Light on the Water
This is sort of a companion piece to the rewritten Meeting Love, Finding Despair. It's more a prequel than anything else, though it's more a prequel to the game than the story itself.
I initially started writing this at the end of 2004. In 2005, as I was working on it on the way back home from Sydney on the bus, my laptop crashed, and I lost the epilogue, and varied other parts of the story. I was also heavily influenced by two Joanne Harris novels when I wrote this: Chocolat and Holy Fools. What you're about to read now is the untouched and unedited version of chapter one.
Without further preamble, I present to you: Light on the Water
Light on the Water
by Laura E
Chapter One
Dark Premonitions
I know well what lies beyond my sleeping refuge
The nightmare I built my own world to escape
-Evanescence, "Imaginary"
-=-=-=-=-=-
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VIII. Nor do I own Thomas Crichton, who belongs to Jack, and has kindly given me permission to use her character’s name. I own Colum O'Donahue, Daniel Faulkner and Agnes Flannighan, however.
-=-=-=-=-=-
The moon shone sweetly in the sky, its full yellow globe seeming to smile benevolently on the bluffs. Stars twinkled, and the sand grass danced in the summer breeze. Along the shore, the seagulls scavenged for food, scuttling up and down the strip of beach that held bluebottles, jellyfish, and other assorted shellfish and marine life that had been washed up with the tide.
A young woman walked along the beach, her feet bare. They made little marks in the soft, wet sand, as she bent down occasionally to pick up a shell and put it in the basket she carried on her back. The waves lapped gently at her feet; making the hem of the light cotton skirt she wore cling to her legs. Her apparel was not the most sensible getup for walking along the beach at night, yet it was comfortable. She bent down to pick another shell up, placing it into her basket and adjusting the weight of it. Once again, she wondered why she was doing this, and reminded herself that it was for the good of all the townsfolk involved.
Her child trotted beside her, young and happy as usual. She danced along the shore, the waves never seeming to touch her. The child's name was Ellone, named for the mystical goddess that watched over the world, and went by the more common name of Hyne. Ellone was blessed, just like her mother, by the Goddess herself. As Ellone danced along the shore, the gulls took off into the sky, flapping their wings with grace and elegance that only birds possess.
Glancing along the beach, Raine could see that she was approaching the rock pools. Quickly motioning to her daughter, she hurried along to them, hoping to catch some molluscs before the tide washed over the pools once more, burying the creatures and the precious oyster pearls under the sand.
She was lucky this time. The oyster shells were still there. She gathered them up into the Hessian sack that she carried in the basket for the purpose. The shells felt rough, sharp in her hands. But they always did. She'd gathered enough oyster shells to make the little flower arrangements with, as she always did.
Winhill had been a good town to her. They'd welcomed her with open arms. Her, and her little girl, Ellone. They'd come to Winhill almost two or three years earlier, fleeing persecution from Esthar and the uprisings caused by some woman calling herself a Sorceress. She'd been a dancer and a gypsy then, and her name had not been Raine, but Rosline. Her last name however, Leonhart, never changed, for it was a part of her that she'd never wanted to let go of, no matter how many times she'd forged a different identity.
She didn't know why she'd chosen to take her grandmother's name as her own this time. She guessed it had something to do with the guidance the woman had always given her. But whatever the reason, the name seemed to suit her new persona. The Tower, Strength, The Wheel of Fortune. As she laid the cards and read them each night, she'd draw them, looking for guidance when she could.
However, the tide was coming in, and she looked to the horizon to see if Ellone was anywhere in sight. A slight tug at her heart made her feel uncertain, for little Elle possessed a dangerous gift that Adel, if she found out, would send her legions across the countryside and take little Elle away from her. Raine vowed that it would never happen.
As she walked back towards the village, Ellone following her footsteps, she could hear a commotion in the square. Quickly picking Ellone up, she ran with the child, fearing for the safety of the village and the people she had come to love. She could smell the braziers of oil burning long before she could see the men. She heard them long before she saw them, their angry voices cutting like a knife through the tranquillity of the night.
And then she saw the cause of the commotion, and her heart beat faster in her chest. It couldn't be! Her mind screamed at her. No! Not Adel! Please, Blessed Mother...Anyone but the Devil's Right Hand herself!
Then she calmed herself, seeing that her daughter looked about ready to cry. Bending down to stroke Ellone's hair, she whispered soothing words to Ellone. "Shhh, baby. It'll be all over soon...I promise," she whispered, but her heart told her otherwise. It would not be the last time Adel's men would march on Winhill.
Quickly deciding on a path to take, she hurried through the thicket into the undergrowth where it was safe. She could pass through to the entrance of her house without being noticed that way, and she'd be safe--for now--at least.
"Where is she?" Adel shouted, her voice magnified over the din of the angry townsmen. "Winhill will burn if you don't tell us where the child is!"
Raine felt her heart seize up. Her breathing grew heavy and her eyes wide with fright. If her secret had been betrayed, then nothing was safe any more. Nobody was safe.
She saw sour Agnes Flannighan look at Adel with beady eyes. A grim look of defiance was in that sour face, and Agnes spat at the feet of the woman the world had a cause to fear. "There's nobody called Rosline Gina here," she said boldly. "You can check all you like, but there's nobody of that name living in Winhill."
Raine's heartbeat returned to normal. Thank you, blessed mother, she thought, as she managed to turn the handle of the door with shaking hands. She was safe again--for now, at least.
She went to the cupboard where she kept her cards, shuffling them, pondering the question of why she'd had so close a shave tonight. She dealt them, and looked. They seemed to be telling her that there was more danger to come--the five of swords as the last card down told her more than she needed to know. There would be war, according to her interpretation of the cards.
Raine walked to the window, and looked out onto the square. She saw one of the men who had helped refurbish the pub thrown to the ground by one of Adel's men, and then kicked brutally in the stomach by two other men. Making a sign of protection, Raine left the window.
