Can Your Hear the Call of the Wind?

1: Meetings

General Leo coursed a hand through his thick Mohawk of hair as he strolled towards the Emperor’s chamber. His heavy boots sent a resounding beat along the metal gantry as he walked. He was far later than he had anticipated and couldn’t help but feel his liege would be rightly displeased with him. It was the best he could manage though, at such short notice. As he came to the end of the corridor he found his way barred by too most officious sentries.

“I’m here to speak with the Emperor. See that we are not disturbed,” he said standing patiently before them.

“As you command General Leo,” One of the crimson robed Imperial Guards bowed his head in assent. Together they set their hands to and pushed open the double iron doors to admit him to the throne room.

The Emperor was usually to be found alone, save for the usual compliment of Imperial Bodyguards stationed at every corner of the room. And so it was that General Leo, most loyal servant of the Empire, found himself pausing momentarily as he was given access to Vector’s seat of power. The Emperor had no bodyguards with him today, but he was not entirely alone either.

Gestahl was seated upon his steel throne, clad in armour of crimson hue and gold trim. A black cloak was draped across his shoulders. The Emperor was no longer a young man, the strength had long since gone out of his body, but his eyes betrayed an a keen and calculating mind. Sometimes, Leo thought he saw hunger in those eyes, but he never marked it.

The Emperor’s visitor was a girl, but she seemed less a guest and more a sentry on patrol. The girl stood to attention with her hands clasped firmly by her sides. Her was a most captivating shade of green and was tied back behind her head, underneath a simple band of silver. The Emperor seemed barely even aware of her presence, his eyes fixed steadily on Leo as he entered. Leo realised he was staring longer than necessary and looked away berating himself for his rudeness. Whoever the girl was she deserved better than to have an unfamiliar face gawking at her. He approached the Emperor and went to one knee before his liege. Gestahl looked pleased as he lounged back in his throne, gesturing with his left hand for Leo to rise.

“Ah, Leo. I trust your journey back from the East was a pleasant one?” he inquired in a genuinely interested tone.

“Yes my Emperor and I can faithfully report to you that the construction of the Military base to the east is proceeding well ahead of schedule. I left command of the operation in the hands of Captain Ordis; a competent man who I’m certain will not fail you, however…”

“However, you are wondering why I asked you to return before the base was completed?” Indeed, Leo had been wondering that very thing ever since he had been recalled. He was certain he had nothing to displease his master; however there were those who among the hierarchy of the Empire who loved him not. It proved wise to be wary of hidden knives behind their smiles.

The Emperor smiled indulgently at Leo’s polite silence. “I have a more pressing concern for you to take care of Leo. It is something I am most anxious to uncover. Something that I believe will lend us the key to unlocking the secrets of the Magi.”

The ill fated Magi. Ashes in the wind of time. Only a fool would seek to possess that deadly power and yet…the Emperor’s wisdom was boundless.

“I take it then, that Professor Cid’s advances in the manufacture of Magitek weapons are still encountering problems?” Leo’s grasp of science was confined to the use of weapons and their strategic consequences. Still, Vector’s emergence as the ultimate super power was of great concern to him.

The Emperor shifted uncomfortably in his chair and spared a minimal glance to the silent, but comely girl to his right. Leo was certain he had seen her before somewhere, but the memory evaded him. She seemed as lifeless as a doll.

“Administration of that project has been handed over to General Kefka. I’ve decided that Cid is too…restrained in his methods. We are in a war against time and I have no time for sermonising scientists. Besides he’s much better served studying the Gate specimens.”

Kefka? That took Leo back a pace. Giving command of a legion to that former guinea pig had been one thing, but allowing him to take over the Magitek facility? Professor Cid was a legend in the field of ancient studies. To be usurped in such a way must have been truly gruelling. Still, it was the will of the Emperor and the will of the Emperor worth more than an old mans pride.

Leo chose his words carefully. “So, we are still a long way from achieving your dream my Emperor.”

A strange look passed over the Emperor’s face. “Oh? Perhaps. Perhaps not. The weapons of the Magi were many and numerous. Our history is steeped in mythology and legends echoing back to that dark period. It was one such legend that led me to the east all those years ago…where I first beheld the magnificent potency of magic. Where I had but a brief taste of that forbidden ambrosia. But I was denied and left with…” Again his eyes strayed to the girl, but in an instant they were fixed square on Leo again. “Since that day I have had my agents going over every folk tale, every ancient legend leading all the way back to before the fall of ancient Figaro.”

Leo was surprised to hear this from his Emperor’s own mouth. Widely it was whispered that the Emperor spent many a sleepless night poring over ancient texts and chasing after fairy tales in his dreams. Since his boyhood, the Magi had been his obsession, now he was on the verge of succeeding them.

“And now you believe you have found something?”

“Yes! Just days ago, we received word via carrier pigeon that a merchant prince by the name of Rostov Carlusso was holding court in Jidoor. The prince has fallen on hard times of late and yet he claims to have discovered several artefacts of historical importance. Now, these facts alone were of no real interest to me, but I was informed that in order to save his fortune the prince decided to auction most of these artefacts off to the highest bidder. Most of it was reportedly junk, though there was one item that attracted the attention of my spies. A scroll. The auctioneer claimed it was hand written in blood. To be more specific it was the blood of a creature that has not walked this world in many a century.”

An Esper. Can Esper’s bleed and die like men?

“Then I take it your men tried to purchase this scroll?”

The Emperor’s mood darkened. “They did, but the fools stepped in with an offer so ridiculously high that the prince immediately became suspicious. He cancelled the auction and made to leave. Probably he had no idea of what he had until that very moment.”

Leo was well aware of the edict Gesthal gave his agents. They were his eyes and ears, but when it became necessary, they were his knives as well.

“They tried to take the scroll from the prince.” Leo could already guess at what had transpired.

“Yes, but he was amazingly well skilled with a blade and took flight before my men could lay a finger on him. They did manage to lay hands upon the scroll however, before the prince laid his blade across them. One was able to tear an unmarked corner of the scroll from the prince’s grasp. Finding no trace of the escaped Prince they bore it back to me.”

“And?”

“I had Cid analyse it’s composition. The parchment is over 1000 years old,” the Emperor smiled, barely able to contain his excitement.

One thousand years. The war of the Magi.

“Yes Leo, this is a text that predates the ancient war, it is written in the blood of an Esper. Do you have any idea how many writings we have from before the great cataclysm?”

He did. “None.”

