CHAPTER FIVE

A STORM AT SEA

That same night on the ship Terra noticed a grave and sorrow-worn man. He was tall and had a patch on one eye and a scar beneath the other. He sat coiling rope while other men made merry and sang.

"Who's he?" Terra asked Calogrent.

"That's Syan," he replied. "He was retainer to the king of Doma, before that kingdom fell to the Empire."

"Why doesn't he sing like other men?"

"I imagine his heart is too heavy," said Calogrent in lower tones. "When he was younger, he was in the Siege of Doma Castle. It lasted for over a year. The Empire set magitek riding-armor, infantry, archers, and siege ramps against the castle, but its walls remained strong. It is an ancient castle, made out of a rock that is no longer found and by a skill that is forgotten. The Domans had enough grain and food stores to outlast the siege, but their water came from a stream that fell cool and clear down from the mountains.

"General Leo" (Terra had heard the name before) "had mounted the attack. Although he is an imperial general," Calogrent added, "he is a noble and chivalrous man. He often commanded his troops to cease battle so that both sides could bury their dead. He would even grant a respite for holidays. All men love him. Even his enemies count it an honor to fight him."

"That doesn't explain Syan's sorrow," Terra said.

"I haven't told all," said Calogrent. "Kefka the Dragon-hearted grew impatient with Leo's progress. He came with forged letters from the Emperor, requesting that Leo return to Vector immediately and leave Kefka in charge. Leo set out immediately, but not without first commanding Kefka not to change his policies while he was away, and charging him to show humanity and trawthe towards the Domans. Kefka, with his forked tongue, agreed to whatever General Leo said. He would have said anything to get him to leave.

"The next day General Kefka ordered his men to pile the dead in the stream that fed the waters of Doma; both imperial and Doman corpses he threw into the stream. Any man who remained loyal to Leo or who refused to desecrate his comrades' bodies was sent to the front lines to die.

"The vast number of rotting corpses choked the stream, so that little water passed through. Thinking that Kefka was rerouting their water source, the Domans quickly emptied all their wine barrels and filled them with the poisoned water, and drank their fill. Even the king drank. Only Syan and a few others did not.

"One by one the Domans fell into fever, and then to death. Those who survived were too few to withhold the Empire any longer, and the glorious castle of Doma fell to Kefka the All-devouring.

"Syan had a wife and twelve children, both girls and boys. Kefka had his men rape and strangle Syan's entire family before his eyes. Then Kefka had him blinded with a hot iron. Syan wandered blind and mad in the forest for many days. He prayed to the gods to restore his sight so that he might have vengeance. At the end of that time, sight returned to one of his eyes."

Terra was crying. She was overwhelmed with saddness and anger that any man could be so cruel. She asked how Kefka, or any man, could do such things.

"Some say he's not a man but a devil," said Calogrent.

One night at sea, around midnight, a storm rose up out of the east. Terra remained below holding onto a bucket while the ship pitched and rose and fell. She could hear the shouting and stomping of the sailors up top. She tried to sleep but couldn't, not with the violent tossing of the ship. The storm lasted all through the night, and indeed seemed to grow worse, until sunrise, when it dissipated into the west.

The Winged Star appeared again to watch over them. But now, Terra learned, the ship was taking on water. The captain searched the seas for a sight of land. He soon found it. A call rang out, followed by a cheer, and before she knew it Terra was in the ship's boat heading towards a bright, sandy beach. She was much relieved to be on solid ground again, though her legs were unsteady at first.

The sand of the beach was perfectly white, the sun was high and warm, and the trees tall and leafy. There were huge green palm fronds and coconuts the size of melons. There were broken eggs and little tracks in the sand leading down to the water, where no doubt a group of young turtles met the mighty sea for the first time. The waves ran calm and smooth in long strides up the beach, before retreating back.

The island was inhabited. The natives were strangely dressed, and had odd customs and superstitions, but they were very friendly. That night, while repairs were being made to the ship, Terra and some of the crew slept on the beach. Some of the natives had come too, to trade with and observe the Returners, who probably seemed just as strange to them.

While Terra was helping feed the fire, a snake came out of the woodpile and bit her hand. It hurt incredibly and she was afraid that she'd been poisoned. She willed with all her might that it was not so, and eventually the pain lessened. She wondered ever afterwards whether that was the moment when she regained her powers, or whether the snake had been harmless. At any rate, when the natives saw that she was unharmed, they prostrated themselves before her and chanted in their own language.

Terra tried to tell them that she was just a woman, but they didn't understand and only worshipped her all the more.

The repairs to the Mercuria (for that was her name) took several days, leaving Terra and others ample time to explore the island and get acquainted with the islanders. Terra, Calogrent, and King Edgar were led into the interior of the island to the natives' village. The bronze-complexioned, scantily clad islanders lived in huts made out of straw and baked mud. Children kicking a ball ran laughing and shrieking through the street. Men traded, worked, built, and even wrestled in what looked like formal competitions. The women wore earrings, necklaces, rings, and other ornaments made out of animal teeth and bones. (Terra noticed Edgar eyeing them.) The expecting mothers' happy, round bellies were fully exposed and bronzed by the sun. They wore white wreaths on their heads to distinguish them from unmarried girls.

