Chapter 9 – Graves of Timber

I.

~ I gave them fair warning ~

The Pub was dark, save for a neon-lit sign behind the counter that proudly announced 'BAR". He presumed that it was for the benefit of those who were under the impression that the bar was normally located in the ladies toilets. The bright red lights weren't comfortable on the eyes, but he could tolerate it after staring at it for a few hours. It was amazing what one could tolerate after an hour's exposure. Neon lights, filthy toilets, backstabbers, death. Maybe after another bottle of Timber Malt he'd be able to tolerate SeeD as well.

The young man swallowed another throatful of the bottle the girl behind the counter had given him.

They wouldn't make it, he knew it, SeeD would make sure of that. They had a long-standing policy of darkening the lives of everyone around them. It was naïve to think that they would so willingly serve an insignificant organisation for so little money. They had an agenda, he was sure of it and it annoyed the bloody hell out of him that Zone and the others fell for it. When he reminded them that SeeD had repeatedly refused them aid before, only to unexpectedly offer them their services at the eve of the Forest Owls' latest mission, they dismissed him as being paranoid.

No, it would be better if he washed his hands clean off this whole resistance business. Zone was right, he didn't care about Timber. Nothing he did here would atone for his mistakes, no matter how much he wished to. It wasn't his cause, it never had been.

And yet . . .

After a year, he was bound to get involved. There was still this lingering feeling of responsibility. If he walked away and the Forest Owls got overrun, either by SeeD or the Galbadians, Timber would be lost. Not only Timber, but the entire world. After that, the cause of defeating the sorceress and her apprentice would become an idle dream, another unfulfilled opportunity. The future he had been dreading as a child would come to pass.

Who was he kidding though?

If there ever was any substance to his aspirations of changing the future, he wouldn't have stuck around for so long. For a long while after he arrived in Timber, he hid behind the Forest Owls, convincing himself that their petty fruitless attacks made a difference. He had poured his knowledge, his strength and finally himself into their cause. Looking back now, he couldn't possibly have believed that his actions in a small remote town would have an effect on the world. Why couldn't he bring himself to move beyond Timber?

Was he scared then?

He emptied the bottle into his throat. No, he had just lost his confidence in the world. It hadn't been that long it was so easy to think that when the time came, he would be ready. That when he was called upon, he would arrive and fulfill his promises.

The time was soon, and nobody was planning on calling him. Time after time, they reminded him that they could manage fine without him, thank you very much. In war, there was no such thing as 'leave no man behind'. When it came to it, when he staked his life on their loyalty, they forsook him. Surely he should be able to return the favor?

Wasn't that enough to absolve him of any responsibility?

Your Honor, I gave them fair warning. They wouldn't listen, please let me sit back and watch their destruction in peace.

That was the problem though, wasn't it? There would be no peace for him.

Images came to him. Fragmented memories of the day when he realised that evil was no longer the domain of fairy tales. These flashes of the past long haunted his nightmares. Over the years, the vivid recollections gradually lost their context, and all he could remember was a man hovering over the unconscious body of a boy. A boy who had been his friend and the only family he had ever known.

He was later told that he had seen the future.

It occurred to him, that if that was truly the future, then they were well past the silence before the storm.

Any moment now, all hell would break loose.

He couldn't wait.

"Why don't you put that down," Cindy-from-behind-the-counter said, as she continued stacking bottles on the shelves. "We're not supposed to be open yet, you'll get me in trouble if my boss finds a drunk in his bar so early in the morning."

He looked up from his glass. "Cindy, come here for a second."

The blonde girl left the bottles and stood before him with her hands folded. "What is it?"

Grinning, he indicated with his finger to come closer. Slightly warily she bent over the bar, staring into his radiant eyes. Cindy had always found him the most handsome of all her customers, but up close, he was positively the most breathtaking specimen of the human race she had ever seen.

He smiled at her. "Closer."

Her breasts pressed against the cold wood, as she leant further across the counter. Their lips were about an inch apart now. Giddily she wondered who would kiss the other first.

"Look into my eyes," he whispered.

Her breathing was heavier now.

"Tell me," he said.