“Then you see how important this scroll could be to me. To the Empire. Leo, I want you to find this Prince Rostov, retrieve that scroll and find out whatever secrets it holds.”

“You wish me to take a legion of troops and scour the lands surrounding Jidoor?”

“No,” he said abruptly, “I do not wish that at all. If I wanted to attract such attention then the city of Jidoor would be burning as we speak. We are at a critical stage in our build up for the war Leo. Kefka believes he is only months away from perfecting a fully stable Magitek engine. Once we begin mass production, not a nation on this planet can stand against us. This pretty young thing here is another even more powerful weapon, that I cannot wait to see the potential of.”

Leo’s eye’s flicked back to the girl in bewilderment. She was a weapon? But, she was just a girl, a human being. How could the Emperor believe that a living person was just a tool? Leo did not even view his soldiers with such impassionate ideas. His Emperor’s words drew him back.

“However…if our enemies should gain the same advantage we have, if they should learn just what we uncovered in the east all those years ago, they might unite against us and all of Vector would be laid waste. We can not allow that to happen Leo.”

“No my liege,” Leo saw now his Emperor’s purpose in summoning him here, “I understand. You wish me to go alone. The hand of the Empire must not seen in this.”

“Yes Leo, you are correct. These spies have failed me for the last time. I need a man of unbridled worth, one who will not flinch in his duty. Leo, you are my greatest warrior. You are the only one I can trust. Go and bring me back this tribute. Serve you Empire with pride,” the authority in the Emperor’s voice was absolute.

“As you command Emperor,” but Leo had a nagging concern he needed to raise, “However, I may well need to employ others in this endeavour. I have no skill in understanding ancient texts and finding one man alone may prove difficult.”

“Make use of whatever resources you believe necessary. Just remember, there must be no trace leading back the Empire.”

“I swear by my sword it shall be done. Farewell my lord.” He rose to leave and strode back towards the entrance. Without knowing why, he spared one final glance for the Emperor’s weapon. She returned his stare as coldly as a corpse. The sadness of her existence would hang on his heart for some time.

***

“That’s him over there,” A harsh voice muttered, “You a friend a his? Cause let me tell ya’ he’s got one hell of a bar tab to pay off!”

Locke groped blindly at the tables edge in an effort to give his head the balance he needed to lift it off the table, but failed miserably. He knew they were talking about him, since everyone else had left the pub hours ago and he kind of recognised the rank distaste in the barkeeps voice whenever he spoke to or about him.

Must be those museum guys. I knew they wouldn’t sit quiet for long. They want to know what happened to their investments. He felt his forehead crease in puzzlement, Hey, am I in a pub?

Locke’s recollections of the previous night came in fits and starts. So far he was able to satisfy himself with the excess and stupidity of his drinking without having to come to terms with the fact that he had been miserable enough to do so. The anvil tap dancing inside his skull was a very useful aid in this.

“My thanks. I will see that your expenses are covered.”

“Whatever guy, he’s all yours.”

Gee, what a nice guy. Now maybe I can get back to sleep and deal with all this in the morning. Hey wait, did I sleep on a table last night?

“Locke Cole?”

The barely audible groan of despair was the best Locke could manage as any form of assent at that time. Really this was a little more excitement than he was used to at this hour of the day…which ever hour that was exactly.

“Mr Cole? Are you well?” there was real concern in the voice.

Focusing on the voices was too much of an effort. He found himself drifting back, away from the searing agony of being awake. The voices became muffled noises once more. Somewhere the two men were speaking again. He didn’t care. He was comfortable here with his dreams. His dreams.

Something wet and colder than death drenched his face, seeping awareness in to his every beer soaked pore. The wave of shock jolted him awake in splutter of indignation and bewilderment. Someone had sat him upright in his chair and he found himself looking down at a man shaped imprint in the stale residue of what ever he had been pouring down his throat for the past three days. The barkeep was stood over him with an empty jug in his hands and look on his face that was just too satisfied for his own good. Someone else had seated himself in the chair across him. He couldn’t have been much older than Locke, dressed in a plain leather jerkin and with a thick red woollen cloak over his shoulders. An iron helm covered the top of his head and ran a shadow over his green eyes. Whoever he was he was nobody that Locke had ever seen before, but he had a quiet air about him that Locke could always associate with consummate fighting men. This guy had probably been hired by the museum guys to come and kick his butt. He was a big guy too, which didn’t really help the situation any.

Well, at any rate, at least he can’t make me feel any worse than I do now.

“Good morning.” Said the man politely, though Locke couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he had already displeased him in some way.

“Is it?” His voice was little more than a croak. He might as well have been pouring sand down his gullet last night. He swallowed heavily and attempted to dismiss the sudden need to retch.

“Well, I suppose that depends on your point of view. I’ve come here with a proposition for you Mr Cole, I had hoped to find you in a more conscious state, but I suppose this will have to do. You are a hard man to find.”

“But I’m easy to lose. Sorry it took you so long, but I didn’t exactly plan on having anyone come look for me. So, we gonna get this over with or what?”

“What exactly are we supposed to be getting over with? Mr Cole, I came here to hire you for a job. In fact I was hoping to recruit you.”

Well, that was a bit unexpected.

“You…look, I’m sorry, I thought you were…it doesn’t matter. Let’s just start over.”

The man rubbed a hand along his roughly shaven chin and shrugged. “Why don’t we start with you saying whether or not you’re interested in my hiring you?”

“You say you want to hire me? Look pal, I’m sorry if whoever you’ve been speaking to has wasted your time, but I think you have the wrong guy. What ever it is you think I do, I don’t do it any more. Period.”

“You are Locke Cole of Kohlingen?”

Locke looked away from the stranger and suddenly found that he wanted nothing more than to retch his living guts out in the street. The man’s considering gaze drew him back. “I haven’t been to Kohlingen in almost three years.”

“I know. That was my first port of call as it happens.”

“Then you know…that I don’t…I’m not in that business anymore.”

“I have no interest in your personal details. All I know is that where Treasure Hunting is concerned, you’re one of the best. I’d like to put that to the test.”

“Treasure hunter?” Locke’s voice rose in disbelief, “Don’t make me laugh. I’m nothing more than a worthless thief. Worthless.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. I need to find something Mr Cole. Something of great worth. An artefact that has survived through the ages, dating back to before the Great War.”

Something pulled inside Locke at that. He wasn’t sure if it was pain or hope. “Artefact? What kind of artefact?”

The man shrugged. “Is that so important?”

