Jack tore at his scarf and managed to crawl no more than a few feet before he was violently ill. It had been hours since his last meal, before the ball, but still his stomach churned in response to the stagnant aether as if he'd been drinking pond scum. He was still dry heaving when a warm hand on his back brought a cool Cure to his aid.
"I know, lad," Redden said behind him. "I know. I felt it too. I'm amazed you were able to cast at all."
"Her," he said, coughing. He waved his hand toward the altar, where Lena still lay on the floor, tended by Orin and Thad. "Cure her."
"I already have. She's fine; she's only emptied herself. She'd do better if we got her out of this aether, but it won't cause her any worse hurt. You, though, we need to get outside. Can you stand?"
Jack nodded. He wasn't sure if he could stand, but he did need to leave this place. He grabbed Redden's offered hand, let the older man pull him to his feet. The bard had found his staff somewhere, and he took it gratefully, glad to have something else to hold him up. He realized his hat was gone and looked around for it, but his eyes ached, and tiny sparks danced in his peripheral vision as he turned his head.
The dawn light was still pale by the time he'd made his way painfully to the gaping doorway through which they had entered. It seemed like they had been fighting for hours, but Jack was surprised to see that it was just after sunrise. He stopped to catch his breath, panting from the effort, but Redden urged him on. "Just to that rise, now. You can rest on those stones."
Away from the building, he felt the aether clear between one step and the next, like a blast of fresh air when he had been suffocating. He opened himself to it, let it flow into him for no other reason than to hold it. The corona stung his eyes and he gasped at the unexpected pain of it but the pain faded quickly, and with it the throbbing in his temples, the weakness in his limbs.
"You're not the strongest black mage I've seen, but you are by far the most determined, I'll grant you that," Redden said, helping him to a seat on a boulder facing the sun. "We'd have made quick work of them, you and I, if I could have drawn on the aether back there. And you managed three spells altogether? Simply remarkable."
Jack felt himself blushing at the praise and took a moment to reposition his scarf to hide his face. "I left myself vulnerable at the end. I shouldn't have tried to draw off that last spell," he said, though his throat was still raw from vomiting.
"If you hadn't, my son would be dead."
He nodded, for it was true, but could think of nothing more to say to that. He sat back, breathing deep, letting the aether run through and over him.
Redden spoke into the silence, "To think, Garland was a black mage all along, one of the Brotherhood… The very man in charge of hunting them down… No wonder they've grown so powerful these last ten years." When Jack opened his eyes again, the bard was looking at him. "You saved our skins back there. Particularly Kane's. I won't forget it." He looked toward the ruined temple, then back to Jack. "Are you alright out here on your own?"
"Yes," he said, again unable to think of anything else to say.
Minutes passed. He was beginning to wonder if he should go back inside with the others - he would be fine, so long as he didn't draw on the aether in there again - when Orin and Thad came out. Orin carried Lena, who still slept, and set her down carefully on a grassy patch near Jack's seat. Thad carried Jack's hat, which he handed over with a wary glance at his eyes, still lit by the corona, but it didn't hamper the boy's cheer. He spoke excitedly about how Kane and Redden were busy securing the cultists with cut up strips of their own robes - six in all, though there were also six dead of their injuries, including Garland - before he and the monk went back inside.
Alone again, he looked down at the girl. Her white hood, a rough-spun linen suitable for travel, was bloodstained near the hem on one side. Checking her aura, he quickly determined it wasn't her blood. It was as Redden told him: she'd over-exerted herself but bore no other injuries.
He sighed, letting the aether go at last, feeling it drift slowly out of him and away, until he was left only with the aether he carried in his own soul, depleted though it was by the fight and lack of sleep. He closed his eyes, taking stock of himself: he probably could have managed one spell, at direst need, but no more. The whole of the world's aether to draw upon, but a black mage could only use what he was willing to match from within himself. It would rebuild, of course, probably in a matter of hours.
He didn't know how long he'd been sitting like that before he opened his eyes at the sound of a clearing throat and was so startled to see a cultist standing before him that he almost fell off his rock, but it was only the princess. Apparently, the filthy robe was better than going about the cool spring morning in nothing but the torn nightdress he recalled she'd been wearing.
"I didn't mean to startle you," she said.
"You didn't," he said.
