She doesn't see him again for months.
She quickly loses any sense of time – day and night blur together now that she no longer sleeps, and she finds counting sunsets tedious. She never was able to regain the mental strength to keep track of such things, nor has the ability returned in this pseudo-afterlife.
Shortly after leaving Kohlingen, she is struck with a rather sordid sort of enlightenment – she is free. Free to see the world from which she'd been so long sheltered! Free to see with her own eyes that which she'd only heard about secondhand, to witness the good and bad, the beautiful and grotesque. For the first time since waking in the Phantom Forest, she is filled with excitement rather than fear, and she laughs at the heavens in defiance.
"If I can't leave this world, then I won't hesitate to indulge in it!"
She tears the scarf from her head and lets her hair flow freely under the midday sun. An unremarkable act to most, it would seem, but no man or woman of Kohlingen would dare expose themselves in daylight in such a manner. And when no ill or guilt befalls her for this act, it only emboldens her further.
She strips off her sashes, scarves and skirts and drops them to the ground. After a brief hesitation, she removes her underclothes. And she stands there, naked in the open, vulnerable if not for being invisible (or already dead), and she never felt so powerful in her life.
She sprints towards the sea and doesn't slow until its waves crash beneath her feet. She doesn't feel the chill of the water, nor does the wind tease her hair. When she steps further into the sea, she feels no resistance against her legs. She wades in up to her waist, and then dives below the surface.
She opens her eyes without the sting of salt, and her lungs don't burn for lack of oxygen. She is able to swim faster than ever before possible, and she lets out a muffled sob at the joy of having this new world suddenly open to her. She sinks herself deeper and deeper, until it is nearly too dark to see, and she marvels at the nameless alien life that swims and treads around her. Schools of fish dart through glowing corals, sharp-toothed predators hide amongst lilting weeds; wispy gels float idly by, their long tendrils dancing over the current. She thinks that she could spend an eternity here.
By the time she emerges, the flora on dry land has noticeably changed.
And unlike with the lake in the Phantom Forest, the earthly ocean leaves no trace of itself on her body; its waters don't saturate her hair. The intangibility of so much of the world begins to feel unbearably surreal, so she returns to the place where she'd long since discarded her clothing. Redressing, she finds the familiar swish of the skirts against against her skin a comfort in an existence where she cannot even feel the ground beneath her feet.
- x - x - x -
She crosses the mountains to the southeast and sees in the distance what can only be Figaro Castle. The desert kingdom Locke so often spoke of is every bit as magnificent as he described, and certainly nothing like what her feeble imagination would conjure up based on his stories. In the wealthy districts immediately surrounding the great fortress, she sees brilliantly-dressed people, favoring showy reds and purples to stand out against golden hair and sun-browned skin. Everything about them glows and she can't help but feel dull in comparison. She can see why Locke loved this place so much. It looks like Kohlingen's bigger, more glamorous cousin.
She catches a glimpse of the King – Locke had once returned from a long trip exclaiming that he'd met the King of Figaro and she was never quite sure she believed him. But there he is, the towering King with the pointed nose and charismatic aura. She follows him around for an entire day – his mannerisms are absolutely captivating – and she quickly sees through the flourish to find a young man who wishes inwardly to cast his responsibilities aside.
Is it really this simple? she wonders. Are people truly so transparent; it's just that everyone around us is blind?
Girls titter with excitement to earn a wink from the handsome King. Boys thrust their chests forward to garner a proud nod from their leader. Even Locke had been starstruck after his encounter with the ruler of Figaro. None of them had seen the truth that Rachel had in just a few short hours. They don't see the circles under his eyes as he emerges from a long meeting. They can't know that he re-reads old letters from his brother before he retires each night. The last letter is dated two years ago. The King marks off another day on his calendar.
- x - x - x -
She finds herself in a bustling port city where the streets overflow with people buying and selling wares in the early morning. The air is saturated with the din of a thousand merchants shouting the best deals and citizens bidding them lower their prices. Rachel climbs a stack of crates and perches on the roof of a tavern to watch the flow of traffic down below. As the hours pass, she sees faces and fabrics of all different colors and styles – people must come from all over the world to trade here!she marvels. She wants to meet them all. She wants to see every landscape and culture the world has to offer. She finds them all beautiful.
Her heart swells with excitement. You've given me a gift after all, she thinks. I spent my whole life in the same small town and now I can see the entire world. What a wonderful gift this is...