“It might be,” he considered for a second, “No, I guess not. You gonna pay me for this?”

The man smiled to himself. “Most certainly, if money is all that you wish. Like I said earlier though, I also wanted to recruit you. I was hoping that when you hear the specifics, you’d agree to join us full time.”

“And save yourself a few extra pennies? Whatever. So who are you guys anyway?”

The man in the red cloak looked suitably abashed “Of course, I haven’t introduced myself yet. My apologies. My name’s Alton Marche. I work for the Returner’s.”

“Returner’s?” What did a resistance group want with him? “You want me to help you fight the Empire?”

“Yes, Mr Cole, we’d like that very much indeed. So what do you say? Do we have a deal?” Alton extended his hand across the table towards Locke. It was tough looking hand, the skin worn by a life of constant toil. It was the kind of hand you could trust.

Locke met Alton’s eyes. Despite his hatred of the Empire he had never really given any thought to joining the revolution. For the past three years he had devoted himself to searching for the only thing that mattered to him anymore. But he had failed, just as he had failed…her so many times before. What did he really have anymore?

“Okay, yeah, I’ll do it. But not for free mind you. We can work out the details later. First, I got to find me a bath somewhere.” He shook Alton’s hand who smiled with sincere humour.

“That, I think, we can both agree upon right now.”

Locke couldn’t help but laugh, despite the spasm of pain it sent through his guts. This Alton Marche was alright, but he wasn’t about to talk Locke in to jumping on the band wagon. He’d do this job and take the money and be happy. It was easier to feel that way than thinking about his real reasons for shaking Mr radical’s hand.

“So, when do we leave?”

“As soon as possible. We need to get to Jidoor,” Alton pushed his chair back from the table and got up, “Another man I wish to hire is there and possibly our quarry as well if the fates are with us.”

“Quarry? I thought you wanted me to help you find an relic of some kind?”

“I do. But first we must find the man who holds it.”

***

It was necessary to book passage on a ferry out of Nikeah, once Locke was ready to leave. It would not be cheap, especially as the Captain would doubtlessly ask for a higher feet to drop them of the coast of Jidoor.

Leo was somewhat unsure of his newly acquired companion. True, he had little to go on so far other than that the man poured his need for solace in to keg of wine each night. He was uncomfortable with the pretence he had constructed to pass himself of as a Returner to Locke, but considering the situation it made perfect sense. From what he had heard in Kohlingen, the man had little reason to love the Empire. From the sound of things Locke Cole was the man to turn to when in the business of acquiring rare antiquities and for that reason Leo was determined to have him. Introducing himself as member to a party opposed to the consolidation of power in Vector seemed like the reasonable thing to do and layering it under the façade that this was all part of a move to recruit only served to sweeten the lie.

When Locke finally came to meet him on the docks, Leo found himself rather shocked that there had been an eager and energetic young man hiding behind the self piteous drunk he had met that morning. Locke had taken the trouble of shaving the morning shadow from the lower half of his face and dressed in far more practical attire for a long journey. He wore an eight inch blade in black leather sheath at his belt and had a traveller’s pack slung over one shoulder.

“We all set to go?” he asked adjusting a tight fitting bandana around his head.

“Pretty much,” he looked Locke up and down considering, “You cleaned yourself up pretty quickly.”

“Hey, I when I travel, I like to be in firm frame of mind and have everything I need to hand. Since you’ve told me next to nothing about this whole deal I had to assume every last possibility. Including the eventuality that you might require me to cross reference some charming and sweet ladies along the way. You can’t go in to these kinds of thing unprepared.

“Quite. Shall we get on board? We’ve got a good week’s journey ahead of us.”

“Lead the way.”

And so he did and the journey had begun at last.

***

Jidoor was cold and wet this time of year. It was still pretty lively, but it was cold.

“It’s getting late. You sure this is where we were supposed to meet this guy?” asked Locke an edge of irritation working its way in to his voice. Their long week at sea had been queasy at best. A ponderous storm had followed them all the way from Nikeah.

Leo took a deep breath of the chilled night air. The moon had long since risen and his legs felt sore from the hours of waiting. It had been a long journey beforehand, but he would not go seeking the luxury of an inn until his business in Jidoor was completed. Time was already against him on this.

Leo sighed. “About that. When I said we were here to meet a man, I did not intend for you to think that I had actually arranged a meeting. From what I was lead to believe, this is the sort of man who will find us, once he learns of our interest.”

Locked let out a short exclamation of breath in disbelief and shook his head “You’re kidding me right? We’ve been standing here for the past four hours in the cold dampness of sunny Jidoor and now you tell me there’s no actual guarantee this guy may be coming? Brilliant! That’s just the most fantastic thing I’ve ever heard,” he paused to kick an offending pebble in to the gutter. “This guy better be worth it.”

“He is,” a dry voice, jagged and cold like the edge of ice rang out from the darkness behind them.

Leo’s hand was on his sword hilt as he spun in alarm, while Locke mouthed a curse under his breath that anyone had been able to sneak up on them so easily. Leo had to admit, that he had been none the wiser either. This man was everything they had said he would be, a shadow.

“You’ve come a long way,” Shadow said matter-of-factly. How much this Shadow knew of their mission or even their identities, Leo was not willing to gamble on. Caution made him keep his hand clamped firmly a top his sword. With a determined grace that was as much refined as it was intimidating, Shadow emerged from his cranny in the gloom. He was wrapped head to toe, in a tar coloured ninja garb, an antiquated golden helm resting just above his eyes.

“Yes,” said Leo guardedly “with good reason I hope. You must be Shadow. My name is Alton Marche and this is Locke Cole. Margrill of Tzen spoke very highly of you.”

“You have further yet to go, before you can claim the rest you hanker after. The man you want is no longer in Jidoor.” As Shadow spoke a fierce brown hound stalked from the alley behind him. Lithe, yet powerful looking it stared at them with open animal aggression. From the way Shadow barely acknowledged it, Leo surmised it belonged to him. They seemed to share a common disposition.

“You’ve seen this guy Rostov then?” asked Locke.

Shadow inclined his head to stare at Locke as if he had only just deigned to admit he was there. “No,” he said simply, “Had I seen him, he would still be here. There’s a lot of interest floating about for one fat prince.” He turned his gaze back towards Leo. “Even before you arrived, there was talk of a reward.”

That was of a surprise to Leo. “Indeed? By whom exactly?”

“I don’t know.” And that it seemed was that. If nothing else this assassin was abrupt.

