The fields near Claiborne seemed even emptier, now that the drifter team knew why it was so. Clive intentionally kept a few paces behind the others, looking sadly at his feet. It was a personal precaution, he didn't know what would happen if he let his guard down, and he honestly didn't want to find out. Clive adjusted his glasses and sighed, his life had suddenly taken a drastic turnaround in the last two days, it was hard for him to grasp. A week ago, he never would have believed he'd become one of the entities he had tried so hard to exterminate. Indeed, fate had a truly wicked sense of humour.
Clive entertained another sobering thought. The sniper was practically a nervous wreck, how could he go home to his family like this? Catherine, he would worry Catherine, and Kaitlyn… he didn't think he could face them right now. As a demon, maybe it would be better if he never saw them again. Clive was tempting fate just remaining with Virginia and the others, but he simply refused to roll the dice with his family's safety. He stopped walking, deeply considering heading in the opposite direction.
Daddy. You have to help me, you have to wake up and come home… Please…
No, Clive couldn't stay. He had to pick himself up from the ground and keep on walking, for Kaitlyn's sake, for everyone. "Keep your weapons loaded at all times near me, and stay an arm's length away." Clive cautioned the others wearily as he held the teleport orb out for them to touch. "I am unable to guarantee your safety in my company anymore." he focused upon the glittering jewel, the result a beautiful crimson glow enveloped the gem and sent pulsing arcs of harmless red electricity up his arm. The sensation always took a few moments to get used to, his arms was beginning to feel immaterial, because it was losing it's volume and mass. Jet, Virginia and Gallows set their hands on top of his, the teleportation magic dividing itself equally among the four companions.
"If that's what you want," Gallows replied, feeling the temperature of the orb increase as more power was generated. "But you know, we trust you." He added, nodding at Jet and Virginia.
"Don't trust me," Clive implored, reflecting on the two merchants lying as buzzard-fodder somewhere around the plains. He would have liked to give them a proper burial, but an inner force told him that time was of the essence and he had to leave as soon as possible. They had trusted him, Roykman and Travis, for the briefest of moments, and look where it got them. A needless and terrible demise. "Please don't try. It would be folly."
"Humphrey's Peak," Said Jet, ignoring everyone and directing the power of the teleport orb to a certain location. His machine gun was already loaded, Jet would defend himself from anyone if he had to, even Clive. He didn't particularly relish the idea, but Jet knew demons, they can be very unpredictable. "Take us there." He looked over at Virginia, she had her eyes shut in concentration and she didn't notice Jet's stare. The desire for transportation had to be a completely mutual one, and Jet briefly felt the grass underneath his shoes blur and shift to rocky stone. It got a little warmer, and when he opened his eyes, the barren wasteland of the East Highlands greeted him, arguably, the place where he was born. Leyline Observatory was not too far away.
The town they found themselves at the outskirts of was like a small oasis in the craggy arid wilderness, it comfortingly called out to them from it's locale, like a diamond in the rough. Actually, it had been an oasis long ago, which was the chief reason why it was founded in that area, an underground spring flowing forth clean water from beneath the quicksand seas. Traversing this area of Filgaia would have been an impossibility without the support of the town, and although the amount of drifters heading over to travel the highland's length and breadth was dwindling, the town still remained as charming as ever.
Clive thought it felt good to be so close to home again, but he could not shake the discomfort from his mind that something was missing, something was wrong. Virginia surprised him slightly when she moved closer to him and hooked her arm with his, and even though he self-consciously tried to pull himself away from her, she held him fast and he didn't want to risk hurting her, he was still adapting to his newly-found strength. The girl lead him to his house, Clive dragged his feet and tried to prolong the venture, but he could not postpone this reunion at all. He wanted to see Catherine and Kaitlyn again, but he wished it would be under different circumstances.
It felt good to have the familiar cobblestones under his feet once more, and looking far ahead with his extra-sharp vision, he could see that the fountain was working, no longer a dried monolith, but sending a sparking stream of crystal-clear water up into the air, the foliage surrounding the fount greener and undoubtedly more beautiful. Humphrey's Peak was much more alive than he remembered it, verdure lacing the pavements and the simple small gardens belonging to Clive's neighbours. Gallows was humming another tune of catchy annoyance, the kind that sticks in your head and won't go away. He could also hear birds chirping in the trees, a beautiful melody that was not present before, the birds must have changed their migrant direction since the planet's regenerative process had begun.
