Tidus stumbled down the mountain path, blinded by tears and sweat and pain. The headache had lasted for over an hour since he left Yuna behind at the Ronso village. In fact, it was steadily getting worse. He could hardly see straight, even when his eyes were dry. The sharp winds battered him, tearing at his clothes and hair brutally.
He could still hear her voice echoing plaintively all around, screaming his name.
His departure had been swift and unplanned. Taking only his sword and the cloak on his back he fled the township and headed down a narrow trail that led away from the one he had traveled up with his companions. He had no idea where to go. He had no idea which direction he was heading. And he didn't really have the heart to care.
You did the right thing.
He tripped on a root curling over the trail and fell to his knees, gasping for air. He hadn't wanted to leave but he was unable to resist the force compelling him to go. He hadn't meant to sound so cold, so . . . uncaring. Gods, did she see how much pain he was in behind the mask he wore? Had she sensed his grief? He wanted nothing more than to grab her and kiss the tears from her face, hating himself that he should be the cause of her distress. Part of him, somewhere deep beneath the anguish and defeat, knew that there was foul play at work inside of him. These cowardly thoughts could not be his. These twisted words and half-truths could not be his. Could they?
'Who are you? What are you?'
We are one and the same.
"No," he choked, scrambling back up to his feet. It was still dark out, and he was forced to feel his way along the precarious path with his hand on the rock wall next to him. "Whatever you are, you are not a part of me!"
Put it all behind you. You are free now.
"Get out of my head," he whispered through barely moving lips, clutching his skull helplessly. "Get out. I have nowhere else to go. I-I have to turn back!"
There is no going back. Did you not see her rage? She has forsaken you from her heart. There is nothing worth returning to.
"Stop it! Stop it!" The resonation of his voice hurt his ears.
But it would not go away, whatever it was. And try as he might, he could not rid himself of the small nagging belief that maybe it was right. The journey had become so difficult, its meaning lost in all the danger and lies and lost lives. Yuna would be safe with the others. They could protect her better than he could.
You were weak. You let your heart guide your senses. You would have put them all in peril had you stayed. You did the right thing. Let it go.
"I . . . I love her." Ah, this headache! Would it never stop? Would it never go away?
And that is your demon.
He walked in a numb state afterwards, staggering down the mountain like a drugged toddler. Several times he collapsed and slept fitfully with plaguing dreams to further torment him, only to wake up and continue along the dreary path. Time seemed to have no meaning. He was not aware of the morning sunlight on his face, nor the slight levelling of the ground under his feet as he drew closer to the base of the Range.
It was only when he lost his footing and fell into a mound of sand that he realized that he had gone backwards and was back in the Rammvena. Blinking sluggishly to rid his eyes of sweat and grain, Tidus rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow to look around. The pain in his head was a steady pulsation, but by now he was hardly conscious of it. The Gagazet Range was still close by. In fact, he could hardly be more than two leagues away from the foot of the nearest mountain.
Fear gripped him. Had he not awoken to his location, he could have marched endlessly until wandering right into the Yevonite Army frontlines.
He shifted onto his back and closed his eyes, letting the earth spin beneath him. The fear, just as sudden as it had arrived, began to abate. Would it really be so bad to be caught? Chances are they would kill him on sight. He could be freed from all this turmoil. He could fly away from all of it.
"Oh, I don't think so."
He knew that voice.
Without warning, his headache intensified triple fold. Screaming in agony, Tidus attempted to lift up his arms to cradle his head when he felt a cold blade tip press itself against his throat. He opened his eyes, but he could see nothing past the pain.
"Planning on giving up so soon? A pity. I thought you had more backbone than that." The assassin was crouched next to the young man, holding the curved dagger in place.
"BASTARD!" Tidus snarled, spitting the word through bared teeth. "It was you!"
Tremath laughed softly and applied more pressure behind the knife, making the young man choke slightly. "Clever boy."
"You p-poisoned me! Tricked me! I'll kill you, you snake!" Tidus launched himself upward, shoving the knife away from him as he rose like a shark from the depths of an ocean.
Stop.
Tidus froze. He did not want to, but his muscles went taut and his limbs stiffened, and he found that he was bound in place by the invisible command. Tremath smiled beneath his cloak, his ice blue eyes gleaming.
"Very good. It is about time someone enforced manners on you, my lad," he said in a gentle tone that made the hair on the back of Tidus' neck stand up.
