Thanks to all who took the time to review. Its encouraging to know I'm not shouting into the void, here. I know the first part was slightly confusing – this is due to the fact that describing things well from the POV of a mindless puppet is a little beyond my skill level at the moment. I know what I want to say, but can't find the way to say it… sigh. Hopefully the next chapters will be clearer. Oh, yeah, and I got the italics fixed.
Wow… I seem to have taken many too many words to describe what is perhaps the most insignificant scene in the game… it seems I am completely unable to shut up. I was planning on getting all the way to the moogles in this chapter, which was originally going to feature Locke, but I didn't even get around to him… sorry. Not to worry, I should have the next chapter written fairly soon.
Chapter one: Awakening
They say slowlyBrings the least shock
But no matter how slow I walk
There are traces
Empty spaces
And doors and doors of locks
Testimony, by Ferron
She woke amid the smell and feel of satin, and the pain hadn't faded. It surrounded her, a dull pounding agony in the back of her mind, coloring her thoughts with red. She was lying in a large bed, uncomfortably yielding after the stone floor she could just barely remember collapsing on, and she was twisted up in sheets that clung to her with the clammy touch of her own cold sweat. She lifted a hand to her aching head, stifling a whimper.
There was an old man peering at her from across the small room, seated in a simple chair, his eyes bright and fierce beneath a head of gray hair. She drew back instinctively, tensed to fight or flee, but despite the hawk-like cast to the man's weathered face, his direct gaze was merely curious, not predatory. If he wanted to hurt me, she decided, he would have done so already. I can trust this one. A little.
"Where am I?" she asked, her voice coming out a cracked, hesitant whisper.
The old man blinked, startled.
"Strange," he muttered, "I only just removed your crown."
He made his way over to where she was lying, placed a hand hesitantly on her shoulder, only to remove it instantly when he felt her jerk away from his touch. His sharp eyes were kind, but she noted the caution with which he moved, like a man in the presence of a bomb which might or might not be set. He's afraid, she realized. Of… me?
"Are you alright?" His voice was gentle, and, frightened or not, his concern for her seemed real. She wasn't sure what to think of that; it seemed strange, somehow, that anyone would want to help her. She didn't believe it. There had to be something behind this man's kindness, his concern... his fear. She tried to think, and discovered that she simply couldn't force her thoughts into any semblance of order. Logic slipped away from her, words failed, and through it all was the pain drumming behind her eyes, constant and distracting as a mosquito's whine. But she couldn't let anyone know, couldn't let anyone see the true depths of her ignorance, her weakness. The old man had asked her a question. He expected an answer, and she managed one, forcing the words out through gritted teeth and a haze of pain.
"... head... hurts..."
"Easy," he said gently, lifting something from a table by her bed. A strange, vicious-looking tangle of wires and sharp metal, made to fit snugly onto a human head. She had never seen anything like it before, couldn't find any reason for the feeling of nausea and stale terror that surged through her as she looked at it, and yet she recognized the presence of something unliving, yet evil. Perhaps she had misjudged that old man's kindness, if he kept a thing like this in his house. But no; he held the contraption with the same well-hidden caution that he had for her, and considerably more revulsion.
"This," he said, quietly as always but this time unable to keep the disgust from his voice, "is a Slave Crown. The others had complete control over you while you were wearing it."
I was wearing that thing? I was... being controlled. I...
The others?
She had no recollection of being a slave, of wearing that twisted crown of metal... no recollection, in fact, of anything before this room, these confused, pain-filled moments. How was that possible? She searched her mind, wracked her memory in an effort to connect present to past, to find any path that led backwards from this unfamiliar room. But all her searches ended nowhere, taunting her with the blankness of a slate wiped clean. Her mind was an empty maze of sheer walls and locked doors, and she was trapped, unable to find her way backward or forward. The keys were there, somewhere, the keys that would open up the past like a book and let her see who she was. But she couldn't find them. Despairing, she turned to the old man who had... presumably... rescued her from these Others, the old man who she didn't trust completely, but who was her only compass in a world with no maps to show her the way.
"I can't --" she started, then forced herself to continue, "I can't remember anything."
"Don't worry. It'll all come back to you. In time, that is."
