FMA Fic: "Fragments Born of Pain" 5/?
Title: Fragments Born of Pain
Author: evil_little_dog
Genre: Adventure/Romance
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, Winry Rockbell, Paninya, Dr. Marcoh, Scar, Original Characters. Edward/Winry
Warnings: Post 108 fic.
Summary: The discovery of a transmutation circle in an ancient city leads to problems for Edward and Alphonse that no one would’ve ever suspected.
Disclaimer: Arakawa absolutely owns all. This is a derivative work, and I’m not making any money from writing it. Drat it all.
Thanks To: cornerofmadness for edits, and elasg for her wonderful art that inspired this piece.
Prologue and Chapter One
Chapters Two and Three
Chapters Four and Five
Chapters Six and Seven
Chapter Eight
As the archeology of our thought easily shows, man is an invention of recent date. And one perhaps nearing its end.
Michel Foucault
Edward wondered if this was how a piece of steel felt, being shaped by an ironworker. His head pounded like a hammer on an anvil. Unable to work up enough saliva in his mouth to swallow, Edward thought the desert had to be baking him dry. Opening his eyes, he couldn’t recognize what lay above him. The desert sky could be bleached almost white from the heat, but something kept moving around. He jerked a hand up, waving at the side of his face, like shooing a fly.
“Ed?”
Was that his name? Edward turned his head, slowly and carefully, spotting a shape. It wavered and blurred, splitting into two and three parts before joining back together. “Hnn.”
“Ed.”
It was his name. Maybe. Sounded like someone was shouting it in a full rain barrel. Winry? No, that wasn’t Winry. His wife was a helluva lot prettier than the blurry thing standing over him. “Nn?”
The blob said something to Edward. He cocked his head slightly, trying to figure out what was being said. The blob’s mouth seemed like a cavern, with teeth like stalactites and stalagmites. Edward winced at the rank, cold stench drifting out of the cave. Words flew out of it like bats. He ducked under the bats, waving his hands at them to scare them off. They shrieked and dived at him, claws extended, fangs gleaming. Venom dripped out of their mouths, sizzling when it hit anywhere near Edward. Some of the liquid splashed on his skin, burning like acid.
Edward flung himself to the ground, trying to rub the venom off on the grass. Smoke from the acid clogged his nose, making him cough. His throat stung and burned; his eyes watered. Fangs stabbed into his back and shoulders, more poison flooding his circulatory system. Gritting his teeth, Edward tried not to scream. He rolled from side to side, as if trying to put out a fire burning him, the acid eating into his clothes, biting into his flesh.
“Edward!”
The sound of his name echoed in his skull. It seemed to cut into his brain, made his head pound. Edward clenched his hands, pressing them against his skull, trying to keep it from splitting apart. The monster’s cavernous maw, so like Gluttony’s, opened wide. Edward clapped his hands together, remember when nothing happened, his alchemy was long gone. He screamed as the mouth snapped shut on him, leaving him in total agony and blackness.
X X X
Trying to hold Edward down was like attempt to contain a wildcat. Marcoh lost his grip on Edward’s wrists twice in less than ten seconds. Davir moved to help him, making Edward scream when he leaned across the young man’s midsection. He struggled harder for a few seconds, then collapsed back against the cot, sweat pouring out of his body.
“We need to get his temperature down,” Marcoh said tightly.
“We have alcohol,” Davir said, lifting himself off of Edward when it didn’t seem he was going to have another fit. “But we might need to tie them down to keep them from hurting themselves.” The bruise on Davir’s cheek said more - that the Elrics were strong and unaware of what they were doing under the influence of this fever.
“Get the alcohol, and I’ll restrain them.” Marcoh wasn’t sure exactly how he could tie the brothers down, but there had to be a way. He adjusted his mask; blotted his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt as Davir slipped outside of the tent. Edging around Edward’s cot, he carefully stepped over the debris littering the tent floor; dirty towels, a couple of buckets, some papers, to reach Alphonse. Perspiration made his skin oily, but his eyes were open, though hooded. “Alphonse, I need to take your temperature,” Marcoh told him, brandishing a thermometer. “Can you understand me?”
Alphonse let out a soft sigh, his head lolling to the side, his mouth opening. Marcoh took that as a ‘yes’, shaking the mercury in the thermometer down and inserting it under Alphonse’s tongue. “Don’t bite it,” he warned, gently wiping Alphonse’s face.
“‘Kay,” Alphonse mumbled. He lay still for a little bit, blinking occasionally as Marcoh checked his pulse. It ran fast under Marcoh’s fingertip. “Don’t feel good,” Alphonse said as Marcoh laid his arm back on the cot. “Headache.”
That information didn’t help at all. There were too many conditions that could cause those symptoms, easily over a hundred. At this point, the best he could do was keep the boys comfortable and try to get their fevers to break. He’d fed them aspirin and water when they were coherent, had wiped their bodies down with the towels currently on the floor, but even in twenty-four hours, he could see a difference in the appearance of the two young men.
Edward’s thick hair had gone brittle, and his skin resembled paper. Alphonse’s flesh sank in on his body. The fever consumed them, burning them up from the inside. Without a lab, Marcoh couldn’t do a work-up to find out what was causing the issues. He pulled the thermometer from Alphonse’s slack mouth, frowning at what he saw. “Alphonse, Al. Wake up, please.”
His eyes drifted open again, as if his lashes had locked them closed, and he had to fight to break them free. “Hnn,” he sighed, sounding remarkably like his brother.
“Do you understand me, Al?” Marcoh asked, leaning over the younger man.
“Mm.” He tried to moisten his lips. “Thirsty.”
“Can you take some aspirin?”
Alphonse blinked, and Marcoh took it as an agreement. He poured another glass of water, helping the younger man sit up so he could drink it. A pair of aspirins dropped onto the young man’s tongue and Marcoh tilted the cup to spill water into his mouth. Alphonse swallowed reflexively, groaning. “Throat,” he moaned.
“Drink a little more, Al, and I’ll let you lie down again.” Pleased Alphonse followed his instructions, Marcoh eased him back onto the cot. The cup went to a nearby crate being used for a side table, and Marcoh prodded Alphonse’s throat, checking his throat. Alphonse grimaced at the prodding, batting weakly at Marcoh’s hand. “Ow,” he whined.
“Your lymph nodes are swollen, Al.”
He blinked at Marcoh. “Hurts,” he mumbled, and turned onto his side, pulling his blanket a little more tightly around him.
Marcoh helped arrange it, smoothing the fabric over the young man. “You rest,” he said, patting Alphonse’s shoulder.
Davir came back in, mask in place, a ceramic crock tucked under his arm. “Alcohol,” he said. His gaze fell on Alphonse, and he raised an eyebrow.
“He’s fine,” Marcoh said. “And Ed’s,” unconscious, he thought, but said, “resting easily at the moment.” Remembering, he went to check Edward’s throat, too. “Al complained of a headache, and his lymph nodes are swollen.” Marcoh pressed his fingers along Edward’s jaw. He shifted, face pinching in reaction to the touch, obviously pained by Marcoh’s exploration.
“It doesn’t mean they won’t become restless again.” Davir poured alcohol onto a rag and mopped Edward’s forehead with it. Edward’s expression smoothed somewhat under Davir’s care. “What do you think is wrong with them?”
Marcoh shook his head. “I don’t know. There are too many things that could be causing this. If we were in Central City, I’d have a better chance to figure it out.” A dream, as far away as a laboratory was concerned.
