FFVII: Crossing, Chapter Three
For the first and last time, the sorcerers of the land called Hyne to a duel, challenging his right to the rulership of this world. They boasted shamelessly of their accumulated wisdom and power, their immortality, and their inhuman beauty and grace. And it came to pass that Hyne was angered at their presumption, and showed unto them the greatness and eternity of the universe,, and their role in it, that was smaller than the smallest speck of sand upon the beach and less significant than the humblest ant. And their minds were blasted by this great truth of their existence, which was nothing, and they fell from grace, and some fell deeper, into the refuge of madness.
And from the fallen bodies, spread like dead birds on the sand, the first humans rose and crawled on their feet, through the lightening dusk.
-The Lay of Hyne, Chapter Five
This room was dark, with only the faintest sliver of light peeking through the crack between the door and the frame. Occasionally that crack would widen, spilling a long slash of brilliance into the murk, and a shadow would move across the room to an empty chair, and the door pulled to again. The air was heavy with silence and expectation-and there was fear as well, thick and choking like mist, but these were men to whom fear and ambition went hand in hand, who never gained anything without losing something in reason. So they gambled, daring the odds, and waited in the dark, each pretending not to see the other, while inwardly they seethed with jealous insecurities and a million petty or elaborate plots. It was less a game than habit now, these little intrigues they played, but perhaps something in them sensed that this time, it was no joke. It was real.
In the silence the floor hummed and vibrated beneath expensive patent leather shoes, and the men listened, and thought of the knife’s edge between failure and success, and how sometimes the smallest things determined which side you fell off to. Sometimes, you just never knew, not until the knife had dropped, and everything was ended. This time, though, it might almost be worth it.
The last man entered, and he shut the door, cutting off the light completely. With a measured tread he slid into the last vacant chair, accompanied by a creaking of leather. The tension in the room weighed down, and more chairs creaked as their occupants leaned forward, perhaps subconsciously, their eyes straining in the dark to see the vague outline of their leader’s face against the gloom.
“Gentlemen,” the Leader said softly. “Thank you all for gathering here today. I understand that a certain amount of risk is involved for every one of you, and I appreciate this proof of your trust in me.” A brief stir, in the dark-perhaps he’d moved his hands, in those graceful gestures that so characterized his personality-gentle, soft-spoken, calm and cold as a mountain spring.
No one replied. They had extended their trust-now they waited for the results, with the greedy, hungry anticipation of men who had much to lose. At a word from their leader, they rose from their chairs in a flurry of noise, and filed out through another door at the far end of the room, that opened only at the touch of the Leader’s hand and a whispered word, too soft to be heard. There were stairs beyond, winding down into deeper darkness, and glow-rods embedded at ground-level emitted a silvery cast, bright enough for the men to walk down safely. As they walked down in constrained silence, the air grew colder, crisp enough to be noticeable, hovering at the edge of comfort. One or two tucked their arms around themselves, nervousness flitting over their faces as a brief crack in their veneer showed.
The humming grew louder, resonating through their bones. The walls shivered around them, and conscious of the crushing weight of the ground above their heads, the small group entered the chamber at the end of the stairs tentatively. Here there was the whisper-creak of oiled machinery, and soft white light that welled into being as they stepped over the threshold, illuminating the great hulking thing that occupied much of the space, encased within a clear glass shell gilded with rainbows. Fat wires ran to and fro like veins, feeding the busy machine, keeping it alive and humming that steady, insistent sound, like the buzz of a storm of locusts, setting the teeth on edge and gradually corroding thought.
“It’s complete,” the Leader said, and he said this with pride, as though he was speaking of his own child. The flashing lights reflected in the lenses of his glasses, discoloring his face, giving him a strange, mad appearance. With a theatrical flourish, he approached the whirring machine, gazing upon it with admiration.
It was not a beautiful thing, even half-hidden as it was behind the glimmering glass. It put one in mind of a bloated spider, crouching in a web of steel-gray strands, greedy and hungry. At its very center, a globe of brilliant light hovered, sparks leaping off its writhing surface. It pulsed like a living heart-the heart of the machine. Around it metal appendages cradled it protectively, keeping it half-closeted from view. It was almost like looking into the sun, and seeing rainbows, and other, alien incomprehensible colors branded into the back of your eyelids.