“So what? You said the Empire was after Rostov too, right Alton? Seems to me that if they want this scroll of his is so important to them, they’d be putting the feelers out for him.”

Yes, indeed. That would be us then. It must be someone else. But then who else could have an interest in this artefact? Imperial security must truly be in disarray for such a leak to occur.

“Shadow, you said we still had a way to go. I assume that means that you already know where, Rostov is headed?” he queried.

“Where do all men go, when they wish to be forgotten? We’ll find Rostov hiding amongst the human sewage of Zozo. I imagine want time to stop and rest, but I’m afraid there’s no option of that. If we wish to catch him we must leave now.” Shadow regarded him intently, awaiting his response.

“You don’t think he’s looking to stay in Zozo full time?” asked Locke.

“No. He’s frightened, weak. He lacks direction and resolve. However he is bound by purpose. If we wait too long, then Rostov will be gone and his trail with him.”

Leo certainly couldn’t allow for that. “Very well. Weary as I am, I see no choice, but to follow your wisdom. Even so, it may benefit us to…”

“Alton! Get off the street, there’s Imperials coming this way!” Yelled Locke as he backed away in to a side street.

What?!

“Imperial troops? What are they even doing on this continent? I had no…” Leo’s mind was a spiralling hex of confusions.

“Hey Alton,” whispered Locke hotly from his hiding place, “last time I checked, the Empire doesn’t take to kindly to Returner spies. Do you want to arouse suspicion?”

Leo threw a startled look in Locke’s direction, only then realising how foolish he had almost been. Shadow had already blended out of plain sight, his uncourteous dog in tow. The general backed under a stone archway, just as an Imperial strike battalion marched by. The ground trembled under the heavy steps of a Heavy Magitek suit bringing up the rear, its lumbering metal frame gushing steam as it rumbled by. The ruckus they caused on their way sent many townspeople fleeing in sudden terror. Probably most of them had never even seen Magitek armour before. Leo had, only…

Only it was still only in the design stages. Those divisions that are up and running are reserved for priority missions only. That they were here for precisely the same reasons as Leo he was certain. Only the Emperor could order such a thing, but this is precisely what he wished to avoid. Something is not right here…perhaps Kefka.

Leo had never had cause to like or trust the Mage-Knight Kefka, but surely even he would not stoop to treason. There was no other that Leo could even think was capable of such foolishness however. This would bear considerable scrutiny when he returned to Vector. Until then…

“We should get moving.” Leo spoke in to the darkness, knowing his two companions would hear. “If those forces learn the whereabouts of the Prince as we have, then we will have even less time to spare. We have to reach Zozo now.” He watched as the battalion rounded a corner in the street up ahead and disappeared from sight.

“Alton what was that thing?” asked Locke in a low voice.

“Some new weapon of the Empire’s perhaps. Whatever they are they’re dangerous, we should avoid them,” Leo said trying not to sound too dismissive.

“If we face them, we will have to kill them.” Said Shadow, re-emerging. He spoke with a chilling certainty and the way he regarded Leo then unsettled him.

I will not kill those whose only edict is to serve the Emperor, he told himself. And yet…if they are here against the Emperor’s behest, if their actions prevent me from completing my mission, I will have no choice.

“Easier said than done,” said Locke, “Personally, I’m not so eager to get myself killed. Now, what’s the fastest way to Zozo?”

“By Chocobo, it’s a long way around the mountains on foot.”

“Very well. The ranch stood still be open at this hour,” said Leo. Warily he left the safety of the archway and went in search of the ranch.

2: Zozo by morning, mountains by afternoon.

It took up the rest of the evening and the early hours of next morning to reach Zozo. Chocobo’s were as fast as any land based creature at a full run, but they didn’t cope so well in the dark. Their mounts were skittish the whole way and the onset of the mountains on either side seemed to make them even more nervous. They didn’t fill Locke with too much elation either.

It must have been about seven or eight in the morning by the time they reached the outskirts of Zozo. That was Locke’s best guess, given that Zozo seemed to sit underneath an almost preternatural murk. Grim clouds obscured the early glow of the sun, dropping the rain in fine blustering sheets. Locke's jacket and the seat of his pants were soaked through as he dismounted. Grimacing in disgust he pulled the bandana from his head at wrung it dry. It annoyed him that so far he knew very little about what exactly this scroll was or did. What little Alton had told him had barely been enough to peak his interest. He was interested to see though. Interested and more than a little expectant.

Heck, probably even he doesn’t know and we’re just off on some wild chocobo chase.

He sure had been spooked on seeing those Imperial troops though. If this scroll was as important as he said it was, then Alton seemed determined to keep it out of the Empire’s hands. That hulking war machine had been something else though. How did the Empire even know how to build such things? It was a question that made him realize just how little he truly knew about the Empire.

Shadow hadn’t said more than two words since their departure from Jidoor. Locke had heard the stories of course, the rumours and the dark evil myths. None of that had really quite prepared him for the reality behind the myth though. He had just appeared out of nowhere like some sort of mummified scarecrow, wrapped in black silk, with eye’s that burned in to you with their coldness. Even when the ninja’s attention was elsewhere, Locke felt like he was being watched. All men who had heard of him knew Shadow as a murderer, a man who was good at one thing alone and got paid very well for it. His morals and methods were the stuff of living nightmares. What the Returner’s were thinking hiring such a man, Locke had no idea.

This is not right. There’s more to this than Alton’s telling me. Alton. Heh, that’s probably not even his real name.

The Returners were a secretive bunch alright. Even amongst the lowly underworld they were only whispered about. Their leader went by the name Baron or Gannon or something like that. A pretty shrewd guy by the sound of it. The Empire had offered a rather sizeable reward for any information leading to the discovery and capture of any Returners. They were undoubtedly a massive deal to Gestahl and his cronies.

“Thief, try not to make so much noise. I don’t wish to attract undue attention.” Hissed Shadow as they gingerly approached the cobbled streets of the crippled city.

Locke wasn’t aware that he was making any noise at all as they crept towards the squat outer buildings of Zozo. “Thief?” he spat indignantly, “Watch it smartass, I’m no thief okay!” Locke whispered back harshly.

Shadow snorted indifferently “Oh? Perhaps I was mistaken. If you aren’t a thief then what are you exactly?”

So, that’s how its gonna be huh?

“I’ll have you know, I’m a…”

“Enough, both of you.” Alton spoke with a quiet authority that seemed insensible to disobedience. Locke shook his head in frustration, but he kept quiet. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to see what happened when Alton didn’t get his own way.

