IX. In Which The Central Conflict Is Not Particularly Central

ooo

"Not even a measly soda? You cheapskate!" Relm whined.

Sabin nodded to the overstuffed satchel at her side. The little ridge-lined bulges around the side gave little doubt as to its contents. "Who's a cheapskate? Are you gonna tell me that's not full of money? Where did you get all that, anyway?"

"Hey, I earned this!" She held up the bag. "I'll have you know the Bandit King paid me to paint a mural on the Colosseum ceiling. Normally I make a habit to see my employers face to face, but I'm willing to make an exception for that kind of money. Besides, think of the exposure! So many people go to the Colosseum every day!"

"Bandit King?"

"Yeah! He lives up there in a back room where nobody can see him. Rumor has it he tried to commit suicide in a huge explosion and made it out totally disfigured but alive, that he's cursed to not die or something like that. But," and she stuck out her chest with pride, "he obviously has great taste in artists."

"I guess he does." Sabin studied her closely. She was in the awkward phase of almost but not quite a little girl anymore, still chubby-cheeked and snub-nosed but with scrawny legs that poked out from under her old painting pants.

He wasn't quite sure whether he was ready to see her as a teenager. The world at large probably needed some time to prepare. If Strago hadn't been on the brink of death before, a few boys coming to call would no doubt have him well on his way to the grave.

Relm began sketching again. "...so that's my excuse. Why are you going all the way out to Thamasa?"

"Master Duncan's down there."

"You're going halfway around the world to get beaten up by an old guy? Lame." She gave him a thumbs-down for emphasis. "Also I noticed you haven't got me a soda yet. Are you gonna get on that or what?"

"Keep dreamin', kid." It seemed she was finally growing into her sharp tongue, which had been so jarring on a child. Hopefully she wouldn't feel the need to outdo herself, because Relm at her most acerbic could melt steel.

"You're no fun."

"I'll buy you breakfast if you let me get some rest." Sabin rolled over on his cot. This whole month was rapidly becoming one of the most confusing times in his life. Every day was more unexpected and nonsensical than the last. How much longer was this going to go on?

"Fine."

In the darkness he could see the silhouette of a dancing girl on the far wall, another enchanted product of Relm's incredible gift. Sabin watched it until he felt his eyes grow heavy with fatigue and finally fell asleep.

Even in his dreams he was tormented by thoughts of Edgar, bound to an indifferent wife with a child he wouldn't have time to raise. Do you blame me for running away? Am I still running away now, when you need me most?

Are you disappointed in me?

Is Father?

The vision faded away and became a bright hilltop dotted with flowers. Sabin spun around wildly. He couldn't shake the sense that there was something he was supposed to do, but nothing appeared to aid him. Dejected, he sat down in the grass.

Suddenly Edgar was there, wearing an ermine cape and twirling the scepter of the desert empire. "I know that," he was saying, although he didn't appear to be talking to anyone in particular, "but you can't drop everything and leave because of a temporary setback."

"Edgar? Why are you dressed like that?"

"The kingship is my identity now," he said darkly, his expression serious. "Although I reckon it's an improvement over nothing at all," he hastened to add.

Sabin looked down and saw he was indeed completely unclothed. "Huh. Well, that's weird." There was really nothing else to be said in that regard. "Say, it's funny you showed up. I was just thinking about you. Or, well, worrying. You know how it is."

"That's my job, you oaf. My throne is made of fretting and distress." He sat beside him, sighing. " Shouldn't you be somewhere else? I can't claim to possess the most marvelous mind of our time---although I'm certainly a contender for the most beautiful exterior---but I can only wonder if perhaps your time would be better spent in a different way. For instance, not in a field. Nor naked."

"Yeah, well, I don't know what I'm doing here."

"You never do. Let me tell you one thing: if you would just..." He leaned close as though to confide a secret, but said nothing.

"Do what?" Sabin wanted to know. "What is it? C'mon, what?"

