Chapter 1: A Man Can Never Go Home

"So. You gonna apologize, or at least try to get along?"

One hand resting on his sword hilt, the other hanging ready at his side, Cyan paced slowly through the long grasses of the Narshean plain. He did not look towards Locke, whose cryptic manner was no doubt meant to provocate. He said: "I know not whereof you speak."

"Oh come on," Locke replied in his rolling northern brogue. "I'm pretty damn sure you know exactly what I mean."

The self-styled treasure hunter reclined against a small boulder, eyes scanning the horizon lazily while dusk cast grey shadows over his features. In his prone position, the tall grasses nearly hid him from view.

Cyan continued to pace. He did not like Locke Cole, a man who twisted his words as easily as he twisted his knife.

"Mayhap my confusion is difficult for you to comprehend," said Cyan, "but I do not think I have wronged you, and if I have, it must have been in so slight a fashion as to be hardly worth the effort it must cost you to converse with one so foreign and incomprehensible as this humble one."

Locke chose to ignore Cyan's dry solicitousness. "I'm not talking about me," he said. "I'm talking about her."

He gestured with a flick of his head.

Not a hundred shaku behind Locke stood Celes, deep in conversation with Sir Sabin and Sir Edgar. The three seemed to be discussing the impracticability of lighting a fire in these grasslands, judging by the voluble gestures produced by Sir Sabin. Despite this grand display, the general's face was locked in its usual stiff approximation of human expression. Behind them, the fading light threw long, strange shadows on the undulating grasses; wheat-coloured hair wafted soft and eerie around their pale faces. He had never seen hair like that before, not until the Imperials came…

"You called her a spy to her face," Locke murmured, "and I heard you say worse things later on, to Edgar and Banon."

He had called her a murderer, a liar, a witch. He had only spoken the truth. "They took a terrible risk, letting her fight alongside us."

"It's because she fought alongside us that we won."

"A moment of repentance does not wash away a life of sin."

"And yet you seemed all right with Terra."

Cyan continued his pacing. If Locke would insist on lounging while on guard duty, then Cyan would watch over the group with more than his share of vigilance. The Empire had lost the battle in Narshe, but mayhap they had left soldiers behind to spy on the Returners or harry their supply lines. There were wild beasts all around as well. If an attack were to come...the copse of trees to the west and the hills to the south offered the most protection for an enemy…

He looked again to the group of three warriors: the King and Prince of Figaro, the last of their royal line, and the woman who had burned fair Maranda to the ground, standing close together as if in friendship. He liked it not.

"Sir Sabin told me about Terra," he said to Locke. "She was controlled by a foul device; her mind was not her own. She is an innocent, and I am glad to aid in finding her. By contrast, General Chere," he could not hide his distaste, "committed atrocities with her own hands, full-knowing and full-willing. Do you expect that I am glad to travel by her side?"

"She was controlled too."

"Did she wear a Slave Crown?"

Locke squinted into the sun. "No. But, you know, that the place we grow up in, the stories we're told...we've all got a bit of a Slave Crown on our heads, don't you think?"

Cyan was given no opportunity to answer. The grasses near Sir Edgar were rustling heavily. A beast—something large and fast—must be hidden below.

Seeing this, Edgar stumbled away from the body hurtling toward him, his hand reaching for his auto-crossbow, in vain. Earlier he'd removed it from the case on his back.

The creature was almost upon him. Sabin threw himself beside his brother and put up his fists, while Celes stood her ground and drew her sword, which started to glow with eerie blue light.

Cyan had loosened his sword from its sheath and started moving toward the campgrounds, while Locke was belatedly rising to his feet. They were both of them too far away—

But what leapt from the grasses was not a monster. It was only—Gau, hands and legs outstretched, long hair streaming behind him as he leapt.

Barrelling into Edgar's knees, he pushed the tall man to the dirt.

Celes' sword stopped glowing, as if in shock. Sabin, who had been rushing forward to attack, skidded to a halt.

From his seat in the grass, the King of Figaro blinked. His hair was disheveled and laden with wildflowers.

After a moment, Sabin put down his fists and guffawed, slapping his thighs repeatedly. He trotted to his brother and patted him on the head, mussing his hair even further. Edgar said something that Cyan could not hear, but judging from his expression his words were less polite than usual. Gau scratched his head—apparently he'd tackled the wrong Figaro brother. Or had he? He was grinning.

Locke finally caught up with Cyan. "She's on our side, all right?" he said. "Just look."

Despite himself, Cyan's gaze moved to Celes, who still stood apart from the group. Her sword had not returned to its sheathe. Yet something like a smile—a false smile, it must be—flicked across her lips.

