BEHOLD! The chapter that would not die! Sorry, everyone, for the late update. I had a lot of stuff going on this past week – 2 papers and a poetry portfolio, among other things – and I just didn't have much in the way of free time. And its going to be even worse for the rest of the month, I suspect, so… sorry. At least you get a heck of a long chapter this time – I think I literally doubled the length of the fic here. Not that much actually happens, but it takes a long time about not happening. Oh, yeah, and sorry for all the cursing, and later on for the… ickyness.
Lynda-chan: Yes, I agree, there is a serious lack of good FF6 fiction out there, which is actually what prompted me to actually get an account here in the first place. And to add insult to injury, FF6 has to share a space with every single random weird final fantasy offshoot fic that people write, while FFX-2 gets its own section. Aaargh! I have nothing against new games, but it would certainly be nice if more people remembered or even got a chance to play some of the old ones.
A/N: About Terra's eye … I couldn't tell what it really is from her picture, but I've seen it described as either green or gold several places, and I happen to like gold better, so gold it is. Also, I had a bit of trouble getting into Locke's mind – he's never been one of the characters that I was particularly able to identify with, though I certainly don't dislike him – so if this chapter isn't as good, that's probably why.
Chapter 3: Thief's Honor
If war were a game that a man or a child
Could think of winning
What kind of rule
Can overthrow a fool
And leave the land with no stain?
A thin, wiry man perched easily atop a snow-blanketed roof, watching the commotion below with bitter fascination. Soldiers were swarming like wasps in the otherwise empty streets, protecting their fallen nest from a danger that they already half-realized had come and gone. They were scouring the city for anything and anyone that didn't seem to belong, and after what had happened here, he wouldn't be surprised if they leaned toward a shoot-first-and-don't-bother-with-the-questions attitude… nor could he quite manage to make himself blame them. Fortunately for him, diligent as the guards were, they still weren't in the habit of looking up. And fortunately for them, harm to Narshe was the last thing on the young man's mind.
From his high seat on top the tiled roof, the city lay before him like a map, streets drawn in moon-silvered snow, lined by the soft glow of gas-fueled lamps – a few broken, most casting their circles of light around them like beacons in a sea of snow and shadow. It was above this sea that rooftops rose like islands, and across these islands that Locke Cole moved unseen, safe from the troubled dreams of those who had managed to reclaim some shred of sleep and the watchful eyes of those who clung to wakefulness like a talisman. What Locke observed from above was interesting; he'd seen a bit of combat in his time, and he'd never before encountered quite so… so specific a raid. Most of Narshe had remained completely untouched by the violence, but a wide swathe of destruction had been cut through the center of town, from the charred city gates down to the newly excavated mines – where they supposedly found that esper. Big surprise there. The strongest fires had been brought under control long ago, but small flames still sent their plumes of black smoke spiraling upward, adding to the hazy shroud that continually hung over the industrial city. The chaos that had set Narshe ablaze was over, and Locke had arrived too late to do anything but watch the aftermath from above. Even the wounded – surprisingly few; it seemed that those who had gotten in the way of… whatever it was… were very dead indeed, while all others were unscathed – had long been taken care of. Well, Arvis called me here long before anyone could have suspected this could happen. Maybe he still has something for me to do… Locke didn't like uselessness. It was a feeling he knew all too well, the chilly knowledge that things went wrong and people died and there was nothing he could do to change it. The worst part was the persistent, nagging idea that if he had done something sooner, had gotten there earlier, had just been a little bit faster than everything would have been all right. Logic had always told him that such thoughts were ridiculous, but then, when had logic ever been able to stand against the dull weight of memory? This isn't helping. You can't hold yourself responsible for not stopping an attack you didn't know about, in a city you just traveled leagues to even reach! You're being an idiot, Locke. He ran a weary hand through his ragged hair, trying to force himself to focus on the present, while his mind kept trying to slip back into what was long past. Ghosts had a way of creeping back at the most inopportune moments, and Locke was acquainted with some very strong ghosts indeed, but now was not the time to let himself fall prey to memory. The fact that he was exhausted from the road and in desperate need of a good meal and a bath wasn't helping a bit… Think. Focus on the moment.
He couldn't be sure about the details of the attack, but then, he didn't need details to understand what had happened here. The Empire. What else? When is it ever anything else? The question here was whether Narshe had managed somehow to repel the surprise attack, or the Empire had simply gotten what they wanted – the mysterious esper he'd been hearing such intriguing rumors about, of course – and left.