“It works?” someone whispered, in awe.
“I have her assurance,” the Leader said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Try it, gentlemen.”
One of the men murmured a few words, and made a practiced gesture at the wall. For a moment there was a shimmer between his hands, and the faint stink of ozone. There was a flare of orange, as though a bulb had burst, and smoke coiled out, snakelike, from his fingers. The man stared down in astonishment, then, slowly, a grin spread out over his face. “Marvelous,” he breathed, blowing away the smoke from his hands.
“I promised you, did I not?” the Leader said complacently. “I have made my move, gentlemen-it’s time for you to respond.”
One by one, the other men offered him the traditional gesture of fealty-fist to their lips, then their foreheads, then their hearts. After that, there would be no going back. This gesture was the highest honor that could be accorded anyone in their society-it meant we are in this together. It meant you can have all that I can give. They made the pledge with varying degrees of certainty, some of them eyeing the others, stealing assurance from their presence. The Leader took note of these, filing the names away in his mind.
“So then,” he said amicably, glad that he didn’t have to have this batch of allies killed. “Shall we talk business, gentlemen?”
…………………………………………………………………………………………
“So you want me to keep an eye on that kid?” Keire asked doubtfully, slurping noisily away at his drink. “Real can of worms you’ve opened there, huh?”
“I mean it, Keire,” Arne said shortly, poking absently at his noodles. “It wasn’t just a bad experience at the local dentist’s. There was this look on his face-I’d never seen so much fear and anger on a person’s face before.” He fell silent, still playing with his chopsticks, until Keire nudged him, having investigated the bottom of the cup thoroughly for some time with the straw.
“He’s not my responsibility,” Keire said. “Blackthorn is already keeping her eagle eyes on him, and if there’s anything to dig out, Blackthorn will.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Arne sighed, finally beginning on his meal. “Blackthorn sacrifices sensitivity for efficiency. That boy…if there was truly something horrible going on, that might explain his amnesia-or possibly, selective memory? Maybe the truth should never be known.”
“Jeez, you’re so melodramatic, Arne,” Keire drawled, removing his straw and systematically shredding it into plastic bits. “It’s like something out of a film, isn’t it? Boy mysteriously drops in out of nowhere, has a dark past that he can’t remember, and mad sword skills. He regains his memories and no doubt saves the world while he’s at it. I think you’ve read too many books, Arne, like your mother.” The young doctor opened his mouth to voice a retort, but Keire cut across him. “Nothing sinister is in the works, unless it’s your imagination. I should think Roth wants to regain his memory as much as the next person. It’s part of his identity, no matter what he has experienced. Let Blackthorn do her job and we’ll stick to ours, okay?”
“I’m asking this as a friend,” Arne said earnestly. “I can’t do it myself because he’ll never feel comfortable around me now after what went on yesterday. Come on, Keire. It won’t hurt you.”
Keire snorted. “He’s not going to be in any of my classes. I teach the gunblade; he’s using a katana, and that’s under Erin Roheiz. The Queen of Bitch,” he added, with feeling, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.
Arne blanched. “That’s worse.”
The instructor sighed, and tossed the mutilated remains of the straw on the table. “It’ll be fine, Mister Kindness. So he’s got an issue about doctors. You can, I don’t know, trade that white coat in for something else. Don’t look so doctorly. Seriously, we’ve got enough on our plates, what with the kidnapping of the sorceress and everything without a problem kid under our feet.”
Arne winced. “Keire, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so presumptuous.”
“Don’t apologize for being you.” Keire heaved another sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Damn…that girl was only, what, eighteen next month? How is your mother doing?” he added, his annoyance melting into sympathy.
“Better,” Arne said with some relief. “It wasn’t her fault she nearly died from that illness a couple years back, but she’s been feeling guilty about passing on the sorceress power to that girl. As you know, my mother’s never really liked being a sorceress, but she had managed to accept it, and that happened…” Arne frowned and knitted his brows. “But she’s feeling better now,” he reiterated firmly.
