X. In Which Women Are Temporarily Neglected To Showcase The Lives Of Great Men
ooo
Sabin couldn't have asked for an easier journey out of Thamasa---the boat came quickly, the weather was mild, and there were no crazy mountain men swinging their guns and hollering for him to get off their land---but the trip still seemed to take ages. Now there was so much for him to do.
He'd have to tell Terra, of course. If he spent a month training with Master Duncan, he'd have plenty of time to visit Mobliz and talk to her before going back. He could already imagine the mixture of fright and sadness in her voice: That can't be...oh, no, poor Relm...He knew she wouldn't hesitate to open her arms and home. Terra would adopt the world if she could.
You made the right choice, Strago. But I...
The sight of Narshe's staggering mountains was more comforting than intimidating. Sabin knew most of the cold, slippery rock and treacherous fissures. Even after the earthquakes, he could spot where the old cliffs had been and navigate accordingly.
He never stopped to think about it, but there really was a lot of stuff he knew. For all the times he cursed his own stupidity, there were occasions when he was surprised with his abilities. When Claude had gotten lost in the woods, Sabin found him in less than an hour just going by trampled twigs and grass. He could treat snakebites, burn wounds and sprained ankles. For some reason it had never seemed important before, but now he was almost...well, useful.
"Hah! Hoh! Training is the form of virtue!" Master Duncan's booming voice echoed for miles around the rocks. Sabin liked knowing that it wasn't a pretension of teaching. The man really did talk that way all the time. "To train is to praise God!"
"Master..." Sabin took a deep breath and cautiously stepped out from his spot in the shadows. "I'm back. I'm here to train with you."
"Well, well, well! What brings you back so soon?"
Because I need order in my life. Because I need to know if I'm going crazy. Because I need to remember what it is I'm supposed to do. "Uh, I thought it would help, that's all." Hiding the truth from Master was never an option, but he wasn't ready to say everything just yet. At some point he would just blurt it out. He had never been good at keeping things bottled up.
"We'll train, then!" he said jovially. "I certainly won't pass up the opportunity. I'm just surprised you don't have other commitments."
"N-no, I...I mean, yes, but not yet. I have time. And besides, this...this is where I should be. This is what's most important." It didn't feel true even as he said it. What had happened to him? How could he possibly question his place after more than a decade? How could anything be more important to him than practice? It was an outrage, practically a sacrilege, and yet...
"Put down your bags. We're going to the summit."
Master Duncan wasted no time and Sabin was glad for it. If he couldn't find answers, the least he could do was not think about the questions. There wasn't room for personal doubt when climbing barehanded.
He started up as he always had, soon feeling the familiar soreness of sharp crags against his palms. Any pride he felt in the ease with which he set to work was tempered by the master's effortless, sprightly pace. How long have I been this slow? Am I really that out of shape?
Focus. Just focus.
It felt good to work against an unyielding opponent. The mountain didn't care whether or not he tripped, didn't complain when he struck too hard, and didn't judge him for his weaknesses. He could hit it till he bled and not leave so much as a scratch. It was inflexible and uncaring and just what he needed.
They climbed in two-hour stretches, pausing only when absolutely necessary, and then for no more than ten minutes at a time. Master Duncan wouldn't even permit him to break for a meal. "Hungry?" he'd roared when Sabin had dared to ask. "Did I give you permission to be hungry? This isn't cushy castle living, boy! You're not going to have any cream soups and filet mignon while you're here!"
He hadn't been thinking of either. He would've been content with something simple---a peach, maybe, or a lone slice of tomato on toast; anything to stave off the dizziness and altitude sickness. He felt like he was lost in a fog.
It wasn't until well after sunset that they broke camp. They pitched two tents on a plateau near the western peaks. Sabin spent some time silently appreciating the stillness of the valley at night. The rising moon cast a swath of white light over the hilltops, cold but calm. He hoped all the world was really as serene as it looked from here.
