XIII. In Which There Is The Long-Awaited Mutual Acknowledgment Of Change

ooo

As much as her body protested, Terra was awake and active well before sunrise. She had told herself there was no reason why she couldn't go about her day as usual as long as she took things a little more slowly. The cabinets had plenty of medicine, and with all the snow outside there would be no need to visit the barn. If anything, today would be something of a break.

She was just buttoning up an old calico dress when she smelled pork fat on the griddle. "What? But..." Who would have woken up before her? Was it Katarin? Lately she'd been having strange cravings at even stranger hours, but she'd never been an early riser either. Terra hurried out to the kitchen, bracing for the worst. "Katarin, if there's something you want, you can just---"

The countertops had been laden down with all the cooking staples. A steady stream of hot grease from the pan was accumulating in a spare skillet. Most unexpected of all was the sight of Duane behind the stove, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

"Ah, ah, ah!" He paused in the midst of flipping bacon to point his metal spatula straight at her. "You're not supposed to be awake!" he said accusingly, but there was a merriment in it. "Go back to bed! I promise I'll bring you something for lunch."
"You're cooking?" Watching breakfast start without her was something like an out-of-body experience. Weirder still was the idea that Duane, who treated the stove with distrust and fear, was having such a good time.

He continued to waggle the spatula in her face. "If you don't go back to bed I'm gonna call in reinforcements!"

It was too early for her already-addled brain to make any sense of it. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Hey, what's...hey!" The sound of footsteps on the cellar staircase drew their attention. Sabin came up the steps with a heavy bag of oatmeal in each arm. "Terra! I thought you were going to rest today!"

"What do you mean, rest? I hadn't planned to overstrain myself, but..."

"But what?" He gently touched his palm to her forehead. "You're still pretty hot. You need to wait at least twenty-four hours until you're not contagious anymore. It's for the best, you know?"

She sighed. Whether or not it was for the best, she couldn't stand to think of simply lying around when there was so much to be done. "I can't even start on the winter quilts?" It sounded whinier than she'd intended.

"Not until you get some sleep."

Sabin's will was decidedly inflexible, and her leaden limbs weren't making it any easier to resist. "All right," she said at last. "But if anything goes wrong, please don't hesitate to come wake me up. Now Toron has two loose teeth, Dmitri needs to eat his wheat crackers, and Vale is allergic to seafood and dairy products and chocolate---"

"We'll be fine. The most you can do for us right now is take care of yourself." There was no condescension in his voice, just simple statement of fact. Terra could tell he really was most concerned about her getting better. She smiled as she turned and left the kitchen.

"Are pancakes made with cornmeal? I mean, corn is yellow."

"No, it's flour. And the eggs. Right? Wait, how many eggs?"

Terra took one last look just to reassure herself. The two men had apparently willfully forgotten the whole incident and cooked sausages in the meantime.

You've got nothing to be upset about, Setzer had said. I mean, look at all this. At the time she'd asked what he meant, but now she understood.

When she came back to bed the comforter was even softer and more inviting than she remembered. It did feel so marvelous to rest; right then her threadbare sheets felt just as good as the finest silk in Figaro. Yes, she needed this, and surely Sabin and Duane would be just fine.

Give Mama some time. She'll be better soon.

ooo

"That was good."

Sabin maneuvered some more grease away from the burners. "Eh?"

"With Terra, I mean. I'm impressed. She can be real stubborn sometimes," remarked Duane, who was unsure whether or not the last of the blueberries would be a good addition.

"It doesn't have much to do with me. Fever really takes the edge off a person, that's all."

"I don't think she would've taken it half so well if I tried suggesting she take a day off. And she didn't even try the pout-thing she always does when she's frustrated with somebody, you know what I mean..."

He knew exactly what he meant. Years ago, at the old Returner base on Mount Koltz, Terra had told them of her difficulty with understanding faces. "How do people make their mouths go up at the ends?" she'd asked, puzzled. "And why? What does it mean?" Locke and Sabin had spent hours teaching her to recognize and replicate facial expressions. Whereas Sabin focused on more basic things like happiness and anger, Locke was eager to show her how to set her face in a way that would get her out of "any situation, no matter how bad". The tiny pout and its equally heart-stopping variations were all Locke's doing.

"Any other day she'd have given me trouble, too. I just got lucky this time around."

"I'll say."

