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Chapter VI
Ed turned inside the Gate. His teeth were clenched shut, and he was almost covered in more sweat than he was in the Gates' tar-like insides. Even more than when he'd first got in, he felt as though his whole soul were drowning in flames.
The young prodigy wished he could stop, but calling off the deal he'd made with the Gate now would doom everyone involved - it was not just him involved with the Gate either. It wasn't just him and Al involved in the deal, though Ed would still keep his end of the bargain if it was only for Al.
Ed knew the laws of magic, the laws of soul. He knew how the Gate worked. He knew that souls could never be retrieved from being trapped inside the Gate, or at least no one had ever successfully retrieved one before he'd switched places with Al. But getting out himself? That was going to be a different ordeal.
No one had ever escaped from the Gate either. It would have to be a trade, but it would need different conditions as Ed knew that Father would not come willingly, as he had.
And there was still the matter of Father having free rein of Amestris and now using Ed's face - he'd trapped Al at the Gate for power. Who could say he didn't intend to trap anyone else here?
"I'll pay for them," Ed said through a mouthful of sludge, "for every single one of them. Father can't trap them here if they've already been claimed by me."
And so, Ed was paying the price for magic to recognize every resident of Amestris as one of his citizens, using the energy of his own soul, currently trapped at the Gate in Al's place.
Ed squirmed. There was so much darkness in the black substance of the Gate, and he didn't just mean the lack of physical light either – hope was a concept foreign to the place. There had never been hope of rescue or escape before that day, and although he carried the hope within him, residual hopelessness and despair coated him just as the Gate's liquid insides and threatened to sink in through his pores. But those conditions were just life at the Gate – they weren't the price Ed was paying to claim his kingdom as his own.
When Ed had promised to pay for all Amestrian souls, he somehow knew what to do - though he was trapped inside the Gate, his magic was still flowing through him. If he could focus on feeling his magic, he could see either side of the Gate.
On the side of the Gate where the magic realm was, there were hundreds of thousands of humans and creatures. The common mode of dress seemed to be a white robe, and there was power, pure power, radiating off of each of them as though Ed were standing next to a sun going nova, and all of that energy was pouring through the Gate as though it were some sort of window.
But in the human world, there were only a few strands of power running around, following the men and women they were attached to. Some of the strands were attached directly to Ed - those of the ones he'd given magic to: Al, Armstrong, and others.
In order to get the souls of Amestris recognized as his, Ed had to experience everything the souls had - to imprint their souls on his own.
The prince died inside, yet again, and he wasn't surprised - there was a war going on outside, after all, even if not everyone recognized it yet. It felt as though an arrow had been shot through his heart, and tears sprang to his eyes, whether more from the physical pain or from the knowledge that a Maes Hughes had just died for him, he didn't know.
Hughes had been a good man who loved his wife and child. The near-sighted green-eyed man had participated in the meetings at his local community center that was meant to connect the public with the royal family and their magic, only wishing blessings for his family.
Ed knew that Hughes had been a foot-soldier when he was younger. In fact, he'd been a foot-soldier under his father's command just as Mustang had been, helping to fight Father the first time around. Hughes had seen blood cover the tundra of Amestris and Drachma alike and had worried about his sweetheart back home the whole time, choosing at the end of the war to return home rather than to become a knight. Hughes had known the type of person that Van Hohenheim was and hadn't believed the lies that Father was spreading about him using Ed's face.
Standing up to the impostor, Hughes was struck down with an arrow. If the tears from having to live Hughes' death could have rolled down Ed's face through the tar entrapping him, they would have. But instead, they gathered with all the other tears for Amestris.
Then Ed's magic grasped on to another soul's sufferings - his younger brother's. The prince knew of the longing Al had for his family and the confusion and doubt he'd faced once he'd learned the truth, but now it was real. "Al, when this is all over, I swear you will be fully restored to your rightful home."
Al followed Mustang down through the nippy castle and out onto the grounds. He knew what his brother wanted of him and Mustang, but Al also knew that he had very little he could draw from in commanding all Amestris to reach that end. "I'll go spread the word," Al said to Mustang, "but could you take command in getting Father and his advisers thrown inside the Gate?"
The knight agreed and started planning out how to distribute knights throughout the land to first rally the people to their cause. He wouldn't let Al go out alone, nor would he let anyone else leave on their own. "I'll take Basque Grand with me to hunt down the impostors, but the rest of you should go throughout the kingdom in pairs to inform the people of the battle."
The knight himself also prepared Ed's horse, a white steed, and sword for Al to use. He steered Al over to Armstrong to pair them up together. "Sir Armstrong," Mustang said, "this is Alphonse Hohenheim, the younger prince who was sent into hiding."