"Not all of us," said Cyan, "think that forgiveness is bought so easily."

Locke released an inelegant snort. "Have it your way, Sir Knight. But if you change your mind, I'll help you talk with her, all right? No hard feelings."

(None at all, except for those of the dead.)

He said nothing, and Locke let him be. Perhaps every member of the group sensed his foul mood—they all let him be, for one night at least.

-0-0-

But Sir Gau was not the sort to let a man brood overlong.

"Sir Mister Thou," said Gau, the next day. He padded easily through the grasses—a stockier, coarser variety growing prominent as they travelled further south—and none of the insects seemed able to penetrate his hard brown skin. "You is sad?"

Cyan was jolted from his thoughts (The rice paddies of southern Doma were more verdant than these pale savannahs, were they not?). "If I am sad, it is because you have bequeathed to me an even stranger name than before."

"You always sad." Gau had lowered himself on all fours and was sniffing his way through the grasses. His voice was muffled when he said, "Gau knows."

Cyan shivered. A strangely cold blast of wind had struck him. It must have hurtled down from the mountains of Narshe, across the snowfields they'd left behind, to lash at his skin through the thick padding of his armour. Even into these warmer climes the cold chased them still.

"Why do you know so much of sadness, Sir Gau?" he said, after a moment.

Gau's head popped up from the ground. "See animals like that many times," he replied. "One time, mother tusker, she lose her baby to wild dogs, she cry. Tusker remembers everything. Is good, but also bad. She so sad. But she still strong. She make another baby. She happy now. But one chocobo, he leave town with no human and no food, he sad too. Running crazy. Mind is not strong, so he run run run only." Gau's young, weather-beaten face went thoughtful. "Still not know where he went."

Cyan could not immediately form a response. This boy had seen so many things in this world (but had he ever seen his loved ones board a train for the dead), yet still held so much kindness in his heart—even for strange old men who hardly deserved it. It was almost unbearable.

"You know so much about the animals," he said.

Gau nodded.

"One time I find girl, human girl. She very small. Lying in dirt. She say family want her no more." Gau paused for a moment, laying one ear low to the ground, listening for some unknown sign. He frowned. "But they not kill her or eat her. Very strange. So Gau teach her hide from bad animals and get fish. Gau say, listen to voice of wind, listen to nose, and you will live. She try. But she not good hunter, always hungry. Always sad. No want to move. She die."

Cyan bowed his head. Why were the innocent so often cast away by this world? "That is a sad story indeed."

"Gau miss her," said the boy. "She talk with Gau, is nice. She stop talking, is lonely."

Cyan did not know what words of comfort he could offer, so he offered none. For a time they walked without conversing, busy with their own thoughts. (The castle halls echoed silent like this, but louder was the din of the world outside). He wished Gau had a family to care for him. Even amongst this company, he spoke of loneliness. There were many who were alone in this world...

"Oh, look." Sabin's voice floated back toward them, oddly faint. "I think I see it."

Cyan turned his gaze toward the horizon.

What he saw was a band of white light stretching endlessly across the skyline. Or—no, it was not only light. It was sand, a great cresting wave of it, so white and pure it seemed to cast the sun's rays back into the air.

So this was the great desert of Figaro. Cyan could not suppress the swell of strange emotion that rose in his chest at the sight. He had visited the sand dunes in northern Doma before, but those craggy patches of grey were nothing like this: a true desert, vast and empty and implacable. How could anyone live in such a place?

"There she is," said Edgar, coming to stand next to his brother. "Home sweet home."

Sabin stared at the horizon. "Sure is."

(Home.)

"If any Imperials are trying to track us," said Locke, "they won't be able to hide anymore. No more tree cover or tall grass or caves."

Celes gazed into the distance, eyes hard. "We still need to be careful."

As they came closer to the desert, the grasses gave way to scrubland: dirt and low bushes and spare, scraggly trees. The air warmed and the moisture sizzled out of the air. Everyone partook of more water, and when they came to a small stream they made sure to fill their gourds and canteens. Edgar removed his cloak and gloves and stowed them in his pack, and Locke and Sabin tied their slim jackets around their waists.

But Celes did not remove her armour. Cyan continued to wear his as well.

-0-0-

Sunset was almost too much beauty all at once.

It was too bright. Scudding clouds limned with light and colour hurtled across the sky. Near the sun, the air had turned an impossibly vivid shade of orange-pink, fading to a florid purple across the upper reaches of the aether. Small birds twittered, their voices high and sweet and full of foolish innocence.

(You wrote her three lines of poetry in praise of sunset once; now all beauty is ash; there is no poetry left in you.)