Despite the monk's best efforts a bit of grease slipped onto the flame. There was a brief flailing of arms as hot oil splattered in every direction. Duane yelped when a few drops hit his chin. Sabin was quick to step in with the baking soda, and the crisis was over as quickly as it had begun.

"...baking soda, eh?" Duane winced. The spots on his chin had become red and tender. "How'd you know that?"

"I had a place of my own in the mountains for a long time. I learned not to blow myself up."

Suddenly it was as if time around them had stopped. The spatula in Duane's hand fell to the floor. He stared at Sabin with awe. "You had your own place? Like by yourself?"

The extent of his surprise was almost insulting. What else had he envisioned? "Yeah. When I was sixteen I started building a cabin during my training. I spent about a decade there until I met up with my brother and the Returners."

"Wow...what was that like? Having your own house, I mean." He made a wistful sort of sound and turned back to the skillet, which was now sticky with pancake batter. "I don't mean to be offensive, but I can't wait to get out with Katarin and Lucy. As it is I feel like we're just burdening everybody else with our problems."

"It is hectic here, isn't it? Still, I don't think Terra's ever thought of you as a burden. She likes you all, and she likes having people close to her own age."

"I dunno, the two of you are more adults than we are. She talks to Katarin a lot, but she's never stayed up and told her about how worried she gets." He saw Sabin's bewilderment and said defensively, "I was just up to get a glass of water! I didn't listen."

A few words flashed through his mind, none of them appropriate. He'd forgotten that these kinds of unfortunate coincidences could happen without Edgar's assistance. "Y, yeah, well---"

"It's not like I didn't see it coming," Duane muttered.

Curious Phillippe came to the rescue. He toddled into the kitchen with Mr. Bear in tow. "Where's Mama?" he asked.

Sabin shifted the bucket of eggs to his other arm and hoisted him up. "Mama's sick today, so she'll be in bed."

"Sick?" The rest of the children came out from behind the doorway, each of them trying in their own way to make it look as though they hadn't been listening. Pamina glanced out the windows and gasped.

"It's snowing!"

The house shook with squeals and whoops of glee. Sabin couldn't help but be caught up in their joy, even if he wished they would be quieter for Terra's sake. When he finally mentioned it everyone wanted to know what great and terrible illness had been enough to fell Mama. Most of them remembered the way she had annihilated Phunbaba and had since thought of her as invincible.

"When did she get it?"

"Is she okay? Is it bad?"

"What kind of sick?"

He hoped this bit of honesty wouldn't cause fear in any fertile imaginations. As a child, hearing about his own father's sicknesses had given him nightmares. "I'm not sure. It could be the flu, or maybe a cold."

"Or maybe..." Susanna began. Katarin gave her a warning swat on the forehead.

As soon as the plates had been distributed (by a genuinely penitent Vale, who seemed to be blaming himself for Terra's condition) and the food served, it was time to discuss the day's schedule. It would be hard to do much of anything outdoors because of the blizzard, but he didn't know how a house full of kids would be conducive to someone who desperately needed to sleep.

Sabin looked around the disjointed bookshelf-table. Although he hadn't deigned to take the stool usually reserved for Terra, he was still in the head position. He was reminded of the fancy mahogany banquet table in Castle Figaro, where he had spent so many hours under the frowning gaze of his relatives. He had thought that there could be nothing more powerful than that seat.

More than two decades later, as he faced down sixteen young people in various stages of quarreling and minor food fights, he'd never felt so powerless in his life.

"Uh, so." How does Terra do this? "As you can see, there was a lot of snow last night---"

"Make Jay stop kicking!" Ramir wailed.

"I'm not kicking, you are!"

Hannes banged his fist on the table. "Both of you stop it and listen to Mr. Sabin!"

Was it acceptable to let that go? Sabin inwardly winced and went on. "It's still snowing, and it might get worse before it gets better, but we should try to clear some paths. Even if everything fills back up again overnight, we'll at least have a start. It's a lot easier to shovel two feet of snow than four."

"And the littler ones?" Katarin prompted. Beside her, Lucy was nodding off into the wide-brimmed oatmeal bowl. "There's a lot to do around the house, but I'm sure you had some specifics in mind."

He took a bite of sausage to buy some time. "Well, I wasn't sure. Terra usually supervises them, right? I'd be glad to stay in here, although I think I could oversee the snow shoveling." Left implicit was his assumption that he'd be a lot more helpful doing hard physical work than polishing silver.

