Seven
The refugee camp was a hodge-podge of structures, an actual tent city constructed of tarps, sheets of tin, cinder block, particle board, two-by-fours, storage sheds and even train cars. Along the rows of dwellings, laundry hung on lines to dry, almost indistinguishable from the bed sheets hung for privacy.
Rinoa followed Zone toward a larger, olive-green military-style tent in the center of the camp and took note of the conditions these people endured here. She wrinkled her nose at the rank scent of garbage and sewage and raw earth combined with too many people in one place at the same time. Children cried and laughed and darted out onto the path in front of them, only to disappear behind the folds of canvas or cotton. Most of them were barefoot.
A woman passed by, her progress aided by a stick that served as a cane, half her face mottled in burn scars.
Rinoa shivered.
The woman wasn't the only one. Wounds and scars were more common than not, even among the children, and many of the adults carried weapons, as if they anticipated an attack at any moment.
She wasn't aware Irvine had taken her hand until he gave her a gentle tug and turned back to see what the hold-up was.
He didn't lecture when he saw her reason for stopping. He tugged the brim of his hat lower over his eyes and bowed his head.
"Shame," he said.
Zone beckoned to them from the flap of the military tent up ahead. Rinoa let go of Irvine's hand and picked up the pace.
Inside, a plump woman in her sixties sat at a table bent over a ledger. Behind her were crates of ammunition, racks of weapons, and various supplies. All the way at the back was a cot with a baby-girl pink and white blanket draped over it. A photograph, an oil lamp, and a religious devotional sat on a crate that served as a bedside table.
Her apron was stained with what Rinoa could only assume was blood - not dried but washed a few times over and faded to a brown-gray. A thick salt and pepper braid snaked over her shoulder, the top of her head covered with a dark blue bandanna. A rifle on a strap lay against her fleshy back.
"Marissa, brought you some newbies," Zone said. He grimaced and pressed a hand to his stomach. "This is Irvine and Rin. Guys, this is Marissa. Leader of the Forest Fox."
Marissa closed the ledger and held out her arm for Zone to take. He helped her to her feet.
"If you're going to stay, we got rules," Marissa said. "We've got a lot of mouths to feed and wounds to treat, so everyone who's able contributes. You do your own laundry. No hoarding food, no stealing, no fighting."
"Yes, ma'am," Rinoa said.
"Also, we don't put up with vigilantes," Marissa continued. "All our assaults are carefully planned. You follow orders or you find somewhere else to camp." She peered at Irvine. "We ain't got room for heroes, so if you've got some half-assed notion you're gonna win this war all by yourself, you ain't gonna last long. Heroes die. They get other people killed. Understood?"
"I'm just a hunter, ma'am," Irvine lied. "But, I'll fight if you want me to. I'm a good shot. Can't do much else, but I'm a good shot."
"Well, that will do just fine," she said. "But not today. Looks like the two of you could use a bath and a meal."
Rinoa's stomach clenched at the thought. It could be lumpy gruel with raisins and she wouldn't complain. The gas station sandwich hadn't gone very far.
"Zone, why don't you take them over to the mess and find them something to eat, then have Watts clean out Burns and Smither's old room in the train car?" she said. To Rinoa and Irvine, she said, "Hope you don't mind bunking together."
Rinoa hesitated, but Irvine tipped his hat in appreciation.
"Wherever you got room, ma'am."
"You got manners, son," Marissa said. "I like that. Seems like they're in short supply these days."
"The way I see it, there's no cause to be rude," Irvine said. "Especially when someone goes out of their way to show you some hospitality."
"There ain't much in the way of that here," Marissa said. "And save your thanks. Not much around here to be thankful for."
"Naw, that ain't true," Irvine said. "We're still alive."
"Some days, that's not much of a blessing," Marissa said. "Fighting for a lost cause, watching people you care about die for no good reason... It ain't a blessing, son."
"As you say," Irvine said. "Suppose you've seen more of that than we have, bein' here in the thick of it, and all."
