to speak with the doctor just before he was killed. He told me that he feared his research would be lost forever if something like this happened, and explained that it could destroy our world if such a paradox was created." His eyes narrowed. "That is why we had to allow him to continue his work—even in the face of all that he's done. He believed, as I do, that this dabbling in the timestream could be quite dangerous. Because of his preparations, Odine's death didn't seem to have any negative repercussions we're aware of, but if the wrong people interact with this sorceress from the future who wants to change the past, it could cause paradoxes in our own world." He paused. "I'm not sure what would happen then."
"You mean, like people disappearing," Selphie said. "Rachel told us more about the paradoxes. She called them 'slips'. She said… she said that bad things happen during them."
Kiros nodded. "I can imagine." His brow lowered. "I think this sorceress Rachel is dangerous. With the knowledge and power she has, I'm afraid she might do serious damage to our world."
From behind the desk, where he had been listening intently, Laguna spoke at last. "Then, I think we need to stop her."
Kiros nodded slowly. "You may be right, old friend. You may be right."
"But what if she's telling the truth?" Irvine interjected. "What if all she's doing is trying to save the world from Ultimecia?"
Kiros shrugged. "It is a possibility. But we need to deal with the reality set before us; we know that she is attempting to alter the timestream, we know this could have dire consequences for our present, past, and future, and we know someone with the power to stop her."
Selphie looked down. "You're talking about Rinoa, right?"
"She is a sorceress. She has thwarted this Rachel's plans once already." Kiros's mouth narrowed into a thin line of pressed lips. "Do you think she'd be willing to help us?"
As one, both Irvine and Selphie shook their heads. "I don't know." Selphie blinked quickly. "I really don't…"
"Rinoa thinks we were involved in the assassination attempt," Irvine said. "I'm not sure we could even get close enough just to talk to her."
"What about Squall?" Laguna ended his long silence. "Do you think you might be able to talk him into convincing Rinoa to help us?"
At the president's query, both SeeDs dropped their eyes from his gaze. "We… we don't know if Squall is still alive, Sir." Selphie spoke quietly.
"He is." Kiros broke in. "You haven't been briefed on what occurred in Galbadia after the sorceress Rinoa disappeared?"
"What? Rinoa disappeared?" Irvine exclaimed, making it quite obvious to the heads of Esthar's government that they had—indeed—not been informed of events in the far-away country.
"So that's that." Irvine sighed. "Even if we could talk to her, we don't know where Rinoa is." He still felt a bit stunned by Kiros's explanation of all that had occurred during their incarceration, release, and wild flight into Esthar.
"But you could still speak to Squall. Our… …sources give us a pretty good idea where he is headed." Laguna looked hopeful. "I'm sure he'd listen to you."
Irvine began to nod and agree, but Selphie cut him off. "Sir, uh, Mr. President, with all due respect, I think you should be the one to talk to Squall about this."
Irvine's brow furrowed as he shot Selphie a 'What the hell are you talking about?' kind of glance. While Laguna was digesting Selphie's words, he leaned over. "Uh, Selphie mae sweet, are you sure about that." Whispering, he nodded slightly toward the President of Esthar. "Darlin', in case you hadn't noticed, this guy is a total goon—and Squall really doesn't seem to like him all that well."
"Irvine, you sweet silly oaf, haven't you got it yet?" Selphie whispered back. "Laguna is Squall's—"
"I think that is a very good idea, Miss Tilmitt." Kiros and Ward were nodding. "I think it is about time Mr. Loire and Mr. Leonhart had a chance to talk face-to-face."
A strange expression crossed the President's face. "Well, hey, don't I get a say in—"
"Besides," Kiros interrupted, "I'm sure you two are anxious to rejoin the other SeeDs and students of Balamb Garden."
"Um, excuse me." Laguna raised a finger. "I really don't think—"
"You know where they are?" Selphie took a half step toward the Cabinet Member, unconsciously clasping her hands.
"Hello? Hello?" Laguna waved his hands.
"Indeed." Kiros smiled. "If you hurry, you will reach their staging area before the assault craft leave." He nodded toward the office door. "There is a jet waiting on the roof to take you there. We'll work on everything else from this end."
Vexed by the dark man's words, but excited nonetheless, Selphie and Irvine allowed waiting Estharian aides to usher them to the VTOL aircraft. As they left the office, Selphie leaned back and waved. "It was good to see you again, Mr. President. Best of luck in meeting Squall."
"Uh-huh." Laguna managed to sigh and wave an anemic good-bye before the massive wooden doors slammed behind the two SeeDs.
…
The ice was everywhere. In the pockets of the heavy white parka, stuffed up the cuffs of the jacket's sleeves, tracing frozen paths down the curve made by the man's spine against the insulated lining, locked in miniature icicles that hung from his eyebrows, lashes, and chin. The storm drove it and the cold kept it there. The jagged scars of failure lancing across the man's chest were frozen solid. Without the flow of warm blood, the necrotic tissue was starred with swirling patterns of frost. When he slipped on a patch of ice, or stumbled against a snow-covered rock, the sharp edges of his dead flesh dug into the living organs around it.
Like all physical pain, Seifer found it easy to ignore. He concentrated, instead, on the steady progression of footfalls across the barren boulder field. His frozen boots would punch through the thick crust of old snow and disappear into the heavy slush beneath, only to re-emerge seconds later—trailing streamers of the powdery whiteness that the howling wind carried off. The cycle continued, broken only by the occasional blur of snow-devils as they writhed and twisted around the trudging figure—causing even his own hands and feet to disappear into the swirling snow—before they danced off into the flat storm daylight.
Suddenly, the wind abated, the needles of snow ceased their tattooing against his upturned hood. Seifer stopped. He had arrived in the lee of a low rock ridge running from the sheer cliff on his left down into the maelstrom of ice and snow down slope to his right.
He looked down at the crushed body lying before him. "It hurts now, doesn't it, Squall?"
The frozen figure's arms and legs were twisted as those of a discarded marionette as he lay stiff as death.
Seifer nodded. "Oh yes, it hurts you. I can taste your pain."
Despite the frigidness of the high mountains, despite the sleeting storm, the body before Seifer was clad only in the warrior's standard garb.
"Do you think you can run to her, Squall? Do you think that you can bridge the distance just by physical force alone? Is that how you will try to stop the pain?" Ice that had formed on his upper lip cracked over the bleeding skin as Seifer laughed. "Oh no, Squall. You only wish it were that easy."
Despite the words of the blonde knight standing above, no sound forced itself from the frozen throat of the jacketed figure.
"No, no, Squall. That's not the way this game is played." A cruel smile forced it's way across Seifer's countenance. "Because, even if you find her, even if you somehow catch up to her, you'll just lose her again."
The eyes in Squall's head—at the end of a neck bent through impossible angles by the fall—stared blankly through frost-covered corneas at the snow.
Seifer was crouching next to the body of the knight now. "Do you want to know why, Squall?" He paused, and his grin grew wider. "She told me, you know. She told me the same things Ellone told me."
The wind howled over the sheltering ridge, and a light dusting of snow fell over the two knights.
"That's right, Squall. Sis and Rinoa. They both came to me with what they would not—could not—confide in you." He cocked his head to the side. "Do you want to know the real reason they left you, Squall? Do you want to know what they told me, just before they ran away?" He looked up at the leaden sky. "They both said the same thing, you know."
One arm, bent in three places instead of just one, still lay near the handle of the body's gunblade. The fingers of its hand did not move.
"They told me…" Seifer leaned in close to whisper in the ear covered by a light dusting of snow. "They told me… It was because of you Squall."
The opaque film covering Squall's eyes did not glint.
Seifer rocked back on his heels and crowed into the mountains. "It was because of you, Squall! They were running from you! They could not stand to be around you!" A triumphant gleam appeared in the knight's eyes. "Did you ever wonder why I told you that you ruined Sis for us all? Well, now you know. You drove her away, Squall. Just like you drove Rinoa away." Seifer's voice dropped to a vicious whisper. "Just like you drive everyone away, Squall. Sooner or later."
Seifer closed his eyes as he stood. "Yes, that's right. I know why you always hid inside that stupid shell of yours, Squall. I know just what you thought of yourself then. Might as well drive them away before I begin to care for them—and they leave me. That's why you did it, Squall." Seifer opened his eyes.