Damn them. DAMN them! Anger seethed in the pit of Locke's stomach and rose like bile in his throat. Narshe had been a peaceful city, until this day, content in its own wealth and isolation, offering harm to no one. But then, that hadn't saved Tzen or Maranda, had it? No, the Empire took what it wanted and burned the rest, and no one so much as noticed until it was their town being put to the torch, their own friends and family shot down in the streets. Narshe had gotten off easy, probably because that ice-bitch of a general hadn't been around to do the job properly. He scowled, slamming a fist into an open palm. The city's leaders had thought their isolation would be the only shield they needed – And who knows, he mused bitterly, it might have been, if they hadn't been so stupid as to go trumpeting the news of their newly discovered esper all over the world. What is Gestahl planning with those damned things, anyway? Oh, hell, it doesn't matter now, anyway. I've got a job to do here. Arvis is cursing my guts for being late, no doubt.
Locke knew the rooftops of most cities, Narshe included, better than most inhabitants know the streets. It was no difficult matter to find his destination, up in the northern outskirts, backed right up against the mountains and the mines that were the city's lifeblood. He considered making an unannounced entrance via some window and catching old Arvis unawares, just to take the man down a peg or two – in Locke's estimation, the old fool could be entirely too self-satisfied. Thankfully, common sense prevailed and he decided that tonight of all nights such a joke would not be appreciated.
He dropped down lightly on Arvis's doorstep, brushed the clinging snow from his jacket, and strode up to the door. It was open; the frigid wind had already blown drifts of snow into the entryway, and it was melting into a rapidly spreading pool. Though light was streaming through the windows and the open doorway, the place had a bleak feel to it, a sense of resignation that seemed utterly and frighteningly out of place. Being a… professional… himself, Locke had little trouble recognizing that both the lock and the door itself appeared to have been forced… none too gently, either. Did the Empire… Oh, gods and espers, tell me he made it out in time. Let him be safe. Locke had never gotten along with Arvis particularly well, but that didn't mean he had ever wished the old man any ill… And if the Empire even suspected the man was a Returner, it would be an execution in Vector for him, on a charge of terrorism – if he was lucky. There were far too many unpleasant rumors concerning secret imperial laboratories, monsters, experimentation on prisoners… even if half of what Locke had heard was false, what he knew for a fact to be true was enough to give any man nightmares.
Any enemies that might have been here were surely gone by now, but Locke had spent most of his life plying a particularly dangerous trade, and he hadn't survived as long as he had by being incautious. If the Imperials had information about Arvis's plans and affiliations, it wasn't beyond belief to expect them to know about Locke as well, or for them to know he had business here. Unsheathing a steel dirk, Locke slipped through the door, soundless as a cat in the dark, and with a similar predatory gleam in his eye. If there had been any soldiers waiting to trap a thief, their first and last awareness of their prey would have involved a knife slipped between the ribs or drawn quickly across the throat from behind – Locke had his notions of honor in combat, but tended to reserve them for honorable opponents. As it was, he was able to get a long glance at the trashed front room – and the old man sitting bound and gagged in one of the few chairs still intact, glowering at the wreckage with an irascible gleam in his sharp eyes – before making his presence known. After he was satisfied there was no trap or trick lurking behind some corner, he hurried forward to loose the old man from his bonds.
"It certainly took you long enough!" Arvis said with a mocking grin, as Locke removed the gag and set to work untying the knots that bound him to the chair. "How goes the robbing and plundering trade?" Locke could see that the old man was covered in bruises and scrapes, and a thin trickle of blood was running down the side of his face, but Locke wasn't sure a direct hit with from an artillery shell would be capable of denting the fellow's sarcasm. Locke tried to keep a similar grin from spreading across his own face; this was serious business, but fatigue, tension and worn-out anger had combined with relief at the old man's safety to fill Locke with a kind of thin, giddy amusement. He recognized this feeling as well; it was the sort of thing that left you giggling madly at your own stupid jokes as a battle rages around you, or the walls of a prison seem to be closing in. It was a kind of mental release valve, a survival trick that served to prevent fear and stress from making the jump to sheer, raving insanity. Locke was, at the moment, surfing waves of mingled anxiety and relief, a state in which amusement was in itself an anchor to reality.