"Buy me breakfast..."

"Huh?"

"I said buy me breakfast! You're so lazy!" Relm was smothering him with his pillow, and even as he began to move she didn't let go. "You're not gonna forget about your promise, are you? Come on, come on, come on!"

He thought of Terra waking him up with a pinching assault. For some reason this was a lot less pleasant, which was a strange qualifier in light of both experiences being pretty uncomfortable. But Terra didn't really have that high-pitched squeal in her voice, and he wouldn't mind so much if...

No! "So what do you want for breakfast? I'm hungry too." Anything to keep his mind off that. Sabin rubbed his temples and stood up. "I'll bet you I can eat more."

"You can have that bet, thanks," she said scornfully. "I saw you clean out a whole buffet once. Doesn't your religion say gluttony's a sin?"

"My religion says to eat according to one's means. Mine just happen to be a lot larger than most people's."

Relm made a dismissive "psssh" and sashayed out the door to the dining cabin. Sabin followed, scratching his head. From the day they met she'd established that she didn't want to be treated differently, but it had never been a problem between them. He only took charge when the situation called for a stern, firm authority figure. Sabin was good at inspiring obedience (and just a tiny bit of fear), but sometimes it was hard to sound angry when the kids' behavior ended up being more hilarious than hurtful. More than once he'd seen Terra send a child to their rooms, then stifle a giggle in her hand. Meanwhile, he had spent more than two decades practicing self-control and he could still barely keep a straight face. How did she do it?

"Not an omelet!" Relm screeched. "I hate omelets!"

Sabin didn't remember taking a plate off the countertop and ladling it with the thick, eggy glop of a sea-cooked omelet, but there it was. "Oh, uh, sorry. I'll get you a new one."

"I should think so! Geez, where have you been?" Other passengers were beginning to sneak looks at the huge, musclebound man and his skinny, shrill companion. "You need to pay more attention to me!" she continued, oblivious to the stares around her. "I'm your guest, aren't I?"

"Who's anybody's guest? You were sitting in my room and wouldn't leave me alone until I bribed you!"

"Details, details. Can I have a crepe?"

"Unbelievable," he said, but couldn't help smiling. It always amazed him how many things in life were easier with a friend around. Well, with some friends, anyway. With others it gets harder and then you...hell. "Do you put Strago through this?"

"I would if he put omelettes on my plate," she pouted. Sabin rolled his eyes.

ooo

Terra lay in bed with a glass of warm milk. She must have been slow to readjust to the cool, wet air on the water, because she'd been sleepless and feverish for days. Even the smallest tasks were draining.

If it doesn't get better by tomorrow I'll start taking some medicine. The water clock on the dresser chimed to a quarter past three, and she groaned. Every minute she spent awake meant one less minute to be fully focused on her work during the day.

The milk didn't seem to be helping. Terra decided she might as well try to do something productive as long as she was awake and reached for her knitting needles. If she worked quickly, she might be able to finish Phillippe's hat before the clock struck again.

She thought of the heavy tiara she had worn at the royal banquet. That had been for a mere noblewoman, and it had made her neck sink into her shoulders. What did Edgar's crown feel like? Did he have to wear it often? She ought to make Edgar a nice little wool hat with a fancy blue ribbon on top that he could wear whenever his work got too depressing.

It was hard to think of him and not be moved. Edgar suffered so much just because of his birth. If she had been a noblewoman, she would've married him in a heartbeat. Or would she have? Would she know how to appreciate his selflessness and generosity if she'd been born rich?

There was no sense thinking of what would've been in another time and place. She was in Mobliz and couldn't be happier, it just wasn't right that Edgar couldn't be happy too. He deserved the best the world had to offer.

Terra tried to imagine the perfect bride for him. She'd have to be short and slim with a sort of playful countenance, and naturally she'd have to be smart enough to keep up with all his witty banter. She would challenge him, frustrate him, and drive him absolutely mad. Surely someone like that existed somewhere. Maybe she could ask Sabin to be on the lookout for her during his travels.