"Demoncraft . . ."
"Not quite. A simple mind trick will suffice for someone like you. It is amazing what one can accomplish through simple games."
Tidus struggled to free himself, but his body refused to obey. He was trapped like an animal in a hunter's snare.
'What have I done . . .'
"Kill me then, and get it over with," he hissed, his fingers aching to tear out the assassin's eyes. "You have me just as you want. Do it."
Again, Tremath laughed that sickening laugh of his. Tidus wished he had the physical privilege of shuddering. The ache in his head became a ceaseless drumbeat.
"Did you think it would be so easy?" he inquired, pacing in a small circle around Tidus' statuesque form. "Oh, I must admit, when I first entered your mind I planned on having you wander innocently into my clutches so that I may kill you and be done with this miserable job. After all, I am being paid for your blood. But after a night of contemplation, I've come to the conclusion that death is too good for a boy like you."
He paused in front of his prey and ran a gloved finger down the young man's face. Tidus clenched his jaw, but could not retaliate. "You seem like a sensible person, so I will be honest with you. Most people live under the assumption that their lives are complete by the time death arrives at their doorstep. They accept it gracefully and bow their heads to the Dark Lady's kiss. But the fools realize so little about the world they lived and breathed and worked in. Many people can live their entire lives without seeing a dead body, or witness a crime. How can they rest knowing they have not witnessed so much of what this world has to show them? You and I have seen these things and more, I'm certain. Surely you of all people understand that before death, one must see everything before being truly at peace in the next life."
"Madman," Tidus whispered, using extreme mental force to get his tongue and jaws moving.
Tremath tapped the flat of his dagger against Tidus' chest mockingly. "I will leave you with your opinion. But are you not curious as to what I'm leading up to?"
When Tidus did not respond, Tremath continued his circular pacing. "I will not kill you right away. No, I have something much better in mind for you. I am going to escort you to Bevelle, just as you wanted, but you will not be reunited with that little wench of yours."
Tidus felt the blood drain from his complexion.
"You are going to watch your friends all die, one by one. You are going to watch Seymour feed your lover's body to Sin like a dog accepting table scraps. You will watch her magic flow into that Guado's veins and you will hear her voice on his and see her in his eyes. You will watch all of this and die without question by the time my blade finds you. What say you?"
For a long time Tidus could summon no words. There were none that could articulate the unadulterated rage pounding in his heart. No words to express the terror he felt at the prospect of bearing witness to such a thing.
"Why?" he asked weakly, his voice little more than a murmur. He could not understand it. He simply could not comprehend the reason behind such needless torture.
"Why?" the assassin repeated, sounding somewhat incredulous. "Why, you ask? Because, dear boy, only then will you understand the true nature of life. When you understand life, you will then understand death and be free to move on to the next world."
"I-I don't understand. How will this . . . teach me the nature of life?"
"What most people claim to understand and what they have actually experienced are often two different things. You would agree that life is a fragile balance of peace and chaos, life and death, light and darkness, etcetera. Thus it too must be a balance of pleasure and pain, happiness and despair. You cannot truly live until you have experienced both. How can you live a life of bliss and die knowing that you have failed to know true darkness and heartache? I mean true darkness. The kind that can drive men to mindless killing machines. The kind that eats away at one's soul. You have known a woman's love and returned it with the same passion. Now you must know the pain of love's loss. You must see your angel, your goddess, ripped from this world to experience pain beyond anything you've ever felt. Otherwise life's meaning will elude you, and peace shall never come to you in death."
Tidus wanted to close his eyes, or at the very least look away from his captor's unnerving stare, but found that he still could not while under the mind spell. "And why do you care how I die? What business is it of yours? I am only a target to you, a bounty to claim. Why are you willing to risk it all to teach me this . . . this lesson of yours?"
At this, Tremath was silent. His posture seemed to shift, but not in a way that Tidus could visually perceive. It was as if a change had just swooped over his demeanour, and the young man found himself wishing he could see his opponent's face to gauge his emotions.
"Come on, assassin, give me an answer. Run out of philosophies?" he goaded, feeling the body binding spell slip slightly.
The cloaked man's aura seemed to crackle electricity and Tidus felt the charge shoot through him. Gasping in pain but still not free to move, the young warrior felt sweat break out on his forehead and upper lip.