"I'd do it myself, but I need to rest too. And with Lucy's stomach flu..."

Right then Duane saw an opportunity to do a great deed, or at least something that would please his wife. "I'll do it," he said. "Stay inside, I mean, if it'll be a help to everybody else. I can take care of the women and the children."

This last remark was enough to incite the collective annoyance of everyone else. No less than four people tried to kick him in the shins at once.

"W-wait! That isn't what I meant!"

"Some family man you are."

"Just for that I'm gonna make today miserable!"

"Like anybody listens to you anyway!"

Sabin excused himself, promised he'd be back to lead the troops, and left to check on Terra. He suspected she'd been woken up by all the noise. The notoriously creaky door made him cautious, so he satisfied himself with a quick look through the crack.

To his surprise she was sound asleep. She had stretched out over the bed, one hand supporting her cheek. Hell, she seemed...relaxed. At peace, even. Nobody would've known she had any preying fears or inadequacies behind her little v-shaped smile.

It was nothing like that first night in Figaro when she'd gracefully curled up with a pillow, or when she dozed in his arms after the ball, but the odd feeling it stirred in him was the same. She's all right. This is...good.

"Hey, Mr. Sabin!" Simon called. "Are we going out now?"

ooo

Snow held a special kind of importance for Sabin. He had first seen it as a teenager training mission on Mount Koltz, and even that had been no more than a few flurries. Real snow, the giant white blankets that buried everything in sight, had been just an idea until he went up to Narshe. If not for the wars-and-fighting thing he would have spent his time exploring.

So when the kids got distracted while working he was very sympathetic. Most of them had several years' experience on him and were more than happy to teach him about perfect snowballs. Eventually they settled on fifteen minutes of frenzied play for every forty-five minutes of work.

In just four hours they had cleared all the paths they needed so they could focus on more important business: namely, building gargantuan snow forts and snowmen. The younger children came out too, accompanied by an exhausted Duane.

There was some dissent as to the ideal location for their efforts. Susanna, artistic and fanciful, wanted to build over the hill for the best perspective; Hannes was an advocate of the "flat meadow" proposal, but Lue had the best idea. "What about the east side of the house?" she said meekly. She seemed to be bracing for the others' ridicule, even though everyone adored her. "If Mama's awake, she'd be able to see. If she wasn't, she could look at it later."

The city of snow people started discreetly since Terra appeared to be sleeping. But as their work continued, so did their enthusiasm. It was amazing to see how energetic the children could be after hours of hard work. For them, snow really was magical; it heightened their imaginations, provoked their creativity, and boosted their strength. In spite of his age Sabin had to admit he felt pretty light-hearted himself.

He glanced over his shoulder towards the rest of the village, wondering at how many things had changed in five years. Most of the farmers' homes had fallen into the ground or disappeared completely. The rows of tulips by the fence had been replaced by rows of makeshift gravestones. With so much of Mobliz buried under the snow, it looked almost barren.

What would it look like five years later? There was so much that needed to be built. Duane and Katarin's home, maybe the schoolhouse Terra dreamed of, a real silo and storehouse, a bigger shed for the farm tools---it would be a far cry from the former Mobliz, but there was no point in trying to recreate what had come and gone. They could only follow the rest of the world and start from the bottom up. It was a big task, to be sure, but with residents this enthusiastic he had no doubts.

"Hey, everybody." Duane bent back a few of his frozen fingers just to make sure they still worked. "It's already noon. We'd better get started on lunch...we don't want to keep the ladies waiting, right?"

In lieu of response he was pelted with snowballs.

Sabin helped find a few missing mittens and herd the littlest ones inside. As he turned back to admire their work he noticed the east window was open. "Terra!" he said, genuinely surprised. "Are you feeling well enough to be up?"

She peeked out at him, her hair let down and a heavy purple afghan over her shoulders. "How couldn't I? I've got a winter fairyland right outside my room!"

"It's great, huh? Pamina and Susanna worked hard on those angels. Oh, and before you ask, we got all the real outside work done, I promise."

"I knew you would."

For the first time in years Sabin figured lunch could wait and he went over to stand beside the window. Even from inside the house she was scarcely taller than him, a small point he found both funny and somewhat charming.