Blue roof, he could see it straight ahead of him, home. Clive was going home. The memory figure in the town square recognised him and clicked happily in greeting, bouncing cutely in it's place. The sniper returned the sentiments by smiling and nodding a hello, offering the machine a small wave. He wasn't expecting a welcoming committee, but he got one anyway. How unexpected. What was the figure's name again? Oin, he thought it was. Clive made a mental note to pay more attention to Oin when he saw it next, the poor thing seemed attention-starved.
He waited with patience for the other two to catch up, forcing Virginia to stand still for a moment. Nobody had said a word since they had arrived here, nobody wanted to. What would they find, and what was so important and pressing to Clive that they had to come here on the double? Reading the look on the sniper's face, they could tell he was wondering the same question himself.
Hesitantly, Clive grasped the brass doorknob, intrigued that the cold piece of metal seemed to be actually warmer than himself. Virginia let go of his arm as Clive swallowed hard and gently turned the knob, pushing the door in. It made a slight creaking noise, that to Clive's mind, went on forever. His house felt abandoned and vacant, he stepped inside looking around the room for one of the members of his family. His hand went to the back of his head, straightening out his short green ponytail, the other one shoved self-consciously in his pocket. "Catherine, I'm… home." He stepped forward to allow room for the others to enter. Everything was so quiet, why was it so quiet?
Movement, somebody stood up from the leather couch, Clive hadn't noticed her because she had been sitting so still, head bowed low with long chestnut hair obscuring her face. Her hands were held in front of her body, she produced a quiet melancholy, Clive could sense it as easily as he breathed. She walked around the coffee table, laden with many books and sheets of yellowed paper, unending fragments of spidery text scribbled all over it's surface, marked with coffee rings and blotches of ink. She must have been sorting through them only a short while ago, because the musty scent Clive could detect was barely present in the air and around the room. They were his things, his old notes and books. She moved up close to him, scarcely a foot away, and she looked up at him, eyes clear and dry, but hardly containing her sadness. They both made an invisible connection, and Clive's heart fell to his feet. Something was terribly amiss. "Good gods, what is wrong?" He demanded softly, gently reaching out and touching her shoulder.
Catherine crumpled in his arms, grabbing the sniper for support and burying her face in his chest. Clive did not expect the sudden contact, but instinctively wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, stroking her light brown hair. Catherine was a little surprised at how cold her husband was, he didn't generate any body heat. But, he was here, he made things seem a little bit better. "Honey," She murmured, eyes open a slit and forcing tears not to emerge from them, "She's gone."
He crouched down slightly so that they were at the same height, tilting her chin up with one ice cold finger. "Who is gone? It is not…" Clive trailed off, refusing to believe what he was considering. He didn't want to be correct, he prayed to the Guardians that he was wrong. "Kaitlyn?" He finished, evaluating Catherine's reaction intensely, trying to find any indication that he was mistaken on his wife's face.
She banished a sob and removed one arm from around his back to search the pocket of her white apron, removing an opened white envelope made of a very high-quality material. She pressed the document in Clive's hands and journeyed back to the couch where she sat down heavily, motioning for the drifters standing behind Clive to join her. Jet found a good wall to lean against while Virginia sat next to Catherine and Gallows plonked himself on a chair nearby. "Read it." She said with simplicity, appearing calmer than how her heart felt. Virginia looked to the woman, she seemed to be barely holding her unshed tears back under a barrier of incredible willpower. Her grey eyes were steeled defensively, it looked admirable on Catherine in such a situation. She must be a very strong person.
Clive pulled out an expensive sheet of perfectly white pressed paper from the envelope, marked with a deep rich ink, jet black, written with an extraordinarily steady and skilled hand, a beautiful and flowing text cascading down the page. Tension built in the atmosphere as Clive read through it slowly, going over every word with deliberate patience. He lowered his hands and the letter, his fingers went limp and he almost dropped the piece of paper. It all made sense now, his dream. Clive's grip tightened ferociously on the letter, squeezing it severely into a mess of it's former self. He evenly met the eyes of everyone in the room, his gaze like a cold blue fire, even dimmed behind his glasses, it made the three drifters fearful of his intentions. "There is no profanity," He growled softly to the others, "I can immediately think of, suitable enough to utter against this, this atrocity…" He tossed the paper on the low coffee table, his hand was trembling with a suppressed demonic rage. Catherine nodded, holding a hand to her face to keep a sob from coming out. "How dare they… I will not relent…" He moved over and took Catherine's hand, feeling her squeeze his in a sharing of emotion. "I… grah!" He meant to say something extra, but it had ended up in a low growl of frustration, unaware that he was beginning to act less human. Clive started to pace in a dangerous way, like a wild animal locked in a small barred cage, yearning for release.
