(We're back, and we're gonna try to publish one chapter a week until the end of Part 5)
Chapter 119: We Used To Be Friends
"I still cannot believe you took a rowboat," scowled Faris.
Beowulf shrugged. "I didn't have another choice."
"Then to take a chocobo on a rowboat into the Archipelago?" Faris demanded. "That was your only choice?"
"You can't have rowed the whole way," Val scoffed.
"Well, no," Beowulf admitted. "Booked passage on an Ordallian merchant ship out of Port Zeakden. Stole the boat when we got close enough to the Archipelago."
"That was the best plan you could come up with?" Val asked.
"It got me there, didn't it?"
"It almost got you killed," Faris muttered.
Ramza chuckled, and gave Boco a reassuring pat on the neck. The bird preened, nudging the palm of his hand with his beak. The rolling of the deck beneath their feet was gentle, as a new island swelled steadily against the horizon. The weather-worn crest of an old manor house peeked out over scrubby green hills that sloped gently down to white sands.
"Harbor's on the other side," Val said.
"And there won't be any other guards asking questions?" Faris asked.
"Del and Ovelia have done their jobs well."
Ramza glanced over at Val: he saw Beowulf giving her a matching look. "Del, is it?" Beowulf asked.
"We've worked together a lot longer than you have," Val replied.
"And a lot less long than we worked together," Ramza called.
"You didn't work together," Val said. "You grew up together." Her face went serious and far-away. "Trust me, there's a difference."
Ramza gave Boco another pat on the neck, but he felt other chocobos in the gesture. He felt Violet, the few times she had deigned to let anyone but Beowulf touch her. And he felt that nameless Academy chocobo, on whom he had ridden for Igros so long ago. The bird that had died, when arrows had flown, and Beowulf, Argus, and Delita had killed men and women fighting for a righteous cause.
How many men and women have you killed now?
Ramza shrugged. Childhood seemed an awfully long time ago.
"Ramza!" Agrias bellowed, startling him from his reverie. "Step away from the bird and get in line!"
Ramza hurried to obey as Beowulf, chuckling, took his place at Boco's side. They rounded a rocky promenade on the island's far side, and the harbor came into a view: a natural inlet of smooth grey stone, with a wooden pier stretching out from the dilapidated house's rear. When Ramza caught a better view of the house, he felt a little deja vu: in outline, and in sunken detail, this island manor looked remarkably similar to the old Beoulve Estate outside of Lesalia.
But then he saw the two figures standing near the end of the pier, and he forgot the house entirely.
Delita looked much the same as he had the last time Ramza had seen him, by the shack buried deep in Warjilis' alleys. His clothes were a little finer now, and a loose-slung sword hung at his hip, but the cocky slant of his broad shoulders was the same as it had been in their days at the Academy. The old burn on his left cheek had faded a little with time, though it still shone in the high spring sun.
But beside him stood Ovelia, Queen of Ivalice, and Ramza was stunned at the sight of her.
The girl from Orbonne was still there: you could see her in the kindness and warmth of her deep brown eyes, and in the slight quirk of her thin pink lips. But if the girl at Orbonne had been a faded painting of a queen, the woman standing at pier's end was that painting restored to full, burnished glory. Her green dress fell elegantly across a figure of incredible poise, who stood statuesque and unmoving as the sea churned before her. Her golden hair was unbound, and fell like a waterfall down the red cloak she wore around her shoulders.
She looked majestic. There was no other word for it.
Emmeline dropped the gangplank into place against the pier, as the rest of the crew bustled around the deck. A moment later, and Agrias was marching down the gangplank, ramrod straight, with Alicia and Lavian just behind her, and Ramza, Radia, and Mustadio following them. At Agrias' fevered urging they had polished their armor, scrubbed their leather, and pressed their clothes as best they could. One by one, they knelt before Ovelia.
"Your Majesty," Agrias said. "You guard returns from the field, with apologies for-"
Ovelia knelt in front of her, and wrapped her arms around her, and Agrias fell silent. "You're alive," Ovelia whispered, with tears in her voice.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Agrias replied, with tears in hers.