Blessed Mother, guide us through these troubled times.
Looking out onto the street once more, Raine decided to help in any way she could, even if it meant forfeiting her life, she'd do what she could to save her friends. Grabbing a long-disused pistol from the top drawer of a side table, she snuck downstairs and through the back alley leading to the main square.
They never heard her fire the shot. They never saw her drag a man's body away. They had never suspected that Raine had killed a soldier to save their lives. It was a significant victory, one that deprived Adel of the manpower she needed if she were to destroy Winhill.
The townsfolk looked bewildered as Raine emerged from the building again. They watched, in horror, as she boldly stepped up to Adel.
"Remember me, Adel?" she asked as the townsfolk seemed too shocked to speak.
Adel reeled as she looked at Raine. "I know you," the Sorceress said. "You're...Rosline Leonhart."
Raine smirked triumphantly. "Yes, Adel. You know me. You fear me and what I could do to you if I wished," she said.
She made a symbol behind her back of the snake, its fangs bared and ready to strike the unsuspecting victim. If all went well, soon Adel would be deposed of.
Hiding a smile, Agnes Flannighan sent a meaningful look at Raine. Raine nodded at the other woman who had taken her in and accepted her for what she was without any questions. Between the two of them, Raine knew they could drive out Adel for now.
Agnes was a sour woman, who looked like she'd been drinking vinegar all her life. Hardened and rough though she was, she'd taken the young gypsy under her wing, and taught her all she knew about the other gypsy rituals. Her hair was pulled up in a too-severe bun, and her body was wiry. All in all, she looked like a shrivelled up prune.
Adel, sensing the fact that it was going to be damn near impossible to trick Raine, motioned to her men. "You'll regret the day you ever crossed me, Rosline," she said malevolently.
Raine thought Adel displayed incredible arrogance. "You know, Adel...your arrogance astounds me," she said, "Do you honestly think you own this town--do you think that the lives of these townsfolk are worth so little?" Raine spat at the Sorceress's feet, preparing another barrage of words. "I tell you now; you will die if you remain here."
Adel glared at the woman who defied her. Looking at her soldiers, the Sorceress made a decision. She would leave the town--for now.
The following days were a blur. In the wake of the soldiers and Adel the town as usual was given to gossip. When Raine opened the pub up one night, the first influx of customers were the regulars.
She served them, listening all the while to the talk of the men. They were mainly farmers and farmhands, and some of the fishermen who bought the oysters from her once she'd removed the pearls inside them.
"Adel's promising revenge," Thomas Crichton, an elderly man of about fifty-eight said over a glass of stout.
"She's been promising that since I left Esthar without her leave," Raine said spiritedly. "Besides, what's she going to do? Jump up and down shouting 'kill her! Kill her'? I don't think so."
The men laughed. Raine joined in with the laughter, feeling quite at ease amongst the people of the town.
»«
She'd been there almost four years the day the body washed up on the shore. It was a moonlit night and as usual, she'd been walking the beach after the tide had come in searching once more for the precious pearls and sea gems. The body was dressed in the colours of the Galbadian Army's lower-ranking soldiers, a blue combat suit suggesting that the man had been a grunt.
Running quickly back to the town through the scrub, she called for two of the men to come with her to the shore.
"A man has washed up on the shore," she said, breathless from running the three kilometres from the beach to the town. "He's a Galbadian, not an Estharian, so we can trust that he's not here to take Elle."
Two men came forth. A young farmer by the name of Daniel Faulkner, and another named Colum O'Donahue--a fisherman, were the two who went with Raine to the shore. By then, the people of Winhill had grown to like Raine immensely, despite her unorthodox lifestyle, for her generosity, compassion and charity that she demonstrated, even to those who disliked her.
"Alright Raine, show us where he is," Colum said. Nodding, Raine led the two men to where the soldier's body lay.
"He's in bad shape," Daniel observed, as he and Colum managed to lift the man into a standing position.
Together, the four of them somehow made it back to the town. Raine called for Agnes, who came, a worried look seemingly etched permanently onto her face. She brought with her the medical kit which she carried.
Removing the latex-cotton suit, Raine had to disguise the horror she felt when she saw the extent of the injuries suffered by the man. She knew, just from feeling his arms, that all the bones had been either fractured or broken, and that the welts from the shot-axe would leave permanent scarring on his back.
What Raine was unaware of was that the soldier had come to protect the town, to warn them of the impending war that was sure to come. It was to become her job to nurse the man back to health.
"What's his name?" Colum asked, rifling through the soldier's possessions that were on him when they rescued him.
"Dunno," Daniel replied, searching the suit for concealed pockets.
But it was Agnes who discovered the soldier's identity. The dog tags around his neck had been removed and put aside for later examination, but had not been examined yet. She held one up to the light, watching as the transparent Perspex material showed faintly the etchings made by the engraver's tools.
"Laguna Loire," she said, as she made out what the words said. Agnes looked over at Raine. "The Loires are good people. Their family is one of the oldest Galbadian families around, older than the Delings are, actually."
Raine nodded, stroking the dark hair that was matted with blood and salt from the sea. So he had a good name. She idly wondered how such a man had come to the town, seemingly washed up on the shore by chance.
Perhaps it was fate? She thought, looking through the window into the town square. The day was paling into dusk, the sun dipping down below the houses as it said goodnight to the world. The stars were just starting to make an appearance in the sky when a commotion in the pub downstairs made Raine leap up.
She'd completely forgotten about the pub in the wake of Laguna's arrival. "Oy! Col, can you open up tonight?" Raine called from the stairs. Colum nodded, and headed downstairs to open the pub and pull pints for the rest of the evening.
Raine turned back to Agnes. "I don't want him to die," she said softly. There'd been too many deaths she could've prevented had she used her skills acquired from being a gypsy. It was easy for her to set bones, purge the body of toxins, deliver babies, and a whole plethora of other useful skills that came in handy when she was in a pinch.
