A/N: Hey guys, just a little note about this chapter: I wanted to have the team go to Goug to get Construct 8/Worker 8 (I realize I have used names from both the old and new versions of FFT quite at random, so I apologize if it's confusing at any point). But, I didn't really have the time or inclination to write the adventures with Beowulf and Reis into this fic, so the team wouldn't have the stone that powers Construct 8 (I think they get that stone while adventuring with Beowulf?). So, for the sake of this story, we will have to pretend that Ramza uses one of his other zodiac stones to power Construct 8. To any major Beowulf/Reis fans, I'm sorry to be leaving them out of the story. I really like them, too! It just gets to be too many characters to develop, so I've really tried to keep my focus on Ramza, Meliadoul, Agrias, Alma, and Mustadio. Plus, in a future chapter, we will have Alma flash back on Izlude, so I guess Izlude will get a fair amount of focus, as well, at that point. I hope you're enjoying the story so far, thanks for reading, and please review to let me know what you think!
Chapter Twelve
When they reached Goug, Ramza decided it would be too risky to allow the whole group to visit Mustadio's father. Better that only the two of them go, wearing the garb of common workers, to blend in. The rest of the team set up camp outside of town, happily planning to spend the day in a Goug tavern. Since Ramza would not be with them, they could safely drink all day, without worrying about anyone getting recognized as a heretic.
At the warehouse that Besrodio Bunanza called home, the old man had tears in his eyes, to see his son home safe again. Even Besrodio had seen the hand bills calling Ramza a heretic, and he had known that Mustadio was traveling with Ramza. Needless to say, Besrodio had been losing a lot of sleep from worrying over their safety.
Both young men assured the elder Bunanza that they had been trying to stay as safe as possible, given the circumstances. It took a long while to explain what exactly those circumstances were.
"Have you been all right, father?" Mustadio asked, sounding hesitant. "I mean, living alone, without me?"
Using his cane, Besrodio walked over to his kitchen. He was fetching something to drink for them all.
"Well, you know I keep pretty busy with work. But I've missed you, son. I won't deny that. It gets awfully quiet around here in the evenings."
Ramza thought he himself might feel even more guilty than Mustadio, hearing that. He didn't like to think of Besrodio, who was an old man already, living out his last days without the company of his only son. The son who was absent because of Ramza, really.
"But I think you're doing the right thing. Both of you boys," Besrodio continued. "And I'm glad you found some time to come visit me!"
They took their drinks into Besrodio's messy workshop, where a floor-to-ceiling set of small windows allowed some dim milky light to filter into the warehouse. A few wooden chests and cabinets in the room had clearly not been enough storage to help Besrodio manage everything in an orderly way. There was clutter, mainly in the form of books and scraps of parchment, everywhere.
In the middle of the room sat a huge metal sphere, which was roughly four feet tall.
"Ajora!" Mustadio exclaimed. "Father, how in hell did you get that thing in here, it must weigh a ton!"
"Had to get help from the lads, they rolled it onto a cart and moved it for me," Besrodio replied, "I've been excited to show it to you! Especially if you still have that zodiac stone. I think it might be the key to figuring out what this monstrous thing does. You can see the ridges, where it seems to fold up like a puzzle. I wonder if it will unfold if we power it with the stone?"
Ramza began to dig in his pack.
"I've been calling it 'Construct 8'. That's what's engraved on it, in that spot." Besrodio pointed.
Mustadio raised his eyebrows. "Do you truly think the stone will bring the sphere, um, Construct 8, to life?"
"You saw as much with your own eyes, did you not?" Besrodio said.
Receiving an encouraging nod from Besrodio, Ramza examined the sphere for the best place to insert a zodiac stone. Finding an appropriately sized ridge in the metal, he pushed the stone inside.
Immediately, the sphere trembled and shook.
Mustadio exclaimed, "You were right, it stirs!"