"For a while there, I bet you thought that maybe it wasn't true. You were the hero of B-Garden, Squall. You had your sorceress, your fame—did it make you feel secure? Did you perhaps forget that you were responsible for Sis leaving? Well, remember it now, Squall. Now that you've driven Rinoa away as well, remember it. Because, every time you thought that you were the one who ruined their—our lives…" Seifer bared his teeth. "…you were right."
Seifer stood, and drew his weapon. He examined the black blade in the darkness of the clouded sun. "Yes, I know it hurts now, Squall." He pointed the gunblade toward the snow-obscured heights of the cliff from which Squall had fallen. "Did you hope to die when you fell, Squall? Did you hope that it would somehow end the suffering?" Sparks flew from the gray rock as a blade the color of midnight clove through them. "YOU FOOL!!" Seifer shouted. "You can't escape it so easily!" The air rang with the sound of splitting granite as Seifer slashed again. "For us, there is only one way out, Squall." He lowered the weapon. "Because you are Squall Leonhart, because you are the chosen knight of the sorceress Rinoa Heartilly, you cannot just die—" Seifer's eyes narrowed. "as I cannot," He whispered.
The tip of Seifer's blade wandered slowly over the still figure of the fallen knight. The weapon came to rest over Squall's heart. "No, you are Squall Leonhart, and must be killed." Seifer snarled. The point of Seifer's gunblade dug slightly into the cold skin of Squall's body as time hung on a knife-edged moment.
Then, the white-clad knight turned, and sheathed his blade. "But no matter how much I wish to kill you, Squall, I want to watch you suffer life with the knowledge that you can never be with your sorceress again. "That is my affliction, Squall," Seifer spat. "And now, it is yours as well."
Thirty minutes after Seifer vanished back into the swirling curtains of snow from which he had appeared, Squall's lungs began to draw air once more. An hour later, the snow and ice covering his skin began to melt. Fifteen minutes later, his bones were on the mend and the frostbite began to disappear from his skin.
Two more solitary hours passed before Squall healed enough to cry.
"I don't like it." The man said.
The shocked look that washed over the man's face was confirmation enough for the sorceress.
The man scowled. "I could always jump a few days forward and rectify that situation." He growled.
"Bitch!" The man snarled. But he did not make the mistake of standing.
Rinoa grimaced slightly as her mind recoiled from the lie.
Dirt-encrusted nails dug slightly into the sorceress's palms as her fists balled unconsciously.
"It is a man?" Rinoa felt a shiver of something travel down her spine.
"I… I have work… I have to finish here." Rinoa stammered out the half-hearted excuse.
The acolyte turned to Rinoa. "Do you accept this challenger as your champion?"
…
"Dammit, Sir, you're not going on this transport!" The whine of turbofans spinning up vied for dominance with Xu's angry voice as she stood, just outside the open loading door of the Estharian airborne troop transport.
"Yes I am, Xu." Cid, dressed in full-sized Kevlar armor suit, motioned toward the SeeDs already in their harnesses inside the jet. "I can't lead from the rear anymore. I have to be out there, in battle with the enemy. I need to know what is going on at the frontline."
"That's bullshit!" Xu's hair whipped angrily about her face as the dusty wind from the engine's ground wash swept over her. "I know what you're doing, headmaster, and I won't allow it!" Reaching forward, she pulled herself up by way of a handhold set into the door. Face-to-face with the headmaster, she kept her gaze steady, not allowing him the chance to duck away and mumble excuses. My god, look at his eyes…
With two orbs of dead and empty stone, Cid met and defeated her piercing stare. "I'm going with the strike team, Xu."
"No you're not, Sir!" The SeeD tried to keep her voice down to allow the noise from the engines drown out her words before they reached the other mercenaries. "Look… Cid…" The familiarity did not come easily to her. "I know you're hurting, I know it's worse than… before," Xu winced internally. Shouldn't have said that… but dammit! I didn't let him quit when he had to order them into battle against her. I'm not going to let him quit now! "but you have to go on. The garden has to go on." She shook her head. "I won't let you go out an get yourself killed like this."
If granite could convey an emotion, it would have to be that of infinite weariness with those slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that fill the lives of the generations of sufferers it sees pass away before its stony countenance. Granite, that's what he's been carved from. "It doesn't matter." The headmaster sighed, and began to turn away.
The sound of Xu's open palm connecting with the Headmaster's cheek echoed through the cabin. "God damn you, Sir! It matters to us!" She shouted, disregarding the incredulous stares from the other SeeDs. Even as a rush of red returned to the white imprint made by the SeeD's hand, Xu was stepping forward. "I won't let you do this, Sir! I won't let you leave us!"
Flesh and blood, anger, fear, love; granite knows none of these, only pain. Cid turned away. "I am the headmaster of Balamb Garden, Xu. I am the commander of these mercenaries. I will accompany the first landing team to begin the assault on the garden." His voice had not modulated one iota from the hollow, rattling half-whisper.
Am I going to have to do this… alone? Headmaster… Cid… I knew you were grooming me for something… leaving the operations of the garden to me while Squall was directing our course… but… "Please… Cid… Don't go." The burning in her eyes warmed even before the stinging in her palm. "We need you."
Did the stone crack, or was it just the man encased within? "I need her."
And Xu was off the transport. Though the strobing lights at the ends of it's stubby wings stabbed through the early morning darkness and painfully into her eyes, she dared not blink. It seemed, as long as she kept her eyes open, the transport would remain grounded. The SeeDs… they're all handpicked professionals. Their group finely tuned and ready for the task at hand.
From far behind the other side of the planet, the sun's rays sailed into the eternal night sky to be reflected down by the tiniest sliver of the moon. Falling on the darkened continent of Esthar long before the first true beams of dawn. A few of those wandering showers of moon-reflected light now draped themselves gently, inharmoniously, over a scene of grim preparation. An even dozen VTOL aircraft formed a rectangle with three rows of four jets apiece in a largish paved field between the rough boulders of Esthar's northwestern coastline.
They can take care of themselves, they can take care of each other—but the headmaster? Xu clenched her teeth, but did not blink as exhaust-driven grit and sand lashed her face. The dirty wind stank of hot exhaust from the turbojets and searing metal.
Glowing red waves of heat radiated from the first line of transports as the Estharian pilots put the aircraft through their preflight paces. What little fauna that had managed to push its way up from between the cracked tarmac of the old landing strip withered under the dark blasts of jet thrusters as a thirteenth transport—winging in from the south—alighted near the staging area.
He hasn't fought—really fought—for years. And even if he were prepared—he wants to die. Xu shook her head. They'll try to protect him, and they'll die too. Why couldn't you see it, Sir? You're not just killing yourself—you are taking the entire team—maybe even the entire garden with you.
As the pulsed plasma flames jetting from the newcomer's engines melted the asphalt into bubbling pools of tar, two figures—having jumped from its open main sally port were—already sprinting across the field toward the rows of black-clad SeeDs filing into the transports.
Even as Xu lifted the radio microphone to her mouth, she knew she couldn't depress the 'transmit' button. I can't. I can't protect him myself. I can't hand control of this operation off—this is our only shot, I have to be the one to make it work.
She nearly dropped the device when its speaker squawked at her. "Xu? Xu? Are you there? This is four-oh-five-two in charge of 'B' company. Two SeeDs from G-Garden and T-Garden have just arrived aboard a transport from Esthar."
Xu's response was automatic. "Four-oh-five-two, you have permission to assign—" Wait a minute… "Standby… five-two, what are the names of the SeeDs?" Trabia and Galbadia? It couldn't be…
"Irvine Kinneas and Selphie Tilmitt, Sir."
"Acknowledged, five-two. I'll take care of this personally. Send them to loading area alpha-one." Even as she listened to the confirmation of her order, she felt a prick of incredulity at the incredibly timely appearance of the two newly-legendary SeeDs. There's no doubt those two can take care of the Headmaster and themselves… but… to show up now… this can't be just coincidence… can it? Xu shook her head. Coincidence or not, she was not about to reject this bit of good fortune.
