"Postpone?" Cid asked dubiously. "Are you feeling well, Celes?"
"Of course," I answered without hesitation through my comm device in my quarters. "It's just that I'm really busy with the preliminary reports from my investigation. They need to be sorted out as soon as possible."
"If that's what you want, Celes. I suppose I can have the magic infusion chamber ready for tomorrow."
"Tomorrow would be fine, Cid. Thank you. Oh! And may I make a special request?"
"What is it?"
"I was wondering if we could possibly skip to Invisibility."
"Sure thing, Celes. That won't be a problem at all. May I ask why?"
"Let's just say that it would help me in my investigation."
"I think I understand. I'll write the request up for you immediately."
"Thanks again, Cid."
"Goodnight, Celes," he said softly.
"Wait!" I said quickly before his signal died.
"Yes?" he asked.
I couldn't help myself. I had to ask. "How are you feeling today, Cid?"
There was a short pause. "Rather well, Celes. Thank you for asking."
"Are you sure?" I asked again.
"W-why wouldn't I be?" he asked, chuckling nervously.
Obviously, he was intent upon hiding the truth about his secret meeting with Kefka. "I, um... I heard that you got hurt yesterday."
"Oh, that!" He laughed to cover his nervousness. "There was an accident in one of the experiments that we were conducting. I was wearing the proper protective gear. I'm fine now, Celes. It happens all the time. There's no need to worry." He paused, thinking. "How did you find out that I was hurt?"
"Word of mouth," I answered, indifferently. "I'm glad to hear that. I'm sorry that I haven't had much chance to visit you lately."
"You're a general now, Celes. I understand," he replied thoughtfully. With that, we both turned off our devices.
He spoke so convincingly as if his meeting with Kefka never took place. I never would've suspected a thing if I weren't there to witness it. I had reservations about the fact that he was still not completely honest with me. I thought it was very clear that the slave crown was for me. I wondered if he was wrestling with his own demons as we talked over the radio, fighting to find the courage that would make him give up the charade. In any case, I was glad that he was alive.
My room was safe from many prying eyes and probing ears, except for Guardian's. But there was little I could do about that. She was the one who encouraged me to follow this path of investigation. I doubted that she would try and stop me now. I wondered if she knew about the journal.
I shut all the doors and windows of my quarters. I had a lot of reading to do. But first, the black box tugged at my curiosity most for it required only a quick look, unlike the journal. I sat down at my desk and pulled the box closer to me. I opened it with care. To my disappointment it was empty... but not entirely empty. Inside was a foam material molded to cushion delicate objects. It didn't take me long to figure out what they were. I had seen boxes like these before while I walked the streets of the City Circle.
The box, I believed, once held a necklace and a pair of earrings. These items weren't on the list of items that once belonged to Tina Branford. This meant that, like the journal, they were probably hidden somewhere still. Could she have been wearing them when she got caught? I made a note of it on my agenda. This time, I restricted its access to be completely exclusive to my self alone.
I set aside the box, making room for the journal. It had no seal for me to break. Just a red ribbon to keep it closed. Before unraveling it, I examined the journal. It was definitely hand-made. Most likely, it was a school project. The hard cover was made of regular cardboard cut out from a box, wrapped with measured brown textile fabric. Unraveling the ribbon, I opened the journal. The leaves of the diary were made of homemade paper, cut carefully on the edges. The pages were purple. She must've added in the purple dye while mixing the ingredients of paper before drying. The edges were sewn together quite expertly with strong strings before being bound with the cardboard covers by glue. A smaller pink ribbon stuck out from the top of the spine and served like a bookmark to the last entry.
I opened the journal to the pink ribbon's separation. It only seemed logical to read the last entry, right before she 'died.' To my dismay, the writings were indecipherable. The alphabets she used, perhaps the language also, were foreign to me. They were written with deliberate strokes of a pencil--and with tiny symbols. Stromsburg was so sure that Branford was born and raised in Vector.
Where did Tina Branford learn the symbols? I wondered. After a moment of thought, I realized that I held the answer in my hands. I flipped the pages back, tracing the chronology of her cryptic life back in time in a matter of seconds. The very first page showed words in normal Vectorian alphabets--still in the same tiny letters. All I had to do next was figure out when Branford decided to use the symbols.
Perhaps it would show me the date, or even the key to deciphering it, I hoped. Maybe, she was in the library at the time, reading books of translated languages. Maybe, she wrote down which language it was.