They all jumped when metal arms and legs suddenly shot forth. Even a metal domed head sprouted atop it. Indigo-blue light beams shot through the air and into the metal beast, as if energizing it. That, Ramza was sure, was due to the magical power of the stone. Now the creature stood almost eight feet tall, with the addition of its legs and head. Its metal fists were clenched, unmoving.
They all stood there silently for a while, waiting for something more to happen. Finally, Mustadio said, "Is that all? It must no longer be operational." He began to walk toward it. He was badly startled when Construct 8 suddenly swiveled around to face Ramza.
In a deep, rattling, hollow-ish voice, Construct 8 bellowed, "INITIALIZATION COMPLETE. ALL SYSTEMS NORMAL. WHAT IS YOUR COMMAND, MASTER?"
"By the gods! The machine speaks!" Mustadio cried.
"AWAITING YOUR COMMAND, MASTER," Construct 8 insisted.
"Give it a command, Ramza." Mustadio said impatiently.
Ramza was feeling out of his league. Besrodio was the one who spent his whole career manipulating these machines! Ramza didn't know how to manage something like Construct 8. He stammered, "M-me? Must I? Mayhap you could—"
Mustadio cut him off. "What are you talking about? You're the thing's master!"
Construct 8 bellowed, "REPEAT: AWAITING COMMAND."
"Very well… Umm… Dance!" Ramza said, giving the first command that came to mind.
Mustadio rolled his eyes heavenward. "Oh, for—!"
Ramza said in annoyance, "Well, what would you have it do?"
But Construct 8 actually began to move its giant metal arms from side to side and lift one foot at a time from the ground, in a very stiff dance.
Mustadio was watching Construct 8 with a disbelieving expression. "It… it's dancing." He looked thoughtful. "I wonder how powerful this thing is."
Construct 8 immediately replied, "I AM VERY STRONG."
"Well, then…" Ramza said.
A sly grin slowly spread across his face. He still owed Mustadio for that whole electrocution prank…
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"I still can't believe you did that to me," Mustadio grumbled, "In front of my father, too! You could have given the old goat a heart attack!"
Mustadio grinned a little, even as he complained to Ramza. He hadn't actually died, so he could somewhat still see the humor in the prank. He was, of course, referring to Ramza's earlier order for Construct 8 to 'dispose of Mustadio'.
Construct 8 had immediately turned to him, a panel in his metal chest had opened up, and then a blast of yellow light had struck Mustadio unconscious.
It was lucky Ramza had had a Phoenix Down and some X-potions in his pack.
They spent the rest of the day keeping Besrodio company, until the sun set. They had decided they had better wait until it was fully dark to risk taking Construct 8 out of the house. With how powerful the machine was, anyone who tried to get in their way would surely regret it, but they did not want to have to hurt anyone as they made their way back to camp with the giant metal man.
Luckily, Construct 8 was extremely compliant with Ramza's commands. It was taller than the doorway of Besrodio's home, but the machine bent at the waist in order to walk through, when Ramza told it to. Ramza then ordered it not to speak until he next gave it permission.
They made their way out of town as quietly as they could, in the middle of the night. The machine naturally moved loudly, and there was nothing that could be done to prevent that. But at least it was able to keep pace with the men, when Ramza ordered it to walk as fast as they were walking.
A few curious and surprised faces appeared in the street, here and there, as they went along out of Goug, but no one tried to interfere with them. A patrolman even turned tail and ran at the sight of them. The outline of Construct 8 probably looked like a monster from legends, in the dark.
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Now, Ramza and his team could continue their trip to Igros. Maybe they would even find Alma there, once they arrived. They had no clue where she was being held, so Igros seemed as likely a possibility as any other location. If the Templars were truly plotting with Dycedarg, then perhaps they might have given Alma back to him, as a gesture of cooperation.
Ramza knew he was trying to find a silver lining in the situation, because the honest truth was that they would probably find nothing but trouble when they arrived at the castle. Dycedarg held the Capricorn zodiac stone, which meant he was definitely up to something nefarious with Vormav and the rest of the Templarate, or else they wouldn't have trusted him with it.