"Hmm," Marissa agreed. "You go on now. I'll assign you each a job in the morning. Come see me after breakfast."
"Will do," Irvine said. "We do appreciate it."
Rinoa was torn between admiration for Irvine's charm and sorrow for Marissa and what must have happened to drive her to lead a resistance against a massive and nearly unstoppable force. She eyed the blanket on the cot, the photograph, and understood too much about what it must have cost.
Filled with righteous indignation, Rinoa turned her eyes on Irvine.
"It has to stop," she said.
"All in good time, Rin," he replied. "All in good time."
That was not good enough.
"I know," he said and reclaimed her hand. "Come on. Let's go get settled in."
Squall feigned sleep aboard the Armageddon while the ebb and flow of conversation alternately lulled him toward slumber and kept him awake. The thrill of flight lost its luster ten minutes in and now the others entertained themselves with cards and chatter about what fate awaited them in Esthar.
He didn't care if Esthar was supposedly a mecca of technology and filled with geniuses. He didn't care if the place was governed by intelligent robots made of solid gold or if the sky was a vile shade of lime green or that maybe the city fountains gushed fine chocolate and cheese.
It didn't matter where they went. One place was the same as the next. People would still be assholes, and Squall would still be angry and poor, no matter his geographic coordinates.
As if to prove his point, the three teens in the row ahead of him jostled each other and spat out insults. The seat in front of him banged against his knees and Squall sat up.
"...cyclops! Look at her!"
"RAGE!"
"She's got her eye on you," one said. "Get it? Her eye?"
Across the aisle, Fujin's cheeks flamed. She bared her teeth and balled her fists in her lap. She pushed to her feet, ready for a fight, but Raijin swept his arms around her waist and pulled her back into her seat.
"RAGE!"
"Leave her alone, ya know?" Raijin said. "She didn't do nothin' to you."
"Arrrr, matey!"
All three boys cackled.
Squall fished his pocket knife out of his jacket, opened it and tested the blade's edge against the pad of his thumb. The seat banged against his knees again.
He unbelted himself, leaned forward and slipped both arms around the headrest in front of him. With one hand, he grabbed a fist full of hair and pressed the tip of the blade under the young man's chin.
"Say that again. I dare you."
"Let him go!" one of the other boys said. "We were just messing around."
"She lost her eye during the bombing of Timber, ya know?" Raijin shouted. "You think that's funny?"
Squall tightened his grip.
"Answer him," Squall said.
"No! No, okay? It's not funny!" the boy cried. "Let me go, okay?"
Squall thought of what Seifer might do. How he would handle this.
Seifer would break the kid's nose, put him on his knees, and twist his earlobe until the kid apologized to his satisfaction.
Tempting, but not Squall's style.
He pressed the knife against the boy's throat a little harder and gave his hair a sharp yank.
"I'd watch my back from now on if I were you."
"We're sorry, okay?" the offender said. "We didn't mean it."
"Yeah? Well, I do."
"ASSHOLE," Fujin added, then buried her face in Raijin's chest. Raijin hugged her tight. "MEAN."
"Ya know?"
Squall released the kid, belted himself into his seat, and examined the point of his pocket knife. On the tip, a small smear of blood gleamed crimson in the artificial light. Satisfied, he closed it and returned it to his pocket.
No one messed with his family.
They arrived in Esthar without fanfare. Seagill and Zabac ushered them down the gangplank and into transport vehicles. From there, it was a short drive to a military compound surrounded by tall fences and barbwire.
Quistis expected to be taken to dorms to settle in, but instead, they stashed their belongings in footlockers and were herded into a classroom. At each desk was a computer.
She'd seen a couple of these at school, but never got the chance to use one for more than a few minutes.
"This is an aptitude test," Seagill said. "It will determine your skill set, as well as your overall competency and value to us."
He passed a stack of papers and a box of pencils to a girl in the front row.
"We are not the G-Army. You must pass the minimum competency requirements in order to become part of our organization," he said. "Those that do not will return home."
Quistis glanced at Zell, and then Raijin. Neither fared well in school. One for his lack of focus, and the other for what Quistis long suspected was an undiagnosed learning disability.