She smiled at the obvious lie, kneeling in the grass beside Lena, placing a gentle hand on the white mage's forehead. Lena didn't stir. The princess's brows knit in consternation.
"She's fine," Jack told her. "She just needs rest."
"What's wrong with her?"
"One too many spells. It happens often with white mages: always trying to heal one last hurt though they can draw on no other aether but their own."
"You've seen it before? You're sure?"
"Yes."
She was looking up at him now, from her place on the ground. Her worried expression faded, replaced by a smile again. Her stare made him self conscious, and his hand went to the scarf, checking its position. At last, she said, "That color suits you."
He pulled his hand away, momentarily confused, then remembered he still wore the blue scarf she'd sent him with the formal robes. "I never got a chance to thank you for that."
"Think nothing of it," she said, yawning. She looked down at the white mage once more, shrugged as if she'd made some momentous decision, and stretched out in the grass beside her. "Though I am disappointed I didn't get to see you in the robes. I was told you looked striking in them."
"Perhaps another occasion will arise," he said, hoping one wouldn't.
"Perhaps," she said, closing her eyes.
He looked out across the grassy slopes, south toward the forest, toward Cornelia, wondering what sort of celebrations would be planned for the princess's safe return. Undoubtedly, the robes would be required for those. "Wait," he said. "Who told you I looked striking?" but when he looked down at her again, he realized she'd fallen asleep.
He stood, thinking to leave the two girls to their slumber, perhaps to return inside and help the others with the prisoners, but his own weariness settled over him like a thick blanket, so instead he lowered himself to the ground and leaned against the boulder he'd been sitting on, pulled his knees up, and dozed there.
By the time Kane followed Sarah outside, Jack was asleep, sitting up with his staff across his knees and his hat over his face. He was going to tell the mage that another man had died, one that Jack had cracked in the head with his staff. Lord Redden had tried, unsuccessfully, to heal him; he had explained that white magic wouldn't work against someone who had so completely turned against the natural order of life. Kane didn't know what that meant, but thought Jack should hear it.
When he found the mage asleep, however, he decided not to tell him after all. He wondered if Jack had meant to kill with that blow, wondered if the mage had ever killed anyone before. If not, Kane could spare him the guilt that he himself was feeling now. Years of training with the sword hadn't prepared him for the unpleasantness of actually killing someone. Two of the bodies laid out in that temple had been his work, General Garland and one other. In the moments immediately after, when he'd held Sarah in his arms, overjoyed that she was safe, he thought it had all been worth it.
She was sleeping too, beside Lena, and when he saw her there, he knew with a cold certainty that he would do it all again. Gods, but he'd missed her. Though he'd claimed his training kept him too busy to visit, the truth was he'd kept himself away after years of trying - and failing - to think of her as nothing more than a friend. Even now, the desire to lay beside her on the grass and pull her close filled his mind; he forced the thought away, afraid to let himself examine it too closely.
Thad came out the door behind him, took one look at the sleepers, and flopped into the grass on Lena's other side, curled up small with his arm as a pillow. Kane considered again the spot on Sarah's other side...
No, he thought, but he was tired. With a groan at the soreness in his muscles, he lowered himself against the rock beside Jack instead. The grass would have been more comfortable, he was sure of it, but if it was good enough for the mage, it was good enough for him. He leaned back, closing his eyes. He could hear Orin and his father nearby, quietly discussing what to do about their captives. Lena stirred, he wasn't sure how much later, but the princess murmured something to soothe her, and she relaxed into sleep once more.
When we get back, he thought, I'll demand a transfer. No need to stay at the harbor guardhouse with Garland gone. I belong at the castle.
He must have slept then, for when he opened his eyes, the sun was at its peak. His father had shaken him, and was now shaking Jack, pointing out movement near the trees to the south. Dozens of red-clad figures were marching toward them from around the forest's eastern edge.
"What-" Jack started to ask, but as the figures drew closer, they resolved into a squadron of Cornelian guards, sporting the same standard issue red leather armor Kane wore. Behind them, a pair of oxen pulled a large, flat cart on which rode two men.
"Reinforcements," Kane said with a laugh. He stood, waving, calling out a greeting. His shout woke Sarah, and she stood beside him and took his arm just as if the two of them were off for a stroll through the castle. Jack stood at Kane's other side, though Thad and Lena were both still asleep on the ground behind him.