Bathed in the sombre morning light that tenderly reached it’s way through the clouds, Zozo began to take shape. In bolder times, Zozo had been something of a resort town, its hotels and casino’s attracting the richest clientele from as far as Vector. The looming old monolithic shells that now sketched out a rugged outline against the mountainside were all that remained of its former glory. Zozo was no longer what you would call a city in the strictest sense. It was a dark hole for the slime of humanity to pour down and disappear. There was no law in Zozo, no society. No respect for human life. It was probably as close to hell on earth as you could get.

Every building they passed was either burnt out or getting ready to fall. There were signs of habitation in some of them. Assorted pieces of rubbish here, the long perished remains of a fire there, the scattered remnants of gnarled bones. Something lived within this sorry town.

They didn’t see too many people in the open air. There were bodies of people, left to rot where they fell. The three men kept their distance from those. They heard voices, from within some of the larger buildings, raised in anger and wicked mirth. Locke thought the wind almost sounded like a long continuous scream. It was a disturbing thought he tried with great effort to wrench from his mind.

“Over there,” said Shadow, indicating a building at the end of the main street. It was a good three stories high and was half sunken in to the ground on one side, giving it an uneven slant. A doorless entrance led in to the smoky dimness within.

“How can you be so sure?” Asked Leo.

“Interceptor knows. Something about that building is not right.” Shadow replied simply. Shadow’s dog emitted a small whine as it passed close by his leg and then suddenly it darted off down an alley as if on a whim.

“We’re taking directions from your dumb dog now? What, do you two have some kind of secret language or something? Do you enjoy talking to your dog, assassin man?”

“Better than I do some dumb humans, I’d say. If we’re going in there, I go first, Alton second and the thief can bring up the rear.”

“You are expecting resistance?” Alton seemed vaguely unsettled by that. “Fine, try to keep the casualties to a minimum and don’t harm Rostov. We may need him.”

“Fine by me. You’re the one paying the bill,” Shadow turned away and walked furtively towards the entranceway.

“Hey, wait a second!” Locke wasn’t sure he liked where this was leading.

“Are you coming? Or do you wish to remain outside and guard the buildings?”

Shadow was already making his way inside by the time Locke had come up with something to yell at his back, but by then he realised how ridiculous he seemed.

Wonderful. Just peachy.

They always said Zozo wasn’t a pretty town. They said it tended to bring out the worst in people. Locke was pretty damn sure he agreed with that statement.

***

Someone was having a party. That much was obvious to Leo as he made his way down the dimly lit passage with only the hazy outline of Shadow as a guide. The ribald shouts coupled with the ponderous din that probably passed for music in Zozo were factors in realizing that insight. What the people of Zozo would have to celebrate was entirely beyond him however. This was a forsaken place, crying out for the Empire’s iron salvation. When the war was done he would see that places like Zozo received the scrutiny they deserved.

He watched Shadow enter the room first, passing through a grimy cloth that hung to cover the entrance. The shouts, music and indeed any other sound that had been coming from the room came to a very abrupt end. Leo waited instinctively, listening to the silence, trying to gauge what sort of reaction Shadow had provoked. Seconds passed like hours and then finally the void was filled by the familiar voice of Shadow, unphased and precise.

“Where is Rostov?”

“Who the hell d’ya think you are?” Demanded a surly growl. “You think you can walk in here uninvited? Men die real quick where they’re not welcome.”

Leo held his breath. This was not what he wanted to have to deal with now.

“Where is Rostov?” Shadow asked again.

“Skinny runt! Better run home while you still have toes,” another voice chipped in.

“We’re gonna have some fun with you now, oh yes my boys like the look of you.” The first voice said again his every word promising hurt.

“Where is-“

“That’s a fancy knife you got there boy. Think you’re gonna enjoy it when I poke it up your – URK!”

Leo’s sword was drawn even as he entered the room, pulling aside the rotten cloth and brandishing the blade before him. He had expected to find Shadow surrounded by foes, but instead the men he found inside were backed against the walls, their faces a mixture of outrage and terminal distress. Shadow stood calmly in the centre of the room, astride an overturned table. At the end of his outstretched arm a man stood ridged, Shadow’s fingers placed about his neck in a contorted grip. Shadow’s other hand was positioned with a sleek blade at about the level of the ruffians crotch. Shadow speared Leo a curious half glance and then proceeded to scan the rest of the room’s occupants. Eventually his eyes came back to rest on the gradually whitening face of the man he held.

“Where is Rostov?” He asked again and this time there was something about his tone that suggested he wasn’t going to ask again.

He was a big, well built man, his broad shoulders nearly matching Leo’s. Spittle ran down his thick black beard as he coughed out each word. “B-ba-ACK…back room…he’s in the…back room!”

“Is he alone?”

“I…I don’t…”

Shadow pulled the man closer and for a second Leo thought he was about to run him through, but instead the assassin drew his blade aside and delivered a sharp downward kick on the man’s leg. Leo heard the bone crack and watched as the leg took on an entirely new and sickening angle. Shadow’s hostage screamed in agony, but the assassin held him tightly by the throat and would not let him fall.

“Is he alone?”

“No. He…he was talkin’ to someone…I heard his voice…” the man was practically in tears.

At last Shadow let his would be attacker drop in to a crumpled mewling heap. He flipped the knife in his hand and carefully replaced it in a sheath under his belt. He stepped over and crossed to the door at the far side of the room. Leo followed, making sure to keep his sword up at all times and pointed at the brigands friends. They glowered back at him, common thugs dressed in tattered rags. Locke made his way tentatively though the broken archway, his own knife drawn. He didn’t seem to surprised at what he found there, but he was just as curious as Leo as he surveyed the rest of the scurvy band that glared back at them.

“I suggest you gentlemen leave here now. We’re not here to make a social call.”

“You guys are gonna pay for this!” a scrawny rat of a man with a pox ridden neck spat at them.

“Hey!” said Locke tapping the brutes head with the flat of his knife. “Play nice. We don’t give a half gil what you fella’s do. We just came for Rostov.”

“Take him then! And get out!” the man demanded, even as the rest of the crew slowly backed away towards the entrance.

***

A single lamp set on an oaken table illuminated Rostov’s room. It had at some point been an old store house. Broken crates and barrels were piled in to a dingy corner, possibly to make way for a couple of ancient bookshelves and a makeshift bed. The stench of sour wine permeated the air. There was another smell in the room, it smelt like dead flesh.

