by Jason Connor
Governor Cain Tierce looked up abruptly, startled by the sudden knock at the door. He rubbed a hand over the rough stubble on his chin, frowned at the paperwork scattered across his desk. He momentarily regarded the picture window behind him, saw with dismay that he'd once again unintentionally worked into late evening.
Everything was just as Emit remembered it: the sturdy, two-story house that he and Tiem had built with their own hands, smoke curling lazily up from the chimney to the star-lit sky above, a single light peeking out around closed drapes from the living room downstairs. Off to the east, he could hear the pleasantly familiar sound of waves crashing onto the nearby coastline, he could smell the slight tang of salt was on the wind, and only now when he was here once more did he realize that he'd truly missed being here.
"So where do we go from here?"
mithrawnuruodo@hotmail.com
Chapter VIII : Requiem
The rare light from a gloriously full moon streamed in through the open window, blinding Edgar momentarily as he opened his eyes in response. He squinted against the glare, holding a hand up to block it as he rose stiffly from the floor where he'd been leaning against the bare wall, realizing he must have drifted off soon after sinking to the floor, either unable or unwilling to drag himself up and into bed.
Their escape from the Sun Keep had been, in retrospect, decidedly anticlimactic, although it hadn't seemed that way at the time. They'd made it to the Falcon without incident and managed to fly up above sea level before the ocean waves came crashing back together, filling the gap and crushing what was left of the Sun Keep, no longer sustained now that Kefka and Terra were both gone, leaving no trace of what had happened.
A heart-wrenching confirmation, as if he'd needed one, that Terra was truly gone.
But even as he allowed his gaze to wander around his chambers, taking in the outstanding mess he'd made out of his room the moment they'd arrived at the castle, he was surprised to find he no longer felt anything, and he didn't know whether to be bothered by that or not.
He should have felt embarassed at having lost control, at taking his anger and grief out on whatever he could find in here, knocking over furniture, tearing the sheets from his bed, overturning the mattress, ripping the curtains down, shattering every mirror he could find, decimating his wardrobe, scattering books and papers throughout the room. He should have been crippled with grief for Terra, weary with sorrow for Daryl and Celes; should have felt empathy for Locke and Setzer, both of whom would lose or had lost as much as he had; should have been consumed with anger at Valorum's betrayal, hatred for Kefka and Doom Gaze for bringing all of this about.
But he didn't feel a thing. He felt numb, detached from himself, as though he were looking dispassionately through someone else's eyes, or as if he were in a waking dream, seeing but not feeling. He felt burned out, physically drained, mentally and emotionally exhausted. He tried to feel anger, but it was a futile gesture; he simply didn't have the energy to, and that bothered him more than anything else.
The part of him that reveled in the multitude of relationships he'd had couldn't believe that he was being hit this hard by the loss of Terra. The part of him that had looked forward to a life with Terra realized that she'd been more a part of him than he'd known, and that she would never be a part of him again, a loss that he knew he would feel painfully for the rest of his life.
The rest of him simply wanted to die. At least Locke and Setzer will get to bury their loves, he thought resentfully. I don't even get that much.
Abruptly he covered his face with his hands, not caring that he was rising somewhat out of his depression as he felt the tears running from his eyes, his chest shuddering in embarassment at having harbored such a thought, knowing it wasn't their fault events had turned out like this. A palpable ache blossomed in his heart, and he turned to the window sill, wishing suicidally that the castle had been built on a mountain instead of in the middle of a desert, that his chainsaw had been handy earlier, that anything would have happened, as long as he hadn't been left to go on living without Terra, because at the moment he honestly didn't know if he would be able to.
A knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts. He turned from the window, making an attempt to bring himself under control, to catch his breath and wipe the tears from his face, reflexively doing what he could to make himself presentable. He knew his face and eyes had to be red, his hair and clothing unkempt, and the state of his chambers would certainly raise some eyebrows, but there was nothing to be done for it.
He took a deep breath, then called for the person to come in. The door opened hesitantly, and a headful of spiky red hair peeked in. "King Edgar?" Crono said, looking uncertainly around the room.