When the guards arrived at last, Kane recognized Commander Dawson of the palace guard, along with some of the men who worked in the castle. He didn't know all of their names, but the familiar faces cheered him.
"Commander," Kane's father said by way of greeting.
"Lord Redden," Dawson said.
"How on earth did you find us, sir?" Kane asked.
"The king suggested we track you magically." The officer motioned toward the wagon trundling up behind him. One of the men riding it was Father Branford. The other was unknown to Kane, an elderly man in black mage robes that were frayed and faded to a dusky gray.
"Morgan!" Jack called, going to him as Father Branford helped him gingerly down from the cart.
The old mage smiled, waving heartily, speaking to Jack in a quavering voice that Kane couldn't make out.
Dawson said, "We couldn't get the cart through the marsh, and the old man couldn't walk this far - we had to go around the long way."
"Just as well you did," Redden said. "We've a few members of the Brotherhood here, bound and captive. And at least one corpse I know the king will be very interested to see. The cart will make it easier."
"See to it," Dawson said to a guard by his side. He and several of his fellows followed Lord Orin inside.
Lord Redden nodded in satisfaction. "It would have been quite a chore to march them all back to the city. I wouldn't mind a ride myself, though I believe the girls should have first priority."
"I'd rather walk than share a cart with those men," Sarah said.
Kane nodded agreement, patting her hand on his arm, but his father said, "I understand, your highness, but you should ride with Lena, at least until she recovers. She may be able to walk with you, in another hour or so."
The men nearby looked sideways at Commander Dawson, who grimaced, shaking his head. "I have instructions to escort the princess and Lord Orin back to the palace, and you, if you wish, but the Warriors of Light are not to return."
Kane looked down at Sarah, but her face mirrored his own confusion. He looked to his father, whose white eyebrows were raised in surprise. "Not to return? On what grounds?" his father asked.
Dawson's eyes were downcast as if embarrassed by what he was about to say. "By order of the mage council."
Lord Redden wheeled around to face Father Branford, who after leaving the oxcart had gone to check on Lena. "Branford! What is the meaning of this?"
The high priest, kneeling in the grass beside his apprentice, stood again, smoothly for a man of his age, and approached them with his head bowed. "I'm sorry, Redden, but the scryings remain unchanged. The Warriors were to start their journey on the first day of the full moon, and they have started it. To return to Cornelia now would put the whole kingdom at risk."
"You can't know that, man!" Redden said. "With no training and no sleep, your Warriors of Light have just delivered you a dozen of the Penumbra Brotherhood. Surely, a day's rest back in the city won't make any difference!"
"We only know what the aether tells us," Branford said, spreading his hands. "Again, I truly am sorry. The king wished to make it clear that you, of course, may choose to return."
"He damn well knows I won't!"
"My lord, please," said the commander. "The king saw to it that we brought the supplies you had prepared. He wouldn't send you away empty-handed."
"This is ridiculous!" Lord Redden said, spitting on the ground near the commander's feet before he stormed away.
The commander turned away as well, ordering the other guards to unload the cart - their supplies, Kane supposed - while Branford returned to Lena's side, speaking softly to Thad who was sitting up now, sleepily rubbing his eyes. Kane looked to where Jack still spoke with the man he'd called Morgan. He couldn't hear their words, but could tell from the pitch of Jack's voice that he was frustrated - Morgan must have told him the mage council's decision.
A gentle tug on his elbow reminded him that Sarah was still beside him, her hand still laced through his arm, and he turned to her once more. Her eyes were brimming, but if he knew her at all, he knew she would be too angry to cry. "Oh, this is a fine thank you," she said. "The prophesied Warriors of Light save the royal princess from certain death, and this is your reward?"
"This is not how I thought things would go," he agreed. He wanted to say more. He wasn't sure what, exactly, but more. "Princess, will you walk with me?"
She nodded. He led her down the slope away from the ruined temple, away from his father and the guardsmen and everyone else, and stood with her in the noonday sun, staring at the trees some distance away, and couldn't say a word to her, couldn't make his mind form the phrases to describe what he was feeling in that moment.
It was she who spoke first. "You have to protect them, the others. They're not like you, not warriors."
"I will," he said.