Is that why I train? To sit around and wish for peace as opposed to making it? Didn't I swear to "give myself beyond the boundaries of man"?
"You're much faster than you used to be. Your recent work has paid off."
Is it selfish to want to be stronger? In the end, Vargas only wanted strength for strength's sake.
"But your endurance leaves something to be desired. Look at your eyes! When was the last time you got a good night's sleep?"
I want to protect the people I love.
Is that enough?
A heavy boot slammed him hard in the back and he fell headfirst down the cliffside. "Willful disobedience!" the master shouted. "You would ignore me?"
"I didn't..." Sabin began, but he was too busy scrambling for a foothold in the midst of jagged rocks. At last he caught himself on a crevasse and bent over, gasping for breath. For a few desperate seconds he really had feared for his life.
Master Duncan glowered at him from his place on the ledge. "How dare you show such disrespect! Do you think age affords you exemption? If you can't respect your superiors, you have no business with me! Go!"
For a fleeting moment far more terrifying than any amount of near death experiences, he considered it. "Yes, master," he said, forcibly shoving the thought out of his mind as he set back up again.
Even after such a stinging reprimand (and the brief surge of rebelliousness) Sabin still had trouble paying attention. He didn't care about flinging rotten stumps into the river, regardless of how good it would be for his arms. He wanted to do real work with results he could see.
Sabin could tell his impatience was aggravating the master, but didn't quite know how to explain the reason for his anxiety. He couldn't bring up his newfound obligation without getting nauseous. Two weeks passed before he was able to explain everything it was he'd been feeling.
"I don't know what's going on," he said.
"Oh, so?"
"Uh?"
Two hours after midnight, he reflected, was probably not a particularly opportune time to talk about his problems. They were meditating in the tripod position beside a scant campfire. Master Duncan had appeared to be deep in thought, but he was listening intently as ever. His presence of mind was astonishing.
"Is that all?" he said sharply.
"No. Master, I..." Sabin swallowed. "I don't know when I'll be able to come back." What am I saying? I swore to put the order above all things, forever.
I was only fourteen when I made that vow. Does that make it any less binding? How could I have known then that I would be here today?
Is it really impossible to uphold my creed and keep my promise to Strago?
"I never asked for your unwavering devotion," Master Duncan said, his face obscured by the flickering firelight. "If you believe your work is better served elsewhere, then so be it. That's for you to decide. You know the callings of God are as varied as His creations."
Sabin couldn't have asked for a more accepting response, but he still wasn't satisfied. Shouldn't the master be more disappointed or berating him for his failure? "You don't think it's more important that I keep training?"
"You don't."
Somehow the accusation in those two words was worse than any amount of furious ranting. "I didn't plan to," he said lamely.
"Would you find it more honorable if you had?"
Would I? Maybe not, but at least then he wouldn't have been so surprised. "I guess I just feel like I'm deserting my training. This has always mattered more than anything else in the world, and suddenly..."
"Suddenly! There is no sudden in this world. Even the unexpected can be foreseen from another's perspective. Your opinion today is the result of many small inclinations that only now came to persuade you."
"My opinion is the result of someone else's need," Sabin blurted, as if emphasis and volume would make it true. The idea that Strago's incredible, life-changing decision had really only sped up the inevitable made him queasy.
"So you say."
The fire popped as it sprang to the lower logs. A few stray sparks on Sabin's cheek made him wonder when he'd last shaved. Without a mirror readily available (unlike Edgar, who always carried two and a spare sewn into his sleeve), he tended to forget it was necessary. It wasn't until he would arrive at Mobliz and unintentionally terrify the children that it even crossed his mind.
"Go."
He lost balance, wobbled, then toppled over. The rush of blood away from his head was dizzying. "M, master?"
"Tomorrow morning you will leave, attend to your responsibilities as you see fit and return only when you are sure of your place. At present you waste your time and mine."
I shouldn't be away, not when I haven't even told Terra about Relm...