It wasn't as if either was unintelligent. They were both smart in their own way, but she feared the test would not be able to determine that.
"The top scorers will be considered for leadership and officer training if you make it through basic training," Seagill said. "The rest will report to infantry and support roles, depending on your particular skill set. Following this test, there will be a more in-depth medical exam than the cursory one you received in CentrCents well as a physical fitness test. These will be factored into your overall score."
Quistis shivered. There were a lot more requirements than she expected.
What if she didn't pass? How would she face Seifer if she was told to go home?
Squall passed her the stack of papers and the box of pencils. She took one of each and looked over the instructions on how to use the computer. It seemed simple enough.
"Please log on to the console and follow the instructions," Seagill said. "You may begin the exam as soon as it loads. When you are finished, raise your hand. Good luck."
The first section of the exam was all math and the questions were basic. The rest of the room scribbled calculations on the back of their instructions sheet, but Quistis didn't need to. She blazed through a series of simple calculations and moved on to the next section, spelling and language. Then came sequences, patterns, maps, logic, and spatial reasoning.
Nearby, Raijin scratched his head. Zell thrummed the pencil against his thigh and bounced his knee at a rapid and annoying pace.
What if they didn't pass? Quistis didn't want to lose any more of her family. This was an opportunity for something better, for all of them.
She couldn't afford to worry now. She needed to focus on her own exam.
The only part that Quistis struggled with was the section on electronics. She didn't know much about volts and watts or currents or airwaves, so she guessed her way through it and hoped for the best. If she'd known ahead of time, she would have studied it. Her lack of foresight would bring down her score.
When she completed the exam, she looked around to see the rest still focused on their screens. She raised her hand.
Seagill looked her in the eye, checked his watch, and cocked his head.
"Did you need assistance?" he asked.
"No. I'm finished."
He blinked, cast a glance at Zabac, and typed something into the console at his desk. He stared at the screen, then at Quistis for a long, uncomfortable moment. She withered under his stare.
She did something wrong. She was sure of it.
Seagill waved her to the front and escorted her from the room and into an adjacent classroom.
"What did I do wrong?" she asked. "Can I retake it?"
"You did nothing wrong," he said. "In all my years, I have never seen a recruit finish the exam that quickly. It takes most about two hours to complete. You finished in under an hour."
"Oh."
"You may move along to the medical portion," he said. "Down the hall, the last door on the right."
In the exam room, a nurse asked her to strip down to her underwear. Her hands shook and her skin prickled but she did as told.
"Step onto the scale," the nurse said.
Quistis did so and watched the nurse slide the scales back and forth until they balanced.
"You're about 15 pounds underweight."
"Is that bad?"
"It's not good, but it's not something that can't be fixed with proper diet and nutrition."
They drew blood, poked, prodded, checked her vision, and asked for a urine sample. Then, it was onto the physical fitness test, the one thing Quistis was positive she would not pass.
The others worked physical jobs. Quistis tutored. The others fought, sometimes with each other for fun and knew all kinds of self defense moves, but Quistis only used her fists when it was unavoidable. She could throw a decent punch, but that was all.
She did push-ups, sit-ups and chin-ups, ran on a treadmill, lifted weights and tried and failed to climb a rope. Hyne, she was going to fail. They would send her home.
"Any special skills we need to know about?" the instructor asked.
There was something, but the last time she demonstrated her talent, it destroyed her only hope for a normal life.
"...I."
"Recruit. Answer me. Do you have any special skills? Hand to hand combat training or inborn magical abilities?"
"Yes," she said and wrapped her arms around her middle. "But I haven't used it since I was little."
"Please demonstrate."
"I'm not sure if I remember how."
"Try."
Quistis thought of the circumstances of their last occurrence.
Fear.
...she knocks over a lamp. It splits into pieces and she receives a cuff across the cheek from her foster father. He reeks of alcohol and looms over her, bloodshot eyes wide and his lip curled in a sneer. He strikes her again and the magic rips out of her, knocks him to the floor, wounds him...