"I think it's time that we address names, hmmm?" Tremath suggested in a hard tone. "From now on you shall address me as 'Master'. Understood?"
Tidus released perhaps the most volatile string of curses he had ever uttered before.
"Tsk tsk, boy. Tell me you never kissed Braska's daughter with that mouth," the assassin reprimanded. "And let's not forget what happens when you displease me."
The electrical surge came back and sent shockwaves through Tidus' body and the binding spell broke only enough so that he could sink to his knees, gasping violently.
"Now, what do you call me?"
"S-son of a-" he broke off to release an unbidden scream as the charge went off inside of him again. Warm blood began pouring from his nose.
"Again."
To his ever-lasting shame, Tidus screamed again until the electrical energy subsided. "M-Master!"
"Very good. Now, I think you're name should be . . . hmmm. Well, I suppose 'Slave' would only be appropriate in this situation, wouldn't you agree?"
Fighting the extreme desire to rip his subjugator's throat out with his very teeth, Tidus only nodded.
"Excellent. Now, Slave, I want you come with me. My new horse is waiting for my return," Tremath commanded, purposefully turning his back to his new captive and heading towards a small cluster of trees nearby. Tidus, knowing it was a test, slowly rose back to his feet and resigned himself to follow. The spell on his body permitted only closely guarded movements, nothing sudden or prolonged. He could not even turn his head all the way without feeling the surge of pain swoop over him again.
Entering the heart of the scattered desert trees, Tidus saw a familiar sight over the assassin's shoulder.
"Kyrida," he breathed, ridiculously relieved to see the mare alive and well, even in the hands of an enemy. She nickered softly and plodded towards him as far as her rope harness would allow her. Tidus approached her and slowly lifted his arms stroke her neck, leaning his face against her. "Oh, you pretty thing. I've missed you. How did you get all the way out here with him?"
"Ah, that little beauty came to me all on her own. Quite a find, I must say," Tremath said proudly, as if the horse had practically skipped into his skilful grasp. He busied himself by moving around the small camp, collecting small questionable knick-knacks and concealing them in the numerous sacks dangling from his belt. Tidus ignored him and continued stroking the horse. It was good to see a recognizable face, even that of an animal's. At least he knew he still had one friend left in the world. Kyrida snorted and lipped at his cloak affectionately. She looked well fed, if not slightly shaggy from lack of brushing, and her normally proud head seemed to droop a little lower than he remembered.
"Come, Slave, saddle up the horse. We'll leave as soon as your useless hide gets moving," Tremath ordered brusquely, tightening the drawstrings of his cloak. Tidus, reluctant to move from Kyrida's warm pelt, must have moved at a slower pace than what was desired. A jolt of pain rocketed through his limbs and made him cry out sharply.
"When I want a job done, I want it done immediately. Understood, Slave?"
"Yes! Yes, I understand! Please, stop!" Tidus begged, hating himself for sounding so weak at another's mercy. It was a power struggle that he could never win under the circumstances, but the shame burned nevertheless.
The pain faded, and he shakily moved to do as he was told. Would he really have to endure all of this until reaching Bevelle? Would his last days alive be spent in pain, both of the body and of the heart?
The sickening truth of his fate staring him in the face, Tidus watched his master mount Kyrida and followed him away from the encampment. It was to be a long death that he should suffer.
And yet, his heart was saddened even more by the knowledge that he would be utterly incapable of helping his friends.
I'm so sorry, Yuna. I've failed you. Ah, my love, I've failed you all . . .
000000000000000000000000
Seymour loved Bevelle. It was big yet quiet, colourful but sedate, bright but numb. It was one contradiction after another. It was undeniably the most beautiful city in all of Spira, yet it was the heartbeat of organized crime. Though mysterious deaths occurred on a regular basis, the streets were always safe after dark. Unless, of course, some hapless human being happened to make a wrong move in the eyes of the crime lords. There was a fragile armistice between the bosses and the government. The politicians paid the crime lords to keep the city's peace in check, meaning all 'jobs' were to be secret and undetected to the public eye. Civilians lived their lives in oblivious contentment, unaware of the countless gangs and mob bosses living among them.
The Order of Yevon Headquarters was, as it had been for centuries, located in the heart of the city. It was an enormous, elaborate, richly designed building surrounded by gardens and framed by a massive manmade moat. The gargantuan granite doors were open all day, free to the public for anyone in need of spiritual guidance.