"Don't mind the mess," Edgar reassured him, forcing a smile that was half grimace and motioning him into the room. "Please, come in. I wanted to talk to you before you left."
Crono looked around once more, as if to be sure, then came in and closed the door behind him. "My father...explained about Terra..." He trailed off as Edgar nodded, sparing him the discomfort he was obviously feeling. "I just wanted to ask you one thing, if you don't mind."
Edgar shook his head. "Not at all. What did you want to know?"
Crono looked down at the floor silently for a moment, running his tongue over his teeth as he tried to determine the best way of asking, then gave up, deciding just to come out with it. "Why did she do it?" he asked at last, hoping the king wouldn't take offense at his bluntness. "Terra, I mean. Why did she sacrifice herself?"
A good question, Edgar thought ruefully to himself. One that he'd been coming back to repeatedly, had thought about over and over, the answer to which had been eluding him ever since the question had occurred to him. Why had she sacrificed herself, giving up her life in order to correct what someone else had done? Especially when Edgar knew that he was right, that it didn't have to be her, that someone else could have done it.
Now, though, he believed he knew the answer.
She had done it...for love. For himself, for her friends and comrades, for the children in Mobliz. For the future, for generations yet to come. For a world that might never know the sacrifice she made, that is so screwed up that it wouldn't even care if it did know, Edgar thought to himself bitterly, knowing it was true and still hating the world for its unfairness, hating the futility of her giving her life for people that would never appreciate it. But it had been Terra's choice, as she'd pointed out, and it was a choice he was going to have to come to terms with, whether he agreed with it or not.
"But..." Crono said after Edgar had spoken, a frown creasing his forehead, "I would have thought she'd want to stay with her loved ones, with the people she cared about."
There was a strange insistence to his voice that went beyond mere curiosity, and abruptly Edgar realized why: the boy was trying to understand why his father had left him, why Gogo had made the choices he'd made long ago.
Which meant that the answer he gave now would be as important to the boy as it was to himself.
"That's just it, you see," Edgar replied, smiling sadly. "She did it because she loved us. 'No greater love hath mortal man than for a friend to die.' To give her life so that the rest of us could live was the ultimate expression of her love. All she ever wanted was to know what love was, to love and be loved in return. I believe she found that love, and now she's given the rest of us another chance, another opportunity to find that love for ourselves. That was something she was able to do, and for that I'm grateful."
"I think I understand now," Crono said softly, nodding. "I see why my father chose to leave us. He was selfless enough to care about complete strangers that he traded the life he had for the chance to save the lives of this world. He wanted to try and make a difference, whether he actually did or not."
The boy looked down, a look of guilt on his face. "I owe him such an apology. I blamed him for making a choice that he had to make. I hated him for leaving us, but I was too selfish to think about what he said, to bother looking at things from his point of view."
Crono exhaled slowly and shook his head. "He was right all along. Sometimes there is only one choice to make, no matter how hard it is. And I of all people should have realized that."
"Not everything turns out the way we think it should," Edgar concurred wistfully. "Not every story has a happy ending. But knowing that doesn't make it any easier to accept, does it?"
"No, it doesn't," Crono agreed. He sighed, then looked back up, the corners of his mouth tugging in empathy. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about Terra. I have a pretty good idea how you feel right now, and I know it's not pleasant."
"I appreciate that," Edgar replied, nodding his head gently and meaning it. "I'm sorry we had to meet under these circumstances, and that you can't stay longer," he said, raising his eyebrows in regret. "You seem very much like your father, and I would have loved to get to know you and the others better, to learn more about your world, and give you the same opportunity here."
"Me too," Crono agreed, smiling. "But Lucca's not at all convinced of this new Epoch's reliability, and I have to admit I'm as eager to go home as she is."
"I understand completely," Edgar smiled in return, finding solace in the thought that at least someone had something to look forward to. He walked past Crono, opened the door for him. "Be sure to tell your father that he'll be missed around here. We owe him a great deal, and for that we'll always remember him. I'd tell him myself, but..."
