A/N: I must confess to stealing – er, treasure hunting? – the idea of the arguing scholars from CelesChere's FF6 novelization, though I made the argument considerably nastier… he he he...
This chapter: Edgar really annoys our friend Kefka, Locke doesn't do much at all, and Terra is her usual emotional wreck of a self. Joy.
Rocket: Thanks for the hint, and I'll try to watch out for too much inner monologue from now on, and work in some more body language. I hope I haven't already fallen into that trap, and you're simply being polite about it...
Evilpoptart: You're not the first person to take issue with the way I write Locke, and I can only say I'll try and make him less ooc from now on. He's still way too serious in this chapter, but I couldn't see any other way to do the one scene he was in... As for Setzer, he's my favorite after Terra, and I'm looking forward to writing him. BTW, about your evil machine... do you suppose a tinfoil hat would do any good?
LadyAegis: Sorry to disapoint you, but while Edgar and Terra will come to trust each other, this is highly unlikely to be a T/E romance. I've just never liked that pairing, for absolutely no logical reason at all...
ooo
Chapter 9: Kefka
ooo
Standing at the point
The road it cross you down
What is at your back
Which way do you turn
Who will come to find you first
Your devils or your gods
Tracy Chapman, Crossroads
ooo
King Edgar had invited Terra to explore the castle, and she saw no reason not to. In truth, it seemed like a perfect opportunity to learn. Like a drowning woman, she was caught up in matters she knew next to nothing about, and she needed to figure out how to swim quickly, before she was swept under. But it was more than the earth-shaking events she needed to know about, the sweeping tides of politics and war – she wanted to understand how the world worked, all the little things that people took for granted, the mannerisms and nuances of everyday life. And so she set out to explore the life within Figaro's fortress walls, to learn what she could through observation and conversation.
Most people were only too happy to accommodate her curiosity, once they got past the strangeness of her appearance. It seemed both she and Locke had been declared honored guests of the king, to be granted every courtesy and luxury that Figaro had to offer. She wondered where the thief was, but no one seemed to know – or perhaps, no one was willing to tell her – and she never chanced upon him in her wanderings.
She explored everywhere, fascinated and almost overwhelmed by the bustle of life in the castle. It seemed everyone had something to be doing or somewhere to be going; Figaro was its own microcosmic universe, one that had no place for strangers. There were few enough places she wasn't allowed – a basement from which the ever-present hum of machinery seemed to be emanating, for example – and these she was turned away from gently, if firmly. Even the castle's dungeons were open to visitors; from what Terra saw, Edgar seemed to treat his prisoners well, which made her feel a little better about the man. Even so, the small cells made her feel claustrophobic and nervous, as though she was the one looking out from behind bars, and she left Figaro's small jail quickly.
The castle's inhabitants chatted readily about almost everything, from the most mundane to the most serious. She listened to guards who spoke of their worries of war, or discussed the recent attack on Narshe in hushed tones, mingling fact and rumor in a witch's brew of fear. She heard the harmless gossip of maids and other workers, most of which seemed to concern the king's romantic life. Apparently Locke was right, the man did flirt with anything that moved, though whether or not any of his advances had any seriousness to them was sometimes difficult to ascertain.
She heard of Edgar's twin brother, whispered about more quietly than even news of war, a man who had traded the throne for his own freedom. The castle matron, a stern woman dressed in green silks, told her of the runaway prince, and the coin-toss that had decided the kingdom's fate. Terra found the woman's description of young Edgar a little surprising. The angry, idealistic boy-prince the matron spoke of seemed difficult to reconcile with the smooth talking, guileful man she had met, and she had to wonder which image was closer to the truth.
Most people of Figaro seemed to view their ruler with not simply respect but true fellowship; there was little distance between king and commoner here. There was even a little girl who announced cheerfully that she was going to marry the king when she was all grown up. Terra had to smile at that, but it was a strange, tight smile. There was something about the simple, untainted happiness in the child's smile that provoked in Terra a complex, bittersweet emotion, one she could find no name for. Envy, perhaps, or loss, though neither of those labels seemed to fit quite right. She looked away, an almost painful tightness rising in her chest and the back of her throat, though she told herself that she wasn't going to cry. She turned abruptly then and left the room without looking back, and found her way – brushing angrily through halls and up staircases, not caring where she was wandering – to the castle library.