Armstrong's eyes went wide. "Your highness. I'm sorry I treated you like a-"
Mustang held up a hand. "He doesn't blame you for anything. We don't have time for this."
"Sir Armstrong," Al said. "We need to go."
Mustang helped Al onto Ed's steed. He turned to Armstrong. "No one's to know who he is yet because he'll be a target for sure if Father finds him. I'm trusting you to take care of him."
"Understood," said the muscular knight.
Mustang sent the two of them on their way, out to a town called Risembool. Al was clumsy in riding the horse there, barely able to direct the horse where he wanted it to go, but Armstrong assured him he was doing well for his first time riding a horse.
Risembool was a richer town than Al was used to. There were still stick-and-mud houses for the commoners, but there were more shops downtown than he was used to, and more horses too.
Al glanced at his escort. "What is this place?"
"Risembool is a town known for its smiths. Its craftsmen are sometimes summoned to Central Castle to do work for the knights and the royals."
Armstrong rode through the streets, calling Risembool's citizens to the town square in the name of the prince. They all gathered in a cobblestone courtyard covered in the last of the winter snow that was melting away into giant puddles.
Armstrong asked for a crate for Al and himself to stand on to deliver news to the people, and one was brought. Peasants crowded around, and the nobles had padded seats carried to a section off to the side of the representatives from the castle.
The knight got up and introduced Al as Prince Edward's personal servant. "He is a first-hand witness of the treachery going on in this country."
Al got up on the crate after Armstrong, heart pounding and hands shaking as he looked out over the crowd gathered in the center of Risembool. He saw people with hands and faces still wet from being cleaned to greet the representatives. Al saw men, women, and children all with their eyes focused on him.
The young prince closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He'd made up his mind that he'd do anything he could for his family, and this was something he had to do with his father in the dungeons and his brother in the Gate. As Al opened his eyes, he closed his trembling hands into fists.
He opened his mouth and shared what had happened to him since he'd gone to Central Castle as Ed's servant. He testified of the true king locked in the damp and dark in his own dungeons, of the draining charm he'd unknowingly carried with him in the form of a carved wish, of the royal impostor who'd ordered Al sent to the Gate in a plot against the rightful leaders of Amestris, and most of all of the caring prince who'd sacrificed himself to save Al, a common citizen.
The crowd displayed mixed emotions at the news. They displayed their feelings anywhere from tears to disbelief, but the one who stuck out the most to Al was a blue-eyed girl who was hanging onto his every word. She bit her lip every time Al spoke of his brother in danger, and she wasn't the only one worrying about the crown prince: Al saw at least an old lady and a few other villagers looking like they wanted to do something about his brother and the Gate.
"Will he be okay?" the girl asked, her eyes locked on Al.
"I believe so. I don't know enough about sorcery to have a clue how he's planning to do it, but he swears he'll get out of there and come take his kingdom back."
Armstrong flexed his muscles at the mass. "Take a good look. As reliable as these muscles are, Prince Edward Hohenheim is even more reliable. He will come and save Amestris, but each of you must decide whether you're on his side or the impostor's."
But not everyone assembled was as sympathetic to their cause as the girl was. Sitting on one of the padded chairs on Al's left was one of the nobles, dressed in white fur robes that fell loose around him when he stood up. "Lies!" he hissed. "Prince Edward merely wants our support in killing his own father, so he hired an actor as his spokesman. Long live King Van!"
As the populace turned to look at the earl, Armstrong growled under his breath, "Kimblee!"
Al whispered a question to the knight. "Who's he?"
"Zolf Kimblee, the Earl of Risembool. Mustang and I believe he was one of the ones responsible for helping Father take King Van's throne." Armstrong's muscles were flexing as though the knight were restraining himself from physically attacking the earl.
Whispers were breaking out among the citizens of Risembool as they looked between Kimblee and the representatives from Central Castle. Several glares were sent the way of the latter. Only a few glares, like those from the girl and the old lady Al had noticed, were directed at the earl instead.
Al knew his brother had asked him to get their belief. "Prince Edward only wants to defend this country!"
Kimblee threw back his head and laughed. "Pray tell, how can that half-mortal prince do a better job than King Van? If he truly loved this country, he wouldn't take it by force. It's just greed lowering him to the level of common thieves, and how can a man like that expect to legitimately win against a full-blooded sorcerer in the right?"
With a calm smile on his face, but not a kind smile by any means, the earl met Al's eyes. "He can't win. A commoner might as well be trying to take over this country for all the good it will do."
The blue-eyed girl cried out from the audience. "Prince Edward is not a lowly thief like you! You're one of the nobles that helped that Father steal the kingdom from his father, aren't you?"