"Don't worry. He'll understand. And I'll tell him what you said," Crono promised, his cheeks flushing slightly in embarassment and pride as he stepped through the door. Halfway into the hall he paused, facing away from Edgar. "You know..." he said quietly, not turning to face him, "it's a shame we couldn't take the time to explore the Sun Keep...especially considering there's a working time machine sitting at the bottom of it..."
The boy trailed off, and Edgar felt a shiver run down his spine at the implied offer hidden in the boy's words. A time machine represented the chance to change history... Was that truly what he was leaving unspoken?
Edgar inhaled slowly, realizing as Crono remained silent that it was. Unfortunately, it was a gift he could not accept. "I appreciate the thought," he said, "but it would solve nothing; worse than that, it would make her sacrifice meaningless. And that's something I will never condone."
Crono looked over his shoulder and nodded, unsurprised by the king's response but still glad that he'd made the offer. "I understand. Farewell then, Your Highness."
"And yourself, lad," Edgar returned softly. He watched the boy go, then closed the door and walked back over to the window.
No, as much as it hurt, as much as he might rather do otherwise, he would never attempt to undo what had been done. Terra had made her choice, and it wasn't his place to take that choice away from her.
But that wasn't the only reason. It was also because she had been right. Despite what all had happened, or what either of them might have thought, Terra had never belonged in this world, just as Crono and his companions hadn't.
Even if I was selfish enough to try and bring her back, Edgar thought, I could never do that to her, never force something on her that she didn't want in the first place. To bring her back would be the worst possible thing I could do, and I will never do that.
He gazed out the window, watching the shifting of the desert as a light breeze stirred up the sand, breathing in the familiar dry air, closing his eyes and basking in the moonlight, something Terra had enjoyed doing while she'd been here. It allowed her to forget about the world, however briefly, she'd confided to him once long ago. It had given her a taste of freedom, of a life without limitations, without the overhanging shadow of her heritage and the constant threat of being used to shackle her. It had given her a sense of peace.
And in that moment, Edgar's lips parted in a smile of pure joy, a single tear falling from his eye, and he sighed, feeling a sense of tranquility flow over him. He'd found his peace, because he realized that, wherever she was now, Terra had that peace which she'd searched for all of her life, which she'd never truly had while she'd been here.
And which no one would ever be able to take away from her again.
The knock came again, more insistent this time. "Come," he called, resisting the urge to tell whoever it was not to bother him.
The door opened, and Tierce found he was glad he'd refrained.
"Commander Markiss," he greeted the other carefully as he stepped inside. "Back so soon?"
"It's over, Cain," Markiss said without preamble; his expression was drawn, tight. "Your spy is dead, the rest of the Fanatics are being rounded up as we speak, and King Edgar is alive and well."
Tierce managed to hide his reaction, even though he knew it was a futile gesture. "I see," he replied neutrally, feeling his eyes narrow as he leaned back in his chair, clasping the ends of the armrests loosely. "I take it, then, that this isn't a social call?" There was a small flechette pistol in his lower desk drawer. If he could get to it in time--
Markiss clicked his tongue, ignoring the feeble attempt at humor. "I'm afraid not, Cain," he replied humorlessly, raising his eyebrows and gesturing back towards the hall. Immediately two armed guards came in and flanked him.
Tierce sat up straighter in his chair, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck standing up in concern. "Now Commander, there's no need for anything drastic," he said, his voice belying his nervousness, his gaze focused on the rifles the guards were unshouldering.
The Commander turned back to him. "Oh, don't worry, Cain. I believe I have something a bit more imaginative than death in mind for you."
He nodded to each of the guards, who lifted their weapons and trained them on the governor.
And Tierce finally realized they were para-tranq rifles.
The fact that he was too late was a foregone conclusion. That did not prevent him, however, from attempting to reach the pistol.
Dimly he was aware of the twin chuffs as the rifles fired; his hand was halfway to the drawer when he felt two sharp needles stab into his chest.
"And simple banishment from the Empire," Markiss added, his voice oddly distant sounding, "--from your home--isn't what I had in mind either; you'll find I'm not as forgiving as God is."
