I like this chapter...I just really do. I spent a lot of time on it...and there's a few things summed up in this chapter, but unless you've been paying CLOSE attention to what Locke has said in a few chapters, you won't even notice it. Oh well...I do. lol! So, I was going to post two more chapters tonight...But I don't know if I'm even going to post what I had planned for chapter 30. It's already written out...it's done...and I like it...But it really deals with Espers and not the story of Locke. Therefore...I might...scrap it. Ohhh, that's painful to say. I don't know yet. I'm going to give myself some time to think about it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter...it's in 'before game' time...

29. The Patriarch

Everything was a blur to Locke. Never in his life had he felt more numb to anything. The tears flooding his eyes prevented him from seeing anything clearly, and although he wasn't looking at her, all he could see was the red of Rachel's blood. There was blood on his hands, clothes, and even dripping on the ground, but he wouldn't look down. Looking down at her would only prove to him what really happened, and he knew he had to keep his composure until he reached his destination.

She was in his arms as he walked toward the northern part of the continent. Although he knew the Northern Continent very well, he had never dared explored the tip of it. The peninsula split in two and was known as the 'Dragon's Peninsula,' for it looked like the shape of a dragon's head. Many stories were spread about it, stating it was haunted, therefore it was considered sacred ground and no one should step on it. Locke wasn't superstitious, but due to the fact that he never had any assignments dealing with the peninsula, he stayed away from it. Now he had specific reasoning to go that far north.

No one had ever lived there, save for a rumor of one man. He was once a very successful man who lived in Jidoor, but his wife and son were murdered several years ago. He proclaimed that he had the power to save them, but he was called insane for having such an accusation before he was able to act on his miracle. Before the funeral of his wife and son, he was sent to exile on the top of the peninsula where he continued to live in solitude and tried to atone for his past. Although Locke wasn't sure how much of the story was based on actual fact, he was desperate enough to try anything. He didn't know of any other solutions, so this was a risk he was willing to take.

Like a man possessed, he made his way through the plains, along the sandy coast line, oblivious of anything but the horizon, hoping to see the house. Ironically, the sun was shining, the birds chirping as they flew overhead, the sea gently crashing by his feet; there was innocence and peace in the air. It had been approximately an hour since the sounds of shrieking and flame had ceased to reach his ears, but it continued to echo in his mind over and over. He knew that sight and sound would never leave his memory.

Squinting from the bright sun, he noticed a dark shaded area to his left; the house. His heart was too heavy to become excited, but a small ray of hope shone down on Locke. Slightly picking up his pace, he held Rachel tighter to his chest and continued on his way.

Upon reaching the house, he saw a man clad in red robes kneeling in front of his shrubbery. Locke could hear him humming softly to himself as he tended to his garden. Although the shrubs and flowers were in perfect condition, the man still rummaged through to make sure that they were free of weeds and harmful insects. Occasionally he would stop humming and cock his head to the side to admire his work, but after a split second he would continue humming and resume his garden duties again.

Instead of stopping, Locke walked right toward the man, eager to know if there was some way to save Rachel and bring her back to life. Unlike his usual stealthy nature, Locke carelessly stepped on a tiny stick. It snapped as it broke from the pressure of his foot, startling the self proclaimed medicine man. He whipped around and placed his hand on his heart, nervously chuckling under his breath from the fright. Although he clearly saw the fallen girl in the young man's arms, he remained unalarmed. He calmly stood up and brushed his robes and hands free of dirt.

"Well, what have we here?" The man asked as he crossed his arms and bent over to get a closer look at Rachel's wound.

"The most important thing in my life," Locke stated as his voice broke. The patriarch looked up at him and didn't say anything, so Locke continued, his voice slightly wavering. "I need your help." With a brief nod, the man gave the young woman a once over then ushered Locke into his house.

Once inside, Locke looked around, shocked that the place was as untidy as it was. Bottles of potions were placed on various locations throughout the small one room house, books were strewn across the table leaving the bookcase rather bare, herbs placed in random spots in the area that Locke could see. He had to make a double take when he looked at the old grandfather clock that stood against the wall. Not only did it look worn out and tired, but the pendulum was ticking in an inconstant rhythm, and when he looked at it closer, it was clearly the wrong time.

"Place her on the table," the man ordered with a snap of his fingers in the correct direction. Blinking out of his daze, Locke exhaled, walked over to the table, and gently laid Rachel down. He lovingly stroked her hair, and as he retracted his hand he noticed that he had left a red smear from her own blood that coated his skin. Seeing the blood on his hands, he looked down to see that his clothes were stained a dark crimson from the liquid and felt his stomach slightly turn. With a shaky breath, he inhaled to rid the nauseous feeling from himself.