I found the exact date of the transition. Reading it quickly, I figured that she started using the symbols immediately after joining the Imperial Military. Clearly, she was not going to make it easy on me. What I wanted to know was hidden behind her secret code.
But I got this far simply by starting from the beginning. I have all night to live her life and learn.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: At this point, I invite all of you to read an optional chapter entitled "The Orphanage Days." It features selected entries from Tina Branford's diary including Celes' annotations and personal observations.
The diary is recommended reading, but still optional. I felt it best to keep it apart from the main story to avoid the disruption of the continuity of Celes' POV.
Read it now in the fanfic section of www.lastmagicite.net page.
Thank you.
Personal Log of Lady Celes Chere, General of Vector.
Day Ten of the Celestial Rise.
The word 'unique' is an understatement. I am unique. Tina Branford was--is--special. Lonely, confused, enigmatic... but special. Special enough to be cared for, protected, and controlled.
She lived her life as an observer, apparently, watching others in their activities, wondering and pondering as the day passed by. She avoided long talks with the other children and developed little relationship with them. This was not to say that she was cold and indifferent. In fact, she was sympathetic and sensitive. The silent type. A close-mouthed smiler and a quiet crier. She was prone to inexplicable lapses of depression backed by a disturbing psychological ordeal that manifested itself in dreams.
How terrifying that must've been for her, to be plagued by frequent nightmares. Haunted by calling voices that did not belong even in her memory. Visions, even! Auguries of the future. I could scarcely believe the accounts. Did she imagine them? Was her mental stability off the acceptable boundaries when they occurred? Did she make them up? It certainly was easy to believe that she was crazy... or near the edge, at least. I was ready to discontinue the reading until she mentioned the Three Gentle Voices.
It was one thing for Tina to hear voices and see images that did not belong to her memory, but it was an entirely different matter for her to hear voices and see images that belonged to mine! The thought was unsettling, and yet, so very real. What connection could she have with the Voices? What connection could she have with similar dreams involving the Three?
I was in denial for quite a while. Shaken. But somehow I found the courage to admit that she and I are very much alike. Tina found the soldier's life appealing. I find it the same way. She longed for the truth of her past. Though I would never admit this to anybody, I am more than curious about mine. Her body was snatched away from her consciousness. I died and was revived. She heard Voices, and so did I. She was in the dark like I am now. She had contact with Guardian as I do now.
I hope, however, that the similarities end there. She walked a path off a cliff, and here I am, tracking her footsteps in the dark. Yet, it is all that I can do to prevent my own demise. These I learned by reading her journal.
Unfortunately, I found none of the much needed specifics that would help me with my investigation. My hope to learn how to decipher her coded writing was lost. It turned out that it was not a slow transition. Rather, it was as abrupt as turning off the only light in a windowless room.
Her decision to disguise the words came at the most suspicious time. Her paranoia was not a coincidence. Her first entry as a new recruit was shrouded. There was something about this place that she felt she needed to hide from. Yet, she stayed here like she had no choice.
This looks, to me, like another dead end. A visit to the Great Library should solve my problem. There are scholars who pore over books of ancient text. Perhaps, one of them could translate the rest of Tina's journal for me.
I logged off my journal, and as soon as I did so, I received an electronic message--from Guardian. It was the first time that she had signed a message. It wasn't all that surprising, though. She thought that she and I were on tolerant terms.
She might be right.
I stared at the screen. It was waiting for me to open the message. I was impressed at her reserve, this time. She could've simply flashed the message itself onscreen. Absolutely nothing hindered her to do so. Nothing, except losing my deference in its capricious state. So, instead, she gave me a choice between reading the message now or later.
I sighed as I tapped a key loudly. The screen displayed the message in an instant. It was short.
Tina Branford kept her journal well from everybody. Why should you trust the scholars? Show me the pages, and I will translate for you.
I scoffed silently and shook my head. Clearly, her subtlety could use a lot of work.
Branford hid her diary from you, too. Why should I trust you?
Her response was quick.
Fair enough. Show me one coded word and I will translate it for you.
I was skeptical.
What do you know of ancient text?
What made you believe the symbols are ancient in nature?
I paused. The question ignited a curious consideration. Why had I thought it to be ancient? I knew it was just a guess, but my gut feeling was telling me to jump to that conclusion.
I answered.
They had a certain feel to it.
I am an expert translator of any language of any time.
Can you juggle, too?
I take it, by your cynicism, that you are not interested. Let me know when you change your mind.
If, Guardian. If.