Virginia picked up the letter herself, smoothing out the creases Clive had placed in it and tried to read it through, having slight difficulty because the handwriting was a little hard to decipher. "Dear Mr. Winslett," She read out loud so all could hear, "It is with great regret that I must inform you, though I bear no personal discontent on your remarkable evasion of the law myself, that certain recent transpirations in my livelihood force me to confer upon you a reminder of your position and status amongst the community. As you no doubt are aware of, a handsome reward has been placed upon your head and the heads of your companions, and I should like to assume that reward for myself, as a legitimate helping hand of the bounty-hunting network. I harbour no illusions of the reputation your team has accomplished to earn, and as a precaution to my own health, I have taken an indirect strategy to accomplish this task." She paused for a short while to see the reactions of everybody else.
"Sheez," Remarked Gallows, "'Sounds like that guy musta' read the dictionary, or something."
"There's more," Virginia added, looking back down on the paper. She did not like the sound of this message, not one bit. "You may have, by now, noticed that you are missing one member of your family. I assure you ardently that no harm has come to her, whether determined by a bodily or mental state. That condition, however, will undergo an extreme alteration depending on whichever course of action you and your team chooses to undertake. In three days, if you do not turn yourself in to the proper authorities or make any reply to this message, it is with a heavy heart that she will be returned to your care…" Virginia's voice faltered on the next sentence, going a little hoarse, "… In a plastic bag headed for the mortuary. For the sake of your daughter, Mr. Winslett, I hope you make the right decision and accept my generous offer, for I have no desire to see the child harmed in any way. You have three days, turn your team in, courtesy of my initial to the law, and a life will be saved. The rest is up to you. Signed," The female drifter squinted at the weird-looking hieroglyph, at least that was what it seemed to her, "A letter that kinda looks like an 'R'."
Clive still paced, breathing heavily and appearing to Virginia, at least, like he was mimicking the behavioral patterns of a pissed-off wolf. "They will kill her," He growled, "No, I cannot let that happen." Clive didn't know what to do. The sentence for the so-called 'crime' they had committed was a public hanging, and knowing they were innocent, he couldn't hand himself and his friends over to a swift death, an unjust one. But if he reserved that, Kaitlyn would be dead. Dead, in three days. Why him? Why now, when he was just hitting the bedrock of his spiritual integrity? His luck must have really been down, lately.
"I guess we turn ourselves in." Jet considered out loud, pushing himself up from his slouching position against the wall. "I'd rather not hafta fight myself out of a hanging house, but I'll do it, you know." The drifter would rather bust up a few ugly heads than see that little blonde girl in danger. He groaned inwardly, maybe Virginia was right, was he growing a heart? But, if it gave him an excuse to fight, then why not?
"You will do no such thing," Clive argued with influencing finality, "I won't allow it. I will not let you jeopardize your own safety on account of my family, and the reverse is also true. I will not let the people I care about become a scapegoat, if anything, save that position for me." He tapped himself on the chest for emphasis. Clive didn't care how hurt he got, but he would not let anyone else suffer.
"You are forgetting one important fact, honey," Catherine interrupted Clive's rant quietly, putting her hand on one of Clive's many old notebooks and pushing it forward. "If you lose your calm in these situations, you will most definitely take the wrong course of action. Remember what Father always used to say? Looking for a shortcut can lead you astray. I know you are upset, I am too, but you must think clearly and objectively if you wish for any progress to be made." She opened the book and flipped through the pages, the drifter team could see many different variations of handwriting in the book, like it had belonged to a whole group of people, instead of just Clive by himself.