…
"Is the challenger prepared?!" Bits of dust, shaken from their perches atop the mounds of dirt pushed up by the passage of a thousand feet of past gladiators, tumbled into the shadows of the score marks of a thousand claws of the beasts those challengers had fought. Arrayed around the packed dirt of the battleground, the entire population of the Fate's sanctuary sat on tiered steps hewn from the sandstone walls of the ancient quarry. Occupying one-quarter of the circling seats, were the black-robed men and women of the Acolytes. They sat impassively, for the most part, their faces betraying neither interest nor boredom, rather, a studied neutrality—an expression which they took pains never to alter.
The servants, on the other hand, appeared leaned forward on the hard stone benches, waiting eagerly for the initiation of the test. Such occurrences were a rarity, and a welcome break from the daily toil of serving out their thirty-year attendance to the Fate's enclave. Generally, newcomers to the valley simply met with the Cagliostro—the same person who had just addressed the jacketed figure standing alone on the dusty field—to record the beginning of their servitude. Thirty years later, the Cagliostro would send an acolyte to escort the servant to the Casern of the oracle. That most souls chose this route was not due to any lack of courage among those seeking answers, but instead to the fact that the challenges were simply impossible. Thousands had attempted to eschew giving up a good portion of their lives, or to rescue those who had; any challenger who met with success was allowed to chose one person from the ranks of the servants, then both were allowed to ask a single question each of the Fate. But, in the valley of the Fate, there were two constants; the fate was never wrong, and challengers always died. Only the young and the foolish ever believed otherwise.
One such youthful fool raised an arm, indicating his readiness even as he drew a gleaming blue gunblade from the scabbard at his side. A collective anticipatory intake of breath rustled across the arena as the weapon appeared.
"Begin." Boomed the voice of the Cagliostro.
Squall's attention was drawn from the pair of massive iron gates at the far end of
the fighting ground—the entrance, he assumed, for whatever monster he was supposed to battle—to a tiny sparkle of gold light flashing from a metallic sphere perched high atop what he had assumed to be simply an ornamental turret jutting from the top of the ancient quarry. His gaze fell full upon the flashing object and it flared brilliantly—drowning the world in a wash of golden brightness. The light permeated him. It washed through the deepest recesses of his mind and scoured the darkest corners of his soul. Squall closed his eyes, but the light was inside of him. It was not painful, it was not blinding, it was simply everything. The brightness was everywhere, and he suddenly feared he might lose himself in it.
…
Kiros Seagill's eyebrows lowered slightly as he depressed a switch set into the molded-acrylic control board of the Lunar Gate's E.M. launch center. He leaned in close to the microphone pickup. "Yes, Laguna, I'm sure it's perfectly safe. Look, my friend, the more you think about it, the more nervous you will become. Just let us launch you." He was careful to switch the receiver off as one of the duty techs appeared from nowhere and stepped over to him, looking more than a little nervous.
"Sir, I'm not so sure this is a good idea." The technician bobbed on the balls of his feet. "I mean, you're asking me to violate just about every procedure in the book, Sir. I really wish you'd wait until the operations control manager gets here."
Kiros smiled patronizingly. "Don't worry Mr…" He squinted at the identification badge hanging from the man's jacket. "…Sharp. This installation was built to be flexible in times of need. Why, the man down there," Kiros waved a hand toward the transparent flooring of the control room and Tin Can Shooter No. 3, "he is the one who came up with the idea for this place, and he's confident that everything will go as planned."
A pained look crossed the tech's face. "But, Sir, we've never done a sub-orbital shot with a test dummy—let alone a live human being—and he's, well, he's the president." Kiros could see that the man was trying to work up the nerve to tell the presidential advisor that he couldn't shoot his friend down a half-mile long steel tube, over an ocean, and down into unfriendly territory. "If something happened… I mean, no cryostasis, no support systems…"
The weight of a large hand on his shoulder quieted the man for a moment. Ward looked down at him. "…."
"Mr. Zabac is right." Kiros broke in on the silence. "The third fleet is standing by just off the coast of the Mare Lela peninsula. Everything will be fine."
In the cramped, plastic-coated cell of the rail-gun pod, President Laguna Loire—having given up on the container's communication's equipment, began banging a fist on the fiberglass wall. The hollow whonking sound seemed quite loud in the enclosed space, but he was unsure if anyone outside would ever hear him. He paused long enough to roll over in the coffin-sized compartment and palm the release plate on the pod's hatch. Again, the familiar voice of the onboard computer told him: "Pod is in firing position, all hatches locked for launch."
"Oh boy…" Laguna rolled back over, and began kicking at the walls of the oversized plastic bullet.
He was still wincing from the bruised toes when a speaker—hidden behind his back—crackled to life. "Okay, Laguna, I've just received final confirmation from the launch staff that this is perfectly safe—they told me they do this kind of launches all the time. So, now are you ready to go?"
"No, Kiros, I've changed my mind." Laguna said flatly. "I want out."
"What was that?" A sound that could have been interference—but sounded suspiciously like pages of an operations manual being mauled broke from the speaker. "Your last transmission broke up. Did you say you were ready?"
"No! Get me out of here!" Laguna shouted. "Kiros! Do you hear me? This is a direct order from your president! Let me out of this pod!" Even as he rotated in the claustrophobic space, Laguna could make out the buzzing sound of the rail-gun's high-voltage electromagnets charging up in preparation for launch. His hair began to stand on end, and the air smelled of ozone.
"Okay, Mr. President. If you're all set, then…" Kiros glanced at the speaker volume knob—turned to its lowest setting. "…launch in five… four… three…" He flipped up the plastic guard covering the launch button.
"KIIIIIIROS!!" Laguna's transmitted shout was almost at whispering level.
"…two…one…fire!" Kiros suddenly found his hand restrained by the wrist. He looked up at the concerned face of the large man leaning over him.
"…."
"It's okay Ward. I'm sure this will work out." Kiros nodded slightly toward the launch tubes. "Besides, Laguna likes jumping into crazy things like this head-first. And…" Kiros lowered one eyebrow. "…you know we're just helping Laguna out. Just like he's always done for us; don't you remember how he 'helped' us escape from the Crystal Pillar on Centra?"
The smile on Ward Zabac's face as he mashed the firing button with one ham-sized fist indicated that he did, indeed, remember how Laguna had facilitated their hazardous escape from the Estharian forces.
The control room brightened with the flash of electrical discharges as the president of Esthar was sent down the long mass-driver, up through the atmosphere, and into space—screaming the whole way.
…
A low mutter ran through the younger ranks of assembled servants—nothing in the area moved, not even the challenger. A few turned to their friends with questioning glances. Having never seen a trial before, they were confused at the lack of action.
Suddenly, the light was gone. Squall was bathed in the darkness of the deepest cavern in the darkest hour of the longest night. He could see nothing, feel nothing, he did not know whether his eyes were open or shut.
"Chose." A voice whispered from behind him.
Squall whirled—or at least he though he moved. In the blackness, it was impossible to tell.
"Chose." The voice was louder now.
"Chose what?" Squall demanded. He clenched a fist, but then again, maybe he didn't—there was no way to be sure.
"Chose." The voice commanded.
As Squall opened his mouth to protest—or maybe he was simply standing there immobile—something emerged from his blindness. Like the light-ghost that dances across the inside of your eyelids after staring at the sun, the thing was there, but at the same time it was not. Squall tried to squint. Slowly, slowly, the shadow in the darkness resolved into a recognizable form; a gunblade.
"Chose."
Indeed, Squall saw that he did have a choice, for beside the gunblade, a wavering, formless cloud appeared. Squall flinched the moment he laid eyes on it. "No!" He tried to step away from the thing, for, from it emanated everything he had ever tried to hide from in his life. It was a cloud of his nightmares, and it was growing—advancing on him, threatening to engulf him. Whirling before his eyes, it flashed the scenes of his greatest fear, his greatest sorrow, all that which he had tried so hard to keep bottled up inside of him.
"Chose."
Squall tried to twist away, but was rooted in place. He tried not to see, not to feel again, the broken faceplate, the retreating white dress, the two rings laid on the cold wood, the limp figure falling from the hands of the blond knight, and the… the look in her eyes. that world-dropping sight of fear and pain as she fled from him. Squall closed his eyes, but his lids were transparent glass.