The library was located at the top of a tower close to the castle's east wing. It was a tall, airy room full of dust and sunlight, with cobwebs hanging in the corners and tall shelves running in rows across the polished wooden floor. Leather-bound books of all sizes lined the walls, or were piled haphazardly on various desks and tables, along with ancient and fragile-looking scrolls of parchment or vellum. Robed men and women sat reading and writing amid heaps of books, or talking quietly – for the most part. But the still air was broken by raised voices in one musty corner: Terra had stumbled into an argument in progress.
"I'm telling you," one bespectacled man was saying, quite heatedly, "they never existed. Not even in the good old days, not even with all the myths and nursery rhymes you can dig up. There is absolutely no reliable scientific evidence-"
He was cut off by the other man, who responded angrily, "The king seems to think they do. I suppose he's gone crazy, then? And everyone in Vector too? Scholars all over the world are researching magic, and I think-"
"No, you don't think, and neither does any so-called scholar that believes that kind of trash. Espers and mage knights…" the first man sneered disgustedly. "Silly people, those scholars."
Terra stood suddenly paralyzed, watching the two of them in transfixed silence, her hands clenched tightly at her sides. She was distinctly uncomfortable and knew she was being impolite, but she could not bring herself look away. They were discussing – or more accurately, shouting about – matters that might seem academic to them, but every word hit her mind with the force of a hammer blow. She knew that magic existed. She knew only too well. It was a part of her; the heat and life of it flickered along her veins and every cell of her body, burning low and soft but always there, ready to spark into a destroying blaze. A part of her… but not one she understood, or felt confidant in controlling. These two fools didn't seem to know any more about true magic than their own wild speculation and opinions, but even so, hearing them talk about such things was… jarring.
She hovered there for a painfully long moment, torn between interrupting the argument and demanding to know what King Edgar really wanted with magic – and with her – and fleeing the room altogether. She wasn't sure what finally broke her trance, if it was some rustle of paper or fragment of conversation that brought her back to herself or if she had simply heard more than she could take about whether or not magic was truly capable of annihilating entire armies. All she knew was that suddenly she had to get out of there. For the second time that day she fled, running from herself as much as from anything else.
She fetched up at the bottom of the tower, breathing hard and trembling in the desert sun, and not from exhaustion. She leaned against the sun-warmed side of the tower, feeling the solidity and strength of the stone beneath her shaking hands. Her fingers strayed to the crimson jewel at her throat, hanging there like a tiny star, warm with magic. The gem was set in gold, polished smooth and illuminated from within like a glowing ember, and when she touched it she could feel a slight magical charge leap across to her fingers like a static shock, a tiny echo of her own power. She had no more memory of the pendant than anything else, but it belonged to her in a way nothing else in the world did – her gift, her responsibility, its weight in her hand a comforting certainty. It was a link to a life before her awakening in a strange city, and an anchor in a sea of strangeness. She gripped the pendant tightly, willing herself to be strong, and slowly, calm returned. Standing there with the harsh desert light pouring down and the midday shadows falling black around her, she came to a decision: No more running. She may not understand what her place was in this grand tapestry of war and manipulation, but she knew at least one person who did. This time she would not be misdirected or sent off chasing illusions. This time she wanted answers.
ooo
When she approached the throne room she was alone, but the guards made no move to stop her, only watching her with blank and resolute faces. She pushed open the heavy wooden doors and stepped hesitantly inside, her old certainty faltering as she prepared to face King Edgar again. His majesty was inside, leafing through a stack of what looked like mechanical diagrams, a quill pen stuck behind his ear and an ink stain on one cheek. He glanced up as she entered, a charming and possibly even genuine smile spreading across his face.
"Well?" he inquired politely, "How do you like my castle?"
Terra opened her mouth to answer, but before she could speak a word she found herself shoved aside from behind, an anxious guard brushing past her to kneel before the king.
"Your majesty," the man panted, out of breath and red in the face, "A man from the Empire! Here, to see you! We didn't even see him coming. I don't understand how that could have happened… He's waiting in the courtyard, your majesty."
