Chapter Nine: Return of the..
The sun rises and the sun sets.
Every one woke with the morning and then slept with the night.
Rocks went into the basket and then were dumped into some pile.
Everything was routine and repetitive. Nothing changed. It was easy to fall into a habitual existence. Life had little meaning any more. Every man and woman was simply a tool used by the noble to build their houses and grand statues; to wash their dirty feet; to scrub their floors; to---
I really need to stop dwelling on this.
Squall squinted against the sun as he climbed the steep path out of the quarry. The basket attached to his back was filled with rocks and the weight slowed his pace. Squall didn't mind, he had grown use to the burning sensation of overworked muscles a long time ago.
At least he thought he was use to the exertion. Today the load of rocks felt heavier and the narrow straps of the basket dug more deeply into his skin. No doubt it was a direct cause from his time spent serving in the palace, the work there had been easy.
Squall's suddenly felt sick at the thought. He didn't know if he enjoyed his time within the pharaoh's home, or if he had loathed every day and night spent within those walls of marble and stone. It had been nice to get away from the backbreaking labor. However, the people he was forced to deal with had been unpleasant.
Rinoa had been the name of the 'master' he served. Squall had been shocked when the woman had been able to pick him out of the crowd. Of course he had masked his surprise behind a face of indifference and went along. Rinoa had been a simple person to please in the beginning, but as the days went by things began to get weird. It had been little things at first, such as looks and soft touches. Then she had him be present in the room as she dressed or bathed behind a curtain—a wisp of silk so transparent that it might as well not be there.
Squall wasn't a simpleton; he knew Rinoa was trying to tempt him. It didn't make any sense to why she would do such a thing. The whole situation had gotten worse when the woman came into the room one night, silently cursing her cousin and uncle. She had then called him to her bed chambers and..
…
Squall didn't want to think about what had happened. Rinoa didn't make any sense to him. She had no reason to play these twisted games—unless the sorceress part in her knew..
No. That wasn't possible. Rinoa had only been attracted to him, or using him in some ploy he couldn't understand. Squall silently cursed his scarless body for getting him into this—or at least how his body use to be.
Thoughtfully Squall ran his index finger over the scar running between his eyes. He had half the mind to actually thank the prince. This mark had made him fit in more; it made him one of these people when before he had felt like a chocobo among a flock of chickens. Truth be told, Squall enjoyed being apart from the rest, but not in the way that made him stand out. He'd rather be one of them and be isolated within the crowd.
But yes, he was not angry with the prince for cutting his face. Although Squall was certain the blonde had meant to kill him. 'I can change that' the man had said in reference to the absence of scars on Squall's body. It was just words; just a handful of sand. Yet now Squall had this red line adorning his forehead. It made him curious however, to as why the prince would want to kill him. That night Quezacotl had made a scene out in the desert, and Squall had unwillingly reacted to it—had the blonde figure out the truth, and then decided to murder him?
That couldn't be it either. If the prince had known, then he would have said something. It was just the man's arrogant way to boast about figuring out dark secrets and such. That prince was a complete jerk. Squall did however blame himself for causing the trouble between them. It was he that provoked the blonde; challenging his power as a prince time and time again. Squall didn't know why he did it. What he did was out of character, or at least it had felt that way.
But the jesting prince brought a change to routine; he broke the mindless drone to a slave's work. Squall had even thought at one time, that he was thankful that the blonde had saved him from the quarry life that had been slowly running him into the ground. But such thoughts were quickly erased.
The two cousins were just opposites in Squall's opinion. There was a complete difference in how the sorceress and prince treated him. From their words, manners—even down to the way they touched him. Rinoa's touch was light, deceiving and manipulating—always trying to control him one way or another. But the blonde's was touch was direct and had a purpose. It was simple as that. The prince wasn't trying to trick anything out of Squall, not like Rinoa. No, the prince was only asking for the truth.
It had almost worked too. Squall had been ready to let the answers slip past his lips late one night. He would have been good as dead if Quezacotl had not been summoned at that same moment.
Squall could still feel the warm electricity running through his body. The God's power was comforting like a soft rainfall after a hot day of working. Quezacotl had been calling to him that night.
But I couldn't go..
Squall shook the thoughts from his head. Whatever. That part of his life was over. It was back to routine; back to a bleak existence. This was where nothing would change. It was his place to hide.
"Hey Squall," a familiar voice broke Squall's brooding.
Lifting his gaze, Squall finally realized someone was in front of him. It was Zell. The energetic blonde was standing empty basket and flashing an overfriendly grin.
"Hey man, you've just been standing there. You better get moving before a guard walks by," Zell went on without waiting for a return greeting from the brunet. If he had, it would have been something close to a full moon cycle before he got a response.