I haven't even told Terra about Relm! The more he thought about it, the more it made him cringe. It had already been three weeks since he'd left Thamasa. What if something happened to Strago? What if something had already happened?
What am I doing here! "No..." Sabin yanked at the tarp of his tent and pulled the stake from the ground. "I've got to leave tonight. You're right, I'll be back later, but now---"
"You will do no such thing!" Master Duncan thundered. Despite the brusque tone of voice, there was no hostility in it, and it was clear that the time for serious lecturing had passed. "Stay here and at least try to rest. If you had your way you'd walk all night, get lost around Albrook, and then punish yourself by not sleeping until you either arrive or pass out in a ditch. Be reasonable, boy."
Sabin was humbled but thankful to be back on familiar ground. He didn't know if he was ready to be treated as an equal to the man who had essentially raised him. "Yes, master. Thank you."
"Ohoho! In the old days you would rush around, do something foolish, and then come crying to me when you got hurt. It hasn't changed so much, has it?...only now you're raising children instead of taping snakes to walls." He laughed heartily. "Get some sleep. You deserve it."
"Yes, master," he repeated. It occurred to him that he'd never once questioned the man's judgment. He really is the wisest person in the world.
Where would I be without his guidance? Where do I want to be? After setting the tent back in place Sabin crawled inside and lay down. Where...That was a given if he'd ever known one. He rolled over on the tarp, thinking of spaetzle, kuchen, and a whole host of little hands grabbing curiously at his beard.
ooo
Dawn arrived with a dramatic flourish as though to speed Sabin on his way. Although he wasn't in the mood to tarry, he spent a half-hour stumbling around beneath the blinding sun and its fierce heat. The rocks soon became hot to the touch, leaving him with no alternative but to climb down with quick, clipped movements that sent pebbles spraying in all directions. By the time he'd reached the foot of the mountain he was covered in scrapes.
Well. It was time to go straight to Mobliz and get things settled. He had no more excuses, no more delays. There was nothing keeping him from being there in a week, maybe less, except for his feet inexplicably refusing to move.
It's too soon.
Is it? It's been two months. What if she didn't want to see him? Should he give some kind of advance notice? Right then he envied Edgar and his ability to send couriers wherever he wanted to go. Everything was less complicated with a neutral party to help smooth things over.
He'd never bothered to ask permission in the past. Terra hadn't ever been annoyed with him for coming. But that was ancient history, ages before he'd held her close and heard her say 'friend' doesn't seem like enough...
A letter. He would write a letter, maybe with a casual suggestion that he might stop by for a visit, and if that was fine by her, he could go ahead and be on his way. He didn't think she'd say no, of course (or would she?), but a word from her first might at least make him feel better.
Should he mention Strago? No. She deserves to hear that straight from me. She deserves to know. When I get there, I can tell her everything. Yes, a letter was the right thing to do. It was informal but polite, and he'd have a chance to gauge how she felt about his coming back. He could even get to work on it right now. Sabin started whistling a tune and set out for the one place in the world that delivered letters to Mobliz.
Dear---no, that was out of the question. He wasn't fond of the greeting, anyway. Just "Terra" was fine. How are you? Are the kids all right? I've been all the way down to Thamasa, I'll tell you about it the next time I'm around. I had thought I'd come see you in the next few weeks, if that'd be all right. I'll be in Maranda for a while, so you can send a letter there. Was that relaxed enough? Did the "I had thought" sound too premeditated? Should he stick a "maybe" in there to make it less decisive?
That was only a few sentences. Would another couple lines be okay? It couldn't hurt to know if Simon was still wearing a cast or if Vale kept picking on everyone else, although it couldn't be as much fun as listening to the kids themselves. He liked to hear their stories, which were so long-winded, wildly exaggerated and outrageously silly. It always made him grin and want to toss in a few anecdotes of his own. His life had been ridiculous enough to the point where he didn't need to make anything up.