Agnes nodded. "It'll take a while for those wounds to heal. I'd suggest Behemoth Balm for the back," she advised, and Raine nodded.
I should have some in my kit, Raine thought, walking over to a cupboard where she kept the tarot cards and her other gypsy equipment. There was a harp in the cupboard, from days when she'd sang for the court of the King of Esthar---when she was just a lass of seventeen, in the days before Adel.
She fingered the instrument lovingly, but did not take it out. It was too precious to take out of the cupboard. She found the balm, and walked back over to Agnes, handing the jar to her as she sat beside the bed.
Looking around at the walls, Raine noticed, for the first time, just how shabby her place looked. It was kind of embarrassing that she spent most of her time refurbishing other people's places for them while neglecting her own. However, that was inconsequential. She felt a pang of embarrassment; perhaps thinking that if Agnes were to look really close at everything, she'd see all the grime and dirt caked onto the windows from years of disuse.
"Ugh.... my head," it was a masculine voice speaking and Raine, sitting beside the bed on a little stool was confused by its origins, but suddenly realised that it was the man who was lying on the bed that had spoken. He seemed to be painfully trying to sit up, but Agnes stopped him from doing so.
"You need to lie down...We're setting the broken bones and trying to ease your pain in any way we can," Agnes said gently. She felt two waves of different emotions flooding her senses. Pity. Compassion. She wasn't sure which one of the two was greater, but she knew that if she pitied him, she would be resented after he was healed.
Raine could hear the conflicting emotions in Agnes' voice. Poor man... she thought, it's not right that Adel can commit great acts of atrocity and never be put on trial as a war criminal.
"How'd it happen?" she asked.
"Dived off a cliff into a waiting Galbadian transport," he replied. "Unfortunately--" and he grimaced with pain,"--I hit the ocean like an egg hits concrete."
Raine hid a smile at the analogy. It had happened too many times for her liking. The last time she'd treated someone who had hit the ocean like that, the patient died just as she was getting better. Raine hoped that it wouldn't be the case for this one.
"Don't talk," she admonished gently, "You just need to focus on getting better."
Seemingly grateful, Laguna's eyes drooped closed again and he was fast asleep within seconds. Raine continued to stroke his hair gently, like a mother would soothe her crying baby. Ellone came and sat next to Raine, on her tiny stool that had a wobble in it. Seeing her daughter, Raine brought the child onto her lap, so she could hold her.
Raine and Ellone watched for several hours as Laguna slept. If Agnes had not said that she'd let Raine know if there was any change in his condition, Raine would've stayed up all night--not sleeping, just waiting.
"Go to bed, dear. I swear on the name of the Blessed Mother that I'll wake you if his condition changes," Agnes said, as she practically pushed Raine out of the room. Admitting defeat, Raine did go to bed. But she couldn't sleep, lying uncomfortably in the bed, the sheets somewhere down around her ankles, and the doona on the floor. Tossing and turning, and finally admitting she couldn't, Raine jumped out of bed.
Perhaps I should just look at the cards...They'll help me sleep, I hope, she thought, going to the cupboard for the precious things. Her fingers brushed against the harp once more. Decisively, she pulled it out of the cupboard, holding it against her chest.
Once she had sat down with the harp lying across her lap, she began tuning it by ear. Listening to the notes, she strummed a few chords, and was delighted that it was just perfect. Now, she needed something to play while she had it out. Her fingers played over the old strings gracefully. Finally deciding on an old piece she'd learnt years ago, she played the opening bars of it.
"I wish I was in Carrickfergus,
Only for nights in Ballygrant
I would swim over the deepest ocean,
For my love to find
But the sea is wide and I cannot cross over
And neither have I the wings to fly
I wish I could meet a handsome boatman
To ferry me over, my love to find."
She wasn't sure what had prompted her to play the old ballad, but whatever it was, it was a welcome change. Her songs usually had been made up on the fly, and normally she could never recall what the words were when she wished to write them down for a future time. Her fingers continued plucking the strings of the harp, softly picking out melodies and little tunes as she did so. Perhaps it was the music that loosened her mind and allowed her to think over the importance of what she'd said to Adel those years ago.
I can't remember it, but she fears what I could do to her if I wished...It's so easy when you've betrayed Adel to become someone she fears, if not only for her own sake, but for the sake of Esthar. She's a megalomaniac, and I know her desire is to rule the entire world eventually. Someone has to stop her...
She remembered the resistance faction she and her friends had been in. It had been known as the Legion of the White Sword, a group consisting mostly of political science students, radicals, and the occasional gypsy with an education. She'd been one of the latter. It had met three times a week, Monday, Wednesday and Friday, to discuss the issue of the uprising that Adel had caused. She remembered, too, the day the Legion had been forced to disband.
»«
"Meeting tonight. Twenty hundred hours sharp. Don't be late," Kate said, as she smiled at Raine, before getting on her hovercraft vehicle. Nodding, Raine had bid Kate farewell until the evening.
At Twenty Hundred Hours, Raine entered the dingy little diner the resistance had chosen. She was one of the first to arrive, and as usual, she sat down at the bar, and ordered a drink.
"Tough day?" Rich asked, pouring the drink of her choice. Raine nodded, and Rich knew what she was referring to. He'd fallen for her, years earlier, when she was only sixteen, and he, twenty.
At twenty-two, Raine had been the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on. They'd been unofficially a couple for two years. Then something had happened which changed all that. A mission had been successful, and they celebrated with champagne and laughter. They'd each returned to their homes, yet Rich had gone with Raine under some pretext both of them knew was a lie.
Richard Tudor--Rich, to his friends, was one of the founders of the Legion. It had begun after an event opened his eyes to the instability of the current ruler's reign. There'd been small uprisings begun by those who believed that Esthar should do away with the monarchy, and become a republic. He was of the firm belief that no, one could not just exchange one autocracy for the other. As a student of history, he had seen the mistakes made by others who had created revolutions only to end up oppressing those who had oppressed them.