Moving the damp cloth down over Edward’s neck and upper chest, Davir shook his head. “I don’t know if they will survive. If they are this ill, this quickly, whatever disease plagues them could destroy Balaghat.”
“But no one else has gotten sick,” Marcoh argued.
Davir leaned back to look at him across Edward’s body. “We don’t even know how this is spread. The incubation period. We don’t know anything about what’s wrong with them, except that whatever it is, it’s hitting them hard.”
“We’re not even sick.”
“We’ve been taking precautions.” Davir wiped Edward’s face, cleaning the perspiration away again. “You’re a skilled doctor; I’m a healer. We know what to do to keep from carrying diseases away from our patients.” He pointed at his mask, then at the alcohol, which could be used for sterilization. “And how to keep from getting them.”
“We need to talk to the people who’ve been closest to these boys, find out what they know. If anyone else is sick.” Marcoh nodded at Davir. “Why don’t you do that, and I’ll take care of these two for a while?”
“We need someone else to take care of them. We’ll wear ourselves out, make ourselves vulnerable.” Davir handed Marcoh the crock and the rag he’d been using. “If either of us gets sick…”
Marcoh sighed. “I know, I know. We can’t let this illness out into the community, but we still need someone to relieve us and take care of these boys.”
“I’m not sure who would volunteer to help us.”
“Simurgh, perhaps.”
Davir’s eyebrows cocked up at that. “I suppose he might.”
Marcoh didn’t offer what he already knew to be true - Simurgh believed he owed a debt to Edward’s wife, Winry. Taking care of the brothers would be something he would do to make good against that debt. “I will ask him.”
“Just prepare him for what seems to be inevitable,” Davir said.
The darkness in his colleague’s voice made Marcoh want to sigh. Instead, he patted Edward’s shin. “I’ll speak to Simurgh. Do you know who the Elrics were spending time with? Perhaps one of us should speak to them, too.”
“The children who tend the goats and sheep,” Davir said, frowning slightly above his mask. “Nesrah and her mother found the brothers like this, and her mother is one who frets over a sneeze. She would’ve come to me if Nesrah was ill. But I will talk to her, and the others. And rest,” he added, at Marcoh’s look.
“Than you, Davir.” His smile faded as his companion left the tent. Turning back to the Elrics, Marcoh licked his lips absently. He picked up a medical chart he’d devised and began writing down the current symptoms. If their fevers didn’t break soon, he thought he’d need to notify a family member.
X X X
The sound of a crowing rooster woke Winry abruptly, and, for a few seconds, she couldn’t remember where she was. The sun tried to force its light through the curtains covering a huge window, and Winry inhaled deeply, realizing she was in the room of her childhood. She rubbed her hand over her head, mussing her bangs. The clatter of metal downstairs let her know Granny was making some sort of breakfast on the stove, possibly scrambled eggs, or egg toast, or something that required eggs to be mixed in a bowl. Soon, Granny would be shouting up the stairs, telling her to get her butt to the table, or risk breakfast being thrown out.
Winry smiled lopsidedly as she made her bed, smoothing out the wrinkles in the blanket. Her room was a little different than when she’d been a kid - some of Edward’s things had made their way onto the dresser, and some of the pictures he’d sent were tucked into the frame of the mirror. Her bed was no longer a single, now it was large enough to hold two. It’d felt empty last night without Edward next to her, but Winry’d been so tired, that feeling hadn’t kept her awake for long.
A little while later, she dumped her bag at the front door, and headed into the kitchen, following the smell of frying eggs. “Morning, Granny.”
“Morning, girl.” Pinako nodded at her as she scraped eggs around in the skillet. “Breakfast’s almost ready, so you can set the table.”
Winry took out a pair of plates and utensils, setting them on the table. Her nose twitched at the scent of toasting bread, and she neatly avoided her grandmother to check in the oven. Four slices of bread were almost perfectly toasted gold, and Winry grabbed a towel to pull the oven rack out to get to the bread. Her mouth watered and she swallowed, pulling a bottle of milk and the butter from the ice box. The slab of pale yellow butter still bore the imprint from the Nedobeck’s farm, unnicked, in the center.
“There’s pear butter in the pantry,” Pinako told her, and Winry turned on the ball of her bare foot, padding over to peer into shadowy recesses. Fruit preserves were always kept on the left, whole tomatoes included, while beans, potatoes, and tomato sauce were shelved straight ahead. Winry peered at the glass jars, and grabbed one, turning it to see the paper label on the top - Pears. Grinning, she took it to the counter, washing off the jar before she fished out the can opener, using it to pop open the lid.
Pinako stirred eggs, then turned her attention to the potatoes and links of sausage in the second skillet. “Coming off the fire.” She hauled the skillet to the table, setting it on a block of wood that had been used as a hot pad for as long as Winry could remember. “Get the eggs, girl!”
Grabbing a towel, Winry wrapped it around the cast iron handle, levering it off the fire. She turned off the eye, the gas making a low, ‘whump’ sound as the flame extinguished. Sliding the skillet onto another block of wood, Winry settled into her chair as Pinako started ladling food onto their plates.
“You’ll need a good breakfast if you’re traveling with those traders.”
“You think it’s a bad idea.”
“What I think doesn’t matter. You’re a big girl.” But her eyes glinted behind the lenses of her glasses.
“You still hate it.” Winry sighed.
“Well, I don’t hate that you’re going to be with Ed, I guess, but you just got your certificate. Don’t you think you should be working on your business?”
Winry cut her sausage links into bite-sized pieces before answering. “If I wait, Granny, I might not be able to go. If - when I get pregnant, I won’t be able to travel, and that’ll take time out of making automail, too. Besides, I got everything done before I left - and I don’t even know if Ed and I will be staying in Rush Valley. He really doesn’t like it there, and I don’t want to make him stay somewhere he’s not comfortable.”
“So, where are you going to set up shop? Here?” Pinako forked a potato into her mouth.
Smiling, Winry said, “You’re still all the doctor or automail mechanic anyone needs in Risembool, Granny.”
“But I’m not going to be around forever.” She wagged her fork at Winry. “Do I need to take another apprentice? Because if I do, I need to get started looking for one, now.”
That would be a decision she’d have to make with Edward’s input, Winry knew. While he loved Risembool, there was even less for him here than in Rush Valley, aside from a lot of memories that weren’t necessarily good. “I don’t know.” It was the best answer she could give. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to do that anyway, would it? You should share your knowledge!”
“That’s not really answering my question, girl,” Pinako told her sourly.
Winry spread her hands. “I can’t answer that right now. It’s not just my decision, it’s Ed’s, too.”
Pinako glared at her, but it didn’t really have any heat to it. “You two were always the most stubborn children.”
Grinning, Winry said, “We learned from the best, Granny.” Spearing some sausage, she popped it into her mouth, chewing slowly. It’d been a long time since she’d had this treat - sausage made from a local butcher, with a recipe that had been handed down for generations. She nearly giggled, mentally saying the last in Major - no, Lieutenant Colonel - Armstrong’s voice.
“Hmph.” Pinako swallowed some of the smoky-smelling tea she liked that Alphonse had found in Xing. “Well, promise me you will talk about it with Ed.”
“Of course, Granny.” There were a lot of things to consider. Winry could see her grandmother had aged, and might need someone to help her and be ready to take over the business if something happened. Nothing will, she told herself fiercely, even though she knew life - and death - happened without warning. “I promise, Ed and I will talk about it, and we’ll let you know our decision.” She wondered whether Alphonse might be interested in moving back to Risembool. If he would, even for a little while, it might be for the best. If he wasn’t here for Granny when she…when the inevitable happened, Winry knew it’d kill him.