Locke watched the man take his glasses out of the case and placed them confidently on the bridge of his nose. He pursed his lips as he leaned in toward Rachel to investigate what happened to her. He lifted her hand for a pulse and shook his head when he couldn't find one, causing Locke to look away in pain. He knew that she was dead for he checked for her pulse numerous times back in Kohlingen. When he looked at the old man again, he saw that he had grabbed a knife from his pocket and cut open Rachel's dress, leaving her in only the slip she wore underneath. He looked at the delicate necklace around her neck and unclasped it.

"Um, I'll take that," Locke stated as he reached out his hand, his palm facing the ceiling. The patriarch gave him a queer look, but Locke motioned with his fingers. "I bought it for her. We were, um…we were engaged."

"Why isn't the ring on her finger?" The man asked as he held up the necklace and studied Locke.

"It's a long story, and I don't have time for stories right now," he responded fiercely as he again motioned with his fingers. "Now, give me the ring. Please."

With a sigh, the patriarch walked over to Locke and placed the necklace and ring in his hand. Locke held it up by the clasp to look at it, then coiled it back up in his other hand as he held back tears. He nodded with his head to the patriarch so he would continue inspecting Rachel. The patriarch wiped his hands on a towel as he walked back over to where the young woman was lying. With his bare hands, he gently pressed on the wound, letting the little remaining blood she had left excrete onto his fingers.

With a slight nod, he reached over to grab a clean cloth that was on the edge of a chair and wiped the blood from his hands. "Well, there's some good news."

"What's that?" Locke exclaimed as he felt his pulse start to race with hope. "Can she be saved?"

"I never said that," he answered with a slight giggle. His voice almost had a hint of excitement in it as he spoke, confusing Locke. "The good news is that it's not as bad as it looks."

"What?" Locke narrowed his eyes and rushed over to the table. The man continued to wipe his hands as he looked at the young woman. Locke wasn't sure if he heard his question or not, so he reiterated his statement. "What do you mean 'it's not as bad as it looks?' She's dead!"

"I mean, with my herbs and potions, I can preserve her." With a slight chuckle, he walked over to the cupboard and started grabbing several small bottles.

"Preserve her?" Locke asked, astonished. He shook his head in disbelief when the man turned around with five or six colored containers in his grasp. He tried not to raise his voice, but the frustration inside of him was building. "I don't want to 'preserve her.' I want to bring her back to life! I need her with me! You just don't understand!"

"The thing that you don't seem to understand, young man, is that she doesn't bear an everyday wound," the man began to explain calmly, clearly ignoring Locke's impatient and harsh tone. He grabbed the tea kettle off his stove and filled it with water without continuing.

"What do you mean?" Locke demanded. Although he knew the man was going to help him, he wasn't appreciating his short and noncommittal phrases. "Explain it to me, please!"

The man then placed the tea kettle back on the stove and turned on the flame to heat it up. Without facing Locke, he simply fussed through his potions and herbs to find the correct ones to add to the water, letting a silence linger in the air for several moments. "She was stabbed by an Imperial sword."

The image of the sword going through her stomach flashed in Locke's mind again against his will. Tears were starting to form again in his eyes, but he blinked them away and refused to let them fall. He was surprised how he was able to still have liquid left in his eyes after crying for so long. "I know. I…I was there when it happened."

"The thing is," the man continued after more silence as the tea kettle whistled. He walked over to the stove and started to add his random assortment of herbs to the boiling water, stirring every time he added a new substance. When he was satisfied with the mixture, he poured some of the liquid into a bowl and grabbed a clean cloth. As he spoke, he sprinkled more herbs onto the water and started to clean the blood off of Rachel. "The sword itself wasn't enough to kill her. You see, none of her vital organs were punctured. She would've survived if it were just the sword that went through her."

Locke shook his head in confusion with the man's talk. Briefly pausing, the man dipped the cloth into the medicated water and continued to clean the blood off of Rachel. "I don't understand you."

"Poison," he replied simply as he looked up from his work, peeking over the rims over his glasses at Locke. "I wasn't sure when I first heard word on the street about it, but after seeing her wound, the theory is confirmed; The Imperial soldiers now coat their swords heavily with poison. It's the sure way to kill things easily and instantly."

"But…but I have several antidotes with me," Locke exclaimed as he reached into his pack for the small bottles. "Besides, you're a medicine man, you should have a whole cupboard of antidotes around here somewhere! Poison is one of the most common ailments nowadays with the different fiends that have been roaming the world. I've had some pretty close calls myself, that's why I always carry the right supplies with me."