Ovelia's hands found Alicia and Lavian, and pulled them close. Ramza rose slowly from his kneeling position, and found Delita's hand on his shoulder. Quietly, Delita jerked his head away from the house: Ramza followed, though not without one last look back at the Queen and her Lionesses. Radia was among them, and her eyes met his briefly. She nodded: he nodded back.
"There will be time for touching reunions later," Delita said, as they left the pier. "At least, I hope so."
"So this isn't a touching reunion?" Ramza asked.
Delita gave him an amused look. "Well, since we've both started bawling immediately-"
"You know about the Lucavi."
Delita stumbled. His eyes were wide with terror, and his face had gone pale, so the old burn on his cheek stood out especially with the contrast. Ramza was not sure he'd ever seen his friend look so afraid.
"Everything alright?"
Ramza looked over his shoulder. Val had deftly managed to separate the group: Beowulf led from the front, while Val shepherded Rafa, Malak, and Meliadoul from the rear.
"Fine." It was Delita who answered: when Ramza looked back at him, he had recovered himself entirely. He was already walking, though he was still pale.
Ramza did not follow him. After a few steps, Delita stopped again. The rest of the group paused a little ways away from them.
"I've not here to play games," Ramza said.
"Yes, you are." Ramza glared at Delita. His childhood friend watched him from the corner of his eye. "Everyone here is playing games, Ramza. The games are life, and death, and the fate of mankind. That does not change the fact that they are games."
"They've taken Alma," Ramza said.
Delita flinched. "Damn. I'd hoped..." He sighed. "I'm sorry."
"You suspected?"
"Holes in the reports from Riovanes." He glanced between Ramza and Meliadoul. "She filled you in?"
"A little," Ramza said, with a grateful look at Melia.
But Melia did not return his glance. She was staring straight at Delita, her mouth creased into a frown. "So it's true," she said. "You're working against the Church."
"The Church and the Lucavi both," Delita agreed. "Though as far as I can tell, there's not much difference between the two."
The corners of Melia's mouth tightened. Delita studied her a moment, then asked. "And you?"
"Me?" Melia answered.
"You're traveling with a known heretic. Haven't you turned against the Church, too?"
Melia's brow furrowed. "I've turned against the Lucavi, Templar Heiral, because I am a faithful servant of the Church. If you had seen what the Marquis turned into-"
Delita's brow furrowed in turn. "The Marquis?"
"You didn't know?" Ramza asked.
"I don't know anything about the Lucavi," Delita grunted. "Just a few things I suspect."
"Then...you didn't know the Marquis was-" Ramza began.
Delita shook his head. "No. But some of my Sheep were telling me of strange things in Limberry, after he died...and when I heard Knight-Commander Tengille was pursuing the Gemini Stone..."
"My father?" Melia sounded younger than Ramza had ever heard her.
Delita nodded grimly. "He and Cardinal Delacroix were the only Lucavi I was halfway sure of." He jerked his head down the shore. "Can we get moving?"
"Why aren't we heading back to the house?" Malak asked.
"You're Malak of Galthena?" Delita asked. Startled, Malak nodded. Delita replied, "We've got supplies for Faris. She'll bring your caravan down to meet us when she's ready. We'll ride with the supplies back up when we're done."
"You're using us to move cargo?" Melia's voice cracked with outrage.
"I suppose there are worse choices for the work," Rafa admitted, in a grudging undertone.
"If you're willing to help," Delita said. "Besides..." He jerked his head back the way they had come. The six they had left behind were a huddled mass, twitching slowly towards the house. Even from this distance, Ramza could hear their crying. "They deserve their touching reunion, however short time is."
"I deserve mine, too," Beowulf growled.
"We're working on it, Wulfie." Delita's face was solemn. "You saw her?"
Beowulf nodded. "I...I don't know what she's looking for, but...but there's a reason she's here."
"There's a reason Bremondt's here, too," Delita replied. "And it's not just because she is." He started walking again. They followed, some more reluctantly than others. "He's fortified an old temple. It's nearly as big as the whole island it's on. One of the last on that side of the Archipelago." He glanced back at Beowulf. "It sounds a lot like the place where he changed her."