At the southern border of Narshe he caught a boat to Corlingen, and from there took another straight to Maranda. Sabin realized he hadn't done this kind of traveling since the old days. He remembered how they would go across the whole earth on foot, then double back at the first signs of a new crisis. Back then, he reflected, it had been more about the journey than anything that happened at their destination. There was no time to share thoughts or feelings while fighting off whole squadrons of soldiers, but they often passed the slow hours by just talking. Setzer liked to recall some of his more fantastic victories around the table, whereas Locke tended to ramble on and eventually forget what he was talking about. Surprisingly, the best stories came from Gogo. "Although I myself was not present," it would say, "the tale is mine, for it is this veil that bore witness to acts of the traitorous queen..."
Both lengthy boat trips gave Sabin plenty of opportunities to write and rewrite his letter. By the time he set foot in Maranda, a full thirty-eight drafts later, he was sure he knew what he wanted to say.
Without an airship dock, harbor, or even telegraph wires, modern communication to Mobliz was impossible. Maranda was the only town in the world that employed all of these and an older, albeit far slower, method that guaranteed delivery anywhere.
"Good afternoon! May I...ah!"
Sabin blinked. The woman behind the counter had turned away as soon as she saw him. "Uh," he stammered, somewhat uneasy at having to talk to her back, "are any of the pigeons in? I wanted to send a letter to Mobliz."
"Yes, that's fine. You can just leave it on the counter. I'll make sure it gets sent out tonight."
Why won't she look at me? "Thanks. How much do I owe?"
"Just a hundred gil, th-that's all." The way her voice trembled was familiar, and he remembered where he'd seen her before. It had been here in Maranda, just three years prior, when she had sat in her living room and spilled her heart out to a group of strangers.
"I wouldn't let myself think he was gone, even though I knew it was true. I wrote every day. As long as I wrote, it felt like he really was still alive, somewhere far from here. And then, when the letters started coming back, I realized it didn't matter who was writing them. I could imagine it was him and never let go..." She'd buried her head in her hands and sobbed. "You must think I'm so weak."
He had empathized with her then. Who could be blamed for not wanting to believe in a broken world? Now, watching her pointedly avoid his gaze, he empathized even more strongly with her sense of embarrassment.
"I really appreciate it," he said slowly. "I don't know how else I'll tell her that...well, I guess that doesn't really matter." He cleared his throat. "It's, um...it's...never mind."
Lola turned over her shoulder with a slight smile. "Of course. I'll make sure it gets there safely."
He smiled back and left the makeshift post office. With that out of the way, there was nothing left to do but settle in and wait. Sabin stopped by the inn, bought a room, and headed off for the bar. He was hoping for a greasy platter of fish and chips to lift his mood.
Unlike the sloppy, seedy gin joints that had sprung up in ruined buildings after the earthquakes, Maranda's bar was more or less respectable. There were no dancers in red taffeta or snarling drunkards, just a few run-down game tables watched by the barmen. Having always known the bar as a peaceful place, Sabin was stunned to walk in on the beginning of a brawl.
"You cheating son of a bitch!" A red-faced man in patched trousers swung his fists wildly, but the object of his wrath was surrounded by a crowd. "That was a fixed deck! My money...my house...you bastard!"
"I don't recall forcing you to bet either. As for the deck, have a look for yourself. Every card is legitimate."
Sabin recognized the low, nonchalant tone of voice at once.He discreetly took a seat in the corner and waited for it to blow over.
"Like I should believe anything you say!" the man bawled. Two of his companions had grabbed hold of his arms, but he continued to struggle. "Your type doesn't need cards, you've got...wires, or cameras, or something!"
"Listen, Alain, all I've got is a good eye and a winning streak. If you want to talk about real odds, there's---Sabin?"
The image of a quiet dinner alone disappeared like wisps of smoke. Don't be angry, don't be angry, realize God has different plans... "Oh, hey, Setzer," he managed through grit teeth.
"What brings you here? It's not like there are hordes monsters around."
"You're not finished with me yet! You stole everything I own!" Alain howled.