- x - x - x -
She watches the seasons change as she travels. Winter, Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter... She never feels the chill of snow beneath her feet or the warmth of the noonday sun. She never smells the earth after a rain or tastes the fresh fruit of the trees. She can only observe from a distance, no matter how close she gets.
She shadows a different person in every village and town and city. Rich people, poor people, healers and thinkers, those who tell jokes, those who give speeches. She learns more in these years than she could have ever back home. And yet as time goes on, her enthusiasm wanes. She feels as though she's observing a world behind glass. What was once enriching and fantastic is now lonely and cold. With each sunrise, she feels more disconnected from her body than the last. She exists in a constant state of vertigo.
By the time she reaches the steel city, she can no longer tell if what's before her is real or hallucination. Young girls with dead eyes and translucent skin summon fire and ice out of thin air. A court jester whispers wicked council into the ears of an aging warlord. Chimeric creatures are strung up with wires and vivisected by men in long coats.
Soldiers in familiar brown uniforms queue for tactical training. Some of them are given strange weapons that shoot metal stones over great distances. Others climb into giant machines that walk on two legs and fire destructive beams of crackling light.
Rachel gasps for air as though being choked. A sharp pain stings her shoulder where she'd received her fatal wound and her eyes well with tears. This is the Empire that tried to invade her hometown. She knows they will return with greater forces and succeed. This isn't something she wants to witness. She again mourns her lost seat on the Phantom Train.
- x - x - x -
Locke looks visibly older. His features have matured, his muscles more defined. Faint circles droop beneath his eyes and his jaw sports a crop of stubble from several days on the road. He stops to build a fire and rest for a few hours. Rachel collapses at his feet.
"This is such torture," she says miserably. "I want to touch you and kiss you and... talk to youand all I can do is sit silently in your shadow."
He begins to whistle idly.
"I think we're the same age now," she muses. "Soon you'll be older than me, and you'll keep growing older and I won't change at all, until I begin to rot. You'll age handsomely and my hair will fall out and my skin will peel off my bones."
He leans back on his satchel and gazes up at the sky peacefully. She peers at him in the fading light of the evening and cannot read his thoughts.
"I would throw myself into these flames if it would wake me from this wretched dream."
- x - x - x -
She recognizes the girl asleep on the bed. She'd seen her curious emerald-tinted hair in the halls of the Empire's steel fortress.
"She was being controlled with this Slave Crown," explains Arvis. Locke frowns as he studies the copper circlet, which seems to be emitting a faint buzzing sound. "Her actions weren't her own."
Arvis gently lifts the crown from the girl's head and she stirs. The sound dies out.
"Can you hear me? Are you awake?"
Her eyelids flutter lazily and then suddenly open wide. She lets out a small gasp as she nervously scans the unfamiliar surroundings.
"Don't be afraid; you've had a bump on your head." Arvis' voice is soothing. "And you might be dizzy as I've just removed this mind-controlling device." He shows her the crown.
The girl looks at both Arvis and Locke in turn. She stares back at the Slave Crown and nervously runs her fingers through her hair.
"I don't..." Her voice cracks. "I don't remember anything..."
Rachel watches the color drain from Locke's face.
- x - x - x -
She likes this girl, Terra. She is timid and quiet, but she wields a sword with great finesse, showing strength in light of her recent horrific revelation. As the weeks go on, she regains bits and pieces of her memory, and with each new discovery she exclaims in joy and Locke smiles brightly.
In the beginning, Terra doesn't have much to say, and Rachel recalls the dry taste in her own mouth when she'd first awakened after her fall with nothing but static in her mind. As they travel south, Locke tries to break the tension by telling some of his old stories. Terra looks absolutely cherubic as she listens, enthralled and innocent, blue doll-eyes alight with curiosity. In time, she is able to recount stories of her own, but they always seem to have sad endings. Locke takes the girl into his arms one night as she cries, lamenting the loss of a friend to a fatal lab experiment, and his warmth appears to calm her.
Rachel watches from a distance. But the heaviness in her heart stems from the uncertainty on Locke's face as he holds Terra in embrace. For a moment it seems that he looks directly at Rachel and seesher there, and his expression is almost shameful.
"Don't do that," she spits, surprised at the tone of her own voice. "I'm not here; don't look at me."
He finally turns away and his shoulders relax. Terra pulls back, wiping her eyes.
"Sorry about that..." she mumbles.
Locke hands her a handkerchief and smiles gently. "No worries. I'm here for you, okay?"