A stack of books hid me from sight like a child playing behind a make-believe fort. I had them delivered to my office from the Great Library of Vector. I trusted Guardian's instincts, if not her offer. Branford's journal was not meant to be seen by my eyes, let alone the eyes of those who were strangers to me. If she were still able, Tina would fight me for her journal, not trusting me. Why should she? I was nobody to her.
Already, I felt guilty having spied upon her past life. It would've made a difference if she were really dead. But she was not. I saw her with my own eyes. My rationale was weak. Tina Branford would never have approved of me. But if she would not have trusted me, at least, I knew that I had to trust my self.
My actions were noble. True, I did it for my self, too. I would not want to end up to where she was now. However, this intrusion into her private life warranted an apology whenever possible.
The covers of the books were dust ridden. The leaves were tattered. Often, I was afraid to turn the pages in fear that they would crumble between my fingers. But time was of the essence. Quickly, I scanned the pages of the books, scrolls and other written media for the symbols in Branford's diary. In my attempt to decipher them last night, I had all the cryptic characters imprinted in my mind. All I really needed to do was compare the symbols with the printed texts. No reading was necessary.
Reading or not, the task was rather involving. My intrigue was quickly growing into an obsession. I was so engrossed in the task that I jumped to the strong knocks on the door.
"Come!" I answered, wondering who it could be.
"General!" the visitor said, saluting.
I stood up and saw Colonel Llurd wearing formal attire. He wore his medals on his chest proudly. The sight of them made me uncomfortable, for there he was, saluting to me--a general with no honors.
I was stunned. What is he doing in my office without an appointment? All I could ask was, "Is something wrong, Colonel?"
He looked at me in perplexity. "None at all, General. Why would there be anything wrong?"
"For one thing, you're here without an appointment," I said bluntly.
"I was not expected, General?" he asked, astonished. "I requested for this meeting in advance."
"You did?" I asked as I checked my computer quickly for my itinerary. Did you schedule your own execution, too, Celes? You dolt! When did you agree to this meeting? My itinerary did not have his appointment.
When Llurd sensed that I was at a loss. He had been prudent not to be obvious about it, but I sensed that he rather enjoyed the fact.
"I had called early yesterday to request an audience," he started to explain. The word 'audience' normally served to flatter. I felt he was being sarcastic about it. Being the man that he was, however, he carefully hid the slightest hint of expression. "Your personal aide had the grace to accommodate my plea."
Raising a brow, I took a deep breath and smiled wearily. "Ah, yes. It all makes sense now," I muttered. "Skarman."
"Yes, that's him," he confirmed. "He instructed me that I was to assume that the meeting would take place if he did not call me that same day to let me know otherwise."
There was something about how Llurd spoke. It was as if he were not telling the whole truth. His words sounded rehearsed. Then again, maybe it was just his natural articulacy at play. It was rare, I thought, for a man of action to have the air of diplomatic eloquence about him. This, I could already tell, and we hadn't even begun the core of our conversation yet. I had a couple of suspicions about the basis of expressiveness. The convenience of his presence and timing were not coincidental.
"Yes," I replied flatly. "I do not blame you for not having received that call."
He blinked, acting slightly puzzled. "Should I not have come, General?"
"I did not say that," I said as I parted the tower of books on my desk with my hands to allow a line of sight between him and me so I could sit back down on my chair. "It's just that it would've been cordial and proper for the both of us if I were in the light about your arrival--which I was not." I sat back down and skillfully closed Branford's journal without calling much attention to it. I slipped it in the side drawer just as invisibly.
"I am confused, General," he said plainly, without sounding apologetic. He didn't even sound or looked confused when he said it.
"I sent Lieutenant Skarman away. To be precise, I sent him back to Doma and declined his aid," I explained matter-of-factly. "He did not meet my expectations," I added for effect.
"Indeed? I would've thought that General Cristophe's very own aide would be more than qualified for the job," he commented. I wasn't sure if he was judging my decision or if he was attempting a small talk.
"He proved otherwise, Colonel Llurd. I'm not saying that he was incompetent. Just that he failed to do the most proper thing to do before starting to work for me. And I suppose I should add the most proper thing to do after working for me--tie up loose ends, like this meeting, for example. I wonder what other surprises he left for me."
"I'm curious, General. What was it that made you let him go?"
"He failed to introduce himself. As you can imagine, I hate surprises," I said, hinting at the tragedy of my past life.
The Colonel looked flushed at what I had said, as though a grave accusation had been set against him.
"Had I known, General. I swear--!"