“And while you’re talking to him about that, talk to him about my great-grandchildren.”
“Granny!”
“Don’t act so scandalized, girl. I already spoke to Ed about it.”
Winry had no doubt she had, and probably embarrassed Edward plenty. For all his foul language, he could really be a prude at times. “You made him blush, didn’t you?”
Her grandmother smiled broadly, an answer enough, but she went on. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told him - I want to hold my great-grandchildren while I can enjoy them.”
“Fine, fine.” Winry rolled her eyes as she finished off her eggs - probably gathered fresh this morning from the hens in the yard. “Thanks for breakfast, Granny.” Gathering her plate and mug, she took them to the sink to rinse them out.
Pinako sighed through her teeth. “Well. I suppose you should get on the road so you can go talk to the merchants.” Peering over the rims of her glasses, she asked, “You’re sure of this?”
“Absolutely,” Winry said. “Granny, just so you know.” She picked up her mug and swallowed what was left in it. “I want to go to Xing.” Before Pinako could say anything, Winry barged on. “We’ll be so close…and I know Ling would love to see Ed.”
“Are you asking my permission or are you telling me?”
She shrugged, smiling crookedly. “Telling you. We might not be back from the desert for a while.”
“You know, starting a business means you need to be available to work,” Pinako reminded her.
“And this might be my only chance to get to Xing!” Winry hugged Pinako, hard. “I’ll bring you home lots of souvenirs.”
Pinako hugged her back, but pushed Winry away after a few seconds. “Don’t you need to get on the road?”
She glanced up at the clock, her eyes widening. “Yes! I’ll see you, Granny!” Grabbing her bag off the floor, Winry ran for the door, hesitating just outside it to give Den a hug, too. “Be a good dog,” she said, and kissed the top of her domed head before leaping off the porch and running toward town.
X X X
Chapter Nine
The best prophet of the future is the past.
Lord George Gordon Byron
Marcoh ran a hand over his hair, thinking that there probably was far more grey in it than when he’d arrived in Balaghat. Settling the hat back on his head, he began walking again, leaning heavily on the staff that Simurgh had found for him from one of the shepherd kids. Ahead of him, he could see a low cloud of dust as the goats moved up the hill ahead of him, the kids keeping them more or less contained.
“Are you all right?”
He smiled. “Yes, old friend, I’m fine.”
Simurgh gave him a long, flat look, and began walking next to him. “It is harder to breathe up here.”
“The atmosphere is thinner.”
“Let me know if we need to stop.”
While it was nice to have someone worried about him, Marcoh wanted to keep moving, even if he did so at a far slower pace than the children - and livestock - ahead of them. And while walking was better than riding, he had to ask, “It won’t be much longer, will it?”
“We are about half-way up at this point.” Simurgh hesitated, tilting his head back and shading his eyes. “There is a spring a little farther up the trail, and we will all stop there for a rest.”
Marcoh wasn’t about to argue, and when the spring came into sight, he sighed in relief. He rested next to the spring, drinking deeply of its sweet, slightly metallic-tasting water. Goats drank next to him, or nibbled the grass around the spring, but the children herded them off after a few minutes. “It’s very peaceful here.”
“It is,” Simurgh agreed.
He glanced sideways at his friend. “But you don’t like it here.”
Simurgh stared out over the desert. When he spoke, his voice was distant. “This is a dangerous place. There have been stories told about it since before I was a child. My grandfather knew of this mountain, and warned us to not climb it. There are…” his mouth tightened slightly, “ahrimin on the mountain.”
“I don’t know that word.”
He glanced toward Marcoh, then away again. “Ghosts…demons.”
Marcoh dabbled his fingers in the water. “Efrits?”
Shaking his head, Simurgh said, “Not quite so evil. Still, not Ishbalan.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”
“The people who made this mountain were very powerful. They were insular, and protective of their land. Grandfather said, even after they went away, they left their guardians in place. They’re still here now, according to legend. It is said to be safe as long as the sun is up, but once the sun begins to set, remaining on the mountain is hazardous.”
“And Alphonse has been excavating up here,” Marcoh said thoughtfully. “How does that make your people feel?”
Simurgh seemed faintly uncomfortable with the question. “He is not Ishbalan, and not subject to our tenants, save as our guest. His interest in the city has some of the people disturbed, but others feel it is time for the city’s secrets to come to light, regardless of the outcome.”
“And the outcome could be death?”
“The mountain folk didn’t chase away their enemies,” Simurgh said. “They had no need to do so. People,” Marcoh knew by his inflection that Simurgh meant ‘Ishbalans’, “knew better than to approach. Their death doesn’t mean that something isn’t watching for intruders.”
“Something,” Marcoh repeated. “Something what?”
Mouth tightening, Simurgh tilted his head back to study the city looming over them. Finally, reluctantly, he said, “I am not sure, but there is something there.”
“But the kids - the children, and their goats - they all seem fine.”
“Maybe it doesn’t see children as a threat.”
Marcoh couldn’t help but smile, though he tried to hide it. “You make it sound as if it’s a living being up there.”
Frowning in return, Simurgh got to his feet. “It is not a place I ever thought I would be visiting,” he said, his voice so low, Marcoh almost didn’t hear him. He offered Marcoh a hand, and Marcoh accepted his assistance, scrabbling to his feet. “If we are going to continue up the mountain, we should catch up to the children.”
“Yes, of course.” Marcoh nodded, deciding not to comment that Simurgh hadn’t answered his question. Stretching his arms and back, he thumped his staff into the ground a few times. “Lead on, Simurgh. I’m ready if you are.”
X X X
The hall was white, always white, with two sets of black doors. Alphonse sat between them, waiting for either of them to open. Edward had come through once, and yelled at him, and promised to come back and get him. And he’d seen his soul, trapped in the suit of armor, though, each time, it had disappeared back through the door almost as soon as he’d realized it was there. And he saw the Truth.
It watched him, somehow, without eyes, a huge smile on its white face. It almost seemed like a white shadow, if such a thing could exist. It rarely spoke; only a very few times that Alphonse could remember. He wasn’t sure what he’d talk to it about, though. It didn’t seem like the type of being to engage in conversation; more like it would stare holes right through him and chuckle while doing it.
Alphonse wrapped his arms around his knees, drawing them up. A cold breeze drifted along up his naked spine, making him shiver. His skin prickled and he turned to his left, seeing the doors start to open. His eyes widened and his mouth stretched into an unfamiliar smile as he spotted a flash of gold. “Brother!”
The door spat out a figure, covered in those black, ribbon-like arms that retreated almost as soon Edward hit the floor. Alphonse couldn’t stand, couldn’t even make a move toward him, but he stretched out a hand. “Brother, Ed!”
He gasped and stirred, head coming up, and red coated one side of his face. His chin was stained with it, dripping down to puddle onto the floor. Edward’s eyes focused briefly on Alphonse. “Al,” he rasped.
“Ed!” His heart skipped. What was wrong? “Ed, what’s…what…”
“Sorry, Al.” Trying to smile, Edward failed. Instead, he attempted to pull himself to his feet, managing to get to his knees. Alphonse sucked in a breath, shuddering. Blood covered most of Edward’s chest, a gaping hole showing through that stupid red coat he’d always worn. “I thought I’d be able,” he coughed, spitting blood.
“Ed,” Alphonse groaned. No, no, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
“Sor,” Edward wiped his mouth, “ry, little broth…” Eyes rolling back in his head, he pitched forward, blood spurting out from under his body and splattering everything.