Seymour, flanked by two personal guards, glided over the arched stone bridge towards the front doors, his violet robe billowing out behind him in the breeze.
Inside the building, it was remarkably silent for such an active time of day. It took the Maester a moment to remember that there was a blitzball tournament going on in the city, and smiled to himself. All the more perfect for him. The main chamber, an impressive marble and gold hall, was empty except for one figure standing just past the entrance.
"Maester Kinoc," Seymour said genially. "How kind of you to greet me."
"Seymour," Kinoc greeted, nodding his head respectfully. There was no amiability between the two. In fact, they disliked each other greatly. But for appearances and the sake of pride, both men were forced to put on false smiles, even though Seymour was a much better actor than the stocky bald Second-Order Maester.
"You received my message, then?"
"I'm here, aren't I? Let's make this quick, I told His Holiness Mika that I'd meet him in Killika this very evening." The orange-robed Maester's bark was much sharper than usual, but given the state of affairs, Seymour was not surprised. A massive typhoon had devastated the southern coast of Killika, killing hundreds, wounding many, and destroying half the seaside villages. Mika, the head of Yevon's Order, had travelled there to Send the dead and counsel the mourning.
"Let us head into your private office, shall we?" the Guado offered, smoothly sidestepping the other man's brusqueness. "Gentleman," he said, turning to his guards, "you may be excused. Wait for me at the ship."
The two soldiers saluted and jogged away, back towards the landing platform outside. The two Maesters turned to walk together through the main chamber.
"Sin must be growing impatient. I'm amazed at you, Seymour. Men of your . . . tenacity . . . are not known for repeated failure," Kinoc remarked with a malicious edge of amusement. "Yuna and that Tidus boy must be getting awfully close to Bevelle."
Seymour's eyes hardened, while his expression remained passive. He folded his arms in his robe sleeves and kept his focus ahead.
"Then you will not lend soldiers to assist me in my search?"
"Why should I?" the other man scoffed. "They'll be here in a matter of days, more or less. Why not just set a trap and let them walk straight into it? The larger the army, Seymour, the more questions people start to ask. Marching an entire platoon through the Calm Lands and the Rammvena is drawing enough attention as it is."
"I must do what is necessary to keep them from reaching their destination."
"Your assassin didn't succeed, then, did he?" Kinoc questioned, quirking a bushy brow.
Seymour sighed inaudibly through his nostrils. "We have not received word in quite some time on Tremath's progress."
Kinoc snorted. "Well, two youngsters still don't frighten me."
"So I see you have not been informed," Seymour deadpanned.
"Informed? What of?"
The Guado Maester regarded the man next to him with a closed expression. "Lady Yuna now has five, potentially six guardians with her. Along with Tidus, she has Sir Auron, Mistress Lulu of the pagan forests, an Al Bhed girl, and a deserter named Wakka. It is likely that a Ronso will be joining her as well."
Kinoc blinked in surprise at the news, but then merely shrugged it off. "So be it. I still see no reason to fret. What can they do against the power of your legion?"
"Quite a lot, I'm afraid, if we do not stop them in time. If they reach the temple, as it is likely they are to do, I do not want them to have a chance. They may discover more about Sin's origins than I am willing to allow. They must be intervened, Kinoc, and I fear it will take more strength than we anticipated," he cautioned, a trace of urgency in his voice.
"Very well," Kinoc snapped, pushing the doors of his office open. He swiftly moved to a locked cabinet across the room and pulled out a white scroll tied with a blue ribbon. He shoved it uncouthly into Seymour's hands. "Here is your damn order. Send it to the command centre and take as many soldiers as you want. Frankly, though, I'm not sure this is a good idea. If you mess up any more than you already have, I've a mind to report you to Mika myself."
Seymour smiled a reptilian smile and tucked the scroll in the front of his robe.
"Then it is a very good think you are not required to think anymore, my friend."
Kinoc frowned, not comprehending Seymour's words. "What do you mean?"
A knife plunged into his stomach faster than he could blink. Seymour's knuckles were white, his fingers still clutching the handle. Before Kinoc could sink to his knees, he withdrew the blade and sheathed it once more up his sleeve. Gasping soundlessly, the wounded Maester stared up at the Guado in horror as blood began to ooze from the corner of his mouth.
"Thank you, Maester Kinoc," Seymour said cordially. "You've been most helpful."
The smile never left his lips as he exited the office, leaving one more death in his wake.