Rose Moore was the next person to enter the diner. She, along with Richard and Raine, had become friends and involved with the Legion by what had happened. Like the revolution that had allowed Vinzer Deling to claim the city that was formerly known as Oriana, they feared the same thing would happen in Esthar. Once Deling had taken Oriana, he renamed the city Deling, to show that he had complete control over the mob.
The success of a revolution lay in the power of the mob. If the founders of a revolt were able to incite the mob against the rulers or the other side, there would be success. If not, then there would be hell to pay. The Legion was well aware of that fact, and it seemed to hang heavily in the air that night.
When Abby Wilson had entered, it was apparent that they'd been discovered. Abby's left arm was partially severed and she was bleeding profusely.
"The damn bastards!" she hissed through the pain, "They found me before I could formulate an escape plan! I'm lucky to be alive, after what they did."
It came to light that Abby had been tapping the lines of high-ranking government officials; suspicious that someone from inside the parliament had been leaking intelligence to Adel's forces. She had been right, but she paid the price dearly, almost losing her arm. As Raine bandaged it, Abby had told the story, and when she was done, Raine's lips were pressed into a thin line, angry.
They'd all been raised on legends of heroic deeds. Who knew the legends better than those directly concerned with them? In the era of their grandparents, many legends had been formed from heroic deeds done on the battlefield, later embellished with magical swords said to be drawn from stone, court magicians able to create tables where the seats were reserved for those deemed worthy for a place at the table. The Legion of the White Swords had been born from the tales of chivalry--legends that were as old as the hills, and far more numerous. Like so many heroic organisations, they pledged to be "all for one and one for all," and also "never to let harm to come to any innocent," and tried their hardest to live up to that pledge.
Told by his grandparents and other well-meaning relatives to stop playing the hero and grow up, Rich had been directed to enter the King's service at twenty-one. The armed forces had not done as his relatives had hoped, but further strengthened the young man's desire to be a hero--to make a name of himself before he turned thirty. He left the King's service at twenty-three, and soon after, the Legion of the White Sword had been formed, dedicated to preserving the old ways.
It would later be suggested that Seifer Almasy had drawn inspiration from the young Richard Tudor, some twenty odd years after all the heroics of his era had passed into folklore or hearsay. Had Richard lived to see the day when the young blonde foolishly became a Knight to the Sorceress Ultimecia, he would've dissuaded him in any way he could. By then, with the bitter taste of failure in his mouth, Richard had realised that his dreams, while noble and chivalric, were dead.
Concerned for the members of the organisation, which he begun in an innocent ploy to shed light on Adel, Rich spoke up then. "Alright. It's far too risky. We'll be caught eventually, so why not give up the fight now, while we can?" It was suggesting political suicide, but it needed to be done. Everyone in the room knew that.
A sister of Kate's had a husband who was a member of Adel's legions. She knew, better than anyone else there what it meant. Kate bit her lip as she watched the group think of what they were to do, and realised that there was nothing that could be done to delay what appeared to be the inevitable.
If there was one thing that the Legion had learnt through the bitter taste of defeat was that it could only do as much as the members were capable of. While it was easy to talk of being heroes, it was another thing to actually become them. The legends of the noble outlaw being loyal to the true king were drawn upon--painted up to incite and invite followers to the cause. However, it was far from it.
Their last covert operation had been a success. Rich, with the help of Raine, Kate, and Abby, had successfully managed to reroute a secure connection from Adel's headquarters in one section of Esthar and send it to the command centre of the police. They'd effectively prevented a riot.
When they disbanded that night, Raine had gone home to an empty house, a note on the table saying her housemates had been taken downtown to the police station for questioning. It was then that Raine had realised that it was no longer safe in Esthar. She packed her bags, never realising that she was pregnant with the child of Richard Tudor. She left that night, never to return. It would be the last time Richard would ever see her.
He kissed her goodbye at the train station. The rain had been pounding down outside, but in the warmth of the shelter, they'd shared a final kiss, bittersweet. He could taste the salt from her tears in the kiss, and knew it was the final goodbye. Adjusting his glasses, he took his coat off, wrapping it around Raine for the warmth. She'd need it more than him. He could always buy another one. They'd hugged, promising empty promises to write. Both of them knew, however, that once they were separated, that was it.
Nine months later, she gave birth to a girl. She called her Ellone.
Raine later found out through complete accident that Richard had married a girl from the Rosetti clan of Trabia, and had died a horrendous death when their car had collided with another, killing Richard and his wife instantly. Their son, Irvine Kinneas, would later become a companion and contemporary of her own son.
»«
Never once had Raine mentioned who Ellone's father was. It was one of those inconsequential matters when on the run. She'd begun to fabricate a lie that Ellone's parents had been killed in a raid, and insisted on Ellone calling Raine by her first name around strangers, while in private, it was to be mum or mother if the need be. What Raine had not counted on, in fact, had been that the lie was easier to live than the truth. Raine was haunted by Richard's features in Ellone--even the mannerisms were the same. With the lie, she could look past the fact that she'd lost Richard when she escaped Esthar that night. He'd died two years later carrying out a raid on Adel's manor, or so she’d heard.
The ghosts of the past were what Raine had to contend with every day she spent in Winhill. Thankfully, they had accepted her without comment, assuming that she'd been a young war widow from Esthar--which was partially true. But the only person Raine trusted with her past was Agnes, who had heard the entire story the day she'd arrived in Winhill with Ellone on her hip.
The light of morning had begun to creep over the town as she'd lost herself in the memories. With a sigh, she walked back to the cupboard, and put the harp back there. A warm glow of light greeted her in the kitchen, the sun seeming to smile upon the world that morning. Whatever had transpired the night before gave room to introspection, and as she busied about preparing breakfast for herself and the patient in the room above, she sang blithely.