Rachel shudders a sigh and slowly walks away from the campsite.
- x - x - x -
It hurts to watch him. He's holding back, he's censoring himself. He's being too careful around his new companion, as though he's afraid of breaking some unspoken rule or promise.
He wouldn't be so hesitant if he didn't like her. Where is that confidence that sheknew so well? This is hardly the same boy she grew up with. This isn't the man she'd once hoped to marry.
She whispers to him as he sleeps each night, hoping her voice rings clearer in his dreams.
"You're making yourself miserable, my love. I'm gone; let me go. Even if we meet again, I think you'll find we're no longer the same people we once were. You should be looking forward, not back. You have a new life now. Let me go..."
She tries to stroke his cheek but feels only air beneath her fingers.
- x - x - x -
One morning as the sun begins to rise, she notices a strange stiffness in her bones. Her shoulder throbs terribly and she feels the needto rest for the first time in...
How long has it been now? Must be... about three years...
- x - x - x -
A rumbling explosion startles her out of her trance. She peers over the edge of the eastern tower of Castle Figaro to see a commotion in the central courtyard down below. The King is arguing with the Emperor's jester – when had he arrived? how much time has passed?– and she notices flames engulfing the opposite tower.
But how can the stone burn?She races down the stairs to make her way back to the main fortress. By the time she navigates the labyrinthine halls to reach the courtyard, more sections of the castle are aflame, and everyone has vanished. The floor trembles beneath her feet. She hears a shout from behind.
"Secure all portals! Engines engaged!"
She whirls around to see a Figarian guard disappear through the last open door, and the King's royal blue cape fluttering from atop the stone perimeter. He smiles and waves at someone down below and then leaps over the edge. She stands agape in shock until the fortress' quaking becomes so violent she is thrown to the ground. Desperately, she tries to pull herself toward the nearest exit but she already knows she'll be unable to open the door.
The shadows shift as the castle sinks. Sand begins to pour over its walls. Rachel presses her back against the stone and closes her eyes as the desert floods the courtyard.
- x - x - x -
Every muscle is clenched so tight that she trembles violently, but otherwise she cannot move. Solid darkness and silence surround her. Her mouth and nose are filled with sand. Her eyes are raw and burning.
Trapped in torment and unable to die – this must be the damnation of legend.
She tries to will herself into her resting trance but her muscle spasms will not calm. Her inability to interact with the world had always been frustrating, but it had suddenly proven to be something terrifying as well. A cage was still a cage, even for a spirit. She lets out a whimper and chokes on sand.
- x - x - x -
The inability to track time is perhaps even more maddening than her physical entrapment. When at last she begins to hear a faint rustling sound and the dark wall of sand seems to faintly glow, she has no idea if she's been stuck for an hour or a day.
She wriggles in place and the rushing grows louder. The sand actually starts to give way. With a final thrust, she feels her fingers break free from her unlikely casket. She clambers out and watches the remains of the desert slide into drainage holes in the floor. Massaging her face, she releases the sob that had been stifled during the burial.
The atmosphere is terribly dark, and she can sense that the castle is still moving. With a sudden rush of adrenaline, she finds the lowest section of wall and scrambles over it, throwing herself to the solid ground far below.
The fall is exhilarating – she doesn't even have time to remember her last one – and as she rolls into the impact she finds herself laughing as tears stream down her cheeks.
"That's what I've been wanting, isn't it? To be buried? What a terrible joke...!"
Then she quickly falls silent, thinking she's heard a voice. She waits, unmoving, listening for another echo, and when nothing surfaces, she pulls herself to her feet. A dim blue-green light appears to be emanating from somewhere in the distance. Sensing no other place to go, she heads toward it.
"...fortress again, I swear!"
"Such a curious thing! We should send Melchior to the surface again to see what's been developing of late."
Their accents are unlike any she's heard anywhere in the world, and she finds them very difficult to understand at first. She continues toward the glowing light and the voices gradually become clearer.
"When was the last time he went? Some thirty years ago?"
"Much longer than that! You have no sense of time."
"Ah, but it passes so quickly these days."
She peers around the corner and gasps. Two skeletal figures stand casually in what appears to be a ruined courtyard. Their skin is stretched over their emaciated frames, and their eyes bulge grotesquely from their skulls. They are clearly dead, but look very different from the cruel specters of the Phantom Forest – they don't seem to be rotten.
"Someone there? Did you hear something?" One turns to the other.
Rachel hesitates, but then calls out, "C-can you hear me?"