"Chose!"
He was drowning in it, his own need for her—his reason for fighting, dying, living—dragging him down into the depths, when he reached out for the only defense he had ever known. His gloved hand wrapped around the contoured grip, that oh-so-familiar mass sliding into its resting place against his palm. The long silver blade reflected darkness.
"You have chosen."
The cutting edge of the weapon in his hands flared brilliantly as it descended. In the flash of searing pain that followed, Squall felt himself being ripped apart, shredded into a thousand pieces, and scattered across the sky.
And he was back. The roaring of hundreds of voices—the shouts of the servants, the chanting of the acolytes—filled his ears. Squall might as well have been deaf for all the attention he paid the clamor, for there, standing before him, was Squall Leonhart.
Squall blinked. There, standing before him, was Squall Leonhart.
Squall's brow furrowed.
He frowned, then something caught his eye—behind his own scarred visage, high amongst the crowd, surrounded by a score of black-robed acolytes, was his sorceress, Rinoa Heartilly. Even from this distance, he could still see the fear in her eyes as their gazes met. Then, the black-clad figure before him turned to look toward the sorceress as well, and Squall snapped.
"No!" The gunblade described a blazing blue parabola in the air as he Squall brought it down on his head. A shower of sparks erupted from the weapons as Squall brought his own blade up, blocking the blow. "You don't deserve to look at her, you bastard!" He gritted his teeth, bearing down with all his might.
"That's right, you don't!" Squall shouted, even as he dodged clear of the locked blades, drawing his own weapon away and whirling it around his head, then over and down, only to find himself blocked by… himself.
"You're responsible for this! You're responsible for my pain!" Squall drove forward after parrying the blow, thrusting again and again at his heart.
Every attack was diverted, every motion of Squall's gunblade already anticipated and blocked or dodged. "And you, mine!" He retorted.
Rinoa felt a dozen arms hold her back as she started forward. "He has made his choice." A voice whispered from nowhere.
Involuntarily, the tips of her fingers crackled with magical energy, but immediately, she felt the flames of her sorcery smothered by the unseen force. "No. He will not allow you to help him." The thought of turning to confront the speaker never crossed Rinoa's mind—for it would mean taking her eyes off the strange battle unfolding below.
Like a malignant tumor deep within the brain, the searing pain of watching the two mirror-images of her knight attack each other was too much to bear, but to remove her eyes from the horror below, for even a second, would mean a death beyond death to her. Every muscle in her body tensed, she wanted to flinch with every blow barely blocked, every stab through the heart narrowly dodged. But the nightmare of the battle did not end with simply what she could see and hear. I… I can't feel you, Squall. I… I don't know which one of you is real… or are you both…? "Please…" Rinoa's lips formed the shape of the whisper, but no words came. "Please stop it…"
She received no reply.
"Why are you fighting me?" Squall coughed on the dust kicked up by his feet.
"I am you. I have to fight..." Squall grunted as the shock of steel-on-steel shivered down the blade and into his arm.
"…because I am a mercenary…" Squall blocked a blow identical to the one he had just delivered.
"…and I don't know any other way." Squall's foot slid on a pebble even as the other black-clad figure stumbled.
"But… Rinoa." Even without looking, Squall knew his gunblade thrust—from behind the back—had been countered.
"You cause her pain, Squall…" He was fighting a mirror.
"…so I have to kill you." A terrible realization dawned within him. His guard fell, only for an instant.
"I have to kill myself!" Squall growled as he drove in through the opening in his own defenses with his gunblade.
He sidestepped the blow a millisecond too late, and the blue blade parted the cloth protecting his shoulder as if it were paper, his skin, living tissue and bone offered little more resistance, but even as he scored the hit, Squall's own gunblade was tracing the exact same mark across his body.
The doppelgangers backed away from each other, circling, panting, and bleeding. It was not the pain that concerned either one of them, but rather the lack of feeling and control in their hands and arms that was the result of severed nerves and muscle.
Squall shook his head. "I can't survive this."
"I never really wanted to." Squall lied.
"I wonder…" The black-clad figure was breathing heavily. "…what the other choice would have been like?"
"I never had a real choice." Moving more cautiously now—still not willing to give in to the inevitable end, Squall probed his own defenses with a gentle deadly thrust.
"Are you so sure? Couldn't we have ever been together—even with the fears, even with the openness and… and… even without my shell? Couldn't she have ever gotten to know me?" Squall knocked the razor-sharp edge away with a backhanded swing. "I mean, really know me?" Even as he spoke the question, the damning answer swept over him.
"She didn't want to know me. She hates me. They all hate me, and they all leave me." Squall, who had never put much stock in spoken words, wondered how it was possible they could cut so deep.
"I think I talk to myself too much." Squall said, slowly backing away from himself.
Sharing a wry smile with his opponent, Squall also retreated several paces. "Still, I would have liked to see her…"
"…one last time…"
"…even if she does hate me." The Squalls nodded, and—as one—turned toward the stands.
The tears streaming freely down her face tried so hard to heal the wounds of her beloved, but they only managed to dampen the layers of dust lying over the rough stone bleachers. Then Rinoa saw the two knights turn toward her. "No!" She gasped as the realization of what was about to occur struck her.
"This is how things should be." Squall said, turning back toward his own hated visage.
Squall nodded in concert with himself. "It's better this way." No one on the battlefield was convinced.
Simultaneously, both knights charged recklessly forward. Giving no thought to defense, both swung their brilliant blue weapons in screaming arcs toward the other…
…
The incessant buzzing tone only served to set the frazzled young radar operator even more on edge. She risked a nervous glance around the ship's CCIC to see if anyone else had noticed the flashing warning light on her readout screen. The CO's back was—thankfully—turned to her. He had already given her a dressing down once this shift for sounding a false alarm when she had accidentally miscalculated the height of a civilian airliner and shouted to everyone in the darkened information center that it was within the collision envelope of the president's pod.
"How the hell could an aircraft be anywhere near the president's space pod, soldier?!" She winced at the memory of his angry voice. "Next time, use some goddamn common sense!"
But she had been using common sense. It was, after all, the president up there—the hero of Esthar—his fate resting solely in her hands, and those of the other fleet radar operators. She grimaced. Though, there's not a whole lot we can do if something goes wrong… The thought was brought home by the persistent alarm—which continued to ring even after she ran a quick system calibration. She squinted at the numbers one last time. No, it was true, the pod really had changed course—even though that was impossible for the unguided projectile…
"And we're now looking at a crash landing somewhere in the mountains—at least seventy miles inland," she finished.
The CO's mouth tightened into a thin line. It seemed fairly obvious that he didn't believe her story. "That's impossible. There's nothing up there that could change the course of the pod."
"I know, Sir, but my readings check out—the president's transport is falling off-course as we speak." She persisted.
"Well, since you seem so sure about this—just like you were sure about that plane earlier today," the CO sneered as he continued loudly, "then why haven't we heard from other radar operators in the carrier group?" He folded his arms across his chest.
"I… I don't know, Sir, but don't you think this is import—" The ringing of a hotwire inter-ship telephone interrupted the radar technician. A moment later, she was both horrified that her suspicions had been confirmed, and feeling a slight twinge of satisfaction as she watched the CO's face turn a sickly pale.
…
The dunes stretched for miles. Lumpy and misshapen, they marched in uniform disarray toward the distant horizon. Some were dark, rough like clods of earth thrown up by the tread of giants. Others were light, smooth like the dust mountains that are swept across the eastern desert by the tireless winds. Great canyons and arroyos were carved between the sloping sides of the dirty hills; each one stained a deep blackish red.
Far, far away—at the very horizon, a huge wall of stone soared heavenward. Up, up it rose until it seemed to block out the sky. Higher still, perched atop this great monolithic ridge—nearly at heaven's door—a pair of knobby feet, shod in the rough servant sandals, partially covered by the brown servant cloak, flexed their toes with the shock of the sight their owner now beheld.
Squall watched the rolling sea of dunes transform back into the scuffed and bloodied soil of the Challenger's Arena as he rolled up onto his side, his hands still stinging from the shock of the mighty force that had ripped his weapon from them. As he turned, he saw his twin staggering to his own feet. This was not, however, what caught his attention. Instead, his gaze was captured by the sight of two brilliant blue gunblades, locked in parallel—one inches above the other—driven into the rotting steel of the giant rusted sword that had fallen between the doppelgangers.