Edgar cursed under his breath, setting his papers aside and rising to his feet, and gesturing the nameless soldier to do the same.
"Probably Kefka… I don't think he'll try anything yet," he said to the guard, "but if he does, you know the drill. Has the engine room been alerted?" Kefka… Terra was suddenly unable to still a shudder, the blood draining from her face at the sound of those two innocuous syllables. Like the slave crown Arvis had shown her, the sound of that name sent icy fingers crawling down her spine, opening a dark chasm in Terra that she hadn't known existed.
The guard nodded, and Edgar continued, "Good. I'll take care of this personally." He removed the quill from his ear and wiped the ink off his face, adjusted his silk coat and the thin golden circlet on his head, and suddenly he looked very much the king. He turned to Terra, his eyes commanding.
"You stay out of sight." He told her. "Even if this has nothing to do with you, which I find frankly doubtful to say the least, I think it best if Kefka doesn't know you're here."
Terra still wasn't sure whether she liked the king or not, and she certainly didn't trust him, but what he said rang true. Letting this Kefka see her seemed like a very bad idea indeed. She certainly didn't want to set eyes on the man – but at the same time, she almost had to. She wasn't certain she could stand the idea of the man so close but out of sight.
"Is there… is there somewhere that I can watch from safety?" she asked, trying and failing to keep the tremor from her voice. The king looked at her sharply. His face was carefully blank, but an unreadable emotion flickered in his eyes and was gone. Pity?
He watched her for a second, then said, "As you wish, my lady." He gestured to the guard still standing at attention. "Take her to one of the spy-holes on the second floor. And stay with her."
"Sir." The guard said with a sharp salute, then, addressing Terra. "If you will come with me, milady?"
Terra hurriedly followed the nameless guard up a flight of stairs and into a small room overlooking Figaro's courtyard. Archery slits lined the plain walls, allowing the castle's defenders to rain death down on an invading army, though judging by the dust coating the bare floor, it had been quite a while since the room was used in such a manner. Even so, the thin windows – disguised so as to be undetectable to an observer on the ground floor – served the purpose of allowing a person to watch unseen.
Terra peered down at the scene before her, her breath catching in her throat. She could see clearly from this height, every detail picked out by the bright midday light and her own sharp eyes. Standing impatiently in the sandy courtyard, flanked by two brown-uniformed soldiers, was a figure she knew on sight to be Kefka. With white greasepaint rubbed across his thin, delicate features and an elaborate costume, complete with cape, puffed sleeves and a lacy ruff around his neck, the man looked like nothing so much as a carnival doll. The sight would have been ridiculous, but for the emotions it invoked in her, sick fear and a dull, helpless rage. A low growl rose in her throat at the sight of the man, and her fingers clenched reflexively around the hilt of her sword, prompting the guard to look at her askance and step away nervously.
She could kill the man from here, she realized. But not without harming the king too; Edgar was down there as well, already exchanging false pleasantries with the Imperial ambassador, wearing that dashing smile of his like a shield. Close as the two were, Terra would be unable to cast a spell without affecting them both. Anyway, she realized, such an action would not be without consequence for the inhabitants of Figaro, the very people she had talked to today. She couldn't bring Imperial retribution down on their heads, no matter what happened. The very idea made her slightly sick.
Their voices were faint, but easily audible to her keen senses. She leaned forward, straining to hear every detail and nuance of the conversation. She knew that the easy thing, the smart thing for Edgar to do would be to turn her in right now and forget about the whole matter. He owed her nothing, and Kefka seemed like a dangerous man to cross. She held her breath and stared down at the two figures, waiting for the words to come.
ooo
Edgar strode into the sandy, sunlit courtyard, his face set in a friendly mask. Waiting impatiently, with an arrogant tilt to his pointed chin and a sneer curling his thin, blood-red lips, was General Kefka himself, mad buffoon that he was. The man, decked in beads, feathers and bright colors, looked nothing short of outrageous, his high cheeks touched with crimson paint and his eyes dark. The two Imperial officers behind him were faceless in their brown helmets, but the way they constantly shifted on their booted feet betrayed a nervousness that Edgar suspected had everything to do with their commander's volatility.