Cyan could sense his companions relaxing their guard, chatting quietly among themselves about inconsequential things as they walked, their pace slow and easy. The air was cooling, the walk was pleasant, they had all of them grown complacent.

But if they would not worry about their path, then he would. He chuffed at the earth with his boot. Sand now, not merely dry dirt. A dry, hostile landscape, where the ground itself wished to slip out from beneath their feet. And it was growing dark-soon the land would be lit by nothing but stars and moon. How far did they have yet to go?

Shading his eyes against the glare, he squinted at the horizon (his eyes were not as they once were), and thought the dark lump in the distance might be castle-shaped.

"I guess that's it, huh?" Sabin's voice was conspicuously cheerful. "Just like I remember it."

"A stone castle in the desert," said Cyan, shaking his head. "I had heard the tales, but I do not think I truly believed in them, until now."

"Uwaaaoooooooohh…"

"Once you visit a few times, you start to get over it," said Locke, "and then you start to wonder what kind of crazy coot runs this place."

"Hey," said Edgar.

Celes' voice came brisk as the cooling night air. "Should we try to brave the desert now? We're in a hurry after all."

They gazed into the long shadows cast by the setting sun.

"We should," said Edgar, after a moment. "I know you're all tired, but this is often the best time to travel. Heat stroke is a real possibility during the day. The night has its own dangers—but we're all young and strong." His gaze drifted to Gau. "And we all made this choice."

"We have no choice," said Locke. "Terra's trail is getting cold."

"Uwaooo," Gau agreed. "She fly, we walk. No can track easily."

Edgar set down his pack and rummaged around in it, pulling out his cloak. He fastened it once more around his shoulders. "Let's push ourselves to make it the oasis before we rest. It'll be another half-day after that to the castle."

"That long?" said Cyan in dismay.

"The castle looks a lot closer than it is."

"A remarkable natural defensive barrier," said Celes.

"If there's no word of Terra in the area," said Sabin, "we should move on pretty quick, right?"

"Yes. We'll travel via the Figaro Special."

"I wish you and Locke would stop hinting at this mode of transportation and just explain this to me," Celes sighed. "What do you mean by that?"

Edgar smiled broadly at her. "We take a little shortcut underground."

"That doesn't explain anything."

"We'll go under the mountains and head to Kohlingen."

"Great," said Locke. "My favourite place."

Edgar's smile became slightly strained. "Well, first let's worry about getting to the castle. If we're lucky, we'll run into a caravan and cut our travel time in half."

"Or, you know, if we're not lucky, we'll run into some sand rays and end our travels immediately."

"Aren't you the optimist, Mister Cole."

"Just call me Mr. Optimist."

Sabin stepped forward, eyes fixed on the grey lump on the horizon. "Let's get going," he said. "No more of this dilly-dallying."

Gau trotted up to Sabin and grabbed his hand. "We go. Faster! No being sad, Mister Thou."

"Okay, okay! No need to yank my arm off. Anyway, Mr. Thou is over there."

"He is Sir Mister Thou. You is Mister Thou."

Sabin let himself be pulled along, but he threw back a grin at Cyan over his shoulder.

"Mr. Thou," Edgar murmured, watching his brother and the boy with an altogether odd look on his face. "Come on, Sir Mister Thou. We'll give Mister Optimist and his lady friend some privacy."

"Excuse me?" said Celes.

"Yeah, shouldn't Celes have a nickname too?" Locke quipped. "'Cause, you know, Edgar has so many. 'The Pervert King' and 'King Crabs' and all that.

"I do not have crabs."

"I will act as rearguard," said Cyan, cutting off their pointless conversation. "Pray walk a little ahead of me, and let me watch for danger from behind."

Edgar nodded. He turned to follow Sabin and Gau. "From now on let's talk more quietly. We'll need to listen for our sand ray friends, and worse."

"Wonderful," said Locke.

-0-0-

Night fell, as it must.

For Cyan it was both a boon and a curse. His padded armour, a boiling prison during the day, shielded him from the worst of the sudden, merciless cold. But the dark was oppressive, and there were too many dangers that could assault them in the strange spaces of the night...

(It was a clouded sky that day too. At first you could not see the patina of oil on the moat; or maybe you told yourself it was nothing, but all along you knew...)

"I should have brought my warmer coat from Narshe," Locke blathered as he rifled through the small pack fastened to his belt. "I always think it's too heavy to bother with, and then I regret it when I get here, inevitably at night."

"Please hurry with the torch," said Celes, who seemed not to feel the cold at all. "We need to be able to see where we're going, not hear about your lack of foresight."

"Now that is cold."

Locke's flint ignited the torch with a fwoosh.