"Who stole anything?" Setzer said indignantly. "You set the stakes. Don't play a gentleman's game if you aren't planning to keep your word. Although, as the winner, I have certain duties." He loosed the silk scarf around his neck and tossed it to Alain. "Take this and let's call it even. I'd rather you be fashionable than broke."
With that, he turned back around and took a seat beside Sabin like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Then again, in Setzer's world, maybe that kind of easygoing magnanimity was normal. Everything about the gambler was unreadable, unpredictable, and ambiguous. Sabin didn't doubt that he had a sense of morals, but he also didn't think that he'd ever understand what they were.
"You really think you're an artist, huh?"
"I prefer to think of myself as a philosopher. Poker is just the beginning of my language." Setzer took advantage of the bartenders' surprise and snapped his fingers for another round of drinks. "Of course, not everyone holds the rules in such high regard. Your brother, for one. He'll bend over backwards for any kind of crazy setup that gives him half a chance. He doesn't like to lose."
That was true enough: Edgar had always been much too competitive for his own good. In his over-romanticized imagination, every challenge became a direct affront to the people of Figaro. "I'm glad you're looking out for his best interests."
"But of course. Anyway, what brings you to Maranda? Wait, wait, don't tell me. It's your usual mission of spreading justice and helping old ladies cross the street, am I right?"
"Sending a letter. What's your excuse?"
"Oh, just on my way north for some airship repair." He leaned over the table with a sly smirk. "And why have you come all the way here to send a letter, hmm?"
Any other time Sabin would have been willing to play along, but right now it was intolerable. "I don't know," he shot back, glad he hadn't forgotten everything he'd learned about the Falcon. "Why are you going north for airship repair when your shipyard's in Jidoor?"
Setzer paused. "Touché," he said agreeably, pouring out a shot. "Have a drink. It's good for what ails you! Well, as long as it's not liver failure."
They spent the next half-hour bonding silently over alcohol and fried potatoes. There was nothing to do except recognize that they would both rather be somewhere else and take solace in their common ground.
The bar door swung open and struck the wall with a loud bang. "Why, by the gods!" cried the newcomer. "Can it be? Do mine eyes deceive me?"
"Oh dear God," Setzer muttered.
Cyan pulled up a chair and sat beside them, completely oblivious to their discomfort. "What an extraordinary coincidence! Just last week I encountered young Sir Gau outside of Zozo."
Sabin paused between bites of fish. "Yeah? How's he doing?"
"Well as can be expected. He's compassionate and considerate as always, but insists he's very misunderstood. As of yesterday he's endeavoring a journey to 'find himself', as most adolescent boys do. I wished him great success."
He spoke with an understanding that made the younger men ashamed for shunning his company. Cyan hadn't been middle-aged all his life; he knew what it was like to be hot-blooded, heartbroken, or simply confused.
And Gau is seventeen...the time I left Edgar, home, and everything I ever knew... Where had the time gone since their first meeting at the Beast Plains, when a skinny kid had hauled them to safety? How was it possible to grow up healthily in the middle of a world war? Sabin pushed the thought aside and turned back to the general conversation.
"...pretty good for the most part. He's latched on to this crazy notion that Corlingen should settle more land to keep the farmers in business. The guy really thinks all their problems will be solved if they go west! I keep telling him it's not going to make a difference if the soil's bad, but he won't listen, and for some insane reason he's actually almost respectable in town so people are listening to him..."
"I must say the idea appears to have some merit."
"What, you too? The man can't even remember how to put on his pants half the time!"
"If it's foolish to believe in him then I shall gladly count myself amongst the fools. He may have difficulty with buttons, but he's never once given me cause for disappointment. I support him wholeheartedly." He struck the table to underline his point. "So! What brings you fine gentlemen to this humble town? Are you here for business, or more leisurely pursuits?"
Sabin and Setzer exchanged a look.