Tierce tried to swallow, his tongue thick and languorous in his mouth. Already he could feel the darts' venom coursing through his bloodstream, paralyzing his muscles as it spread throughout his body. The office seemed to grow warped and hazy in his vision.
Markiss's expression was glacially cold. "You're not going to die, Cain. But you're going to wish you could..."
Tierce tried to glare, couldn't tell if he did or not. His head began to tip forward, and his last thought before darkness overtook him was the realization that the devil had finally claimed his end of the deal.
And now he would be able to enjoy it once more, to come back to the life that he'd once had. He wrapped his arms around himself, feeling the smooth fabric of the clothing Edgar had given him in exchance for the robes he'd worn as Gogo. Emit had felt unsure at first about the idea, still feeling that he had an obligation to Edgar's world, but the king had countered by pointing out that Emit had more than fulfilled his commitment. Further, there wasn't likely to be a need for him any longer; Figaro was now at peace with the Empire, and the last vestiges of the Fanatics were powerless without their leaders. But as a compromise, Edgar had promised to find someone to take Emit's place, someone who would be worthy enough to take on the mantle of Guardian.
Standing here now, the emotions of a lifetime's worth of memories all flooding back into his heart at once, feeling his eyes beginning to water, he was suddenly grateful for Edgar's insistence.
"Something wrong?"
Emit turned to Crono, realized they'd stopped walking. "No," he replied, blinking back the tears. "Everything's fine." He looked around again, then let his gaze fall to the ground. "I'm sorry I left you Crono. I shouldn't have done so, and I see that now. I made a commitment to you and your mother first, and I was wrong to break that commitment. I should have taken the time to find another way to help that world."
He looked up at his son. "I will never be able to make it up to you. But I promise that I'll try."
Crono smiled warmly. "It's all right, Father. I understand what you went through, and why you chose to leave. You were right: I would have done the same thing in your place. I had no right to be angry with you, and I'm sorry for that."
"No, you had a right to be angry," Emit countered. "But I'll make sure that never happens again. I will never leave you again. And I hope that we can learn to be father and son again. I would like that very much."
Crono grinned. "I would too. Come on, let's go home. Mother's waiting. For both of us."
Schala glanced back over her shoulder from where she stood, wrapping her arms tighter about herself, to see Janus coming up next to her, his cape ruffling lightly in the slightly chilly breeze. Behind him and further down the gently sloping hill, the Epoch rested silently where they'd left it after dropping the others off at their homes, standing out against the darkness surrounding it as it reflected the light from the full moon overhead.
Lucca's concerns about the time machine had ultimately proved to be unfounded, despite the identity of its maker. The ship performed identical to its predecessor, save for its ability to travel between dimensions and the lack of governors restricting it to parallel time travel, and they'd returned to their world without incident.
Schala turned back to the view before them and sighed. Off to the north, Guardia Castle stood tall and proud, still festively decorated from the recent celebrations, while over to the east, the lights from the city of Truce glittered attractively, sparkling like a thousand diamonds and sleeping peacefully.
Not half a decade from now, Schala knew, feeling a knot form in her throat, it would all be gone.
"Five years from now..." she said softly, "Crono and Marle are going to vanish without a trace."
Janus's brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"
"When I was in the Darkness of Time," she began to explain, "the power of the Time Devourer allowed me to see thoughout all of history. This era is one of the few I chose to observe."
Schala turned to face him, sniffling quietly and holding back the tears that were threatening to fall. "In five years, the nation of Porre is going invade this continent, and the kingdom of Guardia is going to fall." She gestured towards the town and castle. "Everything, all of this, will be destroyed."
She looked down and to the side, shaking her head pensively. "But there's something else, something more disturbing. I tried to peer further ahead, but something blocked me from finding out what happened. Not long after the invasion, the block is gone...but there's no trace of Crono and Marle whatsoever."
Janus frowned and looked out across the land. "So what's your point?"
"My point?" Schala replied incredulously. "Those children are likely going to die five years from now, that's my point. Don't you understand, Janus? Someone else is going to change history."