“Good to hear it.” Keire rose to his feet, bestowing a warm smile on his friend. “I’ve got a class starting now. I’m glad I was able to catch you on lunch break. You should relax more, pal.” With a parting wave, he disappeared into the crush of students and instructors leaving the cafeteria in droves.
Arne sat still for some time, before shoving away his half-finished food. Gathering up his white coat from where it had been draped over his chair, he put it on, officially declaring the end of his break, and marched back towards the infirmary. So Keire and his fellow instructors were too busy to care about one person. Well, he was a doctor, not even a proper SeeD, and he would continue to do what he had always done-care.
His skin crawled as he remembered how Roth had looked at him and seen something else, some terrible sight that had distorted his facial features completely into a mask of feral rage. And then the door had closed, sealing away the terror, as surely as the confusion had bloomed on Roth’s features or his fisted, poised hand had fallen open like a flower, falling limply.
Arne knew that doctors could commit atrocious acts simply by standing by and watching, and worse by not healing but hurting. Sometimes students seriously injured in overenthusiastic sparring and in the Training Center were brought to him, and he could feel the weight of their lives on him then. It was easy to be corrupted by that power, to forget why, exactly, lives were so important, when they could be held godlike in your hands. It wasn’t hard, imagining himself hurting someone, not out of malice, but curiosity and detachment.
He pulled the coat closer around himself, repressing a surge of revulsion, and quickened his steps as he noted the time on his watch. A few stragglers raced past him in the wake of their fellow students, dodging passers-by deftly and recklessly. He was at the head of the path leading to the infirmary and striding on when a hand reached out and caught his sleeve. “Sir, a moment of your time?” a voice requested politely.
Startled, Arne spun around and stepped back involuntarily when his eyes fell upon Roth, standing military-straight against the wall. He forced his tense body to relax, and managed a smile. “Sure. Is this about your memories…?”
“It’s about yesterday.” Roth didn’t smile back-his face was as blank a façade as ever, revealing nothing. “I am here to apologize for my inconsideration. You were only trying to help, after all.” He bowed slightly, an oddly formal move for someone his age. “I appreciate it.”
Arne couldn’t help noticing the way Roth was speaking the words, precise and carefully enunciated, as though by rote. He frowned reflexively-insincerity was a pet peeve of his. Nevertheless, the boy had gone out of his way to seek him out, and that at least showed some remorse, or unease, on his part. “That’s fine. I can tell you’ve got a lot of skeletons in that closet.” He paused, unable to resist. “Are you still interested in regaining your memories, knowing that you might have blocked them out of your own volition, given that they seem to be of a painful nature?”
“Naturally,” Roth answered with barely any hesitation, other than a flicker of his eyes. He had anticipated the question and prepared his answer beforehand, Arne thought with irritation, as Roth went on, “Any part of myself is not worth throwing away. I am confident in my ability to cope with whatever trauma incurred. It is useless to run from the past. It always catches up with you.”
“I can see you’ve thought deeply about this,” Arne responded, with some sarcasm. Roth did not rise to the bait. He stared at Arne with his strange green eyes, and folded his hands neatly at his waist. “Of course. It is very important to me.” Then, with finality, he added, “But perhaps it is a matter better discussed with my psychiatrist, Dr. Leonheart. Thank you for your time.” Without further ado he turned and walked away, ending the conversation with an abruptness that bordered on rudeness.
It took more than that to offend Arne. So you’re shaken too, aren’t you? He thought, his frown deepening. But an independent character like you, who won’t admit it…the best psychiatrist in the world isn’t going to help when you won’t give the right answers.
He turned and entered the infirmary, and the glass doors slid shut behind him.
end Chapter Three.
29/12/07: Wow. Finally it’s done. It took ever such a long time to write this, mostly because this is the third version, it isn’t Sephiroth-centric and I kept losing the previous ones. Anyway, another slow chapter, so sorry, and to those people who have already read TIAL, there probably isn’t going to be anything new for a while. Apologies :(
No new chapters for a while, either, because I’m still struggling with Chapter 11 of Alone and it’s going to take me some time, and I’m going back to school next Wednesday. Oh well…
Next time (hopefully soon, like next month soon), T. Axile.