She turned to the rest of the crowd. "Don't any of you remember meeting Prince Edward at Central Castle? I remember a time when he helped me keep some unruly knights away from my father's unfinished goods, and I know there must have been times he's helped the rest of you out too. Right now, he is asking us for help to set things right."
The crowd debated among themselves, louder and louder. As they did so, Kimblee approached Al. "Your brother can't win, you know."
Al's eyes went wide. "How do you know who I am?"
Kimblee continued. "Your brother had just as much mortal blood as you do. Do you honestly think he can protect you?"
But Al had already fallen for much the same words as part of Pride's trap. He wasn't falling for the same lie twice.
Something hit Al from behind, knocking him to the cobblestones and covering him in Armstrong's muscular mass in time for a flying bomb to explode overhead. Armstrong let Al up, but the knight had been hit by the shrapnel himself. "Run, Prince Alphonse Hohenheim."
The knight blacked out.
The peasants were screaming. They started running everywhere, but Al didn't join them.
"You put my father in prison." He looked directly at Kimblee, fists clenched. Drawing Ed's sword, Al cried, "For King Van!"
Kimblee grinned. He picked up the seat from behind him and threw it at Al. Al dodged and the seat hit the crate behind him and exploded.
Al glanced back at the scorched street and smoking rubble. Had the earl just used magic?
He tightened his grip on his brother's sword. Silently pleading for his brother to help him, he rushed at Kimblee and managed to make the earl take several steps back, but Kimblee bought himself some time by throwing another exploding chair at him.
Al leaped aside, dropping Ed's sword in the process. He'd have to retrieve it later, but Al was more comfortable with hand-to-hand combat anyway.
As Al was catching Kimblee with a roundhouse kick, the blue-eyed girl from earlier returned to the scene with some swords. She was calling for everyone on Prince Edward's side to come fight, distributing the weapons.
A few people from the village got a sword from the girl and joined in the fight. They too went after Kimblee.
Kimblee clapped his hands together and spread them out like they were the wings of a bird of prey, soaring down for the kill. A large storm cloud appeared over Kimblee's head and an angry-looking humanoid being of flaming stone materialized, roaring at the villagers.
"We need a better sorcerer," Al said, sudden clarity coming to his mind. He looked at the citizens of Risembool fighting alongside him. Many of them were holding their swords insecurely, using grips that could easily get their swords knocked out of their hands. They were all covered in dirt and wood dust from Kimblee's earlier explosions, and several of them sported cuts and bruises already. Al thought that these people were going to get killed if he allowed them to fight Kimblee any longer. "Retreat!" he called.
As the villagers around him fled, Al clapped his own hands together. "I look to you."
He could easily imagine someone coming to his aid this time, and it was the older brother he supposed he must finally trust enough to protect him. Time seemed to slow down – the evil being Kimblee had summoned moved toward Alphonse at the pace of a slug – and Al felt an incredible feeling of calm radiating from around him but most of all from the charm around his neck. In Al's mind, Ed's figure stepped out of a cloud, right between him and the inhuman thing attacking him, still covered in the Gate's black gunk that was quickly dissipating. Ed's figure pulled out a sword identical to the one that still lay on the wet, cold ground where Al had dropped it.
And the image became real. A helper from the magic realm materialized in front of Al, taking the form he'd imagined. It pointed its sword at the incoming demon and rushed at it.
Al turned and ran to Armstrong, who was starting to stir, hoping that the magic would buy them enough time to get the knight back on his feet. "Armstrong, he's got magic."
The knight sat up. "Stay back, Prince Alphonse!" Reaching down toward the cobblestones, Armstrong levitated several hefty chunks of rock out of the town square and sent them hurling at the traitorous earl. Kimblee was knocked unconscious, but his conjured help remained, still clashing with the being Al had summoned.
"I've got to end this." Al went and picked up his brother's sword.
"No, it's too dangerous!" cried Armstrong. "You haven't been trained to fight."
"Actually, I have some training." Al looked back at Armstrong to give the knight a reassuring smile. "Besides, I'm wearing one of my brother's protective charms, and I know he'll protect me. I've just got to fight."
Al went and ganged up with the image of Ed against the flaming stone being. He laid a few blows on their opponent and received some nasty-looking second-degree burns for his troubles on his hands and wrists, but not once did a strike from any part of his enemy's body get him in any place more important or do more damage than blister his skin.
When Al finally managed to thrust his sword into where the creature's heart would be if it were it human, the creature let a scream rip that Al was almost certain could be heard from the Gate itself.
Al then heard the sound of cheering. He saw supporters from the village pick up their swords, ready to follow him and Armstrong into another, more remote, battle. One of the village men picked up Kimblee's limp body and dragged it away.