Beouwlf glowered. "Sounds like he intends to finish the job."
"That's my guess, as well. But why would she be here?"
Beowulf shook his head. "She knew almost as much as he did. I'm...I'm hoping...if there's a way for him to bind her, maybe there's...maybe there's a way to turn her back."
In spite of his words, his voice was fearful. Ramza put a hand on his old friend's shoulder. "We'll find it, Beowulf."
Beowulf smiled at him, and clapped him on the upper arm. Delita watched them both from the corner of his eye. After a moment of silence, he asked, "The Cardinal was a Lucavi, yes?" When Ramza nodded, Delita muttered, "Yes, that explains his behavior...not to mention what happened at Castle Lionel. The Marquis...perhaps Vormav..."
"Or Loffrey," Melia put in. "He was at Riovanes, too."
Delita grimaced. "A Lucavi Time Mage...I can think of few things more terrifying."
"He's a time mage?" Rafa demanded.
Delita nodded. "Plays it extremely close to the chest. Even within the Braves, few of us are aware." He laughed bitterly. "Sorry, I misspoke. A Lucavi Time Mage who knows the Bursting Blade."
"Yeah, Wiegraf was bad enough," Beowulf said.
Again, Delita stumbled. This time, he kept his face pointedly away from all of them. A moment later, and he was walking again, just a hair faster than before. Ramza still couldn't see his face.
"Wiegraf?" Delita managed, and if you weren't looking for it, you might have missed the quiver in his voice.
Ramza studied his friend's back: saw the tension in his shoulders, the stiffness in spine, and the sudden tightness in the fists at his side. He remembered when he'd found Wiegraf and Delita together, fighting against the searching Hokuten in Araguay. He remembered what little Beowulf had told them, during their journey from Riovanes to the tree where Rafa had hidden the Gospel. He remembered Wiegraf, the demon who had tried to kill him at Riovanes. He remembered Wiegraf, the man Ramza had killed at Orbonne.
"He attacked Orbonne with Izlude," Ramza said. "He killed Simon. He kidnapped Alma. I...I stabbed him. And he...turned."
Delita gave a short, jerking nod. "Yes, that tracks. I...suppose I should have realized, when I saw Boco." He was quiet for a moment, his quick steps hissing through the sand beneath his feet. Finally, he slowed his pace a little. "I believe the Lucavi only make their offers when they're reasonably sure they'll be agreed to. I figure the Marquis changed somewhere near his death...the Cardinal, when he lost his family..." He finally turned his head slightly, to look at Melia. "Your father...I would imagine it was when your mother died. Or your brother."
It was Melia's turn to stumble. The group paused (how many pauses did this make now? Ramza wasn't sure) to let her recover. Her eyes were locked with Delita's. "You...you think he's been a Lucavi for...for years?"
"It makes a certain amount of sense," Delita said. "Of course, only he knows for sure." He turned fully, to look at Ramza. "You killed Wiegraf?" Ramza nodded. Delita closed his eyes for a moment. "Ah, Graf..." He shook his head, and started walking again.
"Delita?" Ramza asked. "Why are we here?"
"Besides all these touching reunions?" Delita asked.
"You mean all the treachery and grief?" Rafa remarked dryly.
Delita gave her an appraising look over one shoulder. "You're funnier than I'd heard, Rafa of Galthena."
"I imagine my robust sense of humor isn't the first thing most people hear of me," Rafa replied.
"Quite right," Delita chuckled. "You know why you're here, Ramza."
"Because you know about the Lucavi."
"You wouldn't have come otherwise?" Ramza didn't bother to answer: obviously, the promise of seeing Ovelia would have brought them, not to mention the debt they all owed Beowulf. Delita chuckled again, and continued, "No. We're all here to play games, Ramza. But the game is almost over." He shrugged. "Every power in Ivalice has decided: the War of the Lions will end before winter comes."
"Every power," Malak repeated. "That's why everyone was so eager to recruit Barinten."
Delita nodded. "The Hokuten intend to take Bethla Garrison."
"It can't be done," Malak scoffed. "Has any army ever taken it?"