"Oh, a visitor! Come on out! Ah yes, there you are."
"Such a pretty dress, there!"
"That bright orange – looks like a dragonfly, doesn't she?"
"A beauty like the Queen herself!"
Rachel absently runs her hand through her hair, suddenly very aware that she'd lost her scarves in the torrent of sand.
"Um... sorry, what is this place?" she asks timidly.
One of the crones coughs out a laugh. "Almost thought my senses were deceiving me; haven't had a tourist here in ages! You've found your way to the once-great Kingdom of Parua, dragonfly. I do hope you've heard of it."
Rachel shakes her head.
"Hm, that's a shame. I still can't believe no one from that ambulant fortress has 'discovered' us yet either. What is everyone occupying their time with up there, anymore?"
"Well, the fortress has only been traveling for about a month now."
"Ten years, Sanaz! Really, you should look at the dials once in awhile!"
"Uhm," Rachel clears her throat.
"Apologies, my dear; come along to the castle. The Queen will undoubtedly wish to meet you."
- x - x - x -
She can't help but grimace at the sights along the way. Bodies are strewn all about the castle grounds, forever frozen in twisted postures; mouths agape, teeth missing. Like Sanaz and her friend, their skins are leathery and stretched tight over their bones. They pass a few other living spirits who peer curiously at Rachel, their eyes wide and protruding. She finally voices the question that has been burning the back of her tongue.
"Those are ourbodies, of course!" cackles the first crone in response.
"Not oursspecifically. Mine is in one of the cellars," chimes Sanaz. "Anahita is out by the stables, aren't you?"
Anahita continues without acknowledging her companion. "Have you at least heard of – what did Melchior say they were calling it up there now – the War of the Magi?"
"Ah, yes!" says Rachel, brightening. "It was a legend my... friend's caretaker sometimes told."
"Good, good. Well, that's where this Kingdom's story ends. Parua was a prominent Kingdom over a thousand years ago, but became a target of power-hungry sorcerers once outbreaks of violence became more and more frequent between humans and Espers throughout the world. Parua was a neutral state where both races lived harmoniously, and many of the surrounding territories wanted to claim our land for one side or the other. We resisted for quite a long time, thanks to our great warrior King Odin, and the brave lady commander Apranik."
Both women pause to bask in apparently fond memories. For a split second, Rachel thinks she can see their faces fill out – almond eyes and soft cheeks of beautiful young ladies just about her own age. When she blinks, the skeletons return.
"Of course, we were overtaken eventually, or else you might have had Paruan neighbors back up there in your lifetime," remarks Sanaz.
"A fearsome battle took place in this very castle. Both Odin and Apranik were turned to stone. The sorcerers cut a great wound deep into the earth and our castle sank and was buried. All of our spirits were trapped and couldn't travel to the Woods of Passing. And then our bodies became naturally preserved – mummified by the conditions down here – and so we have continued on 'living' for a thousand years underground."
Rachel stands gaping in shock. "That's... amazing. And terrible!" she exclaims. "You have really been here for a thousand years – I can't even imagine... and I thought threeyears was torment enough..."
Anahita lets out another haggard laugh. "You are indeed so young, dragonfly! But I don't imagine your body would be so phenomenally well-preserved as ours if you are as unwilling as you seem. Which leads me to believe you have a curious story yourself, no?"
A sense of shame washes over Rachel at the thought of finally having to admit the truth of her situation to someone else. She'd "met" so many people over the last three years who never had to know why she was there, seeing as they were never aware of her presence to begin with.
"My f... we were engaged to be married, but then... there was an accident..." She finds herself strangely tongue-tied, even as words had always come easy to her. "He wasn't there when I died... I was killed... and I guess he... he couldn't bear it, so..."
"Don't strain yourself, darling; we didn't mean to make you upset," says Sanaz. "I suppose a three-year wound still stings far more sharply than one as old as a millenium."
Rachel quickly wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. "How, though... how do you know about the... the 'Woods of Passing' if you've never been there? How did you know your spirits were supposed to go there?"
Sanaz and Anahita look at each other questioningly. "Were you not taught the journey of Death?"
"I mean, some people have theories... I'd never quite believed any of them..."
"Ahh, such a shame, such a shame," says Anahita with a shake of her head. "Melchior did mention that the upper world appeared to have regressed."
"You mean humans had that knowledge at one point?"