That old fear welled up inside her and she closed her eyes as her skin crawled with something otherworldly and unnatural. She pictured him and his red-rimmed eyes, the broken bits of glass scattered across the floor. The sting of his slap.
Something tore from her very soul, a burning-hot light that tasted like metal and smelled of burnt hair and sounded like hell unleashed. There came a scream and a shout, a warning, a cry of pain. Quistis willed it to end, but she could not stop until it ran its course.
She slumped to the ground and folded in on herself when she saw the instructor on the ground. Others gathered around him and lifted him to a sitting position. He stared at her like she was poison.
"Get Seagill in here. Now."
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to."
"Sorry?" the instructor slurred. His eyes were unfocused, but his grin was broad. "You've got Blue Magic, kid. Do you know how rare that is?"
Blue Magic? Quistis had never heard of it. Seifer, Raijin and Fujin all possessed elemental magic. Rare, but not unheard of. Hers was different. She didn't know how, but it was.
The Vice President arrived and guided the shell-shocked Quistis from the room and into the infirmary. He seated her at the desk, offered her a box of tissues, and allowed her a minute alone to collect herself.
When he returned, he sat at the desk beside her.
"Will it make you feel better to know you passed the written exam?" he asked. "You scored in the 98th percentile, Quistis."
"Oh," Quistis said. "I thought for sure -"
"With marks like that, you can do anything you want," he said, "but you lack confidence."
Quistis could not disagree.
"As I rule, I do not mentor recruits," he said. "However, I'd like to make an exception for you."
"You don't even know me," she said. "Why would you take me under your wing?"
"Because I don't think you will realize your full potential without a mentor who believes in you," he said. "And I believe you can and will do great things, Quistis. If you're willing to do the work to get there."
Quistis detected no ulterior motives, no hint that her education would come with a price tag or expectations. As genuine as he was, Quistis hesitated to accept his offer.
"The choice is yours, of course," he said. "Following your basic training, you are free to choose any path you wish, based on your scores. Take that time to think it over."
"I will," Quistis said. "I appreciate the opportunity, Sir."
"One more thing," he said. "Learn to trust yourself, Quistis. Do that, and nothing can stop you."
Following the departure of her family, Ellone spent the day by herself. She wandered the house for a while and took stock of all the neglect her makeshift family endured in her absence. The cupboard was nearly bare, with only a loaf of stale bread, a bag of rice, and a handful of canned goods. The fridge didn't work and instead of food, contained mismatched dinnerware and utensils. Everything was old and in poor repair.
When Seifer didn't return as expected, Ellone decided to clean. She washed a load of laundry and hung it on the line to dry, then started on the bathrooms. She scrubbed and wiped and rinsed everything, only to discover once she finished, it looked as dirty as it did when she started.
She swept the bedroom and tidied up, but left everything exactly as it was. Just in case one of them came home.
Neither Cid nor Edea left their room. Ellone checked on them around noon and found the door locked. She knocked once and called out to them.
"Go away!" Edea shouted.
So much for her hope that their reunion would help. Eventually they would come out, or she would force her way in and come up with another plan. For now, she would leave them in peace. For now.
It was late afternoon by the time she started on the kitchen. No amount of cleaner or elbow grease made a difference. Too many years of neglect took its toll, and there was no undoing it.
When Seifer finally did return, Ellone was on her hands and knees with a stiff-bristled scrub brush and a bucket of soapy water. He stood over her, dressed in white with a wad of bloody white fabric in one hand and a package wrapped in butcher paper in the other.
"You're wasting your time," he said. "Those stains will still be there long after we're all dead."
Ellone sat back on her heels and looked up at her Knight.
"Just getting home from school?" she asked.
Seifer snorted. He tossed the package on the counter.
"I dropped out a year ago."
"Seifer-"
"Don't start," he said. "Someone had to pay the bills. I was just wasting my time there, anyway."
"Cid didn't help out at all?"
"He didn't eat much," Seifer said. "That helped."