"Tell you what?"

"Do I look drunk to you?"

"No," she whispered breathlessly, slightly surprised, "you don't."

"Good," he said, as he pulled back and finished his drink. "Then quit your incessant whining and get me another bottle."

II.

~ Nobody remembered her ~

In her memories, Rinoa saw herself walk down the streets, carrying her books to the Timber orphanage for their reading session. She saw herself talking to the elderly lady behind the vegetable stall. She was going to cook soup that night. Her greatest concern was the availability of seasonal ingredients, not the accessibility to an assassination target. This alien carefree Rinoa was looking for the right herbs to assemble a killer salad, not the right metals for a killer weapon.

Had she ever really lived in this city? Had there ever been a life before Seifer?

Look at me Seifer. I can kill for a living too. Are you proud of me?

As she made her way through the streets of Timber, she saw images of the kind of mundane existence soldiers long for. She had led the life a soldier craves after a life of care and contention. She was only a girl, at the dawn of soldierhood, and already longing for the time she could put it all behind her.

Nobody remembered her.

She could have been anyone, another tourist, another resistance militant, another lost girl on her way out of Timber. There was a part of her that expected for someone to recognise her, for the world to start revolving backwards. She had expected a dramatic silence to fall once she returned to Timber, not realising that Timber was a pretty silent place most of the time.

Summer was approaching, it wasn't exactly warm yet, but the light seemed clearer. The city slowly turned into a maze, once the trees filled out their branches, blocking the unrestricted view one had during the winter months. The feeling of sunshine recalled the memory of the only summer that ever truly counted to Rinoa. She stepped down the familiar stairs leading to the city square, expecting a brown building opposite the square.

The building wasn't there of course.

Rinoa was however surprised to see a different building on the grave of her old one. It was new, oddly contrasting with the weather-worn structures that flanked it. She held still, reminding herself that the universe wasn't constructed to accommodate the past. Those who leave forfeit their place in the hearts of those who remain. The apprehension she had felt about returning seemed laughable now. Her anxiety was entirely one-sided. The city didn't care about what had taken place in it. It strove to maintain the whole, the community that formed its existence. It didn't care about one girl's hopes and dreams.

Graves were nothing more than land for the living.

She had to go back to the train station, she knew that. Yet there was something compelling about that new building, she wondered if the new resident knew what happened to the old one. Before her mind could muster the effort of sound advice, she ran towards the building. She sabotaged the door-lock effortlessly with the tools she kept on her at all times, silently thanking Garden for its dedicated support for criminal trespassing.

The door gave way to reveal a narrow hallway and staircase. She followed the corridor to a small living room. Rinoa was a little disappointed to find nothing personal in the sparsely decorated lounge. He or she didn't keep pictures, no indication of their identity at all. The person who lived here didn't love this place; they probably expected this to be temporary. A waiting room for something better, she thought. Prudence advised her to leave; there was something unsettling about the place. She walked back towards the door, when her gaze was seduced by the stairs leading to the first floor.

Well she was already here, wasn't she? This could be the house of a Galbadian commander or some other nefarious character, in which case, was it not her duty to investigate? She quietly sprinted up the stairs and found herself on a landing that led to a bathroom and one bedroom. Hesitantly she pushed the door open, only to be faced with her own face.

Right there, across the room, pinned on the wall was a newspaper cutting and an old picture of herself, smiling demurely at the camera. It took her several minutes to register the headline:

POLICE RAID SENIOR TERRORIST'S HOUSE

It took her a minute to remember what had happened. As the shock subsided, a much stronger emotion in the form of amusement overtook her. Rinoa laughed, it first came out in short choking bursts until she was beside herself with hilarity. She had always known the story Wedge told the army, but to see her face illustrate it was absolutely phenomenal. She giggled and turned to the only window and spread her arms wide open into the breezy spring day. The square was empty, save for a man walking from the direction of the Pub.

"Behold," she proclaimed to the nearly empty square, "the terrorist has returned!"