Janus crossed his arms. "Sorry, that's not my problem."
Schala just looked at him for a moment, shaking her head in disbelief, her mouth half open, ready but unable to speak. "How, Janus?" she said at last, her eyes narrowing accusingly. "How can you be so selfless and yet selfish at the same time?"
"What are you talking about?" Janus grunted, looking at her sidelong.
Schala's eyes widened. "Crono, Marle. What about them, Janus?"
"What about them?" he snapped scornfully. "What did they ever do for me--"
Schala slapped him across the face, her jaw trembling with outrage. "They did everything for you. Don't you get it? You owe them everything!"
Janus narrowed his eyes at her disdainfully. "And just how do you figure that?"
"If they hadn't shown up when you were so foolishly trying to summon Lavos," Schala spoke quietly, with more anger than Janus had ever heard her speak before, "you would have died. It's because of them that you finally beat Lavos. It's because of them that I ever had a chance of coming back--that you ever had a chance of redeeming yourself."
Janus snorted contemptuously. "You think I owe those brats? I don't buy that."
Schala felt the skin around her eyes tightening in remorse, painfully aware of the ache in her heart. "What happened to you, Janus?" she all but whispered. "What happened to that sweet, shy little boy I once knew?"
"In case you hadn't noticed," Janus growled, "I'm not that naive little kid anymore. I'm a different person now."
Schala's expression fell blank as she turned away. "Then maybe you're no longer my brother..."
"What?!" Janus exclaimed, taken aback, unable to believe what he was hearing. "I spent my entire life searching for you, and now that I've found you I'm no longer your brother?! Then what have I been doing all this time? What in hades have I been fighting for?"
Schala turned back to him, speared him with a glare as frosty as his own. "For the wrong reasons, Janus," she said emphatically. "Always with you it was 'look out for number one,' for yourself. Everything you did benefited you first and others second, and even if it did benefit others, you didn't care. You never cared."
"And you expect me to act differently?" Janus retorted, matching her tone. "Maybe that's the only way I know how to be. Did that ever occur to you? Tell me, sister, just what would you have done in my place, if your life had been nothing but a living hell of anger and pain and guilt, if you'd been used and abused by one person after another?"
"It's not your fault, Janus," Schala replied gently. "I do know what you've been through. Dalton and Ozzie lied to you, used you; they never cared about you. To them, you were a means to an end, nothing more than a tool."
And with those words, his own words to the children coming back to haunt him, the truth finally hit Janus with all the power of a force of nature. For the first time in his life, he realized with a horrible ache in his heart that he was just as much of a twisted, cold-hearted monster as Dalton had been.
He saw now why he had failed to achieve every goal he set for himself; why he'd been beaten time and again by those less powerful than he was; why he'd been unable to do anything in the face of Lavos, back in the Undersea Palace, and why Crono had been able to leap up in his place, giving his life for Schala when Janus could not.
Janus had never truly understood the power Lavos wielded until he'd stood frozen, helpless, before the demonic beast. The single moment of absolution, the chance to rescue his sister he'd been waiting for his entire life, and he had done nothing. And yet the boy had easily leapt to his feet, throwing himself before Lavos, taking the death that was meant for them all.
How? How had it been possible? How had this inexperienced weakling of a youth shown more courage and strength in the face of Lavos than himself, after all his training, the waiting, vowing to put the creature to death?
Because the boy had done it for her, rather than for himself.
All this time, all of his life, all of Janus's waiting and training and preparation, everything he'd ever done, all of it had been for himself, not Schala, and as a result it had all been in vain. In the name of saving the one person he truly cared about, he'd led the Mystics against humans, summoned Lavos forward in time, returned to this era as the Prophet, everything that had led up to this very moment, all of it with the delusion that it was for her, when in reality it had been to appease his guilty conscience, to lick his wounded pride and heal his scarred emotions.
And worst of all, to take vengeance on those who had wronged him. And he'd used his only sister as an excuse.