Ellone stood up, wiped her hands on the old, flower-print apron she found in the closet earlier and bowed her head.
"I'm sorry I've caused everyone so much trouble."
"Can you cook?"
"What?"
"Zell did most of the cooking," he said and hitched his thumb at the counter. "Got some steaks from work. If I cook them, I'll just ruin good meat."
"I can cook, a little," she said. "I'm no chef."
"I'm going to get cleaned up," he said. "Then I'll see if there's anything we can use out in the garden."
There was only salt, pepper and garlic powder in the pantry to season it, but Ellone made do without complaint.
Seifer returned to the kitchen, his hair damp, the scent of soap in his wake. He took a bowl from the broken fridge and went out the back door.
He looked tired and worn out. He'd shouldered too much responsibility at such a young age. There was more to it, but their connection was not as strong as it once was. The time apart weakened the bond, perhaps enough that she could finally break it and set him free.
She closed her eyes and leaned against the counter. If she could will it so, he could live a normal life. Move on. Do whatever he chose to do with himself. He deserved more than this, and it was clear he did not want to be owned.
"Don't," Seifer said from the doorway. "Too late for that."
"You don't want me to try?"
He set a bowl of fresh green beans on the counter. She couldn't read the look on his face.
"Don't know anything else, El," he said. "You're stuck with me."
"If there's a way to do it," she said. "Isn't it worth it?"
"Worth it for who? You? Me?"
"You understand what could happen," she said. "You know I might end up like Edea, or worse, Adel."
Seifer snapped the ends off a couple of green beans and tossed them into a pot.
"You won't."
"How do you know."
"Because I won't let you," he said. "Matron's gone nuts because her Knight is a drunken loser. Adel didn't have one. You have me, and I won't let you."
Ellone smiled at his tenacity. So much changed while she was gone, but maybe, not as much as she thought.
"How do you like your steak?" she asked.
"However you want to cook it. Not picky. Don't really care if you burn the shit out of it."
Edea and Cid did not join them for dinner. Seifer attempted to coax them out of the room, first with the harassed demands of a parent trying to reason with an unruly toddler, and then with outright threats to bust the door down. Neither worked.
They ate their meal in an awkward silence. Seifer was too tired to chat and Ellone struggled to engage him in polite conversation. He ate every bite on his plate and went for seconds, something Ellone suspected he wasn't able to do very often.
He helped clear the table and washed the dishes, then turned in for the night. By the time Ellone climbed into her old childhood bed, Seifer snored softly on the other side of the room, already tangled in the sheet the same way he used to when he was a boy.
She watched him in darkness for a while, comforted by his presence and close proximity. The gulf between them was wide, but he was there, just a few steps away if she needed him or if he needed her. In sleep, he looked so much younger, so much more innocent than the almost-man he appeared while awake.
Ellone closed her eyes and settled in and let the crash of waves against rock lull her into a dreamless sleep.
A scream in the night cut short her slumber, and she woke to the scent of smoke and something sulphurous. She sat up and blinked herself awake, unsure if it was just a dream or if they were under attack.
Dull, reddish light spilled from the doorway, the air murky and thick. The screams came again and Ellone got out of bed. She padded to the door and paused when Seifer's hand clasped her arm. He stood close enough to feel his breath against her temple.
"What the hell is that?"
Ellone shook her head and continued toward the light, her stomach in knots.
Beyond the threshold, the light was brighter, more purely red, and the scent of sulfur grew stronger. She breathed in through her mouth and tried not to choke on the noxious fumes.
Tendrils of darkness crawled along the walls like the tentacles of some ocean beast. Seifer cursed and took hold of her other arm, prepared to snatch her back should they attempt to steal her from him.
The red light grew more and more intense the closer they drew to Cid and Edea's room. The screams grew louder and were filled with pain, madness, and rage. The light stung her eyes.
Ellone sensed immense power up ahead and almost ran from it. She was not a fighter, but she was no coward. Whatever this was, she would not run.
Shaking, she stepped forward.