...that is, if he ever comes back.

Why wouldn't he? Terra saw she'd dropped a stitch. Annoyed with her own inattention, she hurriedly looped the yarn back around and tried again. She had made an effort to not think much of Sabin recently, if only because she always ended up puzzled and slightly cross. She didn't understand why she had been so cool to him when saying goodbye, as if she was totally indifferent to his visits. Of course, he hadn't been very open, either, but...

Is he angry with me?

Why did I do that?

"Mama?"

Toron stood in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. He had been an infant when the earthquake struck and had little difficulty accepting Terra as his mother, but he still knew things had been different before. The older children worked hard to keep the memory of their parents alive.

"Toron! What is it?"

"My bed broke." He hung his head. "I'm sorry, Mama. I didn't mean to."

Terra was more amazed that his bed had even lasted that long. It was nothing more than an inverted cabinet drawer she'd fixed up when he outgrew his crib. "That's nothing to be ashamed of! Remember that big pile of wood I brought home? We can make you a new bed tomorrow. But for now..." She patted the side of her mattress. After all, he was just four. "Why don't you come keep me company?"

He happily climbed in bed next to her and cuddled against her lap. Within minutes he was asleep.

Children are so wonderful and trusting...where would I be without them? Terra stroked his hair. She only remembered her parents in retrospect, and yet here she was, a mother with a patchwork family. It felt so natural, as though everything in her life had led up to this. She hadn't ever wanted the role until it had been thrust upon her.

The concept fascinated her. How was it possible to want or need something without knowing it? How could someone know what they needed if they'd never experienced it before? Should everyone try to do as much as they could in order to recognize a need when it came along?

Even as the question floated around in her head she finally felt the first numbing tingle of sleep and drifted off.

ooo

Sabin had thought the disappearance of magic would make the people of Thamasa slightly less eccentric, since there would be nothing left to separate them from everyone else. But apparently the town's strangeness ran deeper than the magic in their blood, because they were as bizarre as ever.

"You again!" The innkeeper was out chopping wood by the docks, and he had a bone to pick with Sabin. "What do you want? What business do you have here? We're just fine without you! Why can't you just stay where you came from? You don't see me shoving around your land, you know!"

Was Gau's father from Thamasa? "Uh, right..."

"Hello, Mr. Braithwaite, you windbag!" Relm said in a spirited, sing-song voice. "Don't bother with this punk. He's just following along 'cause he's captivated by my charm. Where's Granddad?"

The crochety man gave a short, barking laugh. "Haggling down at the shops, last I saw. What were you doing out of town, anyway?"

"Just more art stuff. Thanks!" She set off at a run for the marketplace, and again Sabin lagged behind. Language aside, she still had a child's enthusiasm and earnest love for her grandfather. He could only hope that the kids in Mobliz would care for Terra just as much when they grew up and not become resentful of her having replaced their real parents. It would be irrational, ungrateful, and terrible, but it was also just the sort of attitude he'd had as a teenager after his father died. I hated everyone, even Matron and Edgar...

...but ungrateful to Terra? No, dammit, that wasn't allowed. If one of the kids so much as thought about it he would forcibly remove the idea. He reassured himself with the knowledge that they were all good kids, and wouldn't for a minute think of being cruel to her. Did he think he was being cruel to Matron? No, he was just angry and didn't want to have anything to do with the kingdom.

Sabin was amazed at how much of his own immaturity and selfishness had become so obvious in the process of bringing up kids. He could recognize the silly fibs he'd told, the erratic anxieties he'd had, and even the secret fears he'd never told anyone about. Now he saw them all, and it was humbling. He hadn't known the ups and downs of childhood were so universal. There were some experiences everyone had in common.

Almost everyone...