NEXT CHAPTER: The Second Take
And from the fallen bodies, spread like dead birds on the sand, the first humans rose and crawled on their feet, through the lightening dusk.
-The Lay of Hyne, Chapter Five
This room was dark, with only the faintest sliver of light peeking through the crack between the door and the frame. Occasionally that crack would widen, spilling a long slash of brilliance into the murk, and a shadow would move across the room to an empty chair, and the door pulled to again. The air was heavy with silence and expectation-and there was fear as well, thick and choking like mist, but these were men to whom fear and ambition went hand in hand, who never gained anything without losing something in reason. So they gambled, daring the odds, and waited in the dark, each pretending not to see the other, while inwardly they seethed with jealous insecurities and a million petty or elaborate plots. It was less a game than habit now, these little intrigues they played, but perhaps something in them sensed that this time, it was no joke. It was real.
In the silence the floor hummed and vibrated beneath expensive patent leather shoes, and the men listened, and thought of the knife’s edge between failure and success, and how sometimes the smallest things determined which side you fell off to. Sometimes, you just never knew, not until the knife had dropped, and everything was ended. This time, though, it might almost be worth it.
The last man entered, and he shut the door, cutting off the light completely. With a measured tread he slid into the last vacant chair, accompanied by a creaking of leather. The tension in the room weighed down, and more chairs creaked as their occupants leaned forward, perhaps subconsciously, their eyes straining in the dark to see the vague outline of their leader’s face against the gloom.
“Gentlemen,” the Leader said softly. “Thank you all for gathering here today. I understand that a certain amount of risk is involved for every one of you, and I appreciate this proof of your trust in me.” A brief stir, in the dark-perhaps he’d moved his hands, in those graceful gestures that so characterized his personality-gentle, soft-spoken, calm and cold as a mountain spring.
No one replied. They had extended their trust-now they waited for the results, with the greedy, hungry anticipation of men who had much to lose. At a word from their leader, they rose from their chairs in a flurry of noise, and filed out through another door at the far end of the room, that opened only at the touch of the Leader’s hand and a whispered word, too soft to be heard. There were stairs beyond, winding down into deeper darkness, and glow-rods embedded at ground-level emitted a silvery cast, bright enough for the men to walk down safely. As they walked down in constrained silence, the air grew colder, crisp enough to be noticeable, hovering at the edge of comfort. One or two tucked their arms around themselves, nervousness flitting over their faces as a brief crack in their veneer showed.
The humming grew louder, resonating through their bones. The walls shivered around them, and conscious of the crushing weight of the ground above their heads, the small group entered the chamber at the end of the stairs tentatively. Here there was the whisper-creak of oiled machinery, and soft white light that welled into being as they stepped over the threshold, illuminating the great hulking thing that occupied much of the space, encased within a clear glass shell gilded with rainbows. Fat wires ran to and fro like veins, feeding the busy machine, keeping it alive and humming that steady, insistent sound, like the buzz of a storm of locusts, setting the teeth on edge and gradually corroding thought.
“It’s complete,” the Leader said, and he said this with pride, as though he was speaking of his own child. The flashing lights reflected in the lenses of his glasses, discoloring his face, giving him a strange, mad appearance. With a theatrical flourish, he approached the whirring machine, gazing upon it with admiration.
It was not a beautiful thing, even half-hidden as it was behind the glimmering glass. It put one in mind of a bloated spider, crouching in a web of steel-gray strands, greedy and hungry. At its very center, a globe of brilliant light hovered, sparks leaping off its writhing surface. It pulsed like a living heart-the heart of the machine. Around it metal appendages cradled it protectively, keeping it half-closeted from view. It was almost like looking into the sun, and seeing rainbows, and other, alien incomprehensible colors branded into the back of your eyelids.
“It works?” someone whispered, in awe.