“Ed!” Alphonse gasped. “Ed, no!” He scrabbled in his bed, realizing it had been a dream, a particularly nasty dream. Shuddering, he tried to sit up, falling back with a groan. His head pounded so hard, he thought it would split in pieces.
“Shh, Alphonse.” A damp cloth passed over his face.
He sighed at the faint relief if offered. “Is…Ed all right?” When an answer didn’t come immediately, he forced his eyes open. He wasn’t sure he recognized the man sitting next to him. “Is he?” Alphonse grabbed for the man’s wrist.
“He’s in the same condition you are,” came the answer, which didn’t really tell him anything. “He is resting now.”
Alphonse hoped Edward wasn’t having the same horrid dreams he was. “I’m thirsty.”
“You may have some water.” The man pressed a clay cup against Alphonse’s lips, and he sipped it. The water tasted flat, and warm, but it moistened his mouth. He swallowed frantically, craving more and whining when the man pulled the cup away. “You cannot have a lot at once.”
Alphonse tried to grab the cup, but his hands wouldn’t move. He tried to turn his head and eyes enough to see wriggling fingers, but his joints felt like they were made of rubber. Controlling them seemed beyond his abilities. The sunlight overhead beat down through the canvas of the tent roof, making his eyes ache. He wished he could pull his arm up over them. “More, please.”
“I am sorry, Alphonse.” Davir. The Balaghat healer. Alphonse recognized him, if nothing else, by the tone of his voice. A little nasal. Always sounding like he was a bit annoyed, though he cared for his patients in a way that would make Pinako pleased. “You need to,” his voice turned to gibberish, or Ishbalan, or, for all Alphonse knew, it might’ve been Drachman.
He blinked, and blinked again, but it didn’t stop Davir from changing. His reddish skin darkened more, changing to a black that swallowed all light. A split went straight down his torso, opening up to a bulging red eye. “The Gate,” Alphonse whispered, sweat breaking out all over his body. “No…” The eye twitched and turned, focusing on him, and he froze, ice filling his belly. “No!”
X X X
Nesrah perched at the edge of the hole that they’d pulled Mr. Alphonse and Mr. Edward out of just a few days before. The dust had settled, and sunbeams brightened part of the cave-in, though not enough to see too well what was in there. She could see a thing that looked like a body made of stone, and a lot of rubble. Fresh dirt and some grass could be seen, and a butterfly flitted around down there, its wings suddenly flaring with a brilliant flutter of color as it lit on a dying flower.
“Be careful, Nesrah,” Dr. Marcoh told her.
She nodded, scooting back a little bit.
Simurgh squatted next to her and peered down into the hole. “What can you tell us about this, Nesrah?”
Nose wrinkling, she hunched in on herself a little bit. “We heard a rumble, and the ground shook. And we came to see what it was. Mr. Alphonse and Mr. Edward were in the hole. Near that.” She pointed at the stone body. “When we found them.”
Dr. Marcoh shaded his eyes to peer at the thing. “What is that? A crypt?”
Next to her, Simurgh let out a weird sound. Nesrah glanced up at him, but she couldn’t read his face. “It could be, at that.” He took the bag from around his shoulders, pulling out a rope. Walking around the pit, he pushed and pulled at the trees. Nesrah watched as he tied off the rope to the same tree they’d used to help pull the Elric brothers out of the hole. Dropping the rope down into it, Simurgh spat on his hands.
“Remember your scarf,” Dr. Marcoh said.
Simurgh nodded, pulling something up over his mouth before he used the rope to slide down into the hole. Nesrah lay down flat on the ground so she could get a better look. The sun didn’t light up the hole’s interior much, and she couldn’t see what Simurgh was doing.
“Nesrah, please move further back,” Dr. Marcoh said.
Rolling her eyes, she squirmed a little bit, hoping that was okay. Her curiosity nearly sent her wriggling back up to the edge, but she waited, even if the grass tickled her ankles and the dirt smell made her want to sneeze.
Appearing out of the shadows, Simurgh brushed his shoulders. He made his way to the stone body. “Do you see this, Doctor?”
“It’s an effigy, isn’t it?”
“It resembles Fullmetal’s father.”
Who? Nesrah wondered, craning her head more. Dr. Marcoh made a funny sound, and she rolled halfway over to look up at him.
“That’s impossible!”
“Fullmetal and his father have a very distinctive look,” Simurgh was saying. “This,” he waved his hand at the stone body, “resembles them greatly.”
“I wonder how that could even happen.”
“It is a curious thing.” His voice faded as he moved away from the stone body.
Nesrah tried to edge a little closer to the edge of the hole, but a tug at her tunic made her stop. Hiding her grimace from Dr. Marcoh, she scooted back when he pulled at her again. The grass tickled her ankles again and she wriggled her feet in silent protest, wondering if sand fleas could live in grass. “Do you see anything else, Simurgh?” Dr. Marcoh called.
Simurgh didn’t answer at first, then finally said, “No, nothing that seems important. Nothing that should’ve made those two boys this sick.”
“How sick are they?” Nesrah clapped a hand over her mouth, surprised she’d even asked. But now that she had, she wanted to know the answer, and twisted her body to look up at Dr. Marcoh. His melted skin made it hard to read his face, but she thought his eyes looked sad.
“Very sick, Nesrah,” he said. “Come away from the pit. Simurgh will be back up in a few minutes.”
Nesrah pushed up onto her hands and knees and backed away from the edge of the hole. “Mr. Alphonse will be all right, though? He and Mr. Edward?” She scrambled up to her feet, dusting the front of her robes.
“I hope so.” Patting her on the shoulder, Dr. Marcoh moved her even farther away, and they waited for Simurgh to come up out of the hole.
There had to be more to it than hope, Nesrah thought, clenching her fists. If only she could figure out what it was.
X X X
Winry’s eyes snapped open and she clutched the blankets tighter against her chest. Her breath came in short pants and she sat up, shivering at the colder air curling around her back. Wrapping the blanket more tightly around her, she swallowed, trying to remember her dream. Scar, and Ed, and that torn-up street where she’d first learned who’d killed her parents. Winry pressed her fingers to her mouth, swallowing again. Her nightmare - a recurring one - had the same ending as always - Scar touching Edward’s forehead, Edward’s body exploding. It’d been almost a year since the last time she’d had that particular dream, but it always left her drained and unable to sleep.
Reaching down, she grabbed her boots, shaking them carefully to make sure nothing had crawled into them during her sleep. Winry pulled them on, wrapping the blanket more tightly around her shoulders, and left her tent.
A fire flickered off to her right, but Winry didn’t walk toward it, just standing under the night sky. Her eyes widened at the sight of the stars over head. Even Rush Valley didn’t have so many stars. A part of her could hear Edward lecturing in her head as to why the desert sky was so heavily populated with stars, but he’d drone on and on if she let him, so she’d tuned him out. Something about atmosphere and cloud cover, Winry remembered that much. Whatever it was, the sky took her by surprise. It almost made her forget the cold draft spinning around her legs and sliding up her spine. The colors of the desert were lost under the sky, silvered by the light of the moon. Winry hugged herself, taking it all in, slowly turning in place in an attempt to try to see everything, the entire sky.
Dumb, she thought, but she couldn’t stop doing it anyway. The stars, so many of them! The sheer, rich, deep color of the sky, itself. Her mouth dropped open and she sighed in wonderment, at least until another gust of wind blew against her, nearly snatching her blanket away.
Shivering, Winry tightened her grip on it, and, with one last lingering look up, she went back into her tent. Maybe now, with the stars so firmly in her mind, she’d be able to go back to sleep, and forget her nightmares of Edward, and death.