The king stepped forward to greet the trio, offering a low bow. He hated doing this, hated playing the fool and the sycophant, but once again he was faced with no choice. He knew he was good at it, at that, and as long as such deception was necessary he might as well make a pretty show of it.
"What brings Lord Kefka, humble servant of his Imperial Majesty, into our lowly presence?" Edgar asked, infusing his voice with careful respect. He grimaced inwardly – I'm really laying it on thick – but he knew that such behavior, genuine or not, was exactly the sort of thing that would please this pompous clown.
"A girl of no importance recently escaped from us," Kefka replied, glancing around the courtyard as though he expected to see his quarry hiding in some shadow. "We heard she found refuge here…"
Edgar tilted his head in a curious, considering gesture, radiating slightly inquisitive innocence. He thought for a moment, letting the silence build up. Time to put him on edge, the king decided.
"This wouldn't have anything to do with this witch everyone's been whispering about, would it?" the he mused aloud. "They say she's gone renegade…" Now he'll have to wonder who else out there knows… Locke had explained the situation earlier that morning, and as far as he knew the two of them were the only ones out there to know that the Imperial Sorceress had turned traitor, but Kefka had no way of knowing that.
"Lies!" Kefka said emphatically, his high voice tinged with alarm. "She… she merely stole something of minor value. Now, is she here or not?!" Edgar almost laughed. Not a very good liar, are you…
He shrugged languidly, scrubbing a hand through his blonde hair. "That's a tough one," he said cheerfully.
"You see," he continued, gesturing widely at the desert around him, "There are more girls here than grains of sand out there. I can't possibly keep track of them all!" Kefka's irritation was almost palpable, and Edgar grinned. The Imperial general was in quite the situation… he had come expecting immediate and cowering obedience, and came unprepared for an attack. Instead he found himself met with a friendly, foolish blank wall, revealing nothing and conceding nothing. The man knew Edgar was holding something back, but at the moment there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Excellent, Edgar thought to himself, savoring the impotent rage in the general's eyes. The thing only thing that makes this game worth playing is that sometimes you win.
Kefka moved like an adder, lunging forward to catch the king around the throat. He lifted Edgar off his feet, those thin limbs betraying a deceptive, inhuman strength.
"I'd hate to be you if we find out you're lying," the general hissed, fixing Edgar with a venomous stare. Edgar met his hate-filled gaze, staring into the pit of madness looming behind those dark eyes, and did not look away.
Kefka dug his sharp fingernails into Edgar's neck, his sudden, snarling smile flecked with spit and madness. Unflinching, the king offered a smile of his own, ignoring the pain and the small worm of fear twisting in his heart. He won't try anything now. He's crazy, but he's not stupid… he knows that if I'm harmed he won't leave here alive. Sure enough, Kefka flung him down on the sand after a few moments, conceding temporary defeat. Edgar went sprawling, but got up smoothly, brushing the sand from his silk coat, appearing completely unfazed.
The madman regarded him with virulent contempt, snarling like a rabid dog. "I truly hope nothing happens to your precious Figaro," the man managed to sneer, then stalked off the way he had come, those soldiers following on his heels. As soon as the general was beyond the castle walls, Edgar drew a ragged breath, tension draining from him and leaving him feeling weak and drained. He rubbed at his neck, and his fingers came away red.
"Damn," he managed, forcing his voice to sound casual. "There goes that collar. I hate when he does that." It wouldn't do for the inhabitants of Figaro to see their leader shaken.
Locke stepped into the courtyard, leaving whatever hiding place he had occupied during the confrontation. Edgar had no doubt that his old friend had heard every word that had been spoken.
"I'd say that guy's missing a few buttons…" the thief muttered, tapping his head knowingly.
"Have you seen the girl?" Edgar asked him, suddenly remembering the sorceress's presence. He wondered what she had made of the conversation.
As if on cue, Terra materialized, peeking cautiously from behind the castle door. Edgar blinked in shock when he got a good look at her face: she looked haggard, ashen, her exotic eyes wide and darting around the courtyard. She looked hunted. Appropriate, since it certainly seems that she is… It wouldn't be safe to keep her in Figaro for much longer, for her or anyone else.