"Let me bring that to the vanguard," said Celes, taking the light from Locke, sparks flying behind her.

"You sure you'll be—"

"I'll help them watch for signs of danger."

"Thank you, Celes," said Edgar. "We'll keep an eye out as well, from back here."

Her cloak snapped crisply behind her.

"Do you think I might be smothering her a little?" said Locke.

"A little," said Edgar.

They walked on.

In the torchlight Cyan could not trust his eyes. Every hint of movement became a monster—or worse, a human—set to strike at them from the dark. The shadows played eerily across the forms of his travel companions.

He trailed behind the group, ears open and alert. He had trained for this sort of soldierly work, though it had been a long time since he had marched anywhere but at the heart of a formation (beside his king, who no longer needed protection). He had grown accustomed to younger soldiers taking the dangerous outer positions, each man and woman in their correct place.

But here in this small group, each person was master only of the self. They did not think so much of rank. And in order to travel with these Returners, Cyan had come to adopt some of their ways. How could he not, in this time of great need, when even the King and Prince of Figaro must wander like vagrants? (How could he not, when Doma and its ways were lost?)

He did not care to wonder whether Celes too might be discomfited by the informality of this company. He preferred not to think of her at all.

"The sand rays should be waking up about now," said Locke to Edgar.

"Cool and dark...an almost moonless night...these are perfect conditions for them to be out and about."

Locke's eyes were scanning the sand diligently. He was not lounging now. "Maybe they won't be hungry tonight."

"They're always hungry, my friend. That's what makes them so loveable."

"When I walked this route with Terra," a wistful note entered Locke's voice, "we got attacked by a whole bunch of them all at once, some of them bigger than me. She burned the hell out them."

"And you didn't figure out right then that she had m-m-m-magic?"

"Shut up, Ed. I was busy trying not to die, and almost delusional with poison."

(The first sign was the oil. Later came the bodies, floating face-down in the purple-black waters...)

"If we see any large groups like that," said Edgar in a more sombre tone, "I'll try to get them at long range with my autocrossbow."

"Yeah. Celes' magic can help too, and my boomerang. But only if we spot them early enough. There's so little moonlight. I've never seen it so cloudy in this desert..."

"The air feels heavy. I think it might actually rain."

"Even better," groaned Locke. "We'll have to be extra cautious. By the way, we don't have many poison antidotes."

"How many?"

"Three doses. I had to practically twist a guy's arm in Narshe to get 'em. And nothing I did could convince them to rent out their chocobos."

"Trade is practically at a standstill. Everyone is spooked by the recent attacks."

"Time to give some inspiring speeches, King Crabs."

"My speeches will be very crabby ones if you keep calling me that."

Locke chuckled. Then, after a moment he said, "We won't be staying long in Kohlingen, will we?"

"I imagine not. However, it will depend on how quickly we can gather information."

"It won't be hard. People in Kohlingen love to gossip." Locke said this with bitter surety. "If one person saw Terra, everyone in town will know it."

"True. That reminds me...before we get there, are you going to tell Celes?"

"Tell her what?" Locke suddenly took on a guarded tone.

"About Rachel."

"Why would I?"

"She can either hear it from you or she can hear it from the gossip around town. Up to you."

"I suppose."

"Best to get it over with all at once," said Edgar, not without sympathy. "Trust me, it's better that way."

"Yeah. Sure."

Cyan, for his part, knew not of what they spoke, but he was sure it was nothing good. Several years ago, the Empire had attacked Kohlingen based on vague rumours of Returner activity. Even in distant Doma, Cyan had heard tales of the brutal interrogations, and senseless slayings…he could not remember all the details, but he knew Figaro negotiated for the Empire's withdrawal in exchange for the signing of a trade agreement. Later, that agreement became a full-fledged alliance.

He wondered if Edgar and Locke met during that time. Perhaps that was why they seemed so strangely close.

"I don't want to stay overnight in Kohlingen, all right?" said Locke in a harsh tone entirely at odds with his usual manner. "Even if you all decide to stay for the night, I'll go camp out in the field."

In the darkness, Edgar's silhouette nodded. "I understand."

"Thanks," said Locke. "As always."

Cyan thought they must have forgotten about his presence. Or perhaps they thought his old ears could not catch their words, or they simply did not care that he heard their private talk. He wished he had not heard. There was something intolerable about their brotherliness. By contrast Edgar and Sabin had been acting oddly distant from one another, and the silence grew louder the closer they came to Figaro Castle.

(You should treasure your family while you can. You should go home again, while you can.)

Alone with his thoughts, Cyan drifted further from the group.

-0-0-

Note: There are actually scientific explanations for why sunsets in the desert are particularly beautiful. Google it!