"You…" The Squalls turned from the sight of their weapons at the sound of the voice. "…and you…?" From behind the layers of blood-red fabric, Gilgamesh's eyes narrowed. Odin's mighty sword—the unstoppable Zantesuken—glinted in the sun as its aim slowly drifted from one Squall to the other. "Where is my enemy?"
"Here." Both Squall's spoke as one, but their voices were drowned out by the noise of the mighty concussion that shook the arena—indeed, the entire valley.
"Squall!!" Rinoa scream was added to those of the multitude watching the battle below as the fighting ground disappeared in a great bubble of white light which burst with an impossibly loud roar—the sound seeming to tear through the planet's core, exploding it, and sending white-hot needles of liquid noise drilling into the onlookers minds.
Rinoa was not conscious of the release of pressure of the myriad hands that had been holding her back; she did not feel the stone bleachers shatter underfoot as her sorceress power ripped through the living rock. She did not feel the release of the blanketing force which had kept her abilities subdued for so long, just as she was unconscious of her own magic reaching out to the energy released by the crashing pod, suppressing it, pushing it back into the molten rock.
All across the Mare Lela peninsula, long-dormant craters of forgotten volcanoes muttered quietly to themselves as they slept. Springs that had emitted only the gentlest of streams for eons transformed into raging geysers. Cracks opened along old fault lines, and once-quiescent magma pools surged toward the surface for a brief instant. Around the valley of the Fate, great clouds of snow, dust, and debris rose from behind the encircling mountains as thousands avalanches and rock falls disturbed the silence of the high alpine.
Even as the shocks of geological activity spread across the peninsula in slowly-decreasing waves, Rinoa found herself amongst the blasted dust piles and smoke of what was left of the fighting ground. "Squall!" She could hear her own magic amplifying her cry as it rose above the panicked and frightened babble from the crowd milling about on the ruins of the arena's edge. "Squall! Where are you?"
Squall was gone. Seconds before, his world had turned the shade of heart-breakingly-pure-white that can be seen only once in a lifetime, then the light had descended into eternal darkness. Squall Leonhart was dead.
Even with his eyes shut, the brilliance would not fade away. There was pain, as well. He could not breath. He could not see. He could not hear.
But he could feel. He could feel the cool touch of her arms encircling him, lifting him ever so slightly. Just as she had lifted him me? in that field of blossoming reunion so very long ago. At her touch, he could breath once more. At the brush of her fingers, he could hear even the silent beating of her heart—a perfect counterpoint to his own. So many of his other senses cried out at their need for her presence, but he ignored them all, concentrating on the vision of Squall's my? angel, hovering above him as sight returned.
He was lost in the vision of that far-off past as, again, the angel's eyes brimmed with joy. She waited only long enough for the first twinges of that longed-for smile to brush his lips before pulling him close once again.
But they were not living in that perfect moment of the past. Held tightly in her arms, Squall felt Rinoa's heart skip a beat as horrible, horrible thought brushed it's skeletal fingertips over the tip of her tongue, coaxing out the terrifying question. "Squall… is… is it…" really you?
He could not speak it, for it was too terrible for words. He could only whisper. "I… I don't know." Was it ever really me?
Somewhere, Seifer laughed.
Still, she held him tightly.
The voice returned. So quiet, he knew even Rinoa could not hear it. "Who are you, Squall Leonhart?" Its vocabulary had expanded since it last spoke. "Are you your weapon?"
It was all gone. All of it. The arena, the smoke, the shouting, he was trapped in the blackness again. Rinoa's absence was the only thing he noticed. "Nooo!" If he had been anywhere, he would have collapsed under the crushing hopelessness that descended upon him. But he was nowhere, and he had nowhere to fall.
"Do you see now? Do you see what it means?" The voice hissed at him mercilessly. "Do you see what it all comes down to in the end?" It continued. "No matter how good you are, Squall. No matter how fast, or how strong, or how skilled you are; none of it matters… Do you know what does matter now, Squall?"
"Rinoa…" Squall tried to squeeze the nothingness shut over his burning eyes.
"Squall?" She was back. It was all back. He was filled again.
At first, he thought it was still the voice in the darkness, but he slowly realized that the sound was corporeal, and that it was issuing from the same acolyte who had announced the challenge—still perched on the cracked and broken stone bleachers. "Even though you fought with great skill, strength, and speed, you were victorious only because of those you love." Even from across the cratered battlefield, Squall and Rinoa could make out the gesture of the acolyte toward the great depression scooped from the earth by the thing that had fallen from the sky.
The speaker continued as Rinoa helped Squall to his feet. "Challenger Squall Leonhart, you have been saved today because of your friends…" Squall tilted his head slightly and frowned. "…and…"
Rinoa felt Squall stiffen beside her even as she gasped at the appearance of a staggering figure over the rim of the fresh crater.
"…and you have been saved by your family." The speaker boomed majestically.
It was at that very moment that Laguna Loire—still suffering from the aftereffects of his wild flight—chose to bend over and empty the contents of his stomach onto the still-smoking ground.
Automatically, Squall's arm not restrained by the sorceress flipped a hand outward and the word passed his lips involuntarily. "Whatever."
And even through the smudges of dirt, the trails of tears, and from under the weight of all that had transpired, Rinoa could not suppress a tiny giggle at the miserable-looking president and the stonily-annoyed expression on the face of her knight. "It really is you."
Laguna felt an icicle of shock rammed through his core. There, partially sunken into the rock that—moments before—had been liquefied by the impact of his capsule, lay the remains of a familiar clear blue blade. The shattered crystal cutting edge glinted in the shafts of sunlight that managed to wend their way down between rising columns of smoke. Oh no! Did I just…? Even as the thought formed, Laguna's legs were propelling him up toward the crater's edge. He was barely conscious of the heat from the smoldering rock as it radiated through his boots, singing his heels.
Mouth open, trying to draw breath and shout Squall's name at the same time, the cry died on his lips as he crested the rim of the crater. Bruised, bloodied, but still alive, standing not twenty feet away were both Squall and Rinoa. Laguna felt an intense wave of relief was over him, followed by an equally powerful wash of nausea as his stomach finally caught up with his body. Someone was saying something that sounded important, Rinoa and Squall were both staring at him, but the world was spinning underfoot and a dangerous rush of saliva was filling his mouth. The rest would have to wait, Laguna decided—or rather, his body decided for him—as it doubled over and he vomited on the torn earth.
After a moment, Laguna's stomach granted him enough of a reprieve to allow him a quick look over at sorceress and knight. Rinoa was courteously averting her eyes, and looked as though she were trying to hold back a small smile. Squall had his hand over his face. An anticipatory quiver ran through his gut, and Laguna hunched over again. Even as his stomach cramped, he felt a tentative hand placed on his back. Bent double, Laguna tried to wave off the unseen helper. "I'm fine," He gasped. "Just give me a second."
It took all of her self-control not to recoil from the man hunched over before her, but Mary Wilfre managed to overcome her revulsion. "Oh please, handsome challenger, be my champion!"
"Sure, fine, whatever… urgh! Just leave me alone!" Laguna thought the nausea was receding slightly.
"Did you hear that!!" Mary had already turned toward the one acolyte—the announcer—who had remained stationary and standing throughout the ordeal, which had just transpired. "This man will be my champion!!"
"Very well then. Do you, servant, accept this challenger as your champion?" The acolyte had indeed overheard the exchange.
Straightening at last, Laguna turned to face the ruined rock bleachers. Though most of the servants and Acolytes had fled the cracking rock structures after the pod's crash landing, a few brown and black robed figures still remained seated and standing at various points. "Huh? What do you mean?"
"Of course I do, you dolt!" Mary screamed up at the acolyte.
"Then, is the challenger prepared?" The acolyte boomed.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Laguna cried.
"Let the battle begin!" And Laguna was frozen by a brilliant beam of golden light.