Squall glanced around at reality. He had stopped before of a staircase leading down into a large workshop where Squall was meant to lighten the burden upon his back. He must have really gotten lost in his thoughts in order to break routine. Squall pushed past Zell and began to descend the stairs.
"Hey wait," Zell reached out and snatched Squall's arm.
Not appreciating the handling, Squall turned and pulled his arm away—but the blonde's strong fingers didn't release. Usually Squall could get away from the other without having to bother with words. But since Zell had made the effort to have his attention, Squall decided to reward him with a blank gaze.
"Is something wrong? You seem more out of it than usual," Zell frowned and let the brunet's arm go free.
Nothing's wrong.
Squall pivoted and descended. Zell didn't let the lack of answer bother him, "Yeah, you're right. We should get back to work. I'll see you tonight!"
Squall barely heard the blonde's last words because it was drowned out by the noise of the busy workshop below. Squall entered a large room filled with bulky stone grinders manned by a different type of slave; oversized men with muscles that bulged when they physically forced the stone wheels to turn.
Squall swung the heavy basket off his aching shoulders. He then deposited the rocks into a large bin; from there they would be ground into a fine powder. When that was mixed with water it became shapeable clay that hardened to a substance that was stronger than the stone that was currently crushing it.
"Hey you, pretty boy, get moving," a gruff voice jeered.
Squall slipped on the lightened basket and turned to cast a mild glare in the direction of a guard stationed near the stairs. The brunet was use to getting irritable comments from the man. Most of the time Squall could get by without having the bull-headed man detect his presence. When by chance that a few comments did come, Squall did as he chose to do now—ignore the words and head back towards the stairs.
"You must think you're something special," the guard smirked while lowering his spear to block Squall's path. "Not everyone gets the pleasures of working in the palace. You best be forgetting what luxuries those people gave you."
Luxuries. Yeah right. Squall thought dully while quietly scowling at the stone staircase that lay just beyond the guard's spear tip.
"Because you should know, no one around here cares about what happens to you," the guard laughed lowly a few times. He slapped the flat side of his spear against Squall's chest before lifting it away.
Whatever.
Squall started up the stairs as soon as the weapon was removed from his path. He loathed the attention he had been receiving these past few days after his exile from the palace. It seemed everyone had some joke about why the brunet was picked to serve in the pharaoh's home. Squall just disregarded their words while mentally stating that he didn't care. They all could be ripped to shreds by Cerberus and then rot between his sharp teeth.
Did they really think it bothered him that no one cared if he was brutally beaten, or even was killed? Hardly. Secretly he wished that some day a guard would lose his temper and 'accidentally' take his life. But death never came, and Squall was forced to follow routine.
The prince had been so close to fulfilling Squall's dark wishes that night. But at the moment of truth the tall blonde had faltered, leaving Squall with only a single scare to reminisce upon. Then the very next day, the same man that had tried to kill him had come looking for him. Squall had wondered if he was there to finish the job, but the prince then proceeded to save him from a guard's wrath.
It was confusing to say the least. Squall liked to think the blonde was jealous in some twisted way and wanted to be the one to torment him. In the end, however, the prince didn't act very smug about what he had done. Surprisingly he had turned and ran, leaving Squall to vainly call out his name.
Seifer..
The name felt wrong to speak, as if Squall didn't have the privilege. When he had seen the other leaving in haste, Squall had used the name anyway. He wanted to know; to ask one question of the prince:
Why?
But now the crazy bastard was gone for only the gods know what reason. People gossiped about it, saying the prince had run out into the desert alone. They said that he had gone mad, that his sorceress cousin had put a curse on him in some sort of conspiracy against the High Pharaoh. This talk only led Squall to believe that all the people in the palace were mad, and he pitied the kingdom for being reigned over such pride-blinded fools.
"Hey you."
Squall's head snapped up at the commanding voice of a guard. Sure enough there was one nearby and looking directly at him. Mentally grimacing, Squall stopped to hear whatever jest this mad had to say.
"Are you Squall Leonhart?" the guard asked in a bored tone.
Squall simply nodded to avoid conversation. The guard gestured with his spear towards the main street of Zamir. "You are being summoned to the palace."
The brunet's eyebrows drew together with confusion, but he did not ask any questions. He peeled of the empty basket and handed it to another worker. He then walked towards the street that would lead straight up to the palace steps. Off handedly Squall noted how dirty he was—the nobles were very picky about their cleanliness. He would deem it their problem though, not his. After all, he wasn't trying to impress anyone.
Yet who would be calling him? Both the sorceress and the prince were gone. Or maybe Seifer had returned all ready? Squall doubted the man could manage to stay out in the desert without the pampering of the palace.
So much for routine, Squall bitterly thought. He had thought he'd never again have to see the inside of the palace. He just wanted to disappear, not be pointed out as some 'pet' of the pharaoh.
End Chapter.