"Granddad!" Relm picked out the little red cape in the crowd. She latched onto Strago's wizened frame and kissed his forehead. "The cleverest, most talented, and all-around greatest girl in all the world is home!"

"Is that so? You'll have to tell me where she is, then," he murmured, touching her cheek with one of his mottled hands.

"You jerk!"

"Yes, yes, I know. Come, help this bag of bones carry the groceries home, hmm? And---" He finally looked up at Sabin and started. "Well, well! If it isn't the lesser of two evils. What brings you all the way down here?"

"Master Duncan, actually. His wife said he was down here. I was hoping to train with him for a while."

Strago cackled. "Keep reachin' for that star, son. Your master skipped town yesterday morning. At least you're not in a rush anymore, eh?"

It was a while before Sabin could even comprehend this latest blow of bad fortune. "He's..." I just wasted a week of my life, I'm stranded at the end of the world until the next boat arrives, the only people around for miles are completely insane...What would he do? "You're not kidding, are you?" he stammered.

"I couldn't make up something that good." Strago was taking advantage of his shock and loading him down with bags. "You too! Take this and this. It's good to know your generation is good for something. You might as well stay for us, since I don't think Mr. Braithwaite is too fond of you."

"Yeah, I kinda noticed that."

"It's not personal, mind. He's got it out for all men around your age. His niece's husband was about that old when she died in childbirth. The scumbag skipped town, leaving Anton with a baby he couldn't afford to raise." Before Sabin could ask what happened to the child, Strago cleared his throat in an authoriative way that signaled the story was over. "Really, though, I'm surprised to see you. Locke tells me you've taken up an unusual vocation over the past few years."

"I wouldn't put it like that," he said, as carefully indifferent as he could manage. "I just try to help when I can. Locke tends to exaggerate things."

"Oh, yes, I'm aware. I suppose if you work as hard as he says, you deserve some time off. The children won't do any growing up in the meantime, so by all means, take as long as you want."

His pointed sarcasm was hard to miss, but the meaning behind it wasn't clear. "What are you implying?"

"I'll imply whatever I want. I might have wooden dentures and a bad knee, but I reckon I know a thing or two about being a surrogate father. It's not a commitment to be taken lightly."

"There isn't..." What was he on about? 'Father' wasn't the right word, and he hadn't made a commitment of any kind. Had he? "No, that's not it. I just help out around the house, that's all. It's not---"

Relm stamped impatiently. She was almost to the house on the hilltop and didn't look like she wanted to wait for them to catch up. "Are the two of you going to be annoying and slow all day? Why does it take you so long to do everything?"

"Grown-ups think more," Strago said cheerfully. "Don't worry. Someday you'll be an adult and paranoid about everything, too. Would you put on a little hot water for us old fogeys, or do you need to stretch those perfectly youthful limbs somewhere else?"

"You'll be lucky if I do anything at all," she said, but it was disobedience in word only.

Their home hadn't changed much since before the collapse of the world. The single notable difference in the knickknacks and decor was the quantity of art hung on the wall. Every square inch had part of a doodle, sketch or fully framed painting. For all the finished artwork (and many mildly offensive caricatures) of Strago, there wasn't a self-portrait in sight. It seemed the art itself was a better picture of Relm than any actual representation.

"I can't imagine Figaro is thrilled to have a bachelor of that age on the throne." Strago had settled down in an old creaky armchair with a cup of chamomile tea. Relm was upstairs recounting her adventures to old Interceptor. Like the old man, it seemed to have reconciled itself to spending its last years in quiet comfort.

Sabin reflexively sprang to his brother's defense. "No, but he's doing everything he can. There's a lot of pressure to make a quick decision, and he's never going to decide something like that without a lot of time."

"That's not what I've heard."

"Oh yeah? What have you heard?" As much as he wished people would have an iota of consideration for their personal lives, Sabin knew it wasn't possible. He'd given up the throne more than a decade ago and he was still a topic of common conversation.