Squall slowly pulled his had from his face. "I'm sorry about him." He nodded toward the transfixed president of Esthar. Rinoa shook her head and was about to reply, but Squall continued before she could speak. "Rinoa, there's a lot of things I need to…" ask you, tell you, say, what? Am I going to tell you that you don't have to stay with me if it's not what you want? Am I going to lie and say that you are free from me? What do I need to say? He frowned again at Laguna's paralyzed form. I'd know what to do… I'd know how to let you go… but that buffoon has to show up… and now I can't think of anything at all. Before Squall could do or say anything more, Laguna's form became animated once more.
The giant iron gate that guarded a dark passageway leading into the area—still hanging in place by one massive hinge—creaked and groaned mightily as it swung slowly open. Emerging from the cavernous passageway, the beast Laguna was to fight roared it's mighty battle cry. He turned to face the gaping opening at the sound, his face turning from green to white. "A-AAH!"
"Elixir Please." The little blue Pupu squeaked again, waving its arms and tilting its head to the side.
His eyes opened wider than should have been possible, Laguna pointed a shaking finger at the tiny round figure. "A-a-a-a-an… an… Alien!! Aieeeeee!" Turning, he fled screaming through a great gap where the stone walls of the arena had shattered.
…
The smoke ring would have been a beautiful sight—white against the blue background of the cloudless sky—Marshall Russow thought, had it not been for the fact that it had likely issued from a burning APC of his brigade's scouting groups. "Dammit!" He lowered the binoculars. "How many of them are there? How they hell can they cover every single pass at once!?"
"Sir, we've lost contact with scout group Delta." Underneath a hastily erected awning of camouflage netting, a radio operator shouted to him. "Probability is high that they encountered hostile forces."
"Unless you think that smoke up ahead is coming from a boy scout's campfire." Russow muttered to himself. He considered going back inside the stuffy darkness of the tent his staff had insisted on putting over the tables holding his charts and tactical maps of the area. "What's the use? We're blocked at every turn." The brigade had been held up for two full days now, as he sent scout group after scout group into the innocent-looking foothills of the mountains up ahead only to be ground to hamburger by unseen attackers—magic users—hiding among the rocky slopes. "Dammit." He repeated quietly to himself. Russow knew it was only a matter of time before President Delphi Matchgar would grow tired of his excuses and order his troops through those mountains—losses to the hidden rebels be damned.
The brigade commander grimaced. But I wonder—after whoever it is that's hiding in the mountains chips away at our strength—will we still be able to neutralize the Sorceress and the Knight?
Panting, Seifer leaned against the undercarriage of the overturned jeep. His black weapon, Hyperion, still bearing the score marks of his rooftop battle with the knight he was now endeavoring to protect, dropped to the dusty surface of the vehicle path as his knees buckled and Seifer slid to the ground. His strength was spent.
After two days and one night of brief-but-intense battles with the scouting detachments, and long hard marches between mountain passes—the only inroads into the Mare Lela peninsula—Seifer knew he could no longer keep up the furious pace of the fighting. He had obeyed the sorceress's commands as well as he was able. This battle was now out of his hands.
…
"Squall?" Rinoa turned. The echoes of her voice died slowly away in the darkness. "Squall? Where are you?" She could still feel the warmth from his hand—slowly fading from her own palm—but he—along with the rest of the world had been swallowed by the blackness that now surrounded herself. Assailed by a rising panic, she cast about, but saw only the total night of the blind. Wait… no. Is that a light? Distance indeterminate in the darkness, a dancing ghostly blue sparkle wavered before her eyes. "Squall…?" She could think of nothing else to say.
"Peace, sorceress. Your knight is safe. You are both in no danger at present." The voice was a hissing electronic rasp. It seeped from the stone walls of the chamber; as her sight adjusted, Rinoa could now make out the rough walls and smooth floor of the room—lit by rippling blue light. The luminescence could have come from the reflection of the sun's shadowy twin off a midnight cobalt ocean. Dancing across the thousand facets of the rocky walls, the dim waves revealed little of the chamber's features.
At the far end of the long room, Rinoa thought she saw something stir. "Who are you?" She took one step forward.
"I am the one many call The Fate." Something at the far end of the room was indeed moving. "I know why you have come."
Rinoa squinted as she took another step forward. It looks almost like… no, impossible. Even as she tried to see the one addressing her from the far end of the hall-like chamber, the wash of azure light dimmed, shrouding the thing in impenetrable darkness. "Can you answer my question?"
"No." The word was an abrupt buzz.
Shocked, Rinoa took a step backward. "But… but I thought…"
"There is no answer to your question, child." The voice paused and a quiet hissing noise could be heard. "However, there are things that I know. Things that you should know as well."
Rinoa tilted her head to the side slightly, but the gesture was lost in to the dimness. "These things; do they have to do with my question?"
Again, the answer was brutally short. "No."
There were no words to describe the emotions, thoughts, pain that rippled across the surface of Rinoa's mind. "Then I have no interest in them." She snapped reflexively and raised a hand. "I will leave." Emanating from the air around her fingertips, a golden magic glow began to illuminate the chamber. "Show me the exit, or I will show myself."
For the briefest of instants, the thing at the far end of the hall was illuminated in a wash of indigo as the ambient light overwhelmed and extinguished the witch's glow. "Be still, sorceress!" Though still a rasp, the voice rang sharply with command.
Rinoa was silent—not because of the return of the force sealing her powers, not because of the authoritative voice, but because of the shock of seeing the… thing that rested against the far wall—wings spread wide and fixed in place by dark black spikes driven through them into the rock. "I have existed for far longer than you could even imagine. I know the webs of probable past and possible future as the bat knows the night. If I have something to tell you, then you will listen, and you will learn."
Rinoa still had no words.
After a long pause, broken by the periodic slow hissing, the thing began to speak again. "There has existed, and there will exist, a country on the globe of today known for its once-deep forests, once-lush flora, and war-torn history. Do you know of this place, sorceress?"
As if the words left her lips of its own accord, Rinoa barely realized that she was answering. "Timber..."
"Yes, and from this country, some years ago, a man left his family. He left the bucolic life of his ancestors on a quest for greatness in the empire that has existed—and will exist—the land known as Galbadia." The voice paused, and the quiet hissing returned for a moment. "This man was driven by some inner fire, an indomitable spirit not often seen in the pages of history, and he quickly rose to positions of great power after choosing the course of a warrior."
Shaking off the trancelike state she had fallen into, Rinoa held up a hand to the monster at the far end of the chamber. "Stop. I know this tale too well already. I have no wish to hear it again. There are other things I—"
"Silence!" The voice commanded, and Rinoa was compelled to comply. "You know nothing, sorceress." A brief hiss. "The truth has been hidden from you, and you have turned away from it as well. Now is the time that you must know it in full." The voice paused, but no hissing was heard. "This man gained almost everything he had ever dreamed of. Fame, power, wealth, eventually even love. It was all his. But he still lacked the one thing he desired most; the understanding and respect of the father he left behind in Timber."
Rinoa closed her eyes. It's true. But my father never deserved grandpa's respect. Look at what he did to his home.
"Before he could gain this last thing, the keystone to his ambitions—the one thing that kept the fires of his drive to succeed burning so hotly—circumstances, fate, intervened." Another hiss. "You see, the times of this man's life were troubled—not as troubled as some I have seen, but more so than most. A powerful and despotic sorceress had risen to power in the land across the sea, and Galbadia's defenses threatened to collapse under the pressure of the relentless assaults from the sorceress's troops."
Yes, my father fought against Adel's forces during the sorceress war. Yes, Eshtar was the aggressor then, but it is what he did near the end of the war that I, we, Timber, can never forgive him for. Rinoa drew in a half-breath, it left again as a half-sigh.
"Battered from years of constant invasions, Galbadia was failing. The nation had no resources, no defenses, nothing left with which to fight the sorceress. Bands of raiders roamed freely across the Galbadian countryside, kidnapping children, killing citizens, and searching for the successor to the sorceress. To forever establish domination over Galbadia, the sorceress had commissioned the construction of an impossibly immense project—an ocean-spanning railroad that would channel the full military might of the sorceress's nation directly onto the Galbadian continent—that was nearing completion. The railroad's final destination was along an uninhabited section of Timber's coast." It could have been Rinoa's imagination, but the shimmering light seemed to dim slightly. "Despite this, Timber resolutely insisted upon neutrality, and made no preparations to repel the inevitable legions that would come swarming across the giant bridge. Without Timber's resources, Galbadia could not hope to continue fighting, and without control of the end of the rail bridge, it could never repel the invaders. It was then that this man knew he had to make a decision; invade his homeland, or sacrifice the country he served. "
"Fate, I know why my fa—why General Caraway invaded timber." Rinoa was growing impatient. "That doesn't make what he did right."