"It's been captured before," Delita said. "But only by trickery and treachery. Strange that Larg should be so confident, isn't it?"
"That's how they intend to do it, then?" Melia asked. "Our agents fill both Larg and Goltanna with false confidence-"
"And, when the massacre is over, and both sides inundated with the dead and the hopeless," Delita finished. "The Church will offer solace and hope. And an Ivalice without leaders will turn to the promise of the Braves."
They rounded the edge of the low mountain, and found a wooden shed tucked away from view, squat and rotting in its little patch of grass. The salty sea air blew in behind them, rustling the grass and creaking the lean nearby trees in the ocean breeze. Delita fished a key from one pocket, and turned it with a faint screech its lock. He pushed it open, and began hauling wooden crates out from the dilapidated shed and onto the sand.
"You're shameless," grunted Beowulf, and with a reassuring pat to Boco's neck, he started helping Delita.
Ramza, Rafa, Malak, and Melia exchanged bemused glances with one another. "Don't look at me," Val warned them. "I've done enough work for this asshole."
"Haven't we all?" Ramza grunted, though he stepped through to help Beowulf.
"As though you've done a single thing different than you would have done without me," Delita said, striding back into the shed for another crate.
"What, you mean lying about who you were working for?" Ramza replied.
"Not telling you who I was working for isn't the same as lying."
"No, I suppose not," Ramza retorted, as he set his own crate down into the sand. "Besides, you wouldn't have been telling the truth even if you had told me."
"You've been talking to Valerie, I see." Delita set his crate down next to Ramza's, and wiped the sweat from his brow.
"He should know he's not alone," Val replied. "He should know what we're trying to do."
"I told him what we intended to do in Warjilis," Delita said.
"Is that how you remember it?" Ramza asked, turning to grab another box. "The way I remember it, you sent me into two different traps."
"You knew they were traps."
"The Princess wasn't even there."
"I never told you she was."
Ramza dropped the crate, whirled and grabbed his old friend by the shirt. Everyone around them froze. "Don't bullshit me, Del," Ramza breathed. "You knew exactly what you were doing. And that was bad enough, but...but if you knew about the Lucavi? If you knew about the Cardinal-"
"And if I did?" Delita asked. He seemed unperturbed by Ramza's anger. "What would I have said, Ramza? The Princess isn't in immediate danger, but your friends are about to be executed? Some of the most powerful men in the Church might secretly be demons of legend?" He shrugged Ramza's grip off of him: Ramza let him go. "If I had known for sure, it would be one thing. But I didn't know. I only suspected."
"Suspected how?" Ramza asked.
Delita and Ramza locked eyes for a long time. Ramza tried to read the expression on his friend's face, and found he couldn't. It looked as cold and alien as it had that long-ago night on the Plateau, while the Valkyries had burned behind them. There was a depth of pain and anger there that Ramza couldn't begin to fathom.
A high, fluting cry, from behind them. Ramza turned, recognizing the sound of a grass flute. Ovelia stood at the rocky corner, a blade of grass pressed to her lips. She lowered it and smiled at Ramza. "I'm disappointed, Ser Beoulve. You run away at the mere sight of me?"
Ramza smiled back at her. "As a heretic, my wicked soul shudders in the presence of Ivalice's one true queen."
Ovelia laughed, and strode towards him, taking his hands in hers. "You came back. Like you promised."
Ramza smiled. "Well...if I hadn't, Alma would kill me."
Ovelia's smile darkened, and she squeezed his hands. "Agrias told me about her."
Ramza felt as though a cold hand was squeezing his heart. "It's my fault, I couldn't-"
"Always so quick to take the blame." Ovelia squeezed his hands again. "We'll get her back, Ramza. And while we're at it, we'll put a stop to all the demons threatening Ivalice. The Hokuten, the Nanten, the Church..." She looked straight up at Ramza. "And the Lucavi, too."
It had been nearly a year since Ramza has last seen Ovelia. So much of the world had changed since then. So much had been lost. But he saw the fire in her eyes, and hear the strength in her voice, and felt the old sense of purpose burning in his heart once more.