The old man smiled what he seemed to hope was a reassuring smile, then placed the Slave Crown down beneath the bedside table. She was relieved not to be looking at the thing anymore, but even out of sight its presence haunted her. She couldn't get it out of her mind. I was wearing a machine that controlled me. Why? What did I do, that I don't remember? What did they do to me? What did they make me do? She shuddered convulsively. Who am I? She fought down panic, but panic seemed to be winning, and along with it came a kind of mad, helpless rage. Who am I? WHO?!
Something woke in her then, an echo of light and heat, flickering upward along her veins. Warmth that filled her, flames that danced behind her eyes and in the tips of her fingers, surging like the tide, turning her anger and fear to sheer power. She saw the old man shrink back, and understood suddenly that his fear of her all this time was justified. She could destroy him, destroy this fragile room utterly, burn away its mocking pain and strangeness, burn it all to ash. She could. She wanted to.
No.
Why not?
He helped me. I can't. I...
Who am I?
What am I?
I am...
my name is...
"Terra," she whispered, "My name is Terra."
The old man looked up, a sharp grin on his face, quite as if he hadn't been cowering just a moment before.
"Impressive," he said, "I've never heard of anyone recovering this fast."
Then I'm not the first one to be used like this...
Terra... yes. That sounds right. She drew her pale hand across her face, testing the shape and feel of her skin, her hair, wishing she had a mirror to look into to see herself truly. This is me. I'm Terra. But I don't know what that means...
"Open up!" a voice demanded from outside, loud and angry, jerking Terra abruptly away from her thoughts.
"Give us the witch!"
"Didn't expect them to catch on so quickly," the old man muttered to himself. "Got to get you out of here." He pulled her from the bed, heedless of her aversion to being touched, and steadied her on her feet as she almost fell.
"Open this door, damn it! I know you're in there, Arvis, you old fool. That girl is an officer of the Empire!"
Enemies? But I can kill them all with a thought, surely he knows that... Why should I flee?
Terra turned suddenly in the old man's grasp, wanting answers.
"What is going on?" she demanded, trying to keep desperation from edging into her voice. "Empire? Witch? Why do they–"
The man scowled, shaking his head. "No time for questions now, no time... over here." He pulled her toward a door set in the far wall of the room. A back way out... lucky. Except that he was expecting this.
"Oh, yes," he added, "and even you won't get far without a weapon…" He bent to pick up something that had been leaning against the wall by the door: a sword, plain, but the lack of decoration seemed only to emphasize the way the firelight gleamed on the blade's sharp edge. He held it out to her, hilt first, bowing his head in a strangely formal gesture.
"This is yours." He said quietly. "You know how to use it. You mind may not remember, but your body does. If it comes to a fight, don't try to think, just let your instincts guide you. You'll be alright."
She nodded, taking the sword from his hands and holding it up before her. Perhaps he was right about the weapon; it felt light in her hands, and she felt right holding it, somehow complete. She tried a few passes and parries, feeling how the blade moved, the weight and balance of it, the way it seemed like an extension of her own self. She smiled slightly. If there was some part of her that remembered this, perhaps the rest of her past was still hiding somewhere out of reach. Perhaps she still had a chance to discover who she was. And when that day comes, nobody will ever use me again. Not even you, Arvis, kind though you are. I won't play anyone's games. Her smile turned grim.
"Terra."
The old man was talking. Caught up as she was in her thoughts, she had, for a moment, forgotten why she was standing in front of this drafty wooden door. Now she remembered, and it sent a shiver through her. My enemies. Coming to take me back. No. I'll die first. I'll kill them, or myself, but I won't let them have me.
"You can make your way out through the old mines. I'll keep these idiots occupied. But, Terra..." he hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. "These aren't evil men, I can tell you that. Please, don't hurt them unless you have to."
She nodded, not knowing what to say, than hurried out the back door and into the night.
The cold was like a slap in the face. The sudden sharpness of it drew the breath from her lungs in an involuntary gasp. The bitter wind bit through her thin clothing, numbing her fingers and stinging her cheeks, but it could not touch the core of inner warmth to which she clung tightly, and the icy night air served to clear her head. Everything held the clean taste and smell of new snow, though here and there lingered a hint of coal or oil smoke, the signs of an industrial city. Such scents seemed almost disturbingly familiar, but she had no time to wonder about such things, not if she wanted a clean escape.
She took the only way available, a thin path bordered on one side by her rescuer's house, and on the other by a stark, rising cliff. Snow fell serenely around her as she ran, down the alley and across a high, narrow bridge that rose above the snow-covered rooftops and lighted windows below. She wished she could have gotten a closer look at the city, which seemed to be a fascinating mix of archaic and technological. Gigantic iron and steel gears stood side by side with old wooden houses, and steaming pipes winding everywhere. But, again, there was no time to stop and wonder. She hurried on.