“I have her assurance,” the Leader said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Try it, gentlemen.”
One of the men murmured a few words, and made a practiced gesture at the wall. For a moment there was a shimmer between his hands, and the faint stink of ozone. There was a flare of orange, as though a bulb had burst, and smoke coiled out, snakelike, from his fingers. The man stared down in astonishment, then, slowly, a grin spread out over his face. “Marvelous,” he breathed, blowing away the smoke from his hands.
“I promised you, did I not?” the Leader said complacently. “I have made my move, gentlemen-it’s time for you to respond.”
One by one, the other men offered him the traditional gesture of fealty-fist to their lips, then their foreheads, then their hearts. After that, there would be no going back. This gesture was the highest honor that could be accorded anyone in their society-it meant we are in this together. It meant you can have all that I can give. They made the pledge with varying degrees of certainty, some of them eyeing the others, stealing assurance from their presence. The Leader took note of these, filing the names away in his mind.
“So then,” he said amicably, glad that he didn’t have to have this batch of allies killed. “Shall we talk business, gentlemen?”
…………………………………………………………………………………………
“So you want me to keep an eye on that kid?” Keire asked doubtfully, slurping noisily away at his drink. “Real can of worms you’ve opened there, huh?”
“I mean it, Keire,” Arne said shortly, poking absently at his noodles. “It wasn’t just a bad experience at the local dentist’s. There was this look on his face-I’d never seen so much fear and anger on a person’s face before.” He fell silent, still playing with his chopsticks, until Keire nudged him, having investigated the bottom of the cup thoroughly for some time with the straw.
“He’s not my responsibility,” Keire said. “Blackthorn is already keeping her eagle eyes on him, and if there’s anything to dig out, Blackthorn will.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Arne sighed, finally beginning on his meal. “Blackthorn sacrifices sensitivity for efficiency. That boy…if there was truly something horrible going on, that might explain his amnesia-or possibly, selective memory? Maybe the truth should never be known.”
“Jeez, you’re so melodramatic, Arne,” Keire drawled, removing his straw and systematically shredding it into plastic bits. “It’s like something out of a film, isn’t it? Boy mysteriously drops in out of nowhere, has a dark past that he can’t remember, and mad sword skills. He regains his memories and no doubt saves the world while he’s at it. I think you’ve read too many books, Arne, like your mother.” The young doctor opened his mouth to voice a retort, but Keire cut across him. “Nothing sinister is in the works, unless it’s your imagination. I should think Roth wants to regain his memory as much as the next person. It’s part of his identity, no matter what he has experienced. Let Blackthorn do her job and we’ll stick to ours, okay?”
“I’m asking this as a friend,” Arne said earnestly. “I can’t do it myself because he’ll never feel comfortable around me now after what went on yesterday. Come on, Keire. It won’t hurt you.”
Keire snorted. “He’s not going to be in any of my classes. I teach the gunblade; he’s using a katana, and that’s under Erin Roheiz. The Queen of Bitch,” he added, with feeling, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.
Arne blanched. “That’s worse.”
The instructor sighed, and tossed the mutilated remains of the straw on the table. “It’ll be fine, Mister Kindness. So he’s got an issue about doctors. You can, I don’t know, trade that white coat in for something else. Don’t look so doctorly. Seriously, we’ve got enough on our plates, what with the kidnapping of the sorceress and everything without a problem kid under our feet.”
Arne winced. “Keire, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so presumptuous.”
“Don’t apologize for being you.” Keire heaved another sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Damn…that girl was only, what, eighteen next month? How is your mother doing?” he added, his annoyance melting into sympathy.
“Better,” Arne said with some relief. “It wasn’t her fault she nearly died from that illness a couple years back, but she’s been feeling guilty about passing on the sorceress power to that girl. As you know, my mother’s never really liked being a sorceress, but she had managed to accept it, and that happened…” Arne frowned and knitted his brows. “But she’s feeling better now,” he reiterated firmly.
“Good to hear it.” Keire rose to his feet, bestowing a warm smile on his friend. “I’ve got a class starting now. I’m glad I was able to catch you on lunch break. You should relax more, pal.” With a parting wave, he disappeared into the crush of students and instructors leaving the cafeteria in droves.