And that was the best-case scenario. The worst-case would be that Dycedarg was already possessed by whatever Lucavi demon was associated with the Capricorn stone. Ramza did not try to kid himself that Dycedarg might be 'too pure of heart' to be possessed. He knew what sort of man Dycedarg was, by now.
It didn't change the fact that Ramza loved him. It wasn't something that was really a conscious choice for Ramza. His heart remained loyal long after his brain had told him to give up. Even knowing some of the wickedness that both Dycedarg and Zalbag were capable of, they were still his family. It would hurt to lose them, even if it was his own blade that eventually took them down. Especially then.
Despite common opinion, Dycedarg wasn't always the proverbial heartless monster, plotting and lurking in the shadows. Ramza had some fond memories of him. Whenever he thought of his eldest brother, he often recalled a specific incident that occurred a dozen years ago, when Dycedarg (a generation older than he, really) had been twenty-nine.
Dycedarg had gifted Ramza a toy wooden ship. At age eight, Ramza was getting a bit old for toys, but this wasn't really a toy, per se. It was more of a model, or an object meant for display in the bedchamber. It was incredibly intricate, with amazing detailing carved into the wood, and it had many sails. Ramza and Delita had been in their shared bedroom admiring the ship when seven-year-old Alma walked in.
Alma had eventually grown up to be sweet to Ramza, especially after he left for the military academy, and she began to worry for his safety every day… But at age seven, she was a horrible brat. She would do anything for attention; and somehow, it seemed that every time Alma acted out, she also found a way to get Ramza in trouble.
Alma strolled over to them, casually yanked the ship out of Ramza's hands, and then ran for it, giggling. Ramza frantically chased her down the hallways. If she broke the ship (and ugh, she would break it, she would break it just to spite him!) then Dycedarg would think Ramza hadn't even appreciated the expensive gift. Ramza would be blamed for it getting broken, for sure. Precious Alma never faced any consequences.
Ramza was relieved when he managed to overtake Alma and pry the wooden ship out of her hands, without damaging it. She was wrestling to try to get it back, though. Ramza held it up above his head so she couldn't reach it, as Alma backed him against a wall. He was tall enough that he could keep it away from her, despite her jumping attempts to grab at it.
"Give it back, Ramza!" Alma suddenly shrieked.
"Ramza!" a deep voice boomed.
His father, Lord Balbanes, as well as Dycedarg, had just turned the corner, coming into their view. Balbanes had been the one to angrily shout his name.
"Did you take that toy from Alma?" Balbanes demanded.
Ramza stammered. "I—yes, but she stole it from me—"
The back of Balbanes' hand smacked across Ramza's face before he could even finish the sentence. Ramza stumbled. Mercenary young Alma snatched the ship back from Ramza's hand, even as her brother reeled from the blow.
"What sort of man bullies his little sister?!" Balbanes shouted. "You bring shame on yourself and the Beoulve name! You disappoint me, Ramza!"
Balbanes then began to coo comforting words to Alma, who faked an adorable pout, as she and their father began to walk away together, with Alma still clutching her stolen prize. Ramza rubbed his aching cheek, where Balbanes had struck him.
He wanted so much to impress his father, and be a credit to the Beoulve name. But he always felt like it was somehow impossible. If it wasn't Alma sabotaging him like this, then it would be something else that didn't go in his favor. He never seemed to stack up quite well enough, in Balbanes' eyes.
Dycedarg had remained silent through the whole encounter. Ramza had noticed that Dycedarg seemed to prefer to listen, rather than speak, most of the time. He cut an imposing figure, very tall and broad in his black and gold robes. Now, he squatted in front of Ramza, and surprisingly tenderly touched his chin, turning his head to examine his hurt cheek.
"I do not think you will bruise, Ramza. Could have been worse… So, little Alma stole the ship from you?"