"I prefer," Locke said in his most put-upon voice, "the term treasure hunter. Or, if you must, professional redistributor of wealth." In a more serious tone, he added, "What happened here, and… to put this bluntly, how come they didn't kill you?" He finished with the last of the knots, and the old man stood up, stretching creakily and rubbing one bruised and battered shoulder. The man seemed in surprisingly good health and good cheer for a man of his age who had just taken a beating and seen his living room demolished. Locke still didn't particularly like him, but hadn't prevented a sort of grudging respect and comradeship from developing, and it was moments like this when Locke found himself honestly admiring the old man's spirit.
Arvis raised one bushy gray eyebrow, still grinning wryly at the young thief. "They seemed to think I was acting out of a sense of misguided chivalry. That, or bewitched into treachery. They weren't about to kill an old man if they could help it."
Locke blinked in disbelief. "I wasn't aware the Empire accepted chivalry as an excuse for sedition. Or witchcraft, for that matter. If they did, every prisoner in Vector would be pleading ensorcelled."
"The Emp-" Arvis started, then broke away in a peal of sardonic laughter, "The Empire had nothing to do with this," he said, waving a hand at the room, which looked to Locke's eyes as though it had been hit by a very small and direct hurricane. Splintered wood and broken crockery littered the floor, and Locke found himself wondering if there was anything left unbroken in the place. "This was done by the good city of Narshe, and I intend to see that they pay damages, too. Now close that damn door, why don't you? The cold's getting in."
Locke stared. "Narshe Guards beat you up?"
"Nobody beat me up, boy, I fought them to a standstill! If I hadn't been outnumbered… Now, about the door?"
Locke sighed, closed the door, and returned to lean against a table with a knife stuck in it up to the hilt. Maybe more of a barroom brawl than a hurricane. What in the name of all the hells have I stumbled into this time?
"I don't suppose you plan to tell me why you were fighting the entire army of Narshe single-handedly, or whatever tall-tale is on the tip of your tongue? Or did you call me from Figaro for a chat and a tea-party?"
"What happened here really isn't important, or rather, not important enough to justify wasting time," Arvis said, suddenly serious, and slightly… hesitant? Yes, it was obvious enough that there was something the old man wasn't sure Locke was going to like.
"There's a girl I need you to find."
"A girl you need me to find." Locke said flatly.
"She won't be too difficult to identify. Green hair and golden eyes aren't exactly common."
Green hair and… Locke shook his head, suddenly realizing where he had heard those traits before. He had never seen her, of course, but he had talked to a Returner soldier who had faced her in battle and somehow made it out alive. "They told her to kill, and she did. They told her to… to burn everything. And she did." The man had said, his defenses lowered by too much wine, "I'm telling you, Locke, that was no human girl. That was a machine." The Sorceress was thought in most places to be a rumor, a fear-tactic of the Empire's, perhaps. Locke knew she was real, and he understood perfectly well the deadly ruthlessness that lurked behind her supposedly beautiful face. Why does Arvis want me to search for… there was only one logical explanation he could think of, and it was a stupid one.
"You want me," Locke said in disbelief, "to assassinate the Imperial Sorceress. You. Want me. To assassinate the Imperial Sorceress. You want me to –"
"I do NOT want you to assassinate anybody. I need you to rescue and protect the so-called Imperial Sorceress, and I need you to do it quickly."
"You've lost your mi–"
"Come take a look at this," Arvis interrupted curtly, "and tell me if you still think I'm crazy." He led Locke into the back room, his vise-like grip around the thief's wrist, a fierce glower on his hawkish face. The room itself looked to have escaped the violence which had occurred out front; it was sparsely furnished with a bare table, a rumpled bed, a dresser, and several shelves of old and dusty books. Another door in the back wall of the room had also been left ajar, but Arvis paid it no heed. Instead he pulled what looked like a twisted crown of metal thorns and wires from beneath the bedside table, muttering angrily beneath his breath.
"That's…" Locke breathed incredulously.
"Yes." The old man said quietly. "If they had caught me with this, it would have been more than my life was worth." He smiled sourly at Locke. "She was wearing it. The Empire was controlling her. And now they've lost control of her, but Narshe doesn't know that. Our soldiers have orders to shoot her on sight – she's too dangerous to do otherwise, even now that she's taking orders from no one, but… she's also an innocent. I think I'd prefer to avoid a… shall we say… a tragic accident, especially since powers like hers might be able to turn the tide of this war. Now do you understand?"