X X X
Author: evil_little_dog
Genre: Adventure/Romance
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, Winry Rockbell, Paninya, Dr. Marcoh, Scar, Original Characters. Edward/Winry
Warnings: Post 108 fic.
Summary: The discovery of a transmutation circle in an ancient city leads to problems for Edward and Alphonse that no one would’ve ever suspected.
Disclaimer: Arakawa absolutely owns all. This is a derivative work, and I’m not making any money from writing it. Drat it all.
Thanks To: cornerofmadness for edits, and elasg for her wonderful art that inspired this piece.
Prologue and Chapter One
Chapters Two and Three
Chapters Four and Five
Chapters Six and Seven
Chapter Eight
As the archeology of our thought easily shows, man is an invention of recent date. And one perhaps nearing its end.
Michel Foucault
Edward wondered if this was how a piece of steel felt, being shaped by an ironworker. His head pounded like a hammer on an anvil. Unable to work up enough saliva in his mouth to swallow, Edward thought the desert had to be baking him dry. Opening his eyes, he couldn’t recognize what lay above him. The desert sky could be bleached almost white from the heat, but something kept moving around. He jerked a hand up, waving at the side of his face, like shooing a fly.
“Ed?”
Was that his name? Edward turned his head, slowly and carefully, spotting a shape. It wavered and blurred, splitting into two and three parts before joining back together. “Hnn.”
“Ed.”
It was his name. Maybe. Sounded like someone was shouting it in a full rain barrel. Winry? No, that wasn’t Winry. His wife was a helluva lot prettier than the blurry thing standing over him. “Nn?”
The blob said something to Edward. He cocked his head slightly, trying to figure out what was being said. The blob’s mouth seemed like a cavern, with teeth like stalactites and stalagmites. Edward winced at the rank, cold stench drifting out of the cave. Words flew out of it like bats. He ducked under the bats, waving his hands at them to scare them off. They shrieked and dived at him, claws extended, fangs gleaming. Venom dripped out of their mouths, sizzling when it hit anywhere near Edward. Some of the liquid splashed on his skin, burning like acid.
Edward flung himself to the ground, trying to rub the venom off on the grass. Smoke from the acid clogged his nose, making him cough. His throat stung and burned; his eyes watered. Fangs stabbed into his back and shoulders, more poison flooding his circulatory system. Gritting his teeth, Edward tried not to scream. He rolled from side to side, as if trying to put out a fire burning him, the acid eating into his clothes, biting into his flesh.
“Edward!”
The sound of his name echoed in his skull. It seemed to cut into his brain, made his head pound. Edward clenched his hands, pressing them against his skull, trying to keep it from splitting apart. The monster’s cavernous maw, so like Gluttony’s, opened wide. Edward clapped his hands together, remember when nothing happened, his alchemy was long gone. He screamed as the mouth snapped shut on him, leaving him in total agony and blackness.
X X X
Trying to hold Edward down was like attempt to contain a wildcat. Marcoh lost his grip on Edward’s wrists twice in less than ten seconds. Davir moved to help him, making Edward scream when he leaned across the young man’s midsection. He struggled harder for a few seconds, then collapsed back against the cot, sweat pouring out of his body.
“We need to get his temperature down,” Marcoh said tightly.
“We have alcohol,” Davir said, lifting himself off of Edward when it didn’t seem he was going to have another fit. “But we might need to tie them down to keep them from hurting themselves.” The bruise on Davir’s cheek said more - that the Elrics were strong and unaware of what they were doing under the influence of this fever.
“Get the alcohol, and I’ll restrain them.” Marcoh wasn’t sure exactly how he could tie the brothers down, but there had to be a way. He adjusted his mask; blotted his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt as Davir slipped outside of the tent. Edging around Edward’s cot, he carefully stepped over the debris littering the tent floor; dirty towels, a couple of buckets, some papers, to reach Alphonse. Perspiration made his skin oily, but his eyes were open, though hooded. “Alphonse, I need to take your temperature,” Marcoh told him, brandishing a thermometer. “Can you understand me?”
Alphonse let out a soft sigh, his head lolling to the side, his mouth opening. Marcoh took that as a ‘yes’, shaking the mercury in the thermometer down and inserting it under Alphonse’s tongue. “Don’t bite it,” he warned, gently wiping Alphonse’s face.
“‘Kay,” Alphonse mumbled. He lay still for a little bit, blinking occasionally as Marcoh checked his pulse. It ran fast under Marcoh’s fingertip. “Don’t feel good,” Alphonse said as Marcoh laid his arm back on the cot. “Headache.”
That information didn’t help at all. There were too many conditions that could cause those symptoms, easily over a hundred. At this point, the best he could do was keep the boys comfortable and try to get their fevers to break. He’d fed them aspirin and water when they were coherent, had wiped their bodies down with the towels currently on the floor, but even in twenty-four hours, he could see a difference in the appearance of the two young men.
Edward’s thick hair had gone brittle, and his skin resembled paper. Alphonse’s flesh sank in on his body. The fever consumed them, burning them up from the inside. Without a lab, Marcoh couldn’t do a work-up to find out what was causing the issues. He pulled the thermometer from Alphonse’s slack mouth, frowning at what he saw. “Alphonse, Al. Wake up, please.”
His eyes drifted open again, as if his lashes had locked them closed, and he had to fight to break them free. “Hnn,” he sighed, sounding remarkably like his brother.
“Do you understand me, Al?” Marcoh asked, leaning over the younger man.
“Mm.” He tried to moisten his lips. “Thirsty.”
“Can you take some aspirin?”
Alphonse blinked, and Marcoh took it as an agreement. He poured another glass of water, helping the younger man sit up so he could drink it. A pair of aspirins dropped onto the young man’s tongue and Marcoh tilted the cup to spill water into his mouth. Alphonse swallowed reflexively, groaning. “Throat,” he moaned.
“Drink a little more, Al, and I’ll let you lie down again.” Pleased Alphonse followed his instructions, Marcoh eased him back onto the cot. The cup went to a nearby crate being used for a side table, and Marcoh prodded Alphonse’s throat, checking his throat. Alphonse grimaced at the prodding, batting weakly at Marcoh’s hand. “Ow,” he whined.
“Your lymph nodes are swollen, Al.”
He blinked at Marcoh. “Hurts,” he mumbled, and turned onto his side, pulling his blanket a little more tightly around him.
Marcoh helped arrange it, smoothing the fabric over the young man. “You rest,” he said, patting Alphonse’s shoulder.
Davir came back in, mask in place, a ceramic crock tucked under his arm. “Alcohol,” he said. His gaze fell on Alphonse, and he raised an eyebrow.
“He’s fine,” Marcoh said. “And Ed’s,” unconscious, he thought, but said, “resting easily at the moment.” Remembering, he went to check Edward’s throat, too. “Al complained of a headache, and his lymph nodes are swollen.” Marcoh pressed his fingers along Edward’s jaw. He shifted, face pinching in reaction to the touch, obviously pained by Marcoh’s exploration.
“It doesn’t mean they won’t become restless again.” Davir poured alcohol onto a rag and mopped Edward’s forehead with it. Edward’s expression smoothed somewhat under Davir’s care. “What do you think is wrong with them?”
Marcoh shook his head. “I don’t know. There are too many things that could be causing this. If we were in Central City, I’d have a better chance to figure it out.” A dream, as far away as a laboratory was concerned.
Moving the damp cloth down over Edward’s neck and upper chest, Davir shook his head. “I don’t know if they will survive. If they are this ill, this quickly, whatever disease plagues them could destroy Balaghat.”