"Most certainly; it was never a secret! One dies, one's spirit travels to the Woods of Passing, and then takes a ship down the River of Light and into the Havens – provided one's earthly body has been properly laid to rest. Unquestionable truth!"
A small sigh escapes Rachel's lips. Then, after a pause, she says sheepishly, "They have a train now."
"What's that?" Something like a frown forms across Anahita's brow.
Rachel smiles at last. "A set of carriages that run on a track. It's much faster than a ship, and much more comfortable. It travels on land, so you don't have to bear the bobbing of waves."
"Well, I guess they have been busy up above, building trains and walking castles, haven't they, Sanaz?"
- x - x - x -
Please, come in, calls an ethereal voice. Rachel feels as though it echoes directly in her mind.
"The Queen is just ahead," says Anahita with an encouraging gesture.
The throne room is filled with shadows that feel thick like tar. The ambient blue-green light is faintest here, and Rachel strains make out any details around the ruined chamber. Her tired eyes jump about the room, interpreting movement where there is none. She takes a timid step forward.
There is nothing to be afraid of; unfortunately there is not much we can do about the dreadfulness of this chamber, the voice says. It's uncanny, the way it injects itself into her mind, bypassing her true sense of hearingentirely.
As she ventures farther into the room, she begins to make out the shape of a person standing in front of a skewed and broken throne.
To whom do I speak?
"My name is Rachel… Y-your Grace," she replies, bowing her head uncertainly. She's never formally met a Queen before, and she's painfully unaware of the proper formalities.
Just Rachel?
"Rachel… of Kohlingen. Your Grace." Her name no longer matters.
It is a pleasure to meet you, Rachel of Kohlingen. Please, there is no need for the honorifics. I am not really a Queen.
Rachel glances behind her only to find that Anahita and Sanaz have gone.
My name is Apranik, former First Command of the Royal Guard. I would greet you properly, but my body and spirit have been encased in stone.
Squinting, Rachel can now see the finer details of Apranik's form. She stands braced in defense, but her head is held high and proud. Her eternal expression is one of confidence.
My comrades have posthumously named me Queen, but that should have been for the King Odin to decide... Forgive me; I'm sure you've already been subjected to endless stories. I would like to hear some from you. Tell me about yourself, Rachel.
Rachel absently runs her hands down her skirts. "Well, I... lived all my life in a small town. My family was unremarkable. I was studying to be a doctor, but in the last year of my life I lost much of my memory due to a head injury. I was killed for protesting an oppressive invasion of our land."
A warrior's death!
"That's a generous statement. I poisoned two men in their sleep. If anything, it was cowardly."
There is nothing honorable about war, but when it is inflicted upon one's home, there is nothing to do but defend oneself. I say that as a daughter of the military.
A sigh fills her chest. "It's disappointing that I never had the chance to savea life with my medical knowledge. I took two instead!" she blurts out.
She feels a sudden warmth about her, as though Apranik's spirit were holding her in sympathetic embrace. Her vision blurs as her eyes fill with tears, and the feelings of shame and regret that she'd held trapped within herself for all these years now come pouring out all at once. The talks of marriage and her insistence they wait until she'd graduated. Her refusal to leave her father's house despite promises of better education in a bigger city. Her stubbornness against taking any sort of risks and the heartache and yearning she felt with each fireside tale of excitement and adventure.
And the two risks she ever took – the first, costing her memory; the second, costing her life.
It wasn't fair.
She weeps into her hands, sensing the strange, thick shadows closing in on her. She again wishes for nothing but a seat on the train to take her away to the Havens and away from this terrible world.
Darling Rachel, she hears, and she forces her shudders to calm. Go back to the surface and find your joy. I know very intimately how an afterlife on earth causes one to dwell on shortcomings and despair. Find a way to turn it into a gift. Make peace with yourself, and you'll be granted your eternal rest at last.
She thought she'd had it, once. Back in the ocean, stripped naked and discovering the true wonders of the world for the first time. She realizes now that something was still holding her back. Her innocent euphoria had simply been masking the anger and sadness.
She nods – which turns into a bow – and stammers a thank-you to the lady in stone. Once again at a loss for words, she gives a silent hesitation before turning to leave and to find her way back to the world above.
- x - x - x -
A nearly-full moon brightens the night sky above Figaro Desert. Rachel walks easily over its rippling surface, sands shifting in the wind but unaffected by her weightless footsteps (yet so eager to encase her, should she find her weightless body beneath it).
There are so many things to fear, even in her dreamlike existence. She feels it will be a difficult path toward making peace with it all.