I initially started writing this at the end of 2004. In 2005, as I was working on it on the way back home from Sydney on the bus, my laptop crashed, and I lost the epilogue, and varied other parts of the story. I was also heavily influenced by two Joanne Harris novels when I wrote this: Chocolat and Holy Fools. What you're about to read now is the untouched and unedited version of chapter one.
Without further preamble, I present to you: Light on the Water
Light on the Water
by Laura E
Chapter One
Dark Premonitions
I know well what lies beyond my sleeping refuge
The nightmare I built my own world to escape
-Evanescence, "Imaginary"
-=-=-=-=-=-
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VIII. Nor do I own Thomas Crichton, who belongs to Jack, and has kindly given me permission to use her character’s name. I own Colum O'Donahue, Daniel Faulkner and Agnes Flannighan, however.
-=-=-=-=-=-
The moon shone sweetly in the sky, its full yellow globe seeming to smile benevolently on the bluffs. Stars twinkled, and the sand grass danced in the summer breeze. Along the shore, the seagulls scavenged for food, scuttling up and down the strip of beach that held bluebottles, jellyfish, and other assorted shellfish and marine life that had been washed up with the tide.
A young woman walked along the beach, her feet bare. They made little marks in the soft, wet sand, as she bent down occasionally to pick up a shell and put it in the basket she carried on her back. The waves lapped gently at her feet; making the hem of the light cotton skirt she wore cling to her legs. Her apparel was not the most sensible getup for walking along the beach at night, yet it was comfortable. She bent down to pick another shell up, placing it into her basket and adjusting the weight of it. Once again, she wondered why she was doing this, and reminded herself that it was for the good of all the townsfolk involved.
Her child trotted beside her, young and happy as usual. She danced along the shore, the waves never seeming to touch her. The child's name was Ellone, named for the mystical goddess that watched over the world, and went by the more common name of Hyne. Ellone was blessed, just like her mother, by the Goddess herself. As Ellone danced along the shore, the gulls took off into the sky, flapping their wings with grace and elegance that only birds possess.
Glancing along the beach, Raine could see that she was approaching the rock pools. Quickly motioning to her daughter, she hurried along to them, hoping to catch some molluscs before the tide washed over the pools once more, burying the creatures and the precious oyster pearls under the sand.
She was lucky this time. The oyster shells were still there. She gathered them up into the Hessian sack that she carried in the basket for the purpose. The shells felt rough, sharp in her hands. But they always did. She'd gathered enough oyster shells to make the little flower arrangements with, as she always did.
Winhill had been a good town to her. They'd welcomed her with open arms. Her, and her little girl, Ellone. They'd come to Winhill almost two or three years earlier, fleeing persecution from Esthar and the uprisings caused by some woman calling herself a Sorceress. She'd been a dancer and a gypsy then, and her name had not been Raine, but Rosline. Her last name however, Leonhart, never changed, for it was a part of her that she'd never wanted to let go of, no matter how many times she'd forged a different identity.
She didn't know why she'd chosen to take her grandmother's name as her own this time. She guessed it had something to do with the guidance the woman had always given her. But whatever the reason, the name seemed to suit her new persona. The Tower, Strength, The Wheel of Fortune. As she laid the cards and read them each night, she'd draw them, looking for guidance when she could.
However, the tide was coming in, and she looked to the horizon to see if Ellone was anywhere in sight. A slight tug at her heart made her feel uncertain, for little Elle possessed a dangerous gift that Adel, if she found out, would send her legions across the countryside and take little Elle away from her. Raine vowed that it would never happen.
As she walked back towards the village, Ellone following her footsteps, she could hear a commotion in the square. Quickly picking Ellone up, she ran with the child, fearing for the safety of the village and the people she had come to love. She could smell the braziers of oil burning long before she could see the men. She heard them long before she saw them, their angry voices cutting like a knife through the tranquillity of the night.
And then she saw the cause of the commotion, and her heart beat faster in her chest. It couldn't be! Her mind screamed at her. No! Not Adel! Please, Blessed Mother...Anyone but the Devil's Right Hand herself!
Then she calmed herself, seeing that her daughter looked about ready to cry. Bending down to stroke Ellone's hair, she whispered soothing words to Ellone. "Shhh, baby. It'll be all over soon...I promise," she whispered, but her heart told her otherwise. It would not be the last time Adel's men would march on Winhill.
Quickly deciding on a path to take, she hurried through the thicket into the undergrowth where it was safe. She could pass through to the entrance of her house without being noticed that way, and she'd be safe--for now--at least.
"Where is she?" Adel shouted, her voice magnified over the din of the angry townsmen. "Winhill will burn if you don't tell us where the child is!"
Raine felt her heart seize up. Her breathing grew heavy and her eyes wide with fright. If her secret had been betrayed, then nothing was safe any more. Nobody was safe.
She saw sour Agnes Flannighan look at Adel with beady eyes. A grim look of defiance was in that sour face, and Agnes spat at the feet of the woman the world had a cause to fear. "There's nobody called Rosline Gina here," she said boldly. "You can check all you like, but there's nobody of that name living in Winhill."
Raine's heartbeat returned to normal. Thank you, blessed mother, she thought, as she managed to turn the handle of the door with shaking hands. She was safe again--for now, at least.
She went to the cupboard where she kept her cards, shuffling them, pondering the question of why she'd had so close a shave tonight. She dealt them, and looked. They seemed to be telling her that there was more danger to come--the five of swords as the last card down told her more than she needed to know. There would be war, according to her interpretation of the cards.
Raine walked to the window, and looked out onto the square. She saw one of the men who had helped refurbish the pub thrown to the ground by one of Adel's men, and then kicked brutally in the stomach by two other men. Making a sign of protection, Raine left the window.
Blessed Mother, guide us through these troubled times.