“But no one else has gotten sick,” Marcoh argued.
Davir leaned back to look at him across Edward’s body. “We don’t even know how this is spread. The incubation period. We don’t know anything about what’s wrong with them, except that whatever it is, it’s hitting them hard.”
“We’re not even sick.”
“We’ve been taking precautions.” Davir wiped Edward’s face, cleaning the perspiration away again. “You’re a skilled doctor; I’m a healer. We know what to do to keep from carrying diseases away from our patients.” He pointed at his mask, then at the alcohol, which could be used for sterilization. “And how to keep from getting them.”
“We need to talk to the people who’ve been closest to these boys, find out what they know. If anyone else is sick.” Marcoh nodded at Davir. “Why don’t you do that, and I’ll take care of these two for a while?”
“We need someone else to take care of them. We’ll wear ourselves out, make ourselves vulnerable.” Davir handed Marcoh the crock and the rag he’d been using. “If either of us gets sick…”
Marcoh sighed. “I know, I know. We can’t let this illness out into the community, but we still need someone to relieve us and take care of these boys.”
“I’m not sure who would volunteer to help us.”
“Simurgh, perhaps.”
Davir’s eyebrows cocked up at that. “I suppose he might.”
Marcoh didn’t offer what he already knew to be true - Simurgh believed he owed a debt to Edward’s wife, Winry. Taking care of the brothers would be something he would do to make good against that debt. “I will ask him.”
“Just prepare him for what seems to be inevitable,” Davir said.
The darkness in his colleague’s voice made Marcoh want to sigh. Instead, he patted Edward’s shin. “I’ll speak to Simurgh. Do you know who the Elrics were spending time with? Perhaps one of us should speak to them, too.”
“The children who tend the goats and sheep,” Davir said, frowning slightly above his mask. “Nesrah and her mother found the brothers like this, and her mother is one who frets over a sneeze. She would’ve come to me if Nesrah was ill. But I will talk to her, and the others. And rest,” he added, at Marcoh’s look.
“Than you, Davir.” His smile faded as his companion left the tent. Turning back to the Elrics, Marcoh licked his lips absently. He picked up a medical chart he’d devised and began writing down the current symptoms. If their fevers didn’t break soon, he thought he’d need to notify a family member.
X X X
The sound of a crowing rooster woke Winry abruptly, and, for a few seconds, she couldn’t remember where she was. The sun tried to force its light through the curtains covering a huge window, and Winry inhaled deeply, realizing she was in the room of her childhood. She rubbed her hand over her head, mussing her bangs. The clatter of metal downstairs let her know Granny was making some sort of breakfast on the stove, possibly scrambled eggs, or egg toast, or something that required eggs to be mixed in a bowl. Soon, Granny would be shouting up the stairs, telling her to get her butt to the table, or risk breakfast being thrown out.
Winry smiled lopsidedly as she made her bed, smoothing out the wrinkles in the blanket. Her room was a little different than when she’d been a kid - some of Edward’s things had made their way onto the dresser, and some of the pictures he’d sent were tucked into the frame of the mirror. Her bed was no longer a single, now it was large enough to hold two. It’d felt empty last night without Edward next to her, but Winry’d been so tired, that feeling hadn’t kept her awake for long.
A little while later, she dumped her bag at the front door, and headed into the kitchen, following the smell of frying eggs. “Morning, Granny.”
“Morning, girl.” Pinako nodded at her as she scraped eggs around in the skillet. “Breakfast’s almost ready, so you can set the table.”
Winry took out a pair of plates and utensils, setting them on the table. Her nose twitched at the scent of toasting bread, and she neatly avoided her grandmother to check in the oven. Four slices of bread were almost perfectly toasted gold, and Winry grabbed a towel to pull the oven rack out to get to the bread. Her mouth watered and she swallowed, pulling a bottle of milk and the butter from the ice box. The slab of pale yellow butter still bore the imprint from the Nedobeck’s farm, unnicked, in the center.
“There’s pear butter in the pantry,” Pinako told her, and Winry turned on the ball of her bare foot, padding over to peer into shadowy recesses. Fruit preserves were always kept on the left, whole tomatoes included, while beans, potatoes, and tomato sauce were shelved straight ahead. Winry peered at the glass jars, and grabbed one, turning it to see the paper label on the top - Pears. Grinning, she took it to the counter, washing off the jar before she fished out the can opener, using it to pop open the lid.
Pinako stirred eggs, then turned her attention to the potatoes and links of sausage in the second skillet. “Coming off the fire.” She hauled the skillet to the table, setting it on a block of wood that had been used as a hot pad for as long as Winry could remember. “Get the eggs, girl!”
Grabbing a towel, Winry wrapped it around the cast iron handle, levering it off the fire. She turned off the eye, the gas making a low, ‘whump’ sound as the flame extinguished. Sliding the skillet onto another block of wood, Winry settled into her chair as Pinako started ladling food onto their plates.
“You’ll need a good breakfast if you’re traveling with those traders.”
“You think it’s a bad idea.”
“What I think doesn’t matter. You’re a big girl.” But her eyes glinted behind the lenses of her glasses.
“You still hate it.” Winry sighed.
“Well, I don’t hate that you’re going to be with Ed, I guess, but you just got your certificate. Don’t you think you should be working on your business?”
Winry cut her sausage links into bite-sized pieces before answering. “If I wait, Granny, I might not be able to go. If - when I get pregnant, I won’t be able to travel, and that’ll take time out of making automail, too. Besides, I got everything done before I left - and I don’t even know if Ed and I will be staying in Rush Valley. He really doesn’t like it there, and I don’t want to make him stay somewhere he’s not comfortable.”
“So, where are you going to set up shop? Here?” Pinako forked a potato into her mouth.
Smiling, Winry said, “You’re still all the doctor or automail mechanic anyone needs in Risembool, Granny.”
“But I’m not going to be around forever.” She wagged her fork at Winry. “Do I need to take another apprentice? Because if I do, I need to get started looking for one, now.”
That would be a decision she’d have to make with Edward’s input, Winry knew. While he loved Risembool, there was even less for him here than in Rush Valley, aside from a lot of memories that weren’t necessarily good. “I don’t know.” It was the best answer she could give. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to do that anyway, would it? You should share your knowledge!”
“That’s not really answering my question, girl,” Pinako told her sourly.
Winry spread her hands. “I can’t answer that right now. It’s not just my decision, it’s Ed’s, too.”
Pinako glared at her, but it didn’t really have any heat to it. “You two were always the most stubborn children.”
Grinning, Winry said, “We learned from the best, Granny.” Spearing some sausage, she popped it into her mouth, chewing slowly. It’d been a long time since she’d had this treat - sausage made from a local butcher, with a recipe that had been handed down for generations. She nearly giggled, mentally saying the last in Major - no, Lieutenant Colonel - Armstrong’s voice.
“Hmph.” Pinako swallowed some of the smoky-smelling tea she liked that Alphonse had found in Xing. “Well, promise me you will talk about it with Ed.”
“Of course, Granny.” There were a lot of things to consider. Winry could see her grandmother had aged, and might need someone to help her and be ready to take over the business if something happened. Nothing will, she told herself fiercely, even though she knew life - and death - happened without warning. “I promise, Ed and I will talk about it, and we’ll let you know our decision.” She wondered whether Alphonse might be interested in moving back to Risembool. If he would, even for a little while, it might be for the best. If he wasn’t here for Granny when she…when the inevitable happened, Winry knew it’d kill him.