The table more or less dominated the centre of the weakly lit room. The single source of light, a gas lamp, left to burn low until the fuel was all but gone. It was difficult for one to make out the full dimensions of the room in such gloom, but Shadow did not need to see to know that he was not alone.

The others moved in to the room to stand behind him. He gave them credit for their caution. Not everything was as it appeared.

“Who iiiiiissss iiiiiiitttt?” The voice was wavery and thin. Shadow tried to pinpoint its source, but was unsuccessful. Every instinct he had told him to leave at once. There was a charged aspect to the air that he did not trust to.

“Prince Carlusso?” Alton inquired of the empty room.

“Hehehe. Final thoughts. They are of me. How touching…touch…I touch and…”

“Prince Rostov Carlusso? We have no wish to harm you. If you comply with our wishes, I’m certain we can reach an agreement. We are no thieves.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” muttered Locke under his breath.

“Thieves? I know no thieves.” The was something indistinct about the princes voice. He seemed unable to maintain any semblance of pattern in his speech. “Oh no. Only one. Singular. Only the great thief. The taker of all. COME NO CLOSER!”

None of them had even moved. Shadow eased his curved blade back in to his palm. If Alton wanted the prince alive that was all well and good, but he would not let that come before his own self preservation. That waste of air in the other room had said Rostov was not alone, but if there were others here they had yet to reveal themselves.

“Careful, this man is dangerous,” Alton whispered at his side.

If he is still a man as you say.

“Your disturbance is most unappreciated. One does not usually accept guests at this hour. I do not crave company, not air or the comfort of flesh. Who are you to come here and take my privacy so rudely?”

“Enough,” Shadow’s patience had expired itself. “Show yourself. You can give me the scroll or I can take it from you.” Shadow stepped forward in to the light.

There. Just in the corner. I can just make out a man shape.

“Scroll? You mean this!?” He dropped from above, landing catlike on the oak table and knocking the lamp in to the far corner. It shattered on impact and spilled liquid flame on to the surrounding wood, paper and discarded wine. The fire was raging in less than an instant, it’s flickering glare revealing Rostov in all his glory.

Rostov was dressed much like the general nobility of Jidoor. He wore a black and tattered waistcoat over a white shirt with a simple red cravat tucked underneath. His brown hair was tied back from his head in a tail and his face…Perhaps it was the dancing and inconsistent shadows, but his face was like a mask of skin laid over his skull, as if the flesh and muscle had just dissolved. Tears of blood rained down from where his eyes had been torn form their sockets to reveal twin pools of darkness beyond. In one thickly veined hand he clasped the scroll, crushing it tightly within his fist. His mouth opened in a rictus of a grin.

“You want this?” he hissed. “You think that by looking upon it’s majesty you can become pure don’t you? You’re too late. The old power has chosen me as its salvation. It’s going to be glorious You’re all invited of course!”

“By all the god’s,” whispered Leo. Is this the legacy of the Magi?”

“Magi?” Locke whispered in awe, not daring tear his eyes away from Rostov’s grisly appearance. “What are you talking about?”

“That scroll…I was told it held a secret…nothing more than that. What in god’s name has it done to him?”

“It’s made him a dead man.” Shadow rolled to one side and swept his arm forward sending the knife in his hand on a direct course with Rostov’s heart. Moving faster than Shadow would have believed a man capable, the prince slapped the blade form the air and sent it spinning end over end in to the growing flames.

“You want this meaningless scrap of nothing?” Rostov tittered like a malevolent child. “It will not speak to you. Such a fascination of mine it became, when I saw the devils come to claim it. I looked upon those words. The stain of unnatural life, soaked in to ancient parchment. There is a great power in words. It can open your eyes. When it opened mine, I couldn’t close them again, so I ate them instead. That didn’t work either.”

“Alton, we have to get out or we’ll be crispy critters along with psycho jockey here,” Locke backed steadily away from the approaching flames.

“Demon! You will give that scroll!” Alton flashed his sword before like he knew how to use it and advanced on Rostov. “I promise you your death will be swift and your passing a relief.”

“I spit on your death. Feel mine!” Rostov kicked the sword from Alton’s grip and flew down from the table in a rage. With a single blow he sent the Returner flying backwards across the room to smashing in to Locke as he did so. Locke fell back against the wall and cried out in pain while Alton fell senseless to the floor. Rostov snarled like a savage beast as he stalked forward to finish his prey.

Shadow moved to block his way and suddenly the demonic prince had a silver dirk jutting from chest. He did not seem to even notice and swung his fist with brutish vigour to try and stave the ninja’s head in. It was all Shadow could do to avoid the prince’s wild blows, weaving in and out of the mad man’s reach he snatched back his knife from where it stood and drew it across the prince’s throat. Rostov gave a gargling laugh as blood filled his mouth and caught Shadow by the arm. Before he could even think to try and free himself the prince struck him hard with an up hand blow that sent him reeling back over the table. He sprawled backwards and felt his back grow hot as the table began to burn as well.

Black smoke stung his eyes, but he couldn’t afford to hesitate. Rolling off the table’s edge he was just in time to watch it splinter in two under the force of Rostov’s descending fist.

He’s strong. Stronger than a man should be.

He felt under his belt for one his more decisive instruments. A brace of shuriken’s dipped in harpy poison would do the deed. More than enough to bring down anything that lived. If Rostov could still be considered living that was. The prince cast aside the pitiful remains of the table and closed in on where Shadow knelt, reaching to his sword belt as he did so. Rostov still had his sword it seemed and Shadow doubted he had forgotten how to use it.

Sweeping it free of his scabbard he lunged at Shadow who danced away two steps and balanced back on the balls of his feet. The stars were already there in his hands. All he needed do was lie wait for an opening and then hurl them straight.

“Get down you fool!” Was all the warning he had as Locke barrelled in to him and threw the both of them to the floor.

That’s it, Shadow thought, I’m going to die and it’s because some idiot thief thought he was saving my life. If I could remember how I’d be pretty enraged by now.

***

Leo staggered to his feet, his every sense still ringing from the force with which he had been thrown across the room. Cursing under his breath he laid a hand upon his head and winced with feeling. He was not one to brag too highly of his skills, but it was a plain simple fact that he was not a weak man. However, Rostov had knocked him away like a rag doll.

Is this the power of magic? No. Even Mage-Knights are still bound by the realities of flesh and bone.

He tried to search for the mad prince through the flames, but could make out only shapes billowing against the smoke. Two of the shapes were fighting; another was edging around to the other side of the room. Leo reasserted his priorities and searched vainly for what had become of his sword. It was a simple traveller’s blade, nothing more, but it would be enough to do in Rostov.