There was a simplicity and a merriness about them that warmed Terra's heart. These people knew of no Empire, of no imminent war. They loved all and feared none. To be sure, one sweep of the Emperor's hand could instantly wipe out their entire civilization. Indeed, little did they know it, but the islanders were a tiny cup of bliss poised on the brink of destruction. One moment of exquisite pain and then this happy island would be swept away and into the next world. But every moment until that one would be so filled with this characteristic love, and the islanders' separation would be so short before they reassembled on the other side, and death would so obliterate the memory of itself, that the moment of their destruction would be nothing more than an inconsequential interruption in their history—like birth-pangs, forgotten the moment that life is born. Nevertheless, their island was worth defending, perhaps less for the sake of the islanders than for the sake of the world. Oh, if Terra could only stay!

It appeared they had but one plight: Their patriarch was dying. Terra learned this when she and her two companions entered the big hut on the hill in the center of the village. Apparently Terra had been brought here expressly for this purpose.

Upon entering the hut, Terra, Calogrent, and Edgar were showered with gifts of fruit, ivory, and dyed cloth. The greater part of the extravagance was spent on Terra. The two young men who had been their guides gestured to her to come into the inner room, separated from the other room by a veil of beaded strings hanging from the ceiling. When Calogrent and Edgar made to follow her, the young men motioned to them to wait outside as apologetically as they could. Terra assured her friends that she would be fine and then followed the men in.

There she found an old man lying on a huge bed. Beside him with a rag and a bucket of water was a woman of about the same age. Judging from their clothing and the ornateness of the hut, this was the king and queen of the island.

The young men got down on their knees, and one of them had a brief conversation with the queen, in which he frequently point to Terra. The queen then looked at Terra with an expression of hope and awe, and finally beckoned her to come forward. Terra did so, though she was at a bit of a loss as to what they expected of her. The king was pale and shivered occasionally, though he was sweating. He looked weak and vacant, as if he only lingered on the edge of waking.

Terra's heart went out to him and to his people, but after standing over him for a few minutes she looked from the queen to the young men for some kind of instructions. The queen's eyes plead with her to do something. Finally, one of the young men (the one who had spoken to the queen), attempted to communicate to her through signs. At first Terra didn't understand. He pointed to her, made a snaking motion with his finger, pretended to bite his hand, fell down on the ground, got up again, and then pointed from her to the king. Then all at once she understood: They thought she had healed herself from that snakebite, and that she could heal the king. It broke her heart.

What could she do for him? She had tried to use magic on so many other occasions, and each time she had failed—even when the life of one of her friends was in danger. How would this time be any different? Despite the enormous compassion that she had for these people, she was afraid of even trying (lest she only humiliate herself and give them false hope). But in the end she decided that she had better try anyway.

She didn't know what to do, but she put her hands on the king's chest and began wishing in her heart that he get better. The room was as silent as the grave. Neither the queen nor the young men made any sound or movement. She could feel their eyes fixed on her with the utmost attention. The king too looked up at her from his delirium and seemed to understand, for a faint smile of gratitude formed on his lips. Then Terra realized that she had been distracted, and began again. This time, thinking that she wouldn't be so easily distracted if she did it out loud, she murmured: "Get better. Be healed. Please, just be healed." She continued to feel a little silly, but she put that out of her mind and stuck to the task at hand. "Please," she prayed, "if any gods can hear me, show mercy to these people. Heal their king. Let me heal this man."

Terra went on like this for a long time. She closed her eyes tightly, praying softly, with her hands on the king's chest. Eventually something started to happen. She began to feel warm all over and especially in the palms of her hands. She felt power welling up inside of her, building, building towards a prodigious event. Terra opened her eyes and found that the insides of her hands were glowing with white light. The light grew and filled the whole room, and it filled the frail body of the king. Light streamed out of his every pore. Terra could feel strength returning to him even as she touched him.

But something else was happening inside her all this time. The moment in which she first felt this power was accompanied by a growing dread. Chaotic thoughts flashed before her mind: the frozen Esper, the immensity of Mount Kolts, light and darkness, violet fire and a glorious bird (now like the Esper, now not); and behind all these visions the dread approach of a feminine entity, a near-infinite being taking shape, whose coming meant to Terra severance from the human race, and through severance, despair!

At last Terra could stand it no longer. With a gasp she released the king and slunk to the floor, trembling. Her head swam. She was exhausted body and mind. She only realized that Edgar and Calogrent were in the room when they helped her to her feet. A woman was kneeling and kissing her hands—it was the queen. The king was getting out of bed.