Janus had truly lived up to his name, because his fate had come full circle, and he'd deceived even himself. He'd thought he had let go of the past, when in fact it had been driving him all this time. He'd believed his quest to find Schala had been for her, when in reality it had been for him instead. He'd held to the truth that his anger had kept him going all this time, but the truth was that it had held him back.
Doreen had been right, he thought numbly, feeling a knot in his stomach, a tightness in his throat. It was all his fault. Because he was too proud, too selfish, to consider that he might be wrong. And Schala had paid the price.
He turned away from Schala, squeezing his eyes shut in anger at himself, his chest shuddering with guilt, with a lifetime of pent-up emotions. He was aware of his sister coming around in front of him, pulling him close and wrapping her arms around him, and he didn't resist her attempt to comfort him, allowing her head to rest against his shoulder.
At last, though, he could stand it no longer, and he put his arms around her and returned the embrace, cherishing her presence, reveling in the knowledge that his quest was over, that he had found his sister at last.
He felt a joy blossoming in his heart, one that he'd believed he would never feel again, because for the first time since his banishment from Zeal, he was allowing himself to feel that joy, after so many years of carefully shutting it away, believing it to be nothing more than a false hope, a weakness that would hold him back. And also because for the first time, he was letting go of the anger, the guilt, the pride, realizing that he no longer needed them, pushing them away after a lifetime of embracing them and allowing them to control him.
"Do you understand now what I was trying to make you see?" Schala said quietly, one hand gently reaching up to stroke the back of his head. "You can't go on like this, Janus, driven by anger and a thirst for vengeance. You have to let them go."
"What have I done to you...?" Janus whispered sorrowfully. "All this time... How could I have...." He pulled away from her, buried his eyes in his palms, unable to face her, wishing he could go back and set things right, that he could truly rewrite history. "I don't know why you're still here with me, after everything I've done..."
"You're my brother, Janus," Schala replied. "And I love you, no matter what." She reached up, pulled his hands away from his face, tilted his chin up, cradled his cheek in her hand. "You've walked in darkness for so long. Let me help you learn to walk in the light. Let me show you how else you can act, and live. Let me give you the love that you've needed but never had."
Janus blinked, inhaled deeply as he stared into her eyes, at the promise that lay therein. "How?"
"Come with me," she urged him. "Help me find out what happened to Crono and Marle. Help me set things right. Help me make a difference. Help me help you."
Janus regarded her silently for a moment, contemplating what she was asking of him, knowing that it would be hard for him, and yet realizing that it was something he needed, that Schala wanted for him.
The question, though, was, was it something he wanted? Did he truly want to change, after a lifetime of being alone, with fear and anger and pride for his companions, constantly driven by them towards a goal that was unattainable? Or was he ready to accept the truth, that he was weary of the path he was walking, tired of the fear and anger and pride, emotions he no longer had any need for, that had been taught to him by a bulbous toad who was no longer even alive? Was he ready to take control of his life, to begin walking a new path, towards a far greater goal?
He closed his eyes and lowered his head in penance, because he believed the answer was yes. "I want to change," he admitted, surprised to learn that it was the truth. "But what if I cannot?"
"You can," Schala reassured him. "Trust me. I will be there to help you, no matter what. I won't give up on you. Ever."
Janus looked up into her eyes, and in that moment, he found solace in the knowledge that, despite all he'd done, he had still found forgiveness, and that there was hope for him yet. "Thank you, Schala," he said at last. "For everything."
Schala smiled lovingly as she pulled him back to her, holding him in a warm embrace, a sense of relief and happiness flooding her, that after so many years of being apart, she'd at last been reunited with her brother. She knew that his healing was far from complete, was yet fragile and tender, but at least it had begun. The rest, ironically enough, would simply take time, but she would be there constantly to guide and support him, to love him and care for him.
"Let's go, 'little' brother. Our journey is not yet over." She took his hand in hers, and began walking towards the Epoch.
"You never answered my question, though," Janus said, almost as an afterthought, frowning slightly as he followed her. "Where do we go from here?"
"Where else?" she replied, a corner of her mouth lifting wryly. "The future..."