He held them up to show the older man, who responded with a sigh. "Your common everyday antidotes are no match for this kind of poison. This poison is purely magic. You need to fight magic with magic."

With a sigh of his own, Locke put the antidotes on the table and hung his head. "Rachel…So you mean these herbs have actually saved her? That's what you mean by 'preserving' her?"

"Of course! The love of your life with sleep here like this forever! She won't age a day!" He cried with another chuckle as Locke moved around the small bottles that he placed in front of him.

"What if there was some way to…call her back?" He asked as he slowly lifted his head up to face the man, who was still grinning idiotically.

"If you could call her back…she'd come back!" He responded as he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I've heard of you, Locke Cole. I'm sure you'll find something that'll bring her around!"

"How do you know my name?" Locke narrowed his eyes at the man in wonder, but the patriarch only continued to laugh.

"Is your name important? Besides the fact that you're a wonderful treasure hunter," he said as he looked at Rachel's wound and laughed again.

"I don't see the humor in this," Locke snapped with a harsh glare. He rested his hands on the table and leaned in toward the man. He waited until the patriarch's giggles ceased before he resumed. I'm not going to get anywhere with him giggling… "I will find a way to bring her back. Trust me."

"I wish you the best of luck. Until you do find something, I'll keep her here." He wrung out the blood soaked cloth in the water, turning it a hue of pink as he spoke. Locke was amazed how he could go from completely insane to serious in the time span of three seconds. He also felt uneasy leaving Rachel in the hands of a complete stranger, but he figured that was the only way to keep her safe. "However, I'm not doing this for my health you know."

Locke caught on and reached into his pockets for some gold pieces. "How much are we talking here? I probably shouldn't admit this, and I'm sure I'm going to regret saying it, but I'm willing to pay anything."

"How much do you have on you?" Locke half expected that answer, but he still signed, pulled out all he had, and showed it to the man. "7,500 gold pieces? That's a good start."

"A good start?" Locke swallowed the lump in his throat as he looked at the gold that was in his hand. He grimaced when he looked back up at the old man. "How much more are you going to want?"

"After the cost of the herbs and potions, I'm assuming at least 10,000 gold pieces more—"

"I'll pay it," he interrupted, shocking the old man. "She means everything to me. If you give me time to search for a way to bring her back, you're a savior in my book."

"Well, I do what I can," he said with another chuckle. He looked at Locke's bloodstained clothing and furrowed his forehead. "You should probably go change and get some rest. There's nothing more you can do here."

"I won't rest," Locke stated confidently as he started to itch a twinge that he felt on his shoulder. With a sharp inhale, he looked at his arm to see a rather large scrape up and down his upper arm. It took him a few seconds to remember that it was caused from the same man who killed Rachel, but when he did, rage swept through his body.

The old man grabbed another cloth out of the cupboard and held it under the running water from the sink. After it was wet, he grabbed a small purple bottle that was next to the sink and applied it to the rag. He walked back over to Locke and handed him the small piece of fabric. "Here, take it with you. It'll help the wound."

"Thanks," Locke replied quietly as he put it on his wound. The ointment that was placed on it burned the wound, but Locke gritted his teeth and put the ring that was in his hand into his pocket so he wouldn't lose it.

"Why are you not poisoned?" The older man asked Locke as he gently cleaned his own wound. "Were you two attacked by different soldiers?"

"Well, there were three soldiers to begin with, but the soldier that attacked me was the same soldier that murdered Rachel. The only difference is that the soldier used my own dagger to attack me because his sword was thrown off to the side when I knocked him down. When he went after Rachel, he grabbed his sword again. I guess he knew that the blow would be deadly with his weapon." With a nod, the man started to lead Locke out of the house, but Locke stopped in the doorway.

"What is it?" The old man asked as Locke turned toward Rachel again. Locke didn't respond, he only looked at her. He wanted to go over to her and hold her in his arms again, kiss her and tell her that she was all right, but he knew that he couldn't. "Aw, don't look at her like that! I can guarantee that she won't be going anywhere! Besides, you can come visit her whenever you want to."

"I appreciate that. But, it's just that…she was the one who fell through the bridge…she was the one who was killed," he answered quietly as he looked at the man with definite pain in his eyes. "Both times I couldn't do anything but watch. Both times I wished that I were the one who had the horrible event happen to me so she would be able to be alive." The man only looked at Locke queerly as he added in an almost inaudible whisper, "I…failed her."

Without another word, he shook his head, exited the house, and with a heavy heart made his way back to the Quantz Hideout.