"Catherine," He said, shocked out of his anger for a few moments, "I had almost forgotten such advice. Thank you, you are right. I must… calm down." He exhaled deeply, trying to vent out his fury. Catherine held out the book she was holding, passing it to Clive and pointing to a particular page. The sniper looked at it, it was a short narrative about the thrills of the Gunner's Heaven, definitely not written by him, but this book was well over a decade old and anybody could have been the author. He had no idea why she was showing him this, but it had to make some kind of sense to her, though he knew not what it was. He gave up trying to figure it out after several different directions of thought, and decided to ask her himself. "I do not understand." He admitted.
"The handwriting, compare it to the written letter." She advised, taking the note from Virginia who held out her hand obligingly. Clive set the book down next to the note that she laid out and removed his glasses momentarily for a better look, forgetting that it made no difference to his sight. Gallows leaned into the congregating circle of people, wanting to see everything for himself. "See? They are remarkably similar. I have been checking through these notes for hours, and I had only recently found a match. I'm glad you came home in time, honey, I was beginning to get very worried."
"Who is the author of this narrative?" Clive asked his wife, but she could give no reply. She didn't know. But, he must have been aquatinted with the kidnapper some time ago, if this evidence proved to be correct, which he hoped it was. Over ten years ago, who had he known who could write with such a flourish? It was hard to remember, with the Yggdrasil accident, everybody's memories were fuzzy in that time. He had a weird sensation, but that might just be his feeling of cold foreboding that had settled around him all day, since he had woken up from his dream. "It must start with an 'R'… Catherine, do you recall…" Clive cut off his own sentence, a revelation flooding through his mind. To everyone else, it looked like Clive had just swallowed a fly by the unusual face he made.
Virginia whapped him on the back just in case he had. Clive barely registered the hit and slowly put his glasses back on, like a man who had suddenly seen pigs fly. The sniper picked up the wrinkled letter, holding it firmly in both hands. "I… think I… know." He whispered, stepping away from everybody else. "Oh my…" Virginia looked expectant of an explanation, so Clive tried his best to elaborate.
"Does the book tell you anything?" Catherine asked, gathering up the other books and notes, piling them neatly in the centre of the table. Gallows helped her along, having nothing else useful to do.
Clive almost laughed, looking at Catherine and then Virginia. In an unexpected movement, the sniper held the piece of paper up near his face, his eyes scarcely a few inches away from the letter. He closed them and concentrated in a similar way to aiming an ARM or generating an Arcana, trying to ignore the series of eyes focused upon him. "The book tells me nothing," He admitted whilst in the midst of concentration, "But the letter speaks otherwise."
"Here we go," Jet muttered quietly under his breath, "Spooky demon powers ahoy." Jet was feeling defensive, mostly because Clive was beginning to tick him off. The silver-haired boy had taken Clive's outbursts with patience, he knew things that shattering would be traumatic for everyone, but he had gone though the same during the fight against Beatrice, and he was alright with it, discovering he was the 'Sample', despite his wishes for it not to be. Being a demon was only slightly different, in Jet's perception, and he really thought that Clive was only being babyish about it. It probably wasn't that bad, maybe.
"I can hear you," Clive informed the boy, he was getting better at using his advanced hearing skill, "And if that is what you wish to call it, then do so. I do not care. The fact of the matter is…" He slammed the paper down on the coffee table and addressed the leader of the team firmly. "This paper smells like Ravendor!" Now that Clive was focused to the particulars of differentiating scent, he could catch a deep coating of cigarette smoke stuck to the immaculate message, combined with a sickly sweet odour of some kind of foreign perfume. The smell conjured up an image of the darkly handsome drifter, sitting by the roadside and smiling, so much like the devil himself.
Catherine dropped the books she was holding, as if the strength she possessed had suddenly faded away into non-existence. "Ravendor?!" She virtually yelled, "No, it can't be… You-you must be mistaken…" The woman moved to pick up the dropped books, her hands shaking. This was becoming too much for her, she was a naturally strong person, but one could only take so much until one reaches their limit. Catherine had almost reached hers. Ravendor was a name she had never wanted to hear again.
