CHAPTER FOUR

DIASPORA

Terra said a prayer for Locke's protection, fortified her resolution by wiping the last tears from her eyes, and marched back outside to Edgar, who was waiting with his brother Sabin, Banon, and three other Returners.

Terra went straight up to Banon and addressed him directly, not an awkward or inappropriate thing now that she had risen to her former place in her own heart.

"I am ready to aid you in your fight against the Empire," she said. "I will go with you as far as Narsha and speak to the Esper on your behalf, and if the gods smile upon our venture, you will have gained two great allies instead of one. Now tell me whither lies our road."

She spoke these words with queenly grace and matriarchal composure, her eyes never wavering from Banon's. If she could have seen the expressions of the other men, she would have noticed astonishment on the Returners' faces, who were not used to seeing their leader addressed so. Edgar too looked upon Terra with renewed admiration and something resembling awe. She looked to him now like one of the marble statues of the ancient goddesses, or like his own queen-mother at the height of her beauty and power.

Her strength was rewarded, for after a moment Banon spoke to her with the utmost respect: "Captain, our way lies across the sea to the Eastern Continent. We will muster our forces in Mobliz and sail from the Cape for Narsha and the North."

So saying, Banon mounted his horse—for no Chocobo could support so great a man—and the party set out. His horse fit him well: it was a large and proud animal, with a long tail and massive hair-covered hooves. Edgar had been given a horse too. The rest of the party followed Banon on Chocobo, and looked diminutive by comparison. Sabin appeared to Terra to sit ill at ease on his bird. He seemed out of place: he would have looked more comfortable walking; he might have been happier alone. Nevertheless Terra was eager to be let into his confidence.

But there was no time for that now. All were on the alert for the enemy, which was sure to be out in force. They rode north through the woods alongside the mountains until they came to a great fissure. It was a straight passage—perhaps thirty feet in width at its widest, fifteen at its narrowest—between two cliffs which rose to a dizzying height. A fierce wind carried the scent of the sea toward them.

Here they were forced to dismount, for the fallen rocks in the passage forced them to constantly climb up and down and retarded their progress. Terra didn't much like this, for besides being a lot of work, it kept her eyes on her footing and prevented her from keeping watch for enemies and falling rocks. For fear of the latter, the party pressed to one side and went under indented precipices whenever possible, though they passed through without incident. The cliffs echoed and amplified the hoof-falls and the little falling streams and, once, what sounded like a peal of thunder behind them. This gave them pause, but they deduced that it had been some great boulder, loosed by wind and time.

At last, fairly exhausted from their climb, the Returners emerged upon a promontory, a great rock which towered high above the water below, and commanded a view of the whole bay. Here they stopped for a moment's rest. A warm sea wind rushed up to meet them and blew Terra's hair back. At first glance, the bay seemed to be entirely useless for nautical purposes, for it was bordered on all sides by sea cliffs. Against these the waves crashed with tremendous power and shot their white spray up a hundred feet into the air. Any ship that ventured too close was sure to be dashed to splinters in a single blow.

But now that Terra looked, she saw a path on one side leading down, and by holding onto the branch of a tree and leaning out a little (which gave her instantaneous nausea) she saw a rocky shore and a ship. The ship looked comparatively small and tossed about in the turbulent waves. As a testament to its precarious position it was held in place by four anchors. Terra, slightly sick and all atremble, backed cautiously away from the edge.

By now the party had recovered its strength and began the treacherous descent. More than once the path narrowed almost to a point, with a cliff on one side and a straight drop on the other. Their salvation was that small trees had grown on the ledge and their roots kept the soil from falling away beneath their feet. The Returners used the branches to steady themselves. Nevertheless, the horses had a difficult time (especially Banon's mammoth beast) and constantly needed to be cajoled onward. Terra was in terror of one of these animals losing its footing and falling to its death on the rocks below. It would be a horrific sight.

But again, the Returners reached the shore and boarded without incident. There seemed to be an auspicious air surrounding their travels. It assured the foot, filled the lungs, and loosened the tongue. And sure enough, the Returners' first night at sea was marked by song and story.

Terra was on deck that evening, severely seasick, despite the relative calm of the waters. She tried not to let it bother her, but nevertheless found herself the constant companion of the starboard bulwark. It was twilight and there was not a cloud in the sky. She looked aft and saw the Winged Star burning steady and bright.

She was feeling a bit better by the time she was joined by Calogrent and Kaye, two of the Returners that rode with her from the Hideout. Edgar and Sabin had disappeared together earlier, and when they came up on deck (separately) Edgar looked angry and Sabin grave. Not long afterwards they retired (separately) for the night. So Terra, Calogrent, and Kaye sat down on deck all three together and Calogrent told a story—partly, Terra supposed, to get her mind off her nausea. Calogrent amused her at his own expense, for it was not a flattering tale.

It would have been more enjoyable had it not been for Kaye. At every point in Calogrent's story when Terra laughed, at every point when he related his blunders and misadventures, Kaye showered him with scorn. Calogrent went on heedlessly, but finally, after numerous incidents of "That's because you're an idiot" and "It takes a real imbecile to make that mistake," Terra reproached him.

"Enough already, Kaye!" she said. "You should be ashamed of yourself, talking like that about your friend." Kaye blushed with shame and embarrassment. He made several false starts and finally fell silent.

"Don't worry about him, Terra. He's always like this. I just ignore it." With that, Calogrent went on with his tale. But some time later, Kaye interrupted and said (obviously agitated):

"Is there anything else Saint Terra would like to say?"

The impertinence of this remark and its irrelevance to the story confused her.

"What?" said Terra. "Why do you call me a saint?"

"'Oh! Calogrent's feelings are so sensitive! We should be nice to him!'" he mocked, though in an awkward and contrived way. Terra said nothing, and Kaye's face reddened as his shame deepened into humiliation. To get up and leave would have been too great a defeat, perhaps, because Kaye just sat there and uttered not a word until the end of the story.

When Calogrent's marvelous tale was ended, Kaye did get up and go below for the night. Terra's seasickness had mostly subsided, and she felt good enough to drink a little water and eat some bread. Calogrent kept her company. There was a murmur of adventure and war about the ship, and men sang songs and recited poems of heroes and great deeds.

What fury woke, what heavens broke,

What sparked the war 'twixt gods and men?

Yea, was it not the mortals' plot

To steal the bright immortals' ken?

"Let's raise a shrine, O men divine

And craft thereon Man's sign and seal.

Let's shape the gear, and kill the seer,

No longer to the gods appeal."

And what became of man's great name

But ruined stone and guttered flame?

Wheel and fire, lever, wand?

Ashen leaf and withered frond.

What fury then, what wrath, on men

Fell from the Justice up on high.

From Heaven fell, with none to quell,

The doom of men condemned to die.

The heavens rent, on men was sent

A rain of stone, of ice and fire.

And but for love God had made of

All men one end, the world one bier.

And what became of man's great name

But ruined stone and guttered flame?

Wheel and fire, gear and wand?

Ashen leaf and withered frond.

Who then appeared, when men most feared,

To hush the babe and calm the mother,

In glory shod, nor man nor god,

But god to one and man the other,

Who but Elieis, the Sacrifice.

Besought he gods for men most dire,

Besought he men, their sins forgiven,

And saved them from Esperial fire.

What had become of man's great name

But ruined stone and guttered flame?

Wheel and fire, lever, wand?

Ashen leaf and withered frond.

Praised be Elieis, Esper-man,

Restored he peace from land to land

And age to age, to come again

Not till the day man worships Man.