With bare seconds to spare he gave up on the sword entirely and reached for the next closest thing likely to inflict maximum violence. A big flaming stick that was as yet only half on fire. Grasping it tightly in both hands by the unburnt but still relatively scorching end he whirled it back behind his head and attempted to pick out Rostov amidst the chaos.

The two who were fighting, broke apart suddenly and Leo saw one of the two draw a sword. As if on cue the smoke parted to reveal his intended target about to move in and run Shadow through with his fine Doman sword. Locke he saw was pressed with back against the wall and was keeping himself low while looking for a chance to make a move on Rostov, but on seeing Leo he changed his tack entirely and dived towards Shadow instead. Seeing the two of them go down, Leo clenched his teeth and heaved the stick with all his strength at Rostov’s hunched shoulders.

It exploded pretty much on impact, earning an enraged cry from Rostov as well as serving to jar the possessed nobleman off his feet. He stumbled drunkenly sideways and then toppled with a cry in the flames. He took light almost immediately his frenzied screams coming out in an abhorrent mixture of horror and anger. He writhed about like many limbed insect as the blaze ate away at his unclean flesh. Leo cut a path through the smoke and made his way over to his companions who still sprawled in a most uncomfortable looking position on the floor.

“Are you okay?” he asked with genuine alarm.

“I am always okay,” grumbled Shadow as he dragged himself out from under Locke. “I could have squashed that fleas with ease. That was unnecessary.”

“Saving your life is unnecessary?” Locke laughed bitterly. “You know something Shadow? I think we may have found something we agree upon here,” he said as he got to his feet.

“You misunderstand. If you had allowed me to kill Rostov he would not now be burning. Along with the scroll he still has in his hand.” Shadow wiped a pall of dust from his shirt derisively and gestured towards the prince’s bonfire.

Leo felt his heart sink along with the contents of his stomach and whatever elation he had felt in the heat of battle.

“The scroll! Damn, how could I let it burn!”

“Heheheheck, I told you. The scroll is useless to you now!” The flaming wreck of a man that had once been Prince Rostov arose like a harbinger of the underworld, the black of his bones visible through the cloak of red and orange. In his hand he yet held the scroll, but it was indeed alight and rapidly transforming in to cinders.

“What is burned is dust and dust serves no purpose other than to feed the wind. You will never know the bliss that I have known, never feel the caress of the master!”

“Rostov,” Leo didn’t know what else could surprise him about this day, “this is your last chance! Give us the scroll!”

“Or you’ll what? Wouldn’t you have thought trying to burn me alive was a bit excessive in the first place. No fool, I wasted enough time with you all. I will lead and you will follow!”

He held the blackening parchment up before him in a stance of over dramatic triumph, his fist shaking as he spoke.

“You’ll always remember this as the day! The day you almost thwarted the ascension! The day you almost saved the world! The day you almost-“

Rostov’s denouement was cut rather short, along with most of his arm as a growling fur covered blur leaped through the air in front of him and tore the crispy appendage clean off. Interceptor bounded across the earthen floor and came full circle. He looked up at Shadow and spat the offensive item from his jaws.

“Put it out! Quickly!” Yelled Leo, forgetting Rostov momentarily as he cried out in even more pain.

“Damn, there’s not much left,” said Locke stamping down hard on it.

“Something is better than nothing,” said Shadow. “Come. The fire will take us all.”

“What about Rostov?” asked Locke.

The prince was nowhere to be seen. No other entrances lead from the room, but it was safe to say he was no longer among them. They didn’t see much in sense in searching after him.

***

Outside, the cold morning air was a fond relief after the inferno they left behind them. Of the buildings other occupants there had been no sign. Doubtlessly they had fled to the safety of other locales within the city. Thick smoke churned out of the doorway after them as they made their exit. The building groaned from within as if in profound pain. Sooner or later its supports would give and the entire place would collapse in on itself. If Rostov was indeed still in there, he would not be walking out again.

“Wonderful. Just wonderful. I’d like to remind you, you said nothing about guys who burn and don’t die when you gave me the job description,” Locke berated him.

Leo sighed and brushed a hand through his sweat clad hair. “Do you truly think I would not have told you had I known? Whatever it was we saw in that room, it was no man. At least not the man we tracked out of Jidoor. Something changed him.”

“He said something about the scroll,” Shadow said thoughtfully. “Reading it purified him he said. One should steer clear of forbidden powers.”

“As for this scroll of yours,” Said Locke holding up the tattered and charred remains of the parchment. “There’s not much left.” There was a clear sense of disappointment in his voice. Leo wondered absently what it was the young thief had been hoping to find. “A few words perhaps, some arcane symbols.”

I have failed my country and my Emperor. How can I face them with nothing in my hands save ashes?

None of this made any sense to him. The Emperor had sent him to retrieve information. Was that not what the scroll contained? Ancient writings of the ways and lore of the Magi? It was a relic true, but the Emperor had said nothing to him of any dark will living within the scroll.

“Words have power,” said Shadow echoing Rostov.

“So, I guess that’s it then. We’re done,” said Locke looking questioningly at Leo.

“No. I will not return empty handed.”

“Afraid the Returner’s will turf you out? Listen, how important can one piece of paper be.”

“It was important,” Leo insisted. “The secrets that scroll held could very well swing the balance in the coming war.”

“War? What are you talking about?” Locke was truly oblivious.

“I…war has been on the horizon for years. Do you not sense it? The entire world is restless as if tormented by some hidden disease.” He gazed skywards at the coming rain as it touched lightly upon his forehead. “There will come a war,” he said with iron certainty. “When that happens, do you not think it should end as swiftly as possible?”

“Well…”

“I do. I would devote my life to such a cause. The secrets of the scroll are all but lost. One man alone in the entire world knows what they are.”

They were all thinking the same thing. They had all seen it with their own eyes. Rostov’s life had become…unnatural.

Leo didn’t know what to believe. He shook his head and wandered slightly down the empty street.

“You said it yourself,” answered Shadow. “He burned and did not die. I am sure he lives and goes to find whatever it is that lies within his heart.”

“What are you saying?” asked Leo.

“That the scroll was a marker,” Shadow sounded duly confident of this hypothesis. “A map to some ancient power perhaps? Locked away in far away places. Left behind as a guide, a warning, a trap, who knows for certain? Follow the man and you will find something worth its weight in honour or battles or whatever it is you wish to conquer.”