"So how are they?" she asked, leaning down on the sill.

"Wild. You know, I've been here for at least part of each winter and they react this way every time. It's like they never saw it before."

"But that's what snow does, isn't it? Make everything seem new again?"

"Yeah, I was just thinking about that. I wish I felt it as strongly as they do."

"Me too. I never would've thought to build a snow dog eating a snow cat."

"Three guesses as to who did that one."

"Don't tell me..."

He let the conversation trail off into thoughtful silence; he was more interested in the snow as it fell. The fat, relentless flakes turned everything as far as the eye could see into a glimmering blur, beautiful and blank and still. The perfect silence made him feel almost painfully alone.

In his usual absentminded, one-second-late sort of way, it occured to him that he wasn't alone. Beside him, Terra was watching the blizzard with similar quiet admiration.

I'm wearing three layers of clothing, and I'm cold... "It's probably not a good idea to stand here with the window open," he murmured, fiddling with the straps of his trapper hat.

"You know..." Her voice took on the shy, wandering timidity that colored all her more serious thoughts. "I don't want to keep at it because I'm selfless or noble or something like that. It's really the opposite."

Such a harsh assessment of character struck him dumb."Eh?"

"It's because I'm greedy. I want to experience everything as much as possible. I can't stand to think that I'm missing out on anything in the world. I have to do it all, all the time.

"I had eighteen years taken away from me, and I don't want to lose any more. If I can't be there it feels like I'm missing out on some important memory. So I clutch at every second of every day even when it's not good for me. All I want is a life of my own, and I'm so desperate for it."

"Terra, it's not greedy to really love life."

"You don't think so?"

"I know so."

She considered it. "I'm sure I'll come around eventually, but I have to accept it for myself first. In the meantime, you can be sure for me. That's enough for now."

It could have been the little pile of snow on top of her head, or the melted drops that stuck to her lashes, or the way she was so striking in a storm of white, or her confidence in him, or how it was all so dreamlike anyway; Sabin didn't know and didn't care. All he knew for sure was that it seemed like a really good idea to lean forward and kiss her, so he did.

Somehow his knees went out from under him and he jerked back. She stared at him with disbelief. They stood in place for what felt like ages, flustered and breathless.

"B-but, Sabin," Terra stammered, visibly shaking from under her blanket, "I'm...I'm still contagious!"

Her innocent panic came as a relief. It was definitely the best possible thing anyone could've said, and maybe the best thing anyone had ever said. He just grinned. "I won't tell," he promised, and leaned forward again.

Uninvited memories of Edgar's agitation popped into his head. "You just don't think!" he'd ranted, infuriated by his brother's inability to grasp the blindingly obvious. "Don't tell me you're stupid. You just don't think!"

What is there to think about?

This makes sense to me...

He finally pulled away, although he might never have moved at all if he hadn't been so hungry. Now, if all of Edgar and Setzer's stories were to be believed, was the hard part: coming up with something suave and sophisticated to say.

"So, uh, do you want soup for lunch?"

It was Terra's turn to grin this time. "Yes, I think that'd be good. I, ah, had you planned to do any more work outside?"

"I'd planned to help the kids do chores around the house. Then again, it might be good to shovel around the house and barn. The south walls are kinda weak and it can't help to have all that weight pushing in from the side. I'll clear that out."

"All right."

There was a brief, awkward pause, but this time it was due to confusion as opposed to discomfort. "Um, I'll get started once everybody's off to a good start on the housework. Take it easy, okay?"

"Yes, of course. Good night," she said kindly and shut the window.

ooo

Even though she made all the motions of returning to bed, Terra watched from her window as he raced back inside for lunch. She hoped he didn't notice that she'd bade him good night in the middle of the afternoon. 'Good night' just sounded appropriate for some reason. Didn't those kinds of things always happen at night?

Those kinds of things. Since when had she been a part of them? She'd finally accepted that there was no room for that in her life, even if she had wanted it, and now---

Terra took up one of the half-finished quilts, picked up her sewing kit and went back to bed. She sewed for a long time, almost mechanically. To her surprise she felt no surge of pent-up emotion or girly giddiness. It was all very natural, as though it had been part of the day's schedule.

Still, I didn't think it would be so...It had been like falling out of herself. Had he felt the same way? And the stupid thing she'd said about being sick; how had he been able to take her seriously after that? Edgar would have died before he romanced a woman with a question about soup.