“And while you’re talking to him about that, talk to him about my great-grandchildren.”
“Granny!”
“Don’t act so scandalized, girl. I already spoke to Ed about it.”
Winry had no doubt she had, and probably embarrassed Edward plenty. For all his foul language, he could really be a prude at times. “You made him blush, didn’t you?”
Her grandmother smiled broadly, an answer enough, but she went on. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told him - I want to hold my great-grandchildren while I can enjoy them.”
“Fine, fine.” Winry rolled her eyes as she finished off her eggs - probably gathered fresh this morning from the hens in the yard. “Thanks for breakfast, Granny.” Gathering her plate and mug, she took them to the sink to rinse them out.
Pinako sighed through her teeth. “Well. I suppose you should get on the road so you can go talk to the merchants.” Peering over the rims of her glasses, she asked, “You’re sure of this?”
“Absolutely,” Winry said. “Granny, just so you know.” She picked up her mug and swallowed what was left in it. “I want to go to Xing.” Before Pinako could say anything, Winry barged on. “We’ll be so close…and I know Ling would love to see Ed.”
“Are you asking my permission or are you telling me?”
She shrugged, smiling crookedly. “Telling you. We might not be back from the desert for a while.”
“You know, starting a business means you need to be available to work,” Pinako reminded her.
“And this might be my only chance to get to Xing!” Winry hugged Pinako, hard. “I’ll bring you home lots of souvenirs.”
Pinako hugged her back, but pushed Winry away after a few seconds. “Don’t you need to get on the road?”
She glanced up at the clock, her eyes widening. “Yes! I’ll see you, Granny!” Grabbing her bag off the floor, Winry ran for the door, hesitating just outside it to give Den a hug, too. “Be a good dog,” she said, and kissed the top of her domed head before leaping off the porch and running toward town.
X X X
Chapter Nine
The best prophet of the future is the past.
Lord George Gordon Byron
Marcoh ran a hand over his hair, thinking that there probably was far more grey in it than when he’d arrived in Balaghat. Settling the hat back on his head, he began walking again, leaning heavily on the staff that Simurgh had found for him from one of the shepherd kids. Ahead of him, he could see a low cloud of dust as the goats moved up the hill ahead of him, the kids keeping them more or less contained.
“Are you all right?”
He smiled. “Yes, old friend, I’m fine.”
Simurgh gave him a long, flat look, and began walking next to him. “It is harder to breathe up here.”
“The atmosphere is thinner.”
“Let me know if we need to stop.”
While it was nice to have someone worried about him, Marcoh wanted to keep moving, even if he did so at a far slower pace than the children - and livestock - ahead of them. And while walking was better than riding, he had to ask, “It won’t be much longer, will it?”
“We are about half-way up at this point.” Simurgh hesitated, tilting his head back and shading his eyes. “There is a spring a little farther up the trail, and we will all stop there for a rest.”
Marcoh wasn’t about to argue, and when the spring came into sight, he sighed in relief. He rested next to the spring, drinking deeply of its sweet, slightly metallic-tasting water. Goats drank next to him, or nibbled the grass around the spring, but the children herded them off after a few minutes. “It’s very peaceful here.”
“It is,” Simurgh agreed.
He glanced sideways at his friend. “But you don’t like it here.”
Simurgh stared out over the desert. When he spoke, his voice was distant. “This is a dangerous place. There have been stories told about it since before I was a child. My grandfather knew of this mountain, and warned us to not climb it. There are…” his mouth tightened slightly, “ahrimin on the mountain.”
“I don’t know that word.”
He glanced toward Marcoh, then away again. “Ghosts…demons.”
Marcoh dabbled his fingers in the water. “Efrits?”
Shaking his head, Simurgh said, “Not quite so evil. Still, not Ishbalan.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”
“The people who made this mountain were very powerful. They were insular, and protective of their land. Grandfather said, even after they went away, they left their guardians in place. They’re still here now, according to legend. It is said to be safe as long as the sun is up, but once the sun begins to set, remaining on the mountain is hazardous.”
“And Alphonse has been excavating up here,” Marcoh said thoughtfully. “How does that make your people feel?”
Simurgh seemed faintly uncomfortable with the question. “He is not Ishbalan, and not subject to our tenants, save as our guest. His interest in the city has some of the people disturbed, but others feel it is time for the city’s secrets to come to light, regardless of the outcome.”
“And the outcome could be death?”
“The mountain folk didn’t chase away their enemies,” Simurgh said. “They had no need to do so. People,” Marcoh knew by his inflection that Simurgh meant ‘Ishbalans’, “knew better than to approach. Their death doesn’t mean that something isn’t watching for intruders.”
“Something,” Marcoh repeated. “Something what?”
Mouth tightening, Simurgh tilted his head back to study the city looming over them. Finally, reluctantly, he said, “I am not sure, but there is something there.”
“But the kids - the children, and their goats - they all seem fine.”
“Maybe it doesn’t see children as a threat.”
Marcoh couldn’t help but smile, though he tried to hide it. “You make it sound as if it’s a living being up there.”
Frowning in return, Simurgh got to his feet. “It is not a place I ever thought I would be visiting,” he said, his voice so low, Marcoh almost didn’t hear him. He offered Marcoh a hand, and Marcoh accepted his assistance, scrabbling to his feet. “If we are going to continue up the mountain, we should catch up to the children.”
“Yes, of course.” Marcoh nodded, deciding not to comment that Simurgh hadn’t answered his question. Stretching his arms and back, he thumped his staff into the ground a few times. “Lead on, Simurgh. I’m ready if you are.”
X X X
The hall was white, always white, with two sets of black doors. Alphonse sat between them, waiting for either of them to open. Edward had come through once, and yelled at him, and promised to come back and get him. And he’d seen his soul, trapped in the suit of armor, though, each time, it had disappeared back through the door almost as soon as he’d realized it was there. And he saw the Truth.
It watched him, somehow, without eyes, a huge smile on its white face. It almost seemed like a white shadow, if such a thing could exist. It rarely spoke; only a very few times that Alphonse could remember. He wasn’t sure what he’d talk to it about, though. It didn’t seem like the type of being to engage in conversation; more like it would stare holes right through him and chuckle while doing it.
Alphonse wrapped his arms around his knees, drawing them up. A cold breeze drifted along up his naked spine, making him shiver. His skin prickled and he turned to his left, seeing the doors start to open. His eyes widened and his mouth stretched into an unfamiliar smile as he spotted a flash of gold. “Brother!”
The door spat out a figure, covered in those black, ribbon-like arms that retreated almost as soon Edward hit the floor. Alphonse couldn’t stand, couldn’t even make a move toward him, but he stretched out a hand. “Brother, Ed!”
He gasped and stirred, head coming up, and red coated one side of his face. His chin was stained with it, dripping down to puddle onto the floor. Edward’s eyes focused briefly on Alphonse. “Al,” he rasped.
“Ed!” His heart skipped. What was wrong? “Ed, what’s…what…”
“Sorry, Al.” Trying to smile, Edward failed. Instead, he attempted to pull himself to his feet, managing to get to his knees. Alphonse sucked in a breath, shuddering. Blood covered most of Edward’s chest, a gaping hole showing through that stupid red coat he’d always worn. “I thought I’d be able,” he coughed, spitting blood.
“Ed,” Alphonse groaned. No, no, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
“Sor,” Edward wiped his mouth, “ry, little broth…” Eyes rolling back in his head, he pitched forward, blood spurting out from under his body and splattering everything.