"Quite a bit." He leaned forward with interest as though he had been waiting for the chance to indulge in genuine old-fashioned gossip. "They say that he'll go for days at a time without seeing anbody but that poor joker---not right, if you ask me; Gabbiani's a scoundrel---and they've started calling Edgar the King of Clubs for those damn queer soirées he has, and that he writes a letter a day to Jidoor to the Lady Globellia..."

"That's not true," he snapped, resenting Strago in that moment for finding such garbage repeatable. "And it's the Lady Coppelia, from Nikeah, not Jidoor. Then again," and he couldn't hold back a surly jab, "you always did mix up words."

" 'Always', eh? I suppose so. Heaven knows I've been eighty all my life."

It hadn't been a fair thing to say, but Sabin didn't feel quite guilty enough to recant. "So, um," he began, "do you know where Master Duncan went? Did he say he was going home?"

"No, he's in Mobliz."

Somehow he simultaneously inhaled and exhaled a mouthful of tea. He choked for a good minute before it was all out, spitting up grit into his hands. Strago was looking at him with ill-concealed satisfaction.

"Dear me, did I say Mobliz? I meant Narshe. Of course, I always did mix up words."

Relm's snappy vindictiveness suddenly made a whole lot more sense. "I guess I deserrved that," he admitted, if only because he couldn't stand the way Strago was smirking at him. "But, uh, Narshe. That's good," he sputtered, as if he'd been suffocating by sheer coincidence. "I'll take the next boat out, then."

"Why so soon? Don't you need to help people in need? Speaking of need, my petunia garden's been spotty these past few seasons. Would you be able to...?"

"Is that why you're letting me stay with you? So I'll feel obligated to do your housework?"

"Maybe," he chortled, but there was a bitter sound to it. "Tell me about Mobliz."

The abrupt solemnity in his voice made Sabin uneasy. "Sure..." He started to describe the way the old shops had been converted into living space, livestock in the southern pastures, how everyone went to tend the fields in the morning and practice lessons in the afternoon. It was hard to talk in big, all-encompassing generalities when he was most impressed with the little things, like how Terra told bedtime stories and fixed cinnamon raisin toast on Sundays. The best thing he could say was that it felt like home.

"...but even in winter it's really nice, even if it's hard to get all the animals in the barn, because all the snow just sort of piles down around all the buildings and so we all have to go out on snowshoes..."

"Mmm, yes, I can just see the whole happy family at play."

Why did he keep pushing that? "The younger kids usually do, but the older ones help me gather and split firewood. You need a lot to heat a whole house."

"And does Terra stay inside with the girls, cooking a nice warm meal for everyone and cleaning up?"

"No, she goes out herself if she can. She really likes the outdoors."

"I see. And the older children, they're around what age? Are any of them teenagers?"

"A few. Most..." It was a hard subject to talk about. He couldn't bear the idea of children having made that kind of sacrifice. "A lot of them died trying to protect their siblings. Hannes is fourteen, which is the oldest besides Duane and Katarin."

"Do you think Terra would welcome another child in the home?"

"Why wouldn't she? She's always so---" A second passed before the meaning of his words sank in. Sabin looked up at Strago, waiting for him to laugh it off or say something like "you gullible fool!", but nothing happened. Strago simply sipped his tea.

"How long?" Sabin asked at last, his throat dry.

"No more than six months, I don't think. Besides, I really ought to give the neighbors a rest. I've been terrorizing them for three generations." He had the familiar mischievous twinkle in his eye again. "Funny to think of a girl like that as a mother, isn't it? Maybe it's because she always seemed like such a child herself. Still, though, she's always cared so much about other people. It's a good fit."

"Strago..." The room became unbearably stuffy. Sabin was unsettled by how casual it all seemed, like they were making arrangements for a vacation. The loud ticking of the cuckoo clock on the wall agitated him. It shouldn't be like this.

"And you'd look after her, wouldn't you? It would be hard at first, I know, but she really does respect you. It's just for a few years until she's old enough to make a living on her own."