"We were in the neighborhood," Setzer said flippantly. "What about you? What reason could you possibly have for hanging around a place like this?"
Cyan opened his mouth to answer, frowned, and glanced around the bar. "You know," he remarked, "I do believe a reunion such as this calls for some measure of celebration. Would either of you care for wine?"
ooo
The next several days were spent awkwardly dropping by the post office, but a full two weeks passed before the pigeon returned. "I know it's slow, but it's always worth it," Lola sang, holding out the letter. It was obvious she wanted him to read it right there and watch his reaction. "Would you like to send out another one?"
Sabin took the letter from her and undid the seal with fumbling hands. "No, that'll be all. I, uh...thanks a lot." He gave a small wave and hurried out. Now he would know whether or not he would go back to Mobliz and if all his concern had been for nothing.
Of course you should come back! I don't know why you felt like you had to write. You're always welcome here and I'm sorry if I did something to make you feel that you weren't. The children have so many things they want to tell you about! Please come soon so you can hear it all before they forget.
I want to see you again.
Terra's erratic, slightly loopy handwriting seemed to float off the page. She hadn't been able to read or write when she first met Locke, but she was eager to learn. Reading was a freedom the Empire never allowed her to have.
Within minutes Sabin was packed up and on his way. He figured it was probably a good idea to leave while he'd only had two minorly humiliating run-ins, but a brightly colored hat in a store window arrested his attention. I probably shouldn't...
Come to think of it, there were plenty of things he probably shouldn't have done. The letter, for one; she'd blamed herself for his uncertainty. He also probably shouldn't have left Edgar without telling him everything. He probably shouldn't have been so thickheaded with the master, either.
He couldn't change the things he'd done, but at the least he was going to start setting them right.
Once again he whiled away the time on the boat with a letter, even though it only made him feel more guilty. The word "back" had been scratched over something else. What had it been? She didn't sound angry so much as hurt that he had thought it necessary to write. Would he be able to explain it to her? Yes, damn it, he had to. He couldn't keep it to himself any more.
He'd spent so long picturing Mobliz in his mind he could hardly believe it when he saw the old shore side barn. It really was here. After so many months (well, only three, but each month had felt more like a year), this was it.
The early frost had made every post, plank and blade of grass sparkle with a crisp, chaste sheen. Some heavy stones had been laid for the beginning of a house by the shoals. Mobliz wasn't being rebuilt anymore, it was building, making a fresh start. "A single family hardly constitutes a 'village'," the Duke Lindoro had scoffed, and maybe it didn't, but that didn't make their achievements any less important. If anything, it was even more incredible that such a small group of people had been able to come so far
"Mr. Sabin!" Dmitri had spotted him from the top of the hill. "Mr. Sabin!" he yelled, running down to meet him. Some of the other children heard his shouting and followed suit. Sabin braced for impact. Three...two...one...
He let himself fall backwards into a pile of six little kids tugging in every direction. "Hey! How are you all?"
"I lost a tooth!"
"I lost two teeth!"
"I fed the cows!"
"I was sick for a whole week!"
"Sounds pretty exciting," he grinned, and scooped them up so they squealed and shrieked. "Let's go see Mama, huh? I bet she could use some help with dinner."
Even with a stuffed backpack and a hundred squirming pounds in either arm, he felt almost light. He listened to their dramatic renditions of individual triumphs as they made their way back to the house. Strago was right; a few monotonous months was enough time for endless epic adventures in the life of a child. He really had missed out on important things.
Sabin managed to open the door with his free hand and paused to enjoy the sight. The kitchen was busy with sensation. A steady fire burned under the biggest iron stockpot, which threatened to bubble over with tomato soup. Claude and Lue were chopping up onions while Duane nervously lit the skillet. It was loud, chaotic, and absolutely wonderful.
"Sabin? Is that you?"
Terra peered in from the stairwell. She clutched an old broom tightly in both hands. "I...I'm glad you're back," she said, smiling slightly.