“Ed!” Alphonse gasped. “Ed, no!” He scrabbled in his bed, realizing it had been a dream, a particularly nasty dream. Shuddering, he tried to sit up, falling back with a groan. His head pounded so hard, he thought it would split in pieces.
“Shh, Alphonse.” A damp cloth passed over his face.
He sighed at the faint relief if offered. “Is…Ed all right?” When an answer didn’t come immediately, he forced his eyes open. He wasn’t sure he recognized the man sitting next to him. “Is he?” Alphonse grabbed for the man’s wrist.
“He’s in the same condition you are,” came the answer, which didn’t really tell him anything. “He is resting now.”
Alphonse hoped Edward wasn’t having the same horrid dreams he was. “I’m thirsty.”
“You may have some water.” The man pressed a clay cup against Alphonse’s lips, and he sipped it. The water tasted flat, and warm, but it moistened his mouth. He swallowed frantically, craving more and whining when the man pulled the cup away. “You cannot have a lot at once.”
Alphonse tried to grab the cup, but his hands wouldn’t move. He tried to turn his head and eyes enough to see wriggling fingers, but his joints felt like they were made of rubber. Controlling them seemed beyond his abilities. The sunlight overhead beat down through the canvas of the tent roof, making his eyes ache. He wished he could pull his arm up over them. “More, please.”
“I am sorry, Alphonse.” Davir. The Balaghat healer. Alphonse recognized him, if nothing else, by the tone of his voice. A little nasal. Always sounding like he was a bit annoyed, though he cared for his patients in a way that would make Pinako pleased. “You need to,” his voice turned to gibberish, or Ishbalan, or, for all Alphonse knew, it might’ve been Drachman.
He blinked, and blinked again, but it didn’t stop Davir from changing. His reddish skin darkened more, changing to a black that swallowed all light. A split went straight down his torso, opening up to a bulging red eye. “The Gate,” Alphonse whispered, sweat breaking out all over his body. “No…” The eye twitched and turned, focusing on him, and he froze, ice filling his belly. “No!”
X X X
Nesrah perched at the edge of the hole that they’d pulled Mr. Alphonse and Mr. Edward out of just a few days before. The dust had settled, and sunbeams brightened part of the cave-in, though not enough to see too well what was in there. She could see a thing that looked like a body made of stone, and a lot of rubble. Fresh dirt and some grass could be seen, and a butterfly flitted around down there, its wings suddenly flaring with a brilliant flutter of color as it lit on a dying flower.
“Be careful, Nesrah,” Dr. Marcoh told her.
She nodded, scooting back a little bit.
Simurgh squatted next to her and peered down into the hole. “What can you tell us about this, Nesrah?”
Nose wrinkling, she hunched in on herself a little bit. “We heard a rumble, and the ground shook. And we came to see what it was. Mr. Alphonse and Mr. Edward were in the hole. Near that.” She pointed at the stone body. “When we found them.”
Dr. Marcoh shaded his eyes to peer at the thing. “What is that? A crypt?”
Next to her, Simurgh let out a weird sound. Nesrah glanced up at him, but she couldn’t read his face. “It could be, at that.” He took the bag from around his shoulders, pulling out a rope. Walking around the pit, he pushed and pulled at the trees. Nesrah watched as he tied off the rope to the same tree they’d used to help pull the Elric brothers out of the hole. Dropping the rope down into it, Simurgh spat on his hands.
“Remember your scarf,” Dr. Marcoh said.
Simurgh nodded, pulling something up over his mouth before he used the rope to slide down into the hole. Nesrah lay down flat on the ground so she could get a better look. The sun didn’t light up the hole’s interior much, and she couldn’t see what Simurgh was doing.
“Nesrah, please move further back,” Dr. Marcoh said.
Rolling her eyes, she squirmed a little bit, hoping that was okay. Her curiosity nearly sent her wriggling back up to the edge, but she waited, even if the grass tickled her ankles and the dirt smell made her want to sneeze.
Appearing out of the shadows, Simurgh brushed his shoulders. He made his way to the stone body. “Do you see this, Doctor?”
“It’s an effigy, isn’t it?”
“It resembles Fullmetal’s father.”
Who? Nesrah wondered, craning her head more. Dr. Marcoh made a funny sound, and she rolled halfway over to look up at him.
“That’s impossible!”
“Fullmetal and his father have a very distinctive look,” Simurgh was saying. “This,” he waved his hand at the stone body, “resembles them greatly.”
“I wonder how that could even happen.”
“It is a curious thing.” His voice faded as he moved away from the stone body.
Nesrah tried to edge a little closer to the edge of the hole, but a tug at her tunic made her stop. Hiding her grimace from Dr. Marcoh, she scooted back when he pulled at her again. The grass tickled her ankles again and she wriggled her feet in silent protest, wondering if sand fleas could live in grass. “Do you see anything else, Simurgh?” Dr. Marcoh called.
Simurgh didn’t answer at first, then finally said, “No, nothing that seems important. Nothing that should’ve made those two boys this sick.”
“How sick are they?” Nesrah clapped a hand over her mouth, surprised she’d even asked. But now that she had, she wanted to know the answer, and twisted her body to look up at Dr. Marcoh. His melted skin made it hard to read his face, but she thought his eyes looked sad.
“Very sick, Nesrah,” he said. “Come away from the pit. Simurgh will be back up in a few minutes.”
Nesrah pushed up onto her hands and knees and backed away from the edge of the hole. “Mr. Alphonse will be all right, though? He and Mr. Edward?” She scrambled up to her feet, dusting the front of her robes.
“I hope so.” Patting her on the shoulder, Dr. Marcoh moved her even farther away, and they waited for Simurgh to come up out of the hole.
There had to be more to it than hope, Nesrah thought, clenching her fists. If only she could figure out what it was.
X X X
Winry’s eyes snapped open and she clutched the blankets tighter against her chest. Her breath came in short pants and she sat up, shivering at the colder air curling around her back. Wrapping the blanket more tightly around her, she swallowed, trying to remember her dream. Scar, and Ed, and that torn-up street where she’d first learned who’d killed her parents. Winry pressed her fingers to her mouth, swallowing again. Her nightmare - a recurring one - had the same ending as always - Scar touching Edward’s forehead, Edward’s body exploding. It’d been almost a year since the last time she’d had that particular dream, but it always left her drained and unable to sleep.
Reaching down, she grabbed her boots, shaking them carefully to make sure nothing had crawled into them during her sleep. Winry pulled them on, wrapping the blanket more tightly around her shoulders, and left her tent.
A fire flickered off to her right, but Winry didn’t walk toward it, just standing under the night sky. Her eyes widened at the sight of the stars over head. Even Rush Valley didn’t have so many stars. A part of her could hear Edward lecturing in her head as to why the desert sky was so heavily populated with stars, but he’d drone on and on if she let him, so she’d tuned him out. Something about atmosphere and cloud cover, Winry remembered that much. Whatever it was, the sky took her by surprise. It almost made her forget the cold draft spinning around her legs and sliding up her spine. The colors of the desert were lost under the sky, silvered by the light of the moon. Winry hugged herself, taking it all in, slowly turning in place in an attempt to try to see everything, the entire sky.
Dumb, she thought, but she couldn’t stop doing it anyway. The stars, so many of them! The sheer, rich, deep color of the sky, itself. Her mouth dropped open and she sighed in wonderment, at least until another gust of wind blew against her, nearly snatching her blanket away.
Shivering, Winry tightened her grip on it, and, with one last lingering look up, she went back into her tent. Maybe now, with the stars so firmly in her mind, she’d be able to go back to sleep, and forget her nightmares of Edward, and death.
X X X