In the room beyond, there was nothing Ellone recognized. A cavernous space instead of a bedroom, the walls glimmered like they were encrusted in precious jewels. The floor was void-dark and gleamed like spilled blood. No bed, no furniture, just four walls and a ceiling that reached to a black, moonless and starless infinity.
Edea hovered in the middle of the room, naked. Her feet dangled toward the floor and her arms spread wide as though she could take flight. Her face tipped toward the ceiling and her long, tangled hair coiled like serpents around her face. Veins of gold and black marred her face and arms.
...not the one...just a vessel...ellone...
Cid knelt on the floor, his naked body pale and infirm and his head bowed in deference. Ellone turned her face away from him, away from the ravages of time that left him pale, flabby and sickly. She wanted to remember him the way he was – just a touch overweight but still strong and competent, still a man with a mind of his own.
He murmured in a language Ellone didn't understand, but his words were spoken in the cadences of a prayer or an oath. A pledge. A renewal of vows.
Edea lifted her head and her matted tresses fanned out behind her as her feet touched the ground. Smoke billowed out from her palms and enshrouded Cid in a blanket of charcoal.
"You."
This was not the Edea she knew. The spirit she sensed in the room with them bore no resemblance to the one Ellone felt every day since she was a child. Their power recognized and acknowledged one another as sisters, as kindred and family. This was something hostile and alien and Ellone shuttered her mind to protect herself from its presence.
Coils like the horns of a ram formed on the sides of Edea's head and the madness in her eyes cleared, but it was not Edea staring back at her. This was someone else, a cold and deadly presence that Ellone at once recognized as familiar, yet foreign and dangerous.
Ellone stepped away from the door and her back hit Seifer's chest. He wrapped strong, protective arms around her, his cheek laid against hers. His heartbeat raced a split second behind hers.
Cid rose to his feet as the smoke cleared. Archaic scaled armor covered his body and it gleamed anthracite and indigo in the harsh red light. His irises glowed violet, back-lit with murderous intent. A strange sword rippled into being, his grip on it expert and deadly.
"Hyne almighty," Seifer murmured.
He pushed Ellone behind him and braced for Cid's blow. Ellone threw up a barrier of protection around them, just as Cid's blade came down and sliced across Seifer's bicep. A loud pop like gunfire rattled the floor and the scent of gunpowder mingled with sulfur and smoke.
Ellone, in defense of her Knight let loose the most powerful magic in her arsenal. It plunged them into a darkness so pure, it thickened the air to the consistency of tar. Ellone could not draw breath for several seconds and her heartbeat thundered in her ears. A burst of light pulsed from her body, hellfire-hot and so intense, it singed the hair on her arms. The walls glittered like diamonds as it rippled through the room and burned everything in its path.
Edea screamed as Ellone's magic took down her Knight. She returned fire with shards of ice that melted as they passed through Ellone's shell of protection, yet still peppered her face like thousands of tiny needles. Seifer absorbed most of the damage, slipped to his knees, but rose again with a grimace of pain as threads of curative magic reached from Ellone's fingertips and twined around his body to repair his wounds.
A phantom voice whispered inside Ellone's head as she readied for more. A call to the dark parts of her power, a seductive voice that urged her to give in to the corruption her magic thrived on.
Tempting. So tempting. What she could do with such power. The things she could create. Anything she wanted. Anything Seifer desired. It was all hers for the taking if she let herself be what she truly was.
"No," Seifer murmured in her ear. "Don't listen to it, El. It's full of shit."
Ellone gasped as the presence recoiled from her with a sensation like ice flowing though her veins. His arms wrapped around her and a ring of fire encircled them like a wall of protection.
Edea and Cid both flickered and disappeared as the fire burned hot around their younger counterparts. The room shifted from cavernous chamber to a plain, messy bedroom. The unearthly red faded to darkness.
They were gone, but flames still burned a protective ring around them.
This magic was not hers. It was not the magic of the other, older and more experienced Sorceress. It was Seifer's doing.
His grip was fierce. She sensed his awe understood something she did not understand before.
He was not her sword.
He was her shield.