Poor Edgar. He's going to be devastated about not knowing immediately...

Or does he? She remembered how Sabin and Edgar had been so keenly in tune with each other's feelings. Maybe Edgar had sensed it, like the way she had felt the presence of espers. It sounded silly, but she believed their connection was at least as strong as any magic. They had to know when something important happened to the other.

Kings aren't as powerful as everybody says they are. They can't even be with the people they love.

Edgar...

Rest easy. Everything's going to be fine. Terra allowed herself the smallest of smiles, imagining the letter Sabin would send to his brother. He'd put down every detail about every day, filled with stories and helpful doodles in the margins, and maybe a cheeky comment or two. Edgar valued Sabin's health and happiness more than wine, women, or any number of things he professed to love best. She knew better.

Nice...no, more than nice. It was wonderful how she'd become so close to Sabin, and in the process had become closer to Edgar than she ever imagined. She should've known it was a package deal. There was no way to be part of one's life without being part of the other's, and she thought it was lovely. It was the intimacy of siblings she'd never felt herself.

I want you to be happy, too. You deserve it more than any of us.

Good things would have to happen to him, she decided. That was an order to the universe. If she had any power left, she'd spent it all on making sure he was well taken care of. Terra screwed her eyes shut and prayed for a hundred rowdy, titillating and tongue-clucking adventures all over Castle Figaro.

He did everything he could for our sake.

Thank you.

She looked down and realized the last few blocks of the quilt had been stuffed and attached. Thinking of Edgar or any of her old friends made for an aloof sort of distraction, but it wasn't like the restlessness she felt when Sabin was involved. She could still quilt and think of Edgar; Sabin made her put down her needle and thread.

Terra put the sewing aside, checked for dropped needles, and leaned back against the pillow. Maybe she hadn't been able to feel anything serious at first because she couldn't comprehend just how much it meant.

"He thinks," she said aloud, as if articulating it would make it less shocking, "he thinks I'm..." Did an expression for it exist? She didn't know how to put shaking hands and nervous sighs into words.

Was that why he kissed me? Because there aren't words for it? Come to think of it, was that why anybody kissed at all? Of all the couples Terra knew, or the people she secretly suspected were together, or even just the people she really wished would be together, she couldn't think of anyone who resembled her situation. Everyone was affectionate in their own way, she supposed, and nobody's relationship was quite the same.

So what next?

He'll probably go out and travel like he always does. I can't keep him here. There was no getting around that. But sometimes, when he gathered as many of the children as he could onto his lap and told them ridiculous stories of his life as a prince, she wondered if he wanted to stay for a little longer.

Every day he was there made the ones without him seem increasingly empty in comparison. Like all of her old friends, Sabin was regarded with a special authority, but he was the only one who could really reach out to all of her family as they were. He wasn't overly formal, lax, or distant. He understood everyone's individual perspective and treated them accordingly.

"He thinks..."

She shivered. By the time she had closed the window, she hadn't felt cold at all. Several minutes had passed before the curious warmth in her chest had been replaced with the painful reminder of frostbitten fingers. The snow couldn't have been good for her health and she knew it, but it was just too pretty to resist. And he can't lecture me about it, either, she thought triumphantly. They were both to blame.

Are we both to blame for all this in the first place? I didn't start it; it was all the lumber he bought. I didn't...

"Oh, stop it," she reprimanded, muffling herself with a pillow. Maybe she hadn't "started" it (then who would have? If she wanted to get technical, she might as well have gone all the way back to their first meeting, when what really started it was her calling him a bear), but she certainly hadn't protested, either. Even if she'd never experienced it before, it felt strangely appropriate. It was completely natural, like her hair growing out or the sun rising in the mornings: just another aspect of life to learn about and explore.

Only now---and this was the most exciting part---she wouldn't have to learn about this alone.

The dull fever fatigue struck again. Terra closed her eyes, still smiling slightly, and fell asleep.

She was suddenly on a boat and looking up at the stars, all of which formed perfect letters. How had she never noticed it before? There were lots of phrases she couldn't read, but all the words were familiar. It was like a great celestial puzzle coming together bit by bit as she worked it out.

"I know that one," she announced, having deciphered a few choice words.

Beside her stood an older man, tall and dark and long dead. He lifted one of his battle-callused hands and patted her shoulder approvingly.