The man in the distance seemed startled by her announcement, but Rinoa was by now too lost in memories to take notice. Across the square was the mayoral mansion. It was there that Seifer tried to save the mayor but got captured instead. It was there that she woke up from her sleepy average-Jane life and made a decision without listening to reason. She saved a man's life and lost her old life in return.

She had often wondered about the justification for saving Seifer. Death by Galbadian hands or death through betrayal, was there any reason for what she thought had been her moment of bravery? She saved a man who would have died anyway. However, she knew that without Seifer, she still would have been sitting in this room waiting for someone to deliver her. A traitor or no, she was glad she met him.

You stay here because you're afraid.

She rested her head against the window sill, staring at the town she knew so well and hardly knew at all.

Afraid of what, Seifer? Afraid that my life as a SeeD will seem hopelessly dull and meaningless in comparison? You said I was afraid in Timber, yet here I am in Garden... still afraid. I'm tired of being afraid Seifer. Tell me, where to next?

Which fearless destination follows Garden?

Rinoa smiled. She hadn't realised that Wedge's petty retribution would have made her a celebrity. Did the person who pinned this article against wall, admire her? Did he want to be like her, or did she serve as a warning for any who subjected Galbadia to humiliation, deserved or otherwise?

Rinoa looked at her own picture, not remembering when it was taken. The smiling girl in the picture didn't look like a terrorist, how could they ever have thought she was? But then again, she didn't look like a mercenary either. Yet here she was, waiting for the right time to end a man's life.

Her eyes were suddenly drawn to the square outside. A man was running towards this building. She had overstayed her welcome.

Rinoa looked one last time at the picture before she left the room. She never saw the final lines of the article:

For now, terrorist cells all over Timber will have suffered a serious blow after the death of Rinoa Heartilly.

III.

~ He was seeing ghosts ~

He squinted as he exchanged the cold muted lights of the Pub for the harsh daylight. It was time to head home and await the death of the Forest Owls from the comfort of his chair. A cigarette was dangling from the corner of his mouth, to wash away the taste of alcohol. He was fishing around his pockets for a lighter, when a yell sounded across the square. His green eyes shot upwards to the first floor of the house opposite the Mayor's. Somebody was standing in front of the open windows, in his house.

"Behold, the terrorist has returned!" a woman's voice pronounced jubilantly.

He froze.

"What the fuck?" he muttered angrily, as he threw the lighter back in his pocket and dashed towards his house.

As a former soldier he was quick to suspect an enemy. However, the idiotic proclamations of this woman threw him off-guard. What was she doing in his house if she wasn't out to kill or capture him? Without slowing his pace, he deftly drew his weapon in one fluid motion. The woman was now leaning against the window-sill, staring at the sky. As he got close enough to make out her basic facial features, he nearly stumbled as his legs came to a sudden standstill. The unlit cigarette fell out of his mouth and landed near his feet, and for a moment the world quieted as he stood transfixed, arrested by the impossible memories.

Those raven locks, that blue dress, those dark eyes. He took a deep breath and looked around to see if anybody else could see her, but he was all alone in the square. When he looked up again, she was gone.

Great, he was seeing ghosts.

He reached in his pocket to draw another cigarette. His head was spinning, he needed some poison in his veins, a good long draw on his cheap ciggie ought to do it. He felt chills running down his spine, his hand was shaking and was unable to hold onto the packet of tobacco. Great, basic motor function was the first thing to go after a few rounds of Timberian hooch. His heart escalated its own wild party in his chest, booming deafeningly hard until he heard nothing but the cold dread in his chest. Slowly an uneasy thought made itself known, one that was even more frightening than the vision he had just witnessed.

Ghosts don't yell stupid things, do they?

He looked up at the empty window, there was nothing out of the ordinary. An unremarkable window with plain curtains dancing in the wind..

The windows were open.

He would never have left the windows unbolted. The front door of his house was also wide open.

He didn't hesitate this time. His coat fluttered behind him, as he picked up his weapon and ran once more towards the white house. The door was gaping open, yet there was no sign of the intruder. With his weapon raised and ready, he cautiously approached the first landing. When he got to his bedroom, his dark boot kicked the door open.

The only woman in the room was a picture of the late Rinoa Heartilly illustrating a fabricated article.