Looking out onto the street once more, Raine decided to help in any way she could, even if it meant forfeiting her life, she'd do what she could to save her friends. Grabbing a long-disused pistol from the top drawer of a side table, she snuck downstairs and through the back alley leading to the main square.
They never heard her fire the shot. They never saw her drag a man's body away. They had never suspected that Raine had killed a soldier to save their lives. It was a significant victory, one that deprived Adel of the manpower she needed if she were to destroy Winhill.
The townsfolk looked bewildered as Raine emerged from the building again. They watched, in horror, as she boldly stepped up to Adel.
"Remember me, Adel?" she asked as the townsfolk seemed too shocked to speak.
Adel reeled as she looked at Raine. "I know you," the Sorceress said. "You're...Rosline Leonhart."
Raine smirked triumphantly. "Yes, Adel. You know me. You fear me and what I could do to you if I wished," she said.
She made a symbol behind her back of the snake, its fangs bared and ready to strike the unsuspecting victim. If all went well, soon Adel would be deposed of.
Hiding a smile, Agnes Flannighan sent a meaningful look at Raine. Raine nodded at the other woman who had taken her in and accepted her for what she was without any questions. Between the two of them, Raine knew they could drive out Adel for now.
Agnes was a sour woman, who looked like she'd been drinking vinegar all her life. Hardened and rough though she was, she'd taken the young gypsy under her wing, and taught her all she knew about the other gypsy rituals. Her hair was pulled up in a too-severe bun, and her body was wiry. All in all, she looked like a shrivelled up prune.
Adel, sensing the fact that it was going to be damn near impossible to trick Raine, motioned to her men. "You'll regret the day you ever crossed me, Rosline," she said malevolently.
Raine thought Adel displayed incredible arrogance. "You know, Adel...your arrogance astounds me," she said, "Do you honestly think you own this town--do you think that the lives of these townsfolk are worth so little?" Raine spat at the Sorceress's feet, preparing another barrage of words. "I tell you now; you will die if you remain here."
Adel glared at the woman who defied her. Looking at her soldiers, the Sorceress made a decision. She would leave the town--for now.
The following days were a blur. In the wake of the soldiers and Adel the town as usual was given to gossip. When Raine opened the pub up one night, the first influx of customers were the regulars.
She served them, listening all the while to the talk of the men. They were mainly farmers and farmhands, and some of the fishermen who bought the oysters from her once she'd removed the pearls inside them.
"Adel's promising revenge," Thomas Crichton, an elderly man of about fifty-eight said over a glass of stout.
"She's been promising that since I left Esthar without her leave," Raine said spiritedly. "Besides, what's she going to do? Jump up and down shouting 'kill her! Kill her'? I don't think so."
The men laughed. Raine joined in with the laughter, feeling quite at ease amongst the people of the town.
»«
She'd been there almost four years the day the body washed up on the shore. It was a moonlit night and as usual, she'd been walking the beach after the tide had come in searching once more for the precious pearls and sea gems. The body was dressed in the colours of the Galbadian Army's lower-ranking soldiers, a blue combat suit suggesting that the man had been a grunt.
Running quickly back to the town through the scrub, she called for two of the men to come with her to the shore.
"A man has washed up on the shore," she said, breathless from running the three kilometres from the beach to the town. "He's a Galbadian, not an Estharian, so we can trust that he's not here to take Elle."
Two men came forth. A young farmer by the name of Daniel Faulkner, and another named Colum O'Donahue--a fisherman, were the two who went with Raine to the shore. By then, the people of Winhill had grown to like Raine immensely, despite her unorthodox lifestyle, for her generosity, compassion and charity that she demonstrated, even to those who disliked her.
"Alright Raine, show us where he is," Colum said. Nodding, Raine led the two men to where the soldier's body lay.
"He's in bad shape," Daniel observed, as he and Colum managed to lift the man into a standing position.
Together, the four of them somehow made it back to the town. Raine called for Agnes, who came, a worried look seemingly etched permanently onto her face. She brought with her the medical kit which she carried.
Removing the latex-cotton suit, Raine had to disguise the horror she felt when she saw the extent of the injuries suffered by the man. She knew, just from feeling his arms, that all the bones had been either fractured or broken, and that the welts from the shot-axe would leave permanent scarring on his back.
What Raine was unaware of was that the soldier had come to protect the town, to warn them of the impending war that was sure to come. It was to become her job to nurse the man back to health.
"What's his name?" Colum asked, rifling through the soldier's possessions that were on him when they rescued him.
"Dunno," Daniel replied, searching the suit for concealed pockets.
But it was Agnes who discovered the soldier's identity. The dog tags around his neck had been removed and put aside for later examination, but had not been examined yet. She held one up to the light, watching as the transparent Perspex material showed faintly the etchings made by the engraver's tools.
"Laguna Loire," she said, as she made out what the words said. Agnes looked over at Raine. "The Loires are good people. Their family is one of the oldest Galbadian families around, older than the Delings are, actually."
Raine nodded, stroking the dark hair that was matted with blood and salt from the sea. So he had a good name. She idly wondered how such a man had come to the town, seemingly washed up on the shore by chance.
Perhaps it was fate? She thought, looking through the window into the town square. The day was paling into dusk, the sun dipping down below the houses as it said goodnight to the world. The stars were just starting to make an appearance in the sky when a commotion in the pub downstairs made Raine leap up.
She'd completely forgotten about the pub in the wake of Laguna's arrival. "Oy! Col, can you open up tonight?" Raine called from the stairs. Colum nodded, and headed downstairs to open the pub and pull pints for the rest of the evening.
Raine turned back to Agnes. "I don't want him to die," she said softly. There'd been too many deaths she could've prevented had she used her skills acquired from being a gypsy. It was easy for her to set bones, purge the body of toxins, deliver babies, and a whole plethora of other useful skills that came in handy when she was in a pinch.