Across the bridge was a wide, flat ledge, set amid the snow-covered peaks that surrounded the city. Leading down into the rock wall in front of her was a rough tunnel, shored up by rotting wood planks. The old mines? It must be. I'll need light…Well, that, at least, wasn't a problem. She extended a hand, palm up, and called into being a tiny, flickering globe of flame. She wasn't sure how she did it, exactly, but it seemed as natural to her as breathing, and no more difficult.
Down, then, through a long-abandoned tunnel, the uneven floor littered with debris. Shadows danced and flickered around her, thrown by the burning sphere that now hung in front of her, lighting her way like a will 'o wisp. Her footsteps seemed too loud as she hurried through the earth, the ceiling too low, the darkness too thick and heavy beyond her circle of light. She had no idea what lay ahead, and she knew all too well what was behind her.
And then she heard the sounds of pursuit, the echoes of booted feet – distorted by the reverberation of sound underground, but she could tell that they were close, and they knew the ways of the mines as she didn't. Immediately she extinguished her light and pressed herself up against one damp cave wall, using it to keep her sense of direction in the dark. But her pursuers would have torches of their own – she couldn't trust darkness to hide her. I have to get out of the main passage. Slowly, carefully, she felt her way along the tunnel, which was a particularly unpleasant combination of jagged and slimy under her blind touch. By the time it was safe to rekindle any kind of light, she suspected that she would be covered in scrapes and scratches. Finally she found what she had been hoping for: a narrow, roughly cut side-passage, leading off at a sharp angle from the central way. If she was lucky, would pass this tunnel right by. If she was unlucky, it was still an excellent place to make a stand – one person could fight many here at no disadvantage. He told me not to hurt them…unless I have to. She hoped she didn't have to fight – outnumbered as she was, she might be forced to fight with every power at her disposal – and that meant fighting to kill. I'm sorry. If I hurt your friends, I'm sorry. But I won't let them take me.
They were close now. The cavern walls brought echoes of their hushed voices to her ears: "…no mercy… we won't have a chance if we hold back… After what I saw tonight, can't say I'll be exactly sorry if that little witch feels some pain…" Terra shook her head softly. Whatever happened, what you saw me do… It wasn't by my choice. You must know- But there was no way they could know the truth, that she had been merely a pawn in some stranger's game. And by the sound of it, there would be no chance for a deadly misunderstanding to be averted.
She retreated further down the passageway she had chosen, and realized her mistake when she fetched up against the cold finality of a dead end. She tested the granite wall in front of her with meticulous urgency, yet her search failed to reveal any unnoticed cracks or ways out. She was trapped. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could I be so stupid?
She could hear them stop outside her tunnel, black silhouettes moving warily against the shadow-stage of the cavern's wall, distorted and strange. The beams of light from their hooded lanterns flickered this way and that, bright beacons in a sea of night, searching, seeking… One of her pursuers made an abrupt gesture, and immediately two of his fellows turned down the path where she was cornered. If she was lucky, and very quiet, perhaps she could slip by them… no. It was too late. Light flung itself across her face, momentarily blinding her. The man holding the lantern gave a surprised cry – obviously, he hadn't been expecting to catch her here – but he recovered quickly, calling out to his friends.
"She's up there! Get her!"
Terra didn't wait to be attacked. If she seized the advantage of surprise, perhaps she would be able to break out of this trap and escape deeper into the mines – without resorting to her lethal powers. She leapt forward – only to feel the ground tumbling out from under her feet in a terrifying lurch. The stone floor cracked and groaned and finally collapsed beneath her as she struggled vainly for footing, and then she was free-falling, a scream dying in her throat as she hit the ground hard. Pain hit her like a tsunami, overwhelming her, knocking the breath from her lungs. There was a noise like thunder, and she wasn't certain whether it was the deafening avalanche of rock crashing around her or the blood pulsing in her ears. Darkness blossomed behind her eyes, and once again she surrendered to the call of sleep.
Author's note: Hmmm…. I wonder if I should end every chapter with Terra collapsing into unconsciousness… nah, its already getting tedious. I just needed a stopping place. Next chapter: Locke is introduced, and much weirdness with moogles ensues.