"Maybe I'm drunk after all," he muttered.

A loud bang sounded downstairs, and the walls rattled with the force of it. He dashed down the stairs and found the front door open; a woman in blue was disappearing into the distance.

"Fuck," he cursed and sheathed his weapon.

As he chased the woman, his heart was racing even faster, hoping that it wasn't true and wishing it really were.

IV.

~ Who would do that? ~

Rinoa panted as her legs almost gave way under her. With her heart bouncing around in her chest, she was convinced it could give off enough energy to power several industrial electrical units. An occasional glance over her shoulder assured her that her pursuer was still a long way off. She didn't know why she was so frightened. Sure, she was trespassing, but if things got violent she always had her weapon and her GF. Yet, there was something disturbing about that guy. Not only had he built a house on the grave of her old home, but he kept her picture above his bed. Who would do that?

Was he a sick morbid fan? A terrorist groupie? An enemy, gloating over her. Maybe that's why she ran when she heard him enter the house, because she was afraid of what he might tell her. A man like that might just be waiting for a chance to drag the past up whenever the occasion presented itself. Polish it off and to display its morbid glory for her attention.

Well she was done with all that. He could eat her past for all she cared.

She ran up the steps to the yellow train carriage. As she slid the door shut again, Rinoa could no longer see her pursuer. Feeling relieved that he wouldn't be able compromise their mission, she shut the door.

"Told you she'd be on time," Zell exclaimed, jumping up from his position on the floor.

"She's 93 seconds late," complained Zone sullenly. "That only leaves you 507 seconds to prepare."

"That's 507 seconds too much dude," Zell said, "we're SeeDs, remember?"

"501 now."

"Whatever."

"I'm here now anyway," Rinoa said, blushing slightly. "Let's go."

V.

~ Boundlessly Free ~

"Behold, the terrorist has returned!"

For billions of years, the universe was maintained by the laws of physics. These were the very laws that allow certain things to be possible, by making others impossible. He watched Rinoa Heartilly close the doors of the train, he knew that 'impossible' no longer existed.

It was too absurd to be a dream; he was not yet so drunk he couldn't recognise the train she had entered. The train he had a in careless drunk moment dubbed The Princess.

His Princess.

After the sordid events of the year before, he had thought that nothing in the universe possessed the capacity to shock him. Mild surprise yes, but he seriously never expected the soul-shaking devastation of his perceptions, until he saw Rinoa return from the grave as a SeeD.

He could sense a design in all this, but he could also sense the subtle fingers of chaos delightfully ripping apart everything within the realm of possibility. Smiling grimly to himself, the young man felt an unconsummated anger stirring him and the coma of the past fell from him. There was something in his veins. Fury, pumping the wild thunder of hunger through his entire being, drowning him until his eyes saw nothing but the red chaos of rage.

"Rinoa Heartilly," he whispered. It was a name that hadn't touched his tongue in a year, even as it roared through his mind day after day after mindless day.

Rinoa Heartilly, the favorite subject of his massive guilt complex.

There she was, a SeeD.

As he reveled in this mad passion, he suddenly felt so incredibly and boundlessly free.

SeeD

There was a reason he joined SeeD; for many years he endured the harsh training regimes of Garden so that he'd be able to rewrite the past. He had seen the future and all his life he desired to be the kind of man who could change it. He had lost that part of himself a year ago. He had lost his anger, his passion until he was left with nothing but a soundless husk, a name that meant nothing.

But the woman who had bound him to this miserable city, had also been the one to liberate him. He had been wrong; wrong to stay in Timber, wrong to work for the memory of a dead woman. It was a year of one mistake after another. But once he had the heart to admit this, he also had the courage to act on it. His battlefield wasn't the streets of Timber. Now more than ever, he knew that the stage for this war would be the entire world.

He had at last found himself and had found himself still strong, still fierce with fury and found it glad.

He was Seifer Almasy and he had a mission to complete.

As Rinoa's train disappeared beyond the horizon, he knew he didn't need SeeD for that nor did he need the Forest Owls. There was no ambiguity, no uncertainty about he had to do.

It would be just him against Squall Leonheart.