Agnes nodded. "It'll take a while for those wounds to heal. I'd suggest Behemoth Balm for the back," she advised, and Raine nodded.
I should have some in my kit, Raine thought, walking over to a cupboard where she kept the tarot cards and her other gypsy equipment. There was a harp in the cupboard, from days when she'd sang for the court of the King of Esthar---when she was just a lass of seventeen, in the days before Adel.
She fingered the instrument lovingly, but did not take it out. It was too precious to take out of the cupboard. She found the balm, and walked back over to Agnes, handing the jar to her as she sat beside the bed.
Looking around at the walls, Raine noticed, for the first time, just how shabby her place looked. It was kind of embarrassing that she spent most of her time refurbishing other people's places for them while neglecting her own. However, that was inconsequential. She felt a pang of embarrassment; perhaps thinking that if Agnes were to look really close at everything, she'd see all the grime and dirt caked onto the windows from years of disuse.
"Ugh.... my head," it was a masculine voice speaking and Raine, sitting beside the bed on a little stool was confused by its origins, but suddenly realised that it was the man who was lying on the bed that had spoken. He seemed to be painfully trying to sit up, but Agnes stopped him from doing so.
"You need to lie down...We're setting the broken bones and trying to ease your pain in any way we can," Agnes said gently. She felt two waves of different emotions flooding her senses. Pity. Compassion. She wasn't sure which one of the two was greater, but she knew that if she pitied him, she would be resented after he was healed.
Raine could hear the conflicting emotions in Agnes' voice. Poor man... she thought, it's not right that Adel can commit great acts of atrocity and never be put on trial as a war criminal.
"How'd it happen?" she asked.
"Dived off a cliff into a waiting Galbadian transport," he replied. "Unfortunately--" and he grimaced with pain,"--I hit the ocean like an egg hits concrete."
Raine hid a smile at the analogy. It had happened too many times for her liking. The last time she'd treated someone who had hit the ocean like that, the patient died just as she was getting better. Raine hoped that it wouldn't be the case for this one.
"Don't talk," she admonished gently, "You just need to focus on getting better."
Seemingly grateful, Laguna's eyes drooped closed again and he was fast asleep within seconds. Raine continued to stroke his hair gently, like a mother would soothe her crying baby. Ellone came and sat next to Raine, on her tiny stool that had a wobble in it. Seeing her daughter, Raine brought the child onto her lap, so she could hold her.
Raine and Ellone watched for several hours as Laguna slept. If Agnes had not said that she'd let Raine know if there was any change in his condition, Raine would've stayed up all night--not sleeping, just waiting.
"Go to bed, dear. I swear on the name of the Blessed Mother that I'll wake you if his condition changes," Agnes said, as she practically pushed Raine out of the room. Admitting defeat, Raine did go to bed. But she couldn't sleep, lying uncomfortably in the bed, the sheets somewhere down around her ankles, and the doona on the floor. Tossing and turning, and finally admitting she couldn't, Raine jumped out of bed.
Perhaps I should just look at the cards...They'll help me sleep, I hope, she thought, going to the cupboard for the precious things. Her fingers brushed against the harp once more. Decisively, she pulled it out of the cupboard, holding it against her chest.
Once she had sat down with the harp lying across her lap, she began tuning it by ear. Listening to the notes, she strummed a few chords, and was delighted that it was just perfect. Now, she needed something to play while she had it out. Her fingers played over the old strings gracefully. Finally deciding on an old piece she'd learnt years ago, she played the opening bars of it.
"I wish I was in Carrickfergus,
Only for nights in Ballygrant
I would swim over the deepest ocean,
For my love to find
But the sea is wide and I cannot cross over
And neither have I the wings to fly
I wish I could meet a handsome boatman
To ferry me over, my love to find."
She wasn't sure what had prompted her to play the old ballad, but whatever it was, it was a welcome change. Her songs usually had been made up on the fly, and normally she could never recall what the words were when she wished to write them down for a future time. Her fingers continued plucking the strings of the harp, softly picking out melodies and little tunes as she did so. Perhaps it was the music that loosened her mind and allowed her to think over the importance of what she'd said to Adel those years ago.
I can't remember it, but she fears what I could do to her if I wished...It's so easy when you've betrayed Adel to become someone she fears, if not only for her own sake, but for the sake of Esthar. She's a megalomaniac, and I know her desire is to rule the entire world eventually. Someone has to stop her...
She remembered the resistance faction she and her friends had been in. It had been known as the Legion of the White Sword, a group consisting mostly of political science students, radicals, and the occasional gypsy with an education. She'd been one of the latter. It had met three times a week, Monday, Wednesday and Friday, to discuss the issue of the uprising that Adel had caused. She remembered, too, the day the Legion had been forced to disband.
»«
"Meeting tonight. Twenty hundred hours sharp. Don't be late," Kate said, as she smiled at Raine, before getting on her hovercraft vehicle. Nodding, Raine had bid Kate farewell until the evening.
At Twenty Hundred Hours, Raine entered the dingy little diner the resistance had chosen. She was one of the first to arrive, and as usual, she sat down at the bar, and ordered a drink.
"Tough day?" Rich asked, pouring the drink of her choice. Raine nodded, and Rich knew what she was referring to. He'd fallen for her, years earlier, when she was only sixteen, and he, twenty.
At twenty-two, Raine had been the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on. They'd been unofficially a couple for two years. Then something had happened which changed all that. A mission had been successful, and they celebrated with champagne and laughter. They'd each returned to their homes, yet Rich had gone with Raine under some pretext both of them knew was a lie.
Richard Tudor--Rich, to his friends, was one of the founders of the Legion. It had begun after an event opened his eyes to the instability of the current ruler's reign. There'd been small uprisings begun by those who believed that Esthar should do away with the monarchy, and become a republic. He was of the firm belief that no, one could not just exchange one autocracy for the other. As a student of history, he had seen the mistakes made by others who had created revolutions only to end up oppressing those who had oppressed them.