"I am not mistaken," Clive argued gently, their roles reversing and now it was Clive who tried to calm Catherine down. "I can recognize the scent, he has had his fingers all over this parchment, as far as I can tell." She didn't know he was a demon yet, and it really hadn't crossed his mind to explain it and why his senses had sharpened so. It would have helped him to convince her if he had. "What is the matter? Why are you so-"
She leant over and whispered something lengthy in his ear, Virginia strained to listen, but only heard the hushed murmuring of Catherine's voice. After a few moments, Clive's eyebrows knitted together and he jumped to his feet, startled. "You must surely be joking! I thought he was dea- … Oh, I see now." He started off incredulous, but ended up in bland realization, sighing. Clive raised his hands in a small defeat, a deepening feeling of depression consuming his anger and rendering it powerless. "I will be back in a few minutes. I think I need to change, or wash, or something." He stalked out of the room, shaking more particles of dust from his coat.
Hiding her face with her hands, Catherine let the completeness of the predicament sink into her mind, wanting to cry, but finding it simply impossible. She was far too upset to cry. Her little girl was out there in the dangerous wilderness with a band of scoundrels, and even worse, Ravendor was leading them. She must be scared half to death. A small hiccup escaped her throat, but was accompanied by nothing else. Virginia hugged her consolingly, telling the poor woman that it would all be alright, even though she didn't know what to do herself. The only consolation Catherine had, was that she could be absolutely positive that Ravendor would keep his word about not harming Kaitlyn until the third day, the man lied often, but this was one thing he would not tell an untruth about.
"This world is full of scum," Gallows stated vehemently, pounding a fist in his other hand, "But something like this… agh! I'm really, really sorry. This is all our fault. They want us, not little Kaitlyn…" The Baskar felt awful, being showered by constant fire was a thing he had gotten used to, but this was a new type of villain that knew how to hurt people, much worse. A long while passed, though it was probably only ten minutes at the max, it could have spanned an eternity from what the inhabitants of the living room guessed. Something needed to be said, but nobody knew what to say.
"Don't blame yourself," Catherine said through her misery, breaking the long silence, "It is nobody's fault, only the fault of the perpetrator. This is like a…a…"
"It feels like a ghost has risen, doesn't it?" Said Clive, returning wearing an unsoiled set of clothing, except for his old coat, which was still stained with blood. He had reloaded his ARM with the best quality ammo he could find in his drawers, and had reset the scope as effectively as he could. "A ghost I wanted to keep buried, but it seems that the wool has been pulled over both our eyes, if I had known, It's all my fault…"
Catherine raised a fine eyebrow. "What did I just say? It is nobody's fault. Then, and now." To the other drifters, they were having difficulty keeping up with the conversation, it was taking on a different meaning that they had no clue about. "I'm tired of you feeling guilty over it."
Clive looked self-consciously at Virginia and Co., shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I'm sorry," He apologised to his leader, "But may we continue this conversation with privacy?" He asked, gently putting an arm around his wife.
Virginia nodded and leapt to her feet, indicating for the others to imitate her. "Sure, we'll just be waiting outside."
"No, no." Clive objected, "You are the guests, we will only take a moment, we'll go outside. Please, sit down and relax." He walked with Catherine out the door, not giving Virginia any time to argue. What the sniper found outside filled him with both hope and despair, he knew his daughter inside and out and he sensed precisely which direction she had gone, but in realizing so, he knew that she was far away from here. The sense of smell is truly a remarkable ability, if used correctly. Clive knew what he had to do, and he had to do it quickly, if he was ever going to catch up.
"I will not let her die," He announced to Catherine doggedly, "I have to go… and I don't want anybody following me."
She was confused. "Why do you not want the other's help? Is there something I should know?"
"Catherine, listen to me." Clive ordered solemnly, shrugging off the large ARM strapped to his back. He held it by the barrel with a free hand, leaning it on the pavement. "I will find her, I can track her down. Trust me, you might have noticed this already, but I am not myself. I believe I know where she may be." He glanced back at the house where the three other people were inside. "The next time you see me, be prepared to acknowledge the inevitable without reservation. I know you are strong enough to do so. The others will protect you, and if you inquire, they can explain it better than I can." Clive pressed the barrel of the Gungnir into Catherine's hand, releasing his spirit's influence over the weapon. "They may need the reawakening of the Aegis, the defending shield. I am loathe to ask for this, but-"
"Clive you are rambling." Catherine corrected, accepting the gun and reaching her hand up to cup his cheek softly, ignoring how cold he felt. His chin was a lot smoother, he must have shaved a little while ago. He laid his hand over hers, she was so warm, and drew it off, lacing his fingers with hers. Catherine clicked the metal capping of the rifle on the pavement, continuing. "Remember these three things, no matter what. One, I love you. Two, your friends love you. Three, these two facts will never be in question. I will do what I can, you must go and find our daughter." She let go of his hand, standing on the tips of her toes and pulling him closer for a kiss, a goodbye kiss. Clive thought, dismally, that it might be his last one. He was having trouble seeing himself in the future anymore, it was like Filgaia was already beginning to reject him.