Locke nodded. "I'll find this girl of yours. I'll protect her. But I don't intend to pressure her into fighting. Do you understand?"
"I never intended you to. The important thing is to keep her alive and out of the Empire's hands. They'll be pursuing her, of course, but they aren't the immediate danger… I sent her into the mines. You know your way around there, right?"
"Of course I do." And he did. He had been down there before, exploring far past the Narshi coal mines and into the older, deeper tunnels that lay beneath, seeking treasures and relics from an age long forgotten. He knew the secrets of those old passages better than anyone still living, with the possible exception of the moogles, and he understood those strange and shy creatures perhaps better than any other human did. Locke grinned.
"Your girl's as good as found, Arvis."
Locke took the same path Terra had, back behind the house, over the bridge and into the mines. The girl's footprints, and those of the guards chasing her, had long been obscured by the thickly falling snow; Locke hoped the she was all right, that nothing had happened to her in the time he took to find her. Inside the mines, he gave the first caverns only cursory examination. There were only so many ways one could go at first, and most of them wound up as dead ends. He walked on, noting within the circle of his lamplight any signs that a person might have passed, and which way they seemed to be going. There wasn't much to go by; even the heaviest footfalls don't leave tracks in stone, after all. Locke thought for a moment that he would have to go by pure luck, but then he happened to cast his lantern on one wall of the large main corridor. The rough rocks were covered with a sort of mossy slime, and he could see where someone had been pressed up against it, hugging the wall. Someone had felt their was along through the dark, down the main passage, off to the side – there! But that way's a dead-end… an unstable one too. They stopped excavating there because the floor wasn't safe. He would have to check it out anyway; for all he knew, the girl might still be hiding back there. As long as he stayed up against the wall, he wouldn't trigger any cave-ins. Locke headed down the tunnel, looking around for anything out of the ordinary. What he saw made him draw in his breath in a sharp breath and curse angrily. Down near the end of the tunnel, a large section of the floor had collapsed, leaving a gaping pit that opened into the darkness below. Locke was reluctant to get too close, but he had a feeling – no, he knew – what had caused this cave-in. That girl… she's dead. There was no way – no way – anyone could have survived. But if she did… no. People don't get up and walk away from something like that. If she did, she'd be badly in need of medical help. If she did, it would be too late by now anyway. You don't know that! She's a sorceress, she might not even be human, you know from experience those magic-enhanced Imperials don't die easy…
And if she is out there somewhere clinging to life, every moment you pass standing here is another nail in her coffin. Do you want to be too slow again?!
Locke realized he was clenching his fists so tightly that his fingers were going numb around the hilt of his knife, and forced himself to relax. Then, summoning up his mental map of the maze of tunnels, he hurried off into the dark.
He knew that it was possible, and not too difficult, to reach a place directly underneath the collapsed tunnel. Left, and forward, following the wall… down a set of stairs skillfully carved into the stone by a people far older than the first inhabitants of the city known as Narshe… south, and down again… He was getting into moogle territory here; the reclusive creatures might be small and unimposing, but they could also be positively dangerous, surprisingly warlike, and definitely suspicious of humans. Locke was one of the few humans on good terms with them, so he could count on being left alone, but he wondered suddenly if the Narshe soldiers might not be having problems. The uneasy agreement was that the moogles didn't trouble the mines, and Narshe stayed out of the lower caves… and that unwritten treaty might well have been violated tonight. The moogles knew the lay of the caves as thoroughly as a man knows the rooms of his house; if they took a dislike to a stranger, they could, and would, make life for that poor trespasser either very difficult or very short.
Locke's musings on moogle diplomacy, or lack thereof, were interrupted when the tunnel he was in suddenly opened out into a cavern which itself led into a labyrinth of narrow, convoluted passages. She was there, crumpled on the floor amid a heap of broken rock and a tangle of startlingly green hair. Locke gave a small sigh of relief when he saw that she was still breathing, raggedly and shallowly, but without the sound of a pierced lung. Not too slow. I made it in time! Not too slow! Locke was no doctor, but he knew enough of battlefield medicine to at least avoid making anything worse. He knelt beside her, deftly and cautiously checking for cracked ribs, broken bones, signs of internal bleeding; there were none. The worst this girl would suffer from a fall that might well have killed a normal person would be a few cuts and bruises. How is that possible?