Rose Moore was the next person to enter the diner. She, along with Richard and Raine, had become friends and involved with the Legion by what had happened. Like the revolution that had allowed Vinzer Deling to claim the city that was formerly known as Oriana, they feared the same thing would happen in Esthar. Once Deling had taken Oriana, he renamed the city Deling, to show that he had complete control over the mob.
The success of a revolution lay in the power of the mob. If the founders of a revolt were able to incite the mob against the rulers or the other side, there would be success. If not, then there would be hell to pay. The Legion was well aware of that fact, and it seemed to hang heavily in the air that night.
When Abby Wilson had entered, it was apparent that they'd been discovered. Abby's left arm was partially severed and she was bleeding profusely.
"The damn bastards!" she hissed through the pain, "They found me before I could formulate an escape plan! I'm lucky to be alive, after what they did."
It came to light that Abby had been tapping the lines of high-ranking government officials; suspicious that someone from inside the parliament had been leaking intelligence to Adel's forces. She had been right, but she paid the price dearly, almost losing her arm. As Raine bandaged it, Abby had told the story, and when she was done, Raine's lips were pressed into a thin line, angry.
They'd all been raised on legends of heroic deeds. Who knew the legends better than those directly concerned with them? In the era of their grandparents, many legends had been formed from heroic deeds done on the battlefield, later embellished with magical swords said to be drawn from stone, court magicians able to create tables where the seats were reserved for those deemed worthy for a place at the table. The Legion of the White Swords had been born from the tales of chivalry--legends that were as old as the hills, and far more numerous. Like so many heroic organisations, they pledged to be "all for one and one for all," and also "never to let harm to come to any innocent," and tried their hardest to live up to that pledge.
Told by his grandparents and other well-meaning relatives to stop playing the hero and grow up, Rich had been directed to enter the King's service at twenty-one. The armed forces had not done as his relatives had hoped, but further strengthened the young man's desire to be a hero--to make a name of himself before he turned thirty. He left the King's service at twenty-three, and soon after, the Legion of the White Sword had been formed, dedicated to preserving the old ways.
It would later be suggested that Seifer Almasy had drawn inspiration from the young Richard Tudor, some twenty odd years after all the heroics of his era had passed into folklore or hearsay. Had Richard lived to see the day when the young blonde foolishly became a Knight to the Sorceress Ultimecia, he would've dissuaded him in any way he could. By then, with the bitter taste of failure in his mouth, Richard had realised that his dreams, while noble and chivalric, were dead.
Concerned for the members of the organisation, which he begun in an innocent ploy to shed light on Adel, Rich spoke up then. "Alright. It's far too risky. We'll be caught eventually, so why not give up the fight now, while we can?" It was suggesting political suicide, but it needed to be done. Everyone in the room knew that.
A sister of Kate's had a husband who was a member of Adel's legions. She knew, better than anyone else there what it meant. Kate bit her lip as she watched the group think of what they were to do, and realised that there was nothing that could be done to delay what appeared to be the inevitable.
If there was one thing that the Legion had learnt through the bitter taste of defeat was that it could only do as much as the members were capable of. While it was easy to talk of being heroes, it was another thing to actually become them. The legends of the noble outlaw being loyal to the true king were drawn upon--painted up to incite and invite followers to the cause. However, it was far from it.
Their last covert operation had been a success. Rich, with the help of Raine, Kate, and Abby, had successfully managed to reroute a secure connection from Adel's headquarters in one section of Esthar and send it to the command centre of the police. They'd effectively prevented a riot.
When they disbanded that night, Raine had gone home to an empty house, a note on the table saying her housemates had been taken downtown to the police station for questioning. It was then that Raine had realised that it was no longer safe in Esthar. She packed her bags, never realising that she was pregnant with the child of Richard Tudor. She left that night, never to return. It would be the last time Richard would ever see her.
He kissed her goodbye at the train station. The rain had been pounding down outside, but in the warmth of the shelter, they'd shared a final kiss, bittersweet. He could taste the salt from her tears in the kiss, and knew it was the final goodbye. Adjusting his glasses, he took his coat off, wrapping it around Raine for the warmth. She'd need it more than him. He could always buy another one. They'd hugged, promising empty promises to write. Both of them knew, however, that once they were separated, that was it.
Nine months later, she gave birth to a girl. She called her Ellone.
Raine later found out through complete accident that Richard had married a girl from the Rosetti clan of Trabia, and had died a horrendous death when their car had collided with another, killing Richard and his wife instantly. Their son, Irvine Kinneas, would later become a companion and contemporary of her own son.
»«
Never once had Raine mentioned who Ellone's father was. It was one of those inconsequential matters when on the run. She'd begun to fabricate a lie that Ellone's parents had been killed in a raid, and insisted on Ellone calling Raine by her first name around strangers, while in private, it was to be mum or mother if the need be. What Raine had not counted on, in fact, had been that the lie was easier to live than the truth. Raine was haunted by Richard's features in Ellone--even the mannerisms were the same. With the lie, she could look past the fact that she'd lost Richard when she escaped Esthar that night. He'd died two years later carrying out a raid on Adel's manor, or so she’d heard.
The ghosts of the past were what Raine had to contend with every day she spent in Winhill. Thankfully, they had accepted her without comment, assuming that she'd been a young war widow from Esthar--which was partially true. But the only person Raine trusted with her past was Agnes, who had heard the entire story the day she'd arrived in Winhill with Ellone on her hip.
The light of morning had begun to creep over the town as she'd lost herself in the memories. With a sigh, she walked back to the cupboard, and put the harp back there. A warm glow of light greeted her in the kitchen, the sun seeming to smile upon the world that morning. Whatever had transpired the night before gave room to introspection, and as she busied about preparing breakfast for herself and the patient in the room above, she sang blithely.