He didn't know what to say. This responsibility seemed larger than all of Figaro. He's not concerned with me because I'm...he thinks...the most precious thing in his life, in Terra's hands and mine...

What do I do?

"Can you hold on for three more months?" Already he was calculating the amount of time it would take to go to Narshe, go to Mobliz, and come back again. There was no sense of panic or terror, just the grim calm of accepting the inevitable. Adulthood.

"Three months, eh? Shouldn't be a problem, but I'm holding you to it. If you're so much as a second late I'll send the freckle-faced terror after you, so be on time, hmm?"

He was just able to crack a smile. Maturity hurt. "Don't worry."

ooo

Terra set down the saw with exasperation. She'd been hacking at the planks for almost an hour, but her handiwork hadn't gotten any less crooked. It was so hard to keep the cuts in line when she was barely heavy enough to support it with her body weight.

She was alone in the early hours before dawn, just as dew was just beginning to take shape from frozen droplets on the grass. She had already gotten a start on Toron's bed, the new cradle, and the patchwork for the roof, but it didn't feel like enough. Looking down at the messy edges was disheartening. I wish all the other knives weren't so unwieldly.

An idea struck her and she glanced back at the house. Could she?

Why not? I spent so long practicing. I know I can still do it.

If nobody sees...

After quashing a last stab of doubt she went into the house and retrieved her sword. It had been years since she'd held it and struck, holding tightly as it rumbled with a Flare spell. The old power was gone now, and it no longer hummed with the energy of the gods, but the blade hadn't changed.

Her first strike went a little bit too much to the left, but it was already better than anything she'd done with the saw. Cyan had taught her much of what she knew about wielding a sword. Celes never deigned to teach her directly, instead restraining herself to a rare comment or stiffly worded suggestion. Even Edgar had occasionally used a sword, not so proud as to think his complicated tools were always the best for the job. Terra believed she'd learned from the best.

She took a few more practice swings before going back to the planks. The cleanliness of her strikes surprised her. I really haven't forgotten everything. Soon she'd sliced all the way through half a stack of lumber. At this rate she could be done before sunrise.

The big projects were another story. Even with Dean's help she couldn't possibly hope to build a whole house. She didn't know how to dig a foundation or lay mortar. All she could hope to do was make as much progress as possible before wintertime and wait for---

Maybe I'll ask Edgar.

The extent of her own stubbornness upset her. She was partly to blame, wasn't she? I should've just said goodbye. Or thank you, for everything that you did. I don't know why I was so impolite...

There was a loud crash like splitting beams, making Terra fumble her sword. A fishing boat had crashed against the thick shoals by the shore, and she could just see a desperate hand reaching up out of the water.

"Wait!" she shouted. "Wait! I'm coming!"

ooo

Sabin spent the next few days without more than a handful of thoughts for the future. It was too easy to latch onto a fear and nurture it until it grew into an unhealthy obsession; better, he thought, to forget it all and enjoy what little time they had. When the freight carrier finally came, he hugged both of his friends close and assured them he'd return before the year was out. "Just for a visit," he'd told Relm, who didn't understand why he would be coming back so soon. "Maybe I'll bring all the guys with me, huh? I bet they'll be impressed with how grown-up you are."

"Ew, no!"

The ship chugged away, and Thamasa was no more than a clump of green on the horizon. Sabin couldn't help wondering at the changes in his own life. Two years ago he wouldn't have been able to fathom such a request, but now he'd accepted it almost unquestioningly.

Where have I been? What's happened to me? He realized he still didn't know Relm very well even after all these years. Why had Strago looked at him and Terra and made his decision?

He thought of his brother, newly married and surrounded by a whole host of new advisors; and Relm, utterly alone. He thought of the labyrinthine Castle Figaro and the ruins of Mobliz.

Edgar... there are people in the world who need me, who need me more...

Promise me you'll stay strong.