"Try to be a friend to them, Kane. You've always been good at making friends - something tells me those three aren't."
He smiled, but he didn't have it in him to laugh at the accuracy of that statement. Instead, he repeated, "I will."
She sighed. "I don't know when I'll see you again."
"You will see me again," he told her. He looked at her when he said it, and saw that her eyes were still full of tears, but the anger was gone. He quickly looked away, not wanting to see her cry when he could do nothing to fix it.
They stood in silence after that, side by side until a shout from his father drew them back up the hill to the others. The prisoners were loaded on the cart, along with a man-sized, cloth-wrapped bundle - Garland's corpse. On one side, his father was speaking with Commander Dawson and Father Branford as guards were taking their places, preparing to march; his father was calmer now, but spoke with fists clenched as though he'd like to use them. On the other, Jack and Morgan stood chatting.
As Kane approached them, Jack was telling the older man, "If they cause trouble, that sleep spell we found yesterday should keep them under control until you reach the castle."
"I remember it," Morgan said. "Though perhaps I'll practice on a few of them to be sure." He bowed when Kane and the princess approached. "Your highness. Morgan Geraldine, at your service." He rose, nodding to Kane. "Jack here tells me he'll follow your lead. Do you know yet where you will go?"
"My lead?" he asked, but Jack only shrugged. He sighed. "No, I suppose I don't."
"If I may offer a suggestion? There's an old colleague of mine who I believe could be of some assistance to you, a woman named Matoya with a knack for reading the future in the aether. She might be able to foresee your right path."
"That does sound helpful, but Commander Dawson said we weren't to return to the city."
"Oh, she's not in Cornelia. She left after the ban. A blind woman, used black magic to give herself some semblance of sight. Said she'd rather live in the wild than abstain from it."
It seemed as good a starting place as any. "Alright," Kane said. "Where can we find this woman?"
"Take the bridge north out of the kingdom, then keep to Lake Cornelia's coast. You'll come to a rocky pass. She makes her home in a cave somewhere in the forest north of there."
From across the cart, Commander Dawson said, "Your highness, we need to go."
"Fine," Sarah said, making no move to join him.
Jack helped Morgan board the cart beside the prisoners. In his black robe, the old man almost looked like a cultist himself, though the others' robes had seen less wear.
Another guard said, "And you, Lord Orin, will you walk or ride?"
"Neither," the old monk said. "I have decided to go with the Warriors of Light."
"Really?" Thad said joyfully.
The commander turned to him. "My lord, the king expects your return."
Orin bowed his head, saying, "Please give the king my sincerest apologies."
"Kane," Sarah said, clinging more tightly to his arm than she had before.
He reached up and pulled her hand gently away, held it in his own. "Princess," he said, bowing, pressing his lips to her fingers in a kiss, not the sort of kiss he wanted to give her but one that was perfectly appropriate between a princess and her subject. Perhaps it lasted longer than was proper, but he had trouble letting go. He couldn't look at her when he rose again, turning to walk away, back into that dank ruin rather than watch her leave. He didn't look back when he heard the company begin their march and the cart rolling out at last, but waited until the sounds had faded completely before he emerged into daylight once more.
Author's Note: I have a pair of beta readers. They are both amazing and I am buying them expensive dinners someday when this story is finished. The first one, my best friend, a librarian like myself, who writes a lot of Marvel and Supernatural fan fiction, was the one to suggest I start writing this story. When I tell her there's going to be a lot of feels in an upcoming chapter (ie: this one), she cackles with glee. But she's never played FFI, which is why I recruited the second reader.
My second reader (let's call him Rabbit, as his name starts with R) is a man I've known since third grade who grew up to be an English professor at a community college. Rabbit's a bit of a grammar nazi, and I live in perpetual terror that I will incorrectly use their/there/they're (or something similar), and he will revise his good opinion of me and decide I'm an idiot.
I was somewhat embarrassed to send this chapter to Rabbit for editing. We go from hectic battle scene to Kane having all of the emotions (all of them!), and I didn't know how well that would go over with a male audience. I said, "Just so you know, Rabbit: this chapter isn't as exciting as the last one." He replied, "Well yeah, you can't have battles every chapter. What is this, a Final Fantasy game?" He hasn't given up on me yet, so I must be doing something right.