Edgar didn't understand how the Empire had found the girl so fast. He had no doubt that the Vector had its spies in the castle, but the speed of the response completely ruled out their involvement in the matter. The only possibility was that the Kefka knew to consider Figaro a possible refuge for enemies of the Empire. It wasn't a pleasant thought.
As for the girl… Edgar had no idea what to do with her in the long run, but for now she looked like she needed nothing more than time to rest and unwind, a bit of peace and solitude.
"Maybe you should show her to her room…" Edgar said to Locke. "she looks pretty beat."
The thief shrugged. "Sure." He turned to Terra. "C'mon, follow me. It'll be all right, Edgar knows what he's doing… most of the time…" Terra's mouth quirked into a slight smile at that, but her eyes didn't lose their hunted look. Edgar sighed… he wished she could find some security within the walls of his castle, but he honestly doubted anywhere was safe from the Empire anymore. He wouldn't be surprised to face an attack before tomorrow was over.
"I'd love to chat with you," he said brightly to Terra, smoothly assuming the role he was known for, "but the chancellor and I must plan our strategy." He sighed genteelly. "Sometimes I truly hate being a king… If you'll excuse me, my lady?" He bowed elaborately, and strode off into Figaro's halls, plans already circling in his mind.
ooo
Terra followed Locke to a small tower room, furnished simply but comfortably with a carved wooden dresser, a tall mirror, high-backed chair with velvet cushions, and what did indeed appear to be a feather bed with silk sheets. Locke plopped down in the chair, crossing his legs comfortably on the footrest, and motioned her to take the bed. She sat down stiffly, sinking into the soft mattress with a start.
"Don't you worry 'bout a thing!" he was saying enthusiastically. "I'll – "
"Locke?" she interrupted quietly.
"Yeah?"
"What does Edgar want? With me, I mean?"
Locke thought silently for a moment, then said slowly, "It's a long story. On the surface Edgar pretends to support the Empire, but in truth he's collaborating with the Returners. That's an organization devoted to opposing the Empire. I," he added with an exaggeratedly self-satisfied air, "am his contact with that group."
"The old man you met in Narshe is also one of us," he added, seemingly as an afterthought.
"Empire…" Terra mused, staring down at her hands. "The soldiers who chased me in Narshe said I was an Imperial soldier."
Locke shook his head emphatically. "No! No, that's not true at all! They were using you!"
Terra looked up, watching him uncertainly. Arvis had said the same thing, and she didn't doubt it, but who was to say that these Returners weren't using her as well, in their own way? She certainly made a powerful enough weapon.
She shook her head savagely, fighting back tears. It hurt to doubt Locke, but at the moment it was hard for her to trust anyone.
"But not anymore," the thief promised, looking into her eyes. "Things are different now…" She looked away.
"I don't understand…" she whispered. "What should I do?"
"I can't tell you that," Locke said gently, "but I can tell you one thing: you don't have to decide anything right now."
He got up and walked over to where she was sitting, smiling a reassuring smile.
"Don't worry," he said, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "You'll soon find your way."
She jerked her hand away, snarling. Surely the idiot had learned not to touch her by now! Then, realizing what she had done, she looked down in shame. Locke had treated her with nothing but kindness; he wasn't the sort to hurt anyone.
"I don't… I…" she said weakly, turning away from the thief's comforting eyes.
"Go away!" she snapped suddenly. "Leave me alone. Just… go. Please."
"All right." Locke said, maddeningly reasonable. "I'm sorry. I'll talk to you later." With that, he stepped calmly out of the room, the door swinging shut behind him with a click. He's sorry? Terra thought in despairing disbelief. I snap at my only friend like a beaten dog, and he's sorry?
She fell backward on the bed with a soft poof, her arms spread out beside her, staring at the ceiling with tears blurring her vision. She had to make a choice, she knew. She could join the Returners in their fight, continuing to let herself be used as a weapon for a cause and a group she knew next to nothing about. She could trust Locke, the man who had saved her life, and Edgar, who had risked his life and kingdom for her today. Or she could turn away from them and their war, refusing to let herself be an instrument of destruction any longer. Locke had told her she had to find her own way.
"But…" she said aloud, "how will I know which way is right…"