I interrupted his defensive impulse by holding up my hand. I walked around the desk towards him. "At ease, Colonel, for you are a man who needs no introduction," I said. I held out my hand to shake his. He extended his own and I took it with both of mine and shook it. He seemed caught off guard of the act. It was as if he was expecting resistance from me rather than welcome. "You did not think that I would remember your face, Colonel, I see. Rest assured, I remember yours quite vividly during the ceremony--when you pushed Beigeletter out of the way in your attempt to save my life. I owe you my thanks, Colonel. Thank you." I said each word strongly and sincerely.
"You are too kind, General. But I remember that day quite clearly, too. I saw you die before my eyes. I was too late to save you. I failed."
"Nonsense!" I exclaimed, letting go of his hand. "The fact that I live right now is proof of your triumph." I started to walk back towards my chair.
"I do not understand."
"I saw Beigeletter hold up his sword after we had both fallen off the platform. It was an executioner's stance. He meant to deprive my body of my head. Had he succeeded, magical revivification would not have helped me at all. A grisly thought, I'm sure, but I am not bothered by it any longer. Soldiers shouldn't fear death, magic or no magic."
Llurd simply nodded.
I sat down and motioned for Llurd to do the same. "We both agree to fault our dismissed mediator for the awkwardness of this meeting. Why don't we just get right down to it? What brings you here, Colonel?"
"When I heard that you were to take lead of the investigation, I knew that it wouldn't be long until the New Council granted upon you the charge of leading the retaliation. I just wish to let you know, General, that you have my confidence and full support. My men and I are anxious to receive our assignments. Should you require assistance, know that we are at your disposal. I am more than happy to provide you my records for review, as well as the records of each of my men."
"I greatly appreciate taking the time to make this formal declaration, Colonel--"
"Please, General. Call me Harold."
"If you insist. As I was saying, Harold, you are the first of the remaining colonels to come to me and graciously declare support. I dare say, you will probably be the only one."
"You underestimate the colonels, General," he said, smiling.
"Oh, but I was not implying... that. But I am also not naive. My ascension came as a great, big shock to the Military. Not a lot know that I shared the surprise with everybody else. Needless to say, their doubts are well-founded--yours included."
The last sentence seemed to have put the Colonel at unease. He sucked in his breath, searching for a wise response, but I relieved him of that task.
"There's no need to hide it, Harold. Many sought this position. I know that everybody expected you to attain it, myself included. Then, General Cristophe reformed the Military Council overnight with a secret motive that came from the Emperor himself. They chose me, and believe it or not, I resisted--"
"General, there is no need to make an apology. I--"
"Apology? You are mistaken, Harold. You see, I am not even authorized to make an apology. But I do owe everybody an explanation. Unfortunately, voicing out this explanation plainly would be mistakenly heard as an excuse and would definitely not resolve the issue that exists between me and the Military."
"Issue?"
"Reservations, Harold, to put it mildly." I paused and leaned forward, clasping my hands together and placing my elbows on the desk. "How do you conquer doubt, Harold? How do you extinguish them from the hearts and minds of your troops?" I asked as an equal.
His answer was but a word that said a lot. "Experience."
"Exactly," I said softly, nodding. "That is part of why I'm here. I have a lot to prove to the Military. And I need to prove it in the only language that they understand."
Llurd caught the title of one of the books on my desk and curved his lips. He looked charming with a perilous air. "I seriously doubt that ancient Vectorian would make much of an impression on them."
"What? Oh!" I chuckled. "These...? They are part of my investigation."
He looked skeptical. I could not blame him for that. What could primitive Vector language possibly have in connection with modern day Vector problems?
"I see," he muttered softly. He took another uneasy glance at the books on my desk. "The investigation seems to be taking a lot of your time. If you wish, General, you may charge me the responsibility of hand-picking your staff. You will find that I am quite particular in my interviews. You will not find the recruits as disappointing as Lieutenant Skarman," he offered.
"Thank you for the offer, Harold. But I'd like to do that on my own when the time is right."
"Begging your pardon, General, but I do find one thing troubling," he started, shifting his position. "You are supposed to be leading the investigation."
I waited for him to say more, but apparently, his thought was complete in the matter. I did not understand it. "Yes?"
"I do not wish for you to take this the wrong way--"
"No," I insisted. "Speak your mind. What is it that you find upsetting, Harold?"
"It's just that most investigative leaders don't actually do the... investigative part. They simply coordinate--decide on the next course of action, and let the resources available to them do the job."