The voice ignored the sorceress's outburst as it continued. "So this man, Caraway, made his decision. Timber was occupied, the invasion repulsed. A few years later, Fate intervened again, and the sorceress toppled. The threat to Galbadia evaporated."
Rinoa grimaced. But he held on. He just couldn't let Timber be free. Too proud. You were always too damn proud. Rinoa refused to acknowledge the lump that was beginning to rise in her throat. Too proud to listen to grandpa and let Timber go. And when mom died… to proud to be bothered with me. So you sent me away, back to the home you betrayed.
"These should have been happy times for this man, but—in truth—it was after the war that his true troubles began. Vinzer Deling—then the president of Galbadia—had been given a taste of absolute power while ruling the militarized Galbadia and it corrupted him. Almost overnight—in the blink of my eye—he transformed the once-democratic country into his own personal dictatorship. Deling created his own secret police force and began eradicating those he saw as a threat to his power. Caraway was one of the people targeted for elimination. He should have fled then." At the far end of the room, a clawed hand flexed unconsciously. "But Caraway was as foolish as he was powerful, and as idealistic as he was foolish. He believed he could change Deling, he thought he could convince the ruler of Galbadia to end the military occupation of Timber, he thought he could re-establish democracy in Galbadia, and he thought he could protect his new family throughout. He was wrong."
Rinoa's hand drifted to her mouth. What does it mean? It's not saying that Deling was responsible for…
The speaker did not pause, did not draw a long hissing breath, but simply spoke. "The man's wife was then killed in a car accident. An accident where the other driver walked away, uninjured, an accident where the other driver also happened to be one of the top assassins of the Galbadian SS. The man was informed that his daughter would be next." At the far end of the chamber, something dark stirred as silence fell again.
Rinoa couldn't stand. He legs simply ceased to support her. The rock walls of the chamber might have been sturdy throughout millennia, but her world was crashing down about her like so many falling crystal dreams. Oh god… father… they… mother… "No." Kneeling, Rinoa placed one hand over her face. Is that why you sent me away? "No." But it was too painful to be a lie.
After a moment, the voice continued, unperturbed. "So the man took the only option left available to him. He looked for a way to send his daughter out of danger—as far from Deling's reach as possible. But this was not easy. He could not send her to Balamb, Dollett, or Trabia, for Deling would surely hunt her down. He could not send her to Eshtar, the country had sealed itself off from the world after the sorceress war. His only option was to send his daughter back to his family—who would spirit her away into the masses of names lost in the underground of the hidden Timber resistance groups. In return for protecting his daughter, he promised to do his best to keep the Galbadian military from persecuting the freedom fighters."
"No." Rinoa's voice was barely a whisper. "That's not true. The Galbadians—they fought us—they…"
"Do you really think a few disorganized untrained resistance cells could have stood up to the full might of the Galbadian military? Do you think any one of your acts of sabotage and sedition against the Galbadians would have succeeded had their armed forces not been ordered to ignore, as much as possible, your activities?" Nictitating membranes flicked over dead gray eyes,
Rinoa was silent. I never knew… grandfather, why didn't you ever tell me about this? The questions, though they flowed freely, died before reaching her lips. No, of course you wouldn't. You couldn't forgive your son for leaving—you could never admit he might have been right. I always knew you were both too proud… but I never thought you'd lie to me.
It was the strangest sensation, feeling the basic tenants upon which your world is built shaken out from under your feet. For the sorceress, it was a physical pressure, pushing on the back of her mind. Rinoa slid her hands through her hair, and clasped them over the rear of her head even though she knew it would do no good. She could no more release the pressure of her emotions than she could forget the words The Fate had spoken.
"How it aged the man. His only daughter—his only reminder of the perfect life he had sought—now turned from him. He could not risk any contact with her—to do so would endanger her—he could only listen to the reports of his own agents within the resistance group that had taken her in." Black scales shimmered in the ethereal light as the monster turned its head slightly. "Yes, he could only listen and then weep—silently and alone—after hearing the reports about how his daughter was growing to hate the very mention of his name… reports that originated from her two closest friends."
"Enough!" Hand raised in a vain attempt to ward off the words, Rinoa gasped. "Please, no more." It's impossible! None of this is real! Nothing it says can be true! Zone, Watts, didn't we almost grow up together? Didn't we fight together… and escape impossible… impossible… Could it be true? Were you really working for my father the whole time? The tiny world of the darkened chamber was rushing toward Rinoa at an incredible rate. Life was streaming by her far faster than she had ever imagined possible. Like a fever dream, it was frightening, surrealistic, and incomprehensible all at once.
Is my entire life a lie? Have I been manipulated from birth? Father… what have I done to you? Ultimecia… what am I going to do? A sob broke from Rinoa's frozen throat. Nothing! Nothing is real anymore! Everything I ever believed in, everything I ever thought I knew—it's all gone now. On the cold stone floor of the chamber, the sorceress curled into a forlorn little ball. Is there anything, is there anyone I can believe in anymore? The play of azure waves of light offered no answer. The rough stone walls relinquished no echoes of advice long forgotten. Nothing anywhere moved to help the sorceress—adrift on her own uncharted sea. She had never felt so lost in all her life.
It was then that Rinoa felt it. Tentative but strong, uncertain yet steady, his touch—still distant, but warming—caused her to look up. The knight's eyes met with her own, and the slightest of all hesitant smiles quieted the howling of the outside world. The darkness of the chamber was gone, and Rinoa Heartilly was alone with Squall Leonhart—without being alone at all.
…
"Take me back."
"Not yet, Squall Leonhart." The darkness and the voice were back.
"Take me back to her. Now." Squall's hands ached for his gunblade as his eyes ached for the light.
"No." The word was a low rasp. "I have awaited your arrival for longer than you can imagine. Now, I will answer your question before I will let you leave."
"…Who are you?" Squall took what he thought might have been a step toward the voice. This time was different. This time he could feel the ground, hear the echoes of the pitch-black room.
"No, knight. That is not your question. You know what you must ask. Now say it."
No! I'll never give it life by speaking! "Let me out of this place!" Squall shouted into the darkness.
"Please phrase your answer in the form of a question." The quiet scraping sandpaper voice mocked him. "What thing do you wonder about most? What thing haunts your every waking hour and never allows you rest? What about her torments you so?"
Suddenly, the burning need to know returned full force. Without the presence of his sorceress, as the rusted voice scraped across his nerves, all the uncertainty, all the anguish, all the pain returned. Unbidden, the words rose to his lips. "Why does she run from me? Why does she hate me?"
A horrible staccato screeching filled the room. Slowly, Squall realized that the thing was laughing. "Yes, yes. That is the question." The thing paused and laughed again. "You might ask the same question of me, Squall Leonhart."
"I don't care about you." Squall whispered.
"You care about no one but her, knight?" Somehow, a questioning tone forced its way into the rusted-machinery voice.
Squall nodded.
Despite the darkness, the gesture was not lost. "Then…" the sound of dead planets grinding together filled the room; the thing might have sighed. "…perhaps it is best things turned out as they did."
Squall said nothing.
At length, the thing spoke again. The reluctance in its voice was the sound of glaciers descending to the sea. "Some time ago, a child was born. He would have lived a happy life, far away from here with friends, family, love, but for the intervention of Fate. Instead, he grew up alone—with no parents, no friends, no family. He suffered loss, he knew he had suffered loss, and it hardened him to others, to life. But still, there existed a spark within this boy…"
"I know this story, I know my life." Squall's eyes narrowed in the darkness. "I have no wish to hear it retold again."
Once more, the laugh—like seized-up machinery forced to work again—filled the chamber. "You think this is your story, knight?" From somewhere far away came a ripping noise. "No. This boy, he was strong, he did not depend on the support of others. He never had, and he thought that he never would."
Squall almost opened his mouth to protest.