He needed to say something clever, but it was hard to think of anything with six different chattering voices around his head. He knelt to safely lower the children to the floor. "Uh, I think these belong to you."
She laughed. "Well, now that you mention it..."
"Who's out there, Terra?"
Sabin looked up as the little mob disentangled itself from his grip. The voice didn't belong to Locke, Setzer or anyone he recognized. "Who's that?"
"Oh! Oh, yes. We have a visitor." She motioned for him to follow her to the living room. Sitting on the old couch was a lean younger man with a few days' stubble. "This is Private Macilvain from the international patrol force. He was sailing by a while ago and crashed his boat, so we brought him in. He came around again just last week, only he'd hurt his legs in another accident, so he's staying here until he can walk again."
Macilvain cocked his head at Sabin. "Yeah, and you're...?"
"An old friend," he said flatly, staring back. The look in his eyes was unmistakable. He wasn't being introduced, he was being evaluated. He sees me as a threat...to what?
"You a straggler too?" Macilvain asked. He gave him a would-be friendly wink. "Or is this your home?"
"Actually..." He decided a change of plans was in order. "I'm not going to stay or anything. I might come back in a month or so, but I only have time for dinner tonight. I just wanted to drop by and see how everyone was doing."
Terra dropped the broom. "Sabin! What...?"
"I can see why you'd do that," the man agreed. "Terra makes some of the best stew I've ever had anywhere on the continent. She ought to open a restaurant, that's what I say."
"Speaking of restaurants," Duane announced as he fanned away a pillar of smoke, "dinner is ready!"
Even though the bacon had been burnt to charcoal, Sabin couldn't think of the last time he'd eaten so well. Something about a big, crowded table and a nonstop stream of "nuh-uh! You did not!"s made it all taste better. The only drawback came in having to explain his sudden departure. He came up with a quick, lighthearted story about something very important he'd left behind in Thamasa and how he'd be back as soon as he could find it again. The kids assailed him with guesses ("Can you wear it on your head?" "Is it colorful?" "Do we get to eat it?"), but he deftly sidestepped their questions. "Don't worry," he promised. "You'll find out soon enough."
Eventually his repeated assurances were enough to content them---all but Terra, whose pensive distress nearly made him cave in. After supper he gathered his belongings, said his goodbyes and was just out the door when Terra stopped him.
"Why are you leaving?"
As much as he'd wanted to avoid it, he should've known it would be impossible. Sabin turned around and prepared for the worst. Her expression hit him a lot harder than any number of sugar-fueled children who wanted a hug. "It's just for a while, okay?"
"But..."
If she kept this up he might not leave at all. "Do you trust me?" he asked abruptly.
"What? Of course! Sabin, I..." She anxiously curled a lock of hair around her finger. "I just wish you'd tell me what's going on."
You don't deserve this, but I don't know how else to be sure. Maybe there wasn't anything going on at all, maybe he was just reading too much into minor details. He didn't know how to articulate what it was like to be instinctively attuned to every word and gesture he saw. "It'll be fine, okay?" He tried to smile, but for some reason he wasn't sure it came out right. "It'll be fine." When she said nothing more, he turned back around and walked away. The door closed behind him.
I'm sorry.
He was only a handful of steps past the fence when he felt a tug on his pants. Vale had followed him out, bundled up under a thick winter overcoat and fur hat.
"You're not really leaving, are you?"
Sabin crouched to look straight at him. "I don't know. What do you think?"
"I think you should give me fifty gil to not tell."
No wonder he was Setzer's favorite. "I think you should go back inside and take care of Mama. And I know you'll do it without complaining because it's very important. Helping others is a reward in itself."
"Okay." Vale gave a big sigh, as though overcome with the weight of his burden. "It's lucky for you that I'm so good at keeping secrets."
"It sure is." Sabin ruffled his hair and watched him trudge back inside. When the door shut a second time, he felt genuinely ready. It was time to get to work---the kind of slow, tedious work he hated most, but also the most important.
It was time to wait.