"I know what you are trying to say. But I'd like to get more involved than that for many reasons I'm not inclined to mention to anyone," I explained, leaning back on my chair.
"That is a great idea, General. But do you not think that the scholars would better perform this particular task? Your presence might be needed elsewhere."
"This particular task may seem trivial, Colonel, but it's not. I trust no one better suited for the task than I," I said sternly. "But your concern is well noted. This task--" I said, motioning to the books "--will not take long at all. I expect to be done in an hour." Llurd looked dubious. "I don't read them, Harold."
Though that provided an answer to his first question, it only opened newer ones. He was wise enough not to pursue the topic further.
I stood up from my chair, and as he was about to follow my lead, I motioned him to stay on his. I walked towards the window behind me and peered out. It gave me a view of half of the Assembly Ground. It was not as spectacular as Leo's view was, but I held no sentiments about it.
"I expect that you have something else to say, Colonel. Your reputation of being a man of action precedes you."
Llurd cleared his throat before he spoke, "You read me well, General. I've already given my formal declaration of support. But if you would grant this soldier a bit more audience, I'd also like to make a few suggestions about our assignments."
"I'm all ears, Colonel," I said without looking away from the window.
"The Military hungers for action. It can't stand being idle. They are eager to take part in something, if not the investigation."
"Are the border patrols not enough for them?"
Llurd scoffed, but cleared his throat immediately as if in apology. "They see it as an insult, General. They wish to do more."
"They want to march to battle. That's what they are all eager to do," I said plainly. It was an accusation that I hoped Llurd would not meet with resistance.
"That they do," he admitted. "But they know that is not possible just yet. They are asking for an active participation. Not a passive one."
I turned towards him again. "Such as?"
"I propose to extend our search beyond our borders."
"Beyond? You mean Maranda?"
"Affirmative, General."
"Maranda is an independent nation, Llurd. Has the Military forgotten this already?"
"I was not suggesting that we march to the nation recklessly, General. We would need their consent, of course."
"They would never allow it. No leader in their right mind would open their gates to armed Imperial troops for whatever the reason."
"A bit of persuasion would be needed, granted. But it can be done."
I was appalled by the idea, but I needed to maintain my poise in the matter. "Who would be doing the persuading? The Emperor is not present at the moment."
"Indeed. Our top diplomatic representative at the moment is you, General. However, I'm more than willing to take the charge."
I bet you would, I thought.
"And should they agree, what would you have the Military do there?"
"Same as what we did within our borders, General. Searches, interrogations--"
"Does the Military call this wisdom, Colonel Llurd? The only type of persuasion that will open Maranda's gates to us is that of a threat. I'm afraid that this plan of yours is reckless. So far, Vector has no reason to believe that Maranda or any other independent nation is directly responsible for the atrocities committed within our borders."
Llurd nodded. He did not resist. Instead, he asked a question. "What do you think we should do, General?"
The dreaded question arrives, at last. The Emperor and the New Council charged me with a mission, and this is the start of it. Time to man the fort, Celes. You have the Military's ego to crush.
"The Military will wait, Colonel," I said firmly and clearly. "That is their order. Remind them that if it is too much for them, they may abandon it at their own peril."
I waited for Llurd's response, both spoken and unspoken. His poise did not betray him. He was calm. And I was impressed.
"I will let them know, General. They also would like to know when the witch would be tried."
"The witch?"
"Terra."
"There will be no witch-burning in Vector, Colonel," I answered, matching the analogy. "She is out of my hands. Tell me... why do you call her a witch?"
"Not I, General. We've first heard of the name from the civilians. I gathered that when they discovered that she was a magic-user and that she had not receive any magical infusion from Vector, she must've gotten her powers through some other means. They aptly named her the witch. Fitting, isn't it?"
"Indeed," I muttered.
Llurd stood up and straightened his uniform. "I will not waste any more of your
time, General. Please remember that we are at your disposal."
"I will keep that in mind, Colonel. Thank you."
The colonel saluted and left quickly, but quietly. There were no pleasantries. Not that I expected one. I sat back down on my chair and swiveled it around so I faced the window again. I took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and then, released.
That went well. Reserved, articulate, and bold, I evaluated. I was unable to read him fully. What a dangerous man!
I spun the chair around once more and faced my desk. I turned on my computer to read whatever development Professor Brown's lab might have sent me. As soon as I've logged in, the screen flashed a sentence. Undoubtedly, it was from Guardian.
It read simply: Llurd never spoke with Skarman.