"Girl," he muttered to himself, "you are either very lucky or very tough. Or both." Maybe she is a machine… It was at least as likely as any other explanation for this strange miracle. He turned her over gently, holding her limp body in one arm, for the first time getting a good look at the girl he had been sent to protect… Skin that looked as though it had never seen the sun, a thin, delicate face beneath a tangled mane of green hair, arched eyebrows above gently tilted eyes... Her face was plastered with dirt and her own blood, which had flowed in thin streams from her nose and mouth and a dozen small cuts and was now mostly dried in dull red smears across her ashen skin. She would have been beautiful in spite of the blood, if not for a ghostly aura of pain which seemed to hang about her, making seem at once older and younger than she really was. She looks like a ghost. Like a spirit. Something that doesn't belong in this world… The girl's pale hand was clenched so tightly around some object hanging from a chain around her neck that Locke thought her nails must have been cutting into her palm. He reached to loosen her fingers, and drew back his hand in surprise; her skin was fever-hot. What is this? Considering the frigid atmosphere or the caverns, he would have expected her to be chilled, shivering; instead it felt as though she was burning up from the inside. Damn. She needs help. He had to get her out of here, find someplace with a healer… he had no idea what was wrong, but it seemed serious. Maybe you're not so lucky after all…
"Kupo…"
Locke jumped to his feet and spun around, cursing. Cripes! Little bastards are quiet when they want to be… He stared down at the creature before him: three feet tall, covered in white fur, with tiny bat-like wings… it looked a bit like a living child's toy, and the overall effect should have been cute or amusing, but somehow it wasn't. Perhaps it was the tall steel pike the moogle was clutching, or the warrior's gleam in his dark eyes… either way, Locke figured he'd better be polite.
"What is it?" He asked.
"Enemies ahead, kupo. There." The moogle gestured with his spear toward the maze of tunnels ahead.
Just what I needed… why now?
"Thanks for the warning. Imperials or Narshi?"
"Who cares? Humans are humans. They shouldn't be here, kupo."
"How many?"
The moogle shrugged. "Too many," it said, then grinned fiercely, "or at least, too many for you alone…" Locke had to smile. Moogles might not be particularly amiable, but once you proved yourself trustworthy, they made good friends.
"So you're offering to help me?"
"They shouldn't be here," The moogle repeated, then made a sharp gesture with his free hand. At the sign, about a dozen of his companions emerged from the rocks and shadows of the surrounding cavern, clutching a motley collection of weapons. He said a few words to them in their own strange language, and they dispersed into the tunnels ahead, quickly vanishing from sight. He turned back to Locke.
"They're after that girl, kupo?"
Locke nodded slowly. "Its… kind of a misunderstanding."
"You need someplace to hide. Follow me."
"What about –"
"They're in no danger. Bring her."
Locke was too tired to argue. He bent to pick up the unconscious girl, lifting her as gently and carefully as a man might hold some fragile and beautiful creation of spun glass. She was surprisingly light, almost weightless, almost, Locke thought suddenly, as though she isn't completely in this world at all. She shifted in his arms, making a small noise of fear and pleading before lapsing back into oblivion.
"Its all right," he told her quietly, "No one's going to hurt you." He didn't think she was awake enough to hear him, but somehow, that really didn't matter right then. It was a promise of sorts, made not to her but to himself. No one was going to hurt this childlike, ethereal stranger, not while Locke was alive to stop them.
The moogle waited for Locke to balance the girl in his arms before setting off into the darkness, heading back the way Locke had come. Locke followed, and after an interminable number of twists and turns, they stopped in front of a blank granite wall indistinguishable from any other wall in the caves. Locke's guide set down his pike and placed both furry hands on the stone, muttering a few strange-sounding words almost too low to hear. Locke jerked back as the wall seemed to shimmer and ripple, and the girl moved again in his arms, shivering. When he looked again at the wall, it had a tall wooden door set in it, with warm golden light streaming through the cracks and casting shadows on the walls in sharp relief. The moogle grinned at him again.
"Home, sweet home, kupo!"
A/N: About Locke not fighting… I had planned to have him fight them, I really did, but this was running really long as it was, and I'm no good at writing combat, so if I wanted something worth reading, this update might have been delayed maybe another week. Sorry.
By the way, I feel like I ought to apologize for how slow this is going, in terms of plot – 3 chapters and they're not out of the mines yet. Does this bug you, or do you find it boring, or is it OK?