Arne sat still for some time, before shoving away his half-finished food. Gathering up his white coat from where it had been draped over his chair, he put it on, officially declaring the end of his break, and marched back towards the infirmary. So Keire and his fellow instructors were too busy to care about one person. Well, he was a doctor, not even a proper SeeD, and he would continue to do what he had always done-care.
His skin crawled as he remembered how Roth had looked at him and seen something else, some terrible sight that had distorted his facial features completely into a mask of feral rage. And then the door had closed, sealing away the terror, as surely as the confusion had bloomed on Roth’s features or his fisted, poised hand had fallen open like a flower, falling limply.
Arne knew that doctors could commit atrocious acts simply by standing by and watching, and worse by not healing but hurting. Sometimes students seriously injured in overenthusiastic sparring and in the Training Center were brought to him, and he could feel the weight of their lives on him then. It was easy to be corrupted by that power, to forget why, exactly, lives were so important, when they could be held godlike in your hands. It wasn’t hard, imagining himself hurting someone, not out of malice, but curiosity and detachment.
He pulled the coat closer around himself, repressing a surge of revulsion, and quickened his steps as he noted the time on his watch. A few stragglers raced past him in the wake of their fellow students, dodging passers-by deftly and recklessly. He was at the head of the path leading to the infirmary and striding on when a hand reached out and caught his sleeve. “Sir, a moment of your time?” a voice requested politely.
Startled, Arne spun around and stepped back involuntarily when his eyes fell upon Roth, standing military-straight against the wall. He forced his tense body to relax, and managed a smile. “Sure. Is this about your memories…?”
“It’s about yesterday.” Roth didn’t smile back-his face was as blank a façade as ever, revealing nothing. “I am here to apologize for my inconsideration. You were only trying to help, after all.” He bowed slightly, an oddly formal move for someone his age. “I appreciate it.”
Arne couldn’t help noticing the way Roth was speaking the words, precise and carefully enunciated, as though by rote. He frowned reflexively-insincerity was a pet peeve of his. Nevertheless, the boy had gone out of his way to seek him out, and that at least showed some remorse, or unease, on his part. “That’s fine. I can tell you’ve got a lot of skeletons in that closet.” He paused, unable to resist. “Are you still interested in regaining your memories, knowing that you might have blocked them out of your own volition, given that they seem to be of a painful nature?”
“Naturally,” Roth answered with barely any hesitation, other than a flicker of his eyes. He had anticipated the question and prepared his answer beforehand, Arne thought with irritation, as Roth went on, “Any part of myself is not worth throwing away. I am confident in my ability to cope with whatever trauma incurred. It is useless to run from the past. It always catches up with you.”
“I can see you’ve thought deeply about this,” Arne responded, with some sarcasm. Roth did not rise to the bait. He stared at Arne with his strange green eyes, and folded his hands neatly at his waist. “Of course. It is very important to me.” Then, with finality, he added, “But perhaps it is a matter better discussed with my psychiatrist, Dr. Leonheart. Thank you for your time.” Without further ado he turned and walked away, ending the conversation with an abruptness that bordered on rudeness.
It took more than that to offend Arne. So you’re shaken too, aren’t you? He thought, his frown deepening. But an independent character like you, who won’t admit it…the best psychiatrist in the world isn’t going to help when you won’t give the right answers.
He turned and entered the infirmary, and the glass doors slid shut behind him.
end Chapter Three.
29/12/07: Wow. Finally it’s done. It took ever such a long time to write this, mostly because this is the third version, it isn’t Sephiroth-centric and I kept losing the previous ones. Anyway, another slow chapter, so sorry, and to those people who have already read TIAL, there probably isn’t going to be anything new for a while. Apologies :(
No new chapters for a while, either, because I’m still struggling with Chapter 11 of Alone and it’s going to take me some time, and I’m going back to school next Wednesday. Oh well…
Next time (hopefully soon, like next month soon), T. Axile.
NEXT CHAPTER: The Second Take