Ramza felt tears welling up in his eyes. It wasn't fair. Alma had gotten him blamed for something, yet again. And he didn't want to cry in front of Dycedarg, now. His father said that Beoulve men didn't cry.
Trying to hold himself together, Ramza replied, "She grabbed it right out of my hands, and then she ran! I was just trying to stop her from breaking it! Father did not…"
He couldn't say any more, out loud. He had been about to complain about the way his father had treated him, but he knew saying something like that might just earn more punishment, this time from Dycedarg.
However, his older brother surprised him.
"I know," Dycedarg said gravely. "Father never showed me a scrap of kindness, when I was your age. For all his talk about the Beoulve name, he does not work overmuch to support his own blood. He will spend hours listening to the complaints of the common man… and yet, he could not spare a minute to hear you explain yourself, just now. His own son."
Ramza had lost the fight against his tears, and a few were streaming down his cheeks. Dycedarg looked pained at the sight, and he embraced little Ramza, who let himself sob into Dycedarg's large shoulder.
It felt like a father's hug. For the moment, it was all of the understanding and care he had never actually gotten from Balbanes.
Dycedarg did not exactly morph into the sort of warm-fuzzy brother Ramza could confide in, after their hug in the hallway. But there had been other moments when enigmatic Dycedarg had actually provided the sort of fatherly approval that Ramza eternally craved. Watching Ramza practice-sparring in the yard, Dycedarg would occasionally tell him he had done well, or clap a proud hand on his shoulder. Balbanes only looked on with an unfathomable expression, as if he were lost in thought, and not even truly watching Ramza.
Sometimes Ramza wondered if he would have grown even closer with Dycedarg, if his father had not acted so determined to prevent them from getting to know each other well. When Ramza was almost twelve years old (and only a couple months away from beginning his training at Gariland Academy in the autumn), there was an evening when he, Alma, Delita, Teta, Dycedarg and his wife, and Balbanes all shared dinner together in the formal dining chamber. Zalbag was absent, but there were definitely more family members present than they usually managed to gather in one place at one time.
Dycedarg was only able to spend a night or two with them, before he headed to the Royal City of Lesalia. He had received from Queen Ruvelia an invitation, or summons, really, to court. Dycedarg would be bringing his sullen wife on the trip, as would be expected of him.
The unfortunate woman had been far more bright and cheerful at the beginning of her marriage to the eldest Beoulve son. But more than a decade later, their union had still produced no babies, and she was terribly bitter about it. She wore a sour face every time Ramza saw her.
No one would dare say it to Dycedarg, of course, but it was commonly believed that Dycedarg was infertile. None of his mistresses ever conceived children, either. The superstitious servants whispered that Lord Dycedarg had unintentionally made himself barren by experimenting with forbidden poisons. It was well known that Dycedarg was a master in the field of chemicals, herbs, and poison, but the common folk saw this as a devilish practice, and not a subject of scientific study.
No doubt, Zalbag would be forced to marry soon. Since Dycedarg had not been able to produce a Beoulve heir, the job would inevitably fall to his true-born little brother.
Ramza fervently hoped that he himself was not infertile, like Dycedarg. He was only twelve years old, but Ramza already knew that one day he wanted to be just like Balbanes, and be the esteemed father of many strong sons. He thought it would be very upsetting if he could not have children at all.
"Lord Father," Dycedarg said, in his silky deep voice, "It has occurred to me that I should take Ramza along to Lesalia. I could have him back home well before he begins at the Academy."
Balbanes gave him a guarded look. "I do not think Ramza is ready for such a trip."
Ramza piped up excitedly, "Lord Father, I would like to—"
"Silence, Ramza!" Balbanes barked. "This discussion is between myself and Dycedarg."
Ramza sulked. A trip to the capital with Dycedarg would be the greatest adventure he had ever had, thus far.