"Yes you do, Squall Leonhart, no matter how much you wish to deny it, you have always depended on those around you, even though you are driven by the dream." There was a short pause as the thing drew in a hissing breath. "This boy, he was also driven by the dream. His 'romantic' dream, he called it."
"I love battles. I fear nothing. The way I look at it, as long as you make it out of battle alive, you're one step closer to fulfilling your dream."
"What!? Your dream?"
"You have one too, don't you?"
Squall felt the brush of his own fingers against his forehead. Of course Seifer had the dream. I never begrudged him that. But had he ever really listened to him? Had he ever really believed Seifer?
"One of these days, I'm gonna tell ya 'bout my ROMANTIC dream!"
"But this boy… he was also driven by nightmares. And they always revolved around the same person. Slowly, he began to fear the boy in his nightmares, but he could never show it. Instead, daylight turned fear into anger and he fought tirelessly with this other—even though he knew, could sense, that they were the same. Still he fought, though he knew his battles were all in vain. Even then, the boy knew he would fail in the end."
Squall stood silently as the thing paused again.
"Eventually, the boy's nightmare became a reality, and now he lives with it every day. But he does go on living. And…" The thing paused. "And, he even protects the man of his nightmares. Do you know why that is, Squall Leonhart?"
How can Seifer go on? … I would not. Without Rinoa, I could never live. Squall shook his head. Only one thing has kept me alive these past few weeks, only… Abruptly, Squall's head shot up. …only one thing kept me alive… His eyes widened. …one thing…
The grating voice returned. "He awaits the return of his sorceress. He awaits the birth of the daughter of Squall and Rinoa Loire."
Squall's heart ceased to beat. Not a muscle in his entire body moved. As that one second in time stretched on forever, the worlds remained exactly as they had been the second before—every world, but Squall's.
It should have started as the rumble of the volcano, then it should have built into the screaming fury of the hurricane, it should have shattered moons and caused stars to fall from the heavens. It should have echoed in resonance of every atom of every being that ever was and it should have lasted through five eternities, but it didn't. For Squall was only a man, his scream was only that of one agony, and despite everything, it could not carry beyond the walls of the mean little chamber onto who's floor he at last collapsed.
He fell with his eyes open. He fell with no breath left in his lungs. He fell without ever wanting to rise again. But The Fate cared not. "Yes. He awaits the return of his sorceress, and when she reaches the age of nineteen, they will be reunited."
Squall's eyes did not blink. He was no more animate than the corpse Seifer had taunted in the high mountains.
"And so you see why she runs from you." The voice rasped. "But she knows only part of the story. Do you now wish to hear the rest?"
Silence fell upon the chamber, broken only by the muffled thumping of a heart that Fate would not allow to cease its beat.
"You shall hear it because that is what Fate decrees." The tearing sound returned, but Squall's ears were deaf to it. "The knight and sorceress shall be united, but still separated, for a great evil will return to the world, an evil which propagates itself and moves through time by way of their love for each other. It is a dark and insidious force even I cannot fully comprehend. However, together, sorceress and knight shall defeat it again, but the knight will not survive this battle."
With the slowness of a tiny spark settling into its dry nest of tinder, Squall's consciousness began to return from the tiny shell to which it had fled. His mind stirred. Seifer will die? Seifer will die and my—the sorceress will be left without her knight. Squall's eyes finally blinked, slowly. What would she do then? What would Rinoa do if I were to die? What would I do if… Squall already knew the answer to the question. He already knew the reason behind everything that had happened over these past few years. She came back for him. "But she came back for… Ellone."
"Do you still not see, knight? Do you not understand what I have told you?!" The rasping was rising in volume, again came the tearing noise. "The evil—the thing that hates all mankind—it works through their love for each other. Time is the master of everything, Squall. Even me. Do you think that a sorceress alone could control time?"
"Then, this thing… the sorceress brought it to our time with her?" Squall didn't want to think, didn't want to feel, but he knew he must.
"It gave her the power to come back to a time when her knight still lived. She will be a good and kind sorceress, she will save the world. She would never have come back—never have wished the evil that bereaved her to torment another… had it not promised her the chance to be with him one last time. She had no choice but to agree, and then it conquered her soul. "
Squall did not know what to feel. He did not know what to think. One thought tore at him more than any other, yet it was about a person he knew nothing about. Still… did I…?
"Your daughter was already dead, Squall. The thing had erased all traces of her from itself long before you faced the shell called Ultimecia."
The words should have shocked him. They should have sent him reeling, maybe someday they would. But for now, he allowed his brain to store them away, and continue on with his life.
"There is more, but you have heard enough. There are some things you should never know." One last great ripping noise filled the room, and suddenly, everything was illuminated by a dark navy glow.
An hour ago, Squall would have gasped in shock at the sight of the thing as it shuffled away from a far wall of the chamber. Dark ribbons of blood trailed from great gashes ripped into the leathery wings that protruded from the monster's back. Behind it, seven bloodied spikes still pinned ragged cuttings of flesh to the wall against which it had once been crucified. The spattering of falling blood and clicking of the monster's claws against the stone were the only noises in the chamber.
Squall stood steadily as it drew closer. The thing was covered from head to toe in glittering black scales. From behind a scratched plate of acrylic set into a mask that covered the creature's face, two flat gray eyes stared at him even as nictitating membranes flicked over them. Rills of leathery descended both sides of the monster's neck, and ran down between the reversed spikes of its arms. They terminated in a pair of hands endowed with five fingers—each, except for the thumb, ending in three inches of hooked claw. Thicker scales covered its upper chest and hid any hint of the humanesque grooves of collarbones and muscle. These same scales descended over what were either breasts or wing pectoral muscles and mixed with three more pairs of reversed spikes at the monster's hips, knees, and shins. Stopping inches from him, it raised one arm, and gently trailed four razor-sharp claws across his chest. He ignored them. "Why have you told me all this?"
Behind the mask, the creature's eyes blinked. "What are friends for?" A speaker set into the faceplate rasped.
"If you are my friend, then why did you try to kill me earlier?" Not for a second did Squall take his eyes from those of the creature.
The monster's hands rose to the seal of its mask. "Make no mistake. I did kill Squall Leonhart today."
Squall fought down a shiver. He knew it was true. "Why?"
The creature ignored his question. "The Galbadian army is on its way here. They are looking for you and your sorceress. They will not find you. You will take two chocobos from the acolyte's stables and head south—out of the valley."
"And you? When the Galbadians arrive, I'm sure they'll find you quite interesting. Especially when they find out that you spoke with me." Squall's eyes narrowed.
"They will not."
With a flick of its clawed fingers, the creature released a series of caches on the seal of its mask. Squall was forced to step back as a noxious cloud of gasses emerged from the device the creature was lifting from its head. The dark vapors from the mask cleared, and the creature turned toward the knight. "I have a message for you… Squall Leonhart."
Squall did not move as the thing stepped up to him. He kept himself from flinching as its spiked arms dug into his back while the monster's arms slid around him, holding him with the strength of despair. His head jerked back as the thing's cold thin lips met his own, but he was held in place by talons of diamond and muscle of steel. He felt the stinging bitter breath of the dark side of the moon—as cold and deadly as unrequited love—before the monster released him.
It said one thing more, tipping its very-human face back, closing its eyes, and drawing in a long breath of cool air. "Goodbye, knight Leonhart."
Squall watched as the creature sank to the floor, curling into a fetal position, its still-bleeding wings folding over and tightening against its back. The thing's scales shivered as the poisonous oxygen flowed through its body. He knew the thing was dying. He also knew it should not do so alone. Fighting against his revulsion and instincts he had ingrained into himself, Squall stepped forward, reaching out a tentative hand to the moribund creature. Before his fingers made contact with those black scales, there was a brilliant burst of light from the clear blue sky which suddenly appeared overhead, and Squall's hand came to rest on smooth, warm skin. From her upturned tear-streaked face, Rinoa's eyes met with his own.
The world would collapse, the seven horsemen spread their plagues across the land. Hatred, sorrow, betrayal and death would come; final, empty and cold, but even so, as his eyes met with those of his sorceress, his love, Squall Leonhart knew… and still smiled… for her alone.
Continued on Purgatio's Website (click on the link below)