Clive turned and walked away, keeping in his memory Kaitlyn's familiar scent. It was old and barely there, many hours must have passed since she had been here last. The wind was low, which was a huge help, it would not blow the trail away. Clive paused abruptly, looking back at his wife standing near his house, holding the rifle ARM and waving. "I think I understand why I married you!" He called out from a distance.
"Why?!" Came the reply, Catherine amplifying her voice by holding her hands around her mouth, leaning the gun against her side.
"Because I would walk around in circles forever without your direction! I promise I will bring her home!" To himself he added, Whether I am a monster or not… Clive started to run away from the house, from his love, and his friends. A sense of urgency instilled itself in his heart. Ravendor… It had been years since he last heard that name. He should have recognised him instantly the other day, blast his fuzzy memory! Of course, he looked much older, but he really should have known. Well, how could he? Clive thought he was dead.
He paused at a lamp post, sniffing the air. The villain had reclined on this post some time ago, and Kaitlyn's scent had mingled with the cigarette smoke. Clive confirmed it, the ebony-haired man had kidnapped his daughter. Another bout of demonic rage built up inside him as Clive grabbed the post to steady himself, suppressing the urge to roar out an obscenity. They had left Humphrey's Peak, taking her into the wastelands.
Damn you, Ravendor! You snake, leave my family out of this!
There was an invisible trail that only Clive could follow, the trail of scent, and although it made Clive feel more animal than human, it was the only lead he had to their location, aside from a slight inkling, and he had to take it. Now, he was alone, he had left his team-mates behind. This was more important than what he was concerned with before, Kaitlyn meant the world to him. To Hell with the demon race, he was willing to stay one forever if it would only bring her back. He felt regretful for Virginia, what she would do was entirely up to herself now, Clive knew she would make the right choice. Catherine would take care of them.
Clive had three days to find Kaitlyn, before she was to be executed. But what he did not know, was that his own time was running out. His clock was ticking, sands running through the hourglass. He was almost upon a point where he could not turn back.
xxx
"How could people stoop so low?" Virginia asked the rest of her entourage, mainly Jet, in an empathetic anger. "She is only a little girl. And I thought the thugs we had met before were bad… Jet? Didn't you say you knew Ravendor?" Virginia pried again into Jet's short past. The boy made a non-committal grunt, confirming her inquiry.
"Kinda," He muttered, shrugging airily, "I already said this, we partnered for about a year or so. 'Real artsy-fartsy bloke, he pats you on the back with one hand and stabs you quickly with the other. He was…" Jet searched for a good summary of his character, "Politely ruthless." Jet could almost credit his former personality, the cold-hearted one, to the dark-haired drifter, something of his character had unintentionally stuck with him, Jet was just glad it wasn't the annoyingly formal accent. Having one person in the group with it was bad enough, for him.
"You think he'll make good on his word?" Gallows questioned anxiously, if there was one thing he hated to see, it was a girl in distress, especially the daughter of a friend. He knew what it was like to take care of a younger soul, the threat of losing them could chill the blood. Guardians knew he did, when Shane almost killed himself on the sacrificial altar.
"Undoubtedly." Said two voices at exactly the same time. Jet's eyes went to the door, wondering who had interrupted him, where Catherine stood sadly in the doorframe. She looked back at him, walking into the house. "Something is wrong with my husband," She stated, remarkably composed. "And I was informed I might get an explanation here. Please, start explaining." Catherine laid the Gungnir next to the door, standing firmly and crossing her arms.
"It's a loooong story." Gallows warned, stretching his arms out to accentuate the statement. "You sure you want to know?" Catherine's grey eyes became steel, and she appeared to be as resilient as a block of ice.
"I do believe," She replied curtly, "That I deserve an answer."