Dycedarg looked annoyed. "Ramza is twelve, he is nearly a man! You know that he must learn about our country, and our politics. He could learn more in a month at court with me than he would if he spent years with his head buried in history books."
"My answer is no. He shall not travel to Lesalia with you."
Dycedarg could not stop his rage from overflowing, now. He slammed a fist down on the dinner table, making all of their cutlery rattle. "Why can you not trust me! Ramza is my brother, as well as your son! He would be safe with me! This is in his best interest!" He was shouting now.
Balbanes closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Must I send you away from the table, as if you were still some naughty boy? It is not your place to question me, Dycedarg."
Ramza had been very disappointed that he would miss out on the trip to the royal city. The rest of that dinner had been spent in a horrible, loaded silence. Ramza had to fight the urge to try again to reason with his father, as they finished their meal. He knew it would not work; it would just make Balbanes angry with him, too.
Over the years, try as he might, Ramza had never felt that he had managed to truly make his father proud. Balbanes himself was nearly godlike in his status, and Ramza was, for all intents and purposes, just an ordinary boy. Even when Balbanes was on his deathbed, he had left Ramza with a command, basically, to 'keep trying.'
Ramza still often wondered if his father would be proud of him, now. He would never know for sure.
"By the gods, I do not want to kill Dycedarg," Ramza muttered to Meliadoul.
They were laying together, settled in for the evening. Neither of them had watch duty tonight, thankfully. Meliadoul had finally agreed to spend the night in his tent with him. But she had made it clear that this was a kissing-and-cuddling-only situation. They were still 'taking it slow', which was fine, though occasionally frustrating.
Meliadoul was feeling the ache of holding back as much as Ramza was. She thought maybe she was feeling it even more, considering that she hadn't had sex in years, whereas Ramza had at least recently had a lover. She wanted him very badly, but they had only been 'courting' for a little while.
Part of her felt like she already knew Ramza extremely well, and was ready to be intimate with him. But another part of her felt it would cheapen what they had together, to jump in so fast. She didn't want to feel rushed in making that decision.
They had been cuddling silently, in a spooning position, when Ramza made his comment about not wanting to kill Dycedarg.
Meliadoul rolled over, nuzzling her face into his bare chest. "I hope it will not come to that. Mayhap your brother is not yet possessed. You and I have carried the stones without succumbing. And so did Wiegraf, for a long while, before he gave in."
"Yes. But, Dycedarg is… well—he is not much like you, or me, or even Wiegraf. He can be kind, at times, but he is also… shrewd. Calculating, mayhap, is the right word… I fear he may be easy prey for a demon, if that demon promises him power."
Meliadoul pressed her lips tight together. "If he is possessed… Will you be all right? Should we leave you behind, while the rest of us confront him for the Capricorn stone?"
"No, I am coming along," Ramza insisted. "I will do what needs doing, even…" He did not finish his sentence, but Meliadoul knew what he meant. Even if he had to slay what was left of his older brother.
"You do not have to do everything, you know," Meliadoul said gently. "You are a damn good fighter, but the rest of us are not so shabby either. I think we could take him down without your help. It need not be you who does the deed, if we must kill another Lucavi."
Ramza shook his head. "You need not fret over me. Whatever happens when we get to Igros, I will handle it as I must."
Meliadoul didn't argue with him, but she made a mental note to talk privately to some of the others. She wanted to make sure a few key players, like Cid and Agrias and Rad, were ready to aggressively be on the offensive at Igros, and not let Ramza have a chance to charge ahead of them all. If they could prevent Ramza from being the one who slew Dycedarg, then they had to at least try. It was obvious that committing that deed would damage Ramza in a serious way, no matter what he claimed.
Meliadoul reflected that she would honestly not have the same feelings about killing Vormav's body, if it was truly possessed by a demon. Perhaps she was crueler than Ramza, deep down. Because if a demon had destroyed her father, then she would enjoy killing that demon, even if it still wore her father's face.
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