Conquer? Are all men who desire power deemed conquerors?

Leo brooded on the wisdom of Shadow’s words. If he returned to his Emperor now, empty handed, his disgrace would be beyond redemption. He had no audacious fantasies about the loftiness of his position. However his departure from the Emperors circle would leave him solely in the counsel of jackals like Kefka. It was the thought of that which ironed Leo’s resolve.

“He may be right,” offered Locke reluctantly. “A lot of ancient cultures left the keys to their deepest secrets in pieces of arcane literature. I’d say Rostov happened upon something similar…and a lot more besides.”

“Very well. We will do what we can to pick up Rostov’s scent. Whatever it is he’s after we’ll let him lead us right to it, then take it for ourselves.”

“Where do we start?” asked Shadow.

“Can you track him?”

“If the scent is even half a day old, Interceptor can track it.”

“Good. Locke, keep hold of what we have left of the scroll. See what you can find out If we can second guess Rostov, it’ll make this all the much easier.”

Shadow surveyed the rocky horizon over Zozo. His eyes were fixed on the guttering house they had escaped from. “Our path will take us over the mountains. It would be astute to take a few hours rest before we start out.”

***

Taking a rest was a task easier said than done. Alton took a spot underneath an old aqueduct and dozed himself off to sleep. Shadow on the other had taken it upon himself to vanish in to the centre of Zozo, but his dog remained behind, so Locke supposed he hadn’t just taken off. As exhausted as Locke was he felt an unmistakable urge to get up and go after Rostov. It was clear to him now that Alton had been hiding a lot of things from him. The Returner really had no idea what it was he was chasing after. He just wanted to get a hold of it because the Empire desired it. He didn’t actually comprehend the sort of power he was dealing with. Locke couldn’t very well claim to be much better, but he at least he had an idea.

There were a lot of strange and weird artefacts in the world. Some could have been weapons left over from before the great catastrophe tore the world apart. Icons carved in the likeness of the ancient Esper beings. There still stood in some regions forsaken tombs said to be the haven of elder demons. Locke was no historian, but he knew his stuff and ever since that day three years ago he had been putting that knowledge to good use.

His search had led him after a hope spawned from a legend older than memory itself. Was there a chance that Rostov had happened upon the same power? How else could he sustain such terrible wounds and not die? Could the dead…come back to life?

He unfolded the leftover remains of the scroll and flicked his eyes across what he could still make out. The words were in an ancient dialect, possibly of an old Figaro origin. Whoever had written it had gone to town in terms of majestic style. If he had to guess he would have said it was part of a religious incantation or a litany. He paused to trace a finger over the ink. It wasn’t quite ink exactly and it felt…odd. Holding it up to the light he saw it had an almost purplish hue to it. He must have been staring at for an unbelievably long time, because he was still sitting there holding it up to catch the glare of the sun, when Shadow was suddenly crouched next to him and inquiring if he’d “Found anything?”

“Uh…no…not much.”

“We leave as soon as Alton awakens.”

The hours waned by, though it was tough to judge the proper passage of time. Locke really hadn’t made any progress at all, though he was certain he could decipher at least part of the text, given the right amount of time. He said as much to Alton as they were packing up to go.

“Let us hope then that we have that much,” he had said in fair enough humour, but Locke could tell that something was pressing on his mind. Ensuring the defeat of the Empire probably really meant a lot to him, though Locke still was far from convinced this was the way to go about it.

Seeing the Empire pay for all they’d done though? If it could be done he’d like to see it. He just had a lot of trouble believing in it otherwise. Locke had a lot of respect for guys like Alton. They stood up against the odds and gave their all for the good of something else, a higher ideal or a vision. He had been that way once. But he wasn’t so sure what it was he lived for now.

Shadow had managed to scrounge together some supplies. Locke wasn’t too interested in knowing how he got them or how many people were now clogging the gutters because they had crossed the shrouded one the wrong way. Shadow was a presence as certain as death itself, but he handled himself with a confidence that was just shy of being arrogant. Locke didn’t think he had respect for anything that lived, perhaps not even himself. Such a man was dangerous and not in the way that Shadow was so renowned for.

The mountain range cutting off Figaro desert from the west was not exactly the most traversable in the world. Truth be told, they were damn as hell steep as mountains went. Riding the Chocobo's up them was out of the question in this case and even then finding a decent path was unlikely.

Shadow had been grumbling half the day about having to cross in to the mountains. Locke suspected that part of the reason he had been so interested in Locke’s progress in interpreting the scroll was because he wanted to know where Rostov was going and get there before him. He seemed almost upset about leaving the open road.

The first day was easy enough. Interceptor led them around a moderate cluster of foothills that bypassed a few solid hours of climbing. Alton commented that it was unlikely Rostov had taken such a path, but Shadow was adamant that his hound could track the scent no matter how far off course they got. Locke suspected he had a little too much faith in that dog of his.

After that it became decidedly more strenuous. It rained consistently for the next three days and all prospect of a clear and open road through the mountains vanished. Progress was uphill, slow and above all extremely perilous. The climb was far from steep, but the unevenness of the ground coupled with its never abating dampness made it difficult to traverse safely.

When shelter became necessary they had set up their tents and made do. It was a welcome luxury at the end of each day. Mostly as it provided a brief respite from the unrelenting rain. Food in the mountains was scarce and they had to hand only what they were able to carry with them. The various beasts that roamed the mountains were pretty much inedible and they in turn had probably eaten or scared off the proper game. The passed the odd mountain spring, but rarely found any resident fish. But they made do.

On the evening of the fourth day the clouds parted and the rain came to a stop however on the morning of the fifth day a cloying white mist clung to the hills. Locke had been banking mainly upon his fair sense of direction up till that point to ensure they never came in danger of getting lost. With the onset of such a thick front of mist however, his hopes were dashed. His almost instantaneous advice was to head back the way they’d come which at least they knew better than where they were going. Shadow however, who had been somewhat recalcitrant about crossing the mountains in the first place would have none of it.

“Interceptor still has the scent. Go back if you wish, but I wouldn’t envision myself getting paid if I were you.”

Shadow didn’t say much else after that. In all fairness he had kept to himself most of the journey. Often he would slip out of plain sight while they were ascending only to reappear just ahead of them with his damn mutt at his heels. Sometimes when they set up camp for the night he would take his leave as well, disappearing in to the night without so much as a sound. It was a personality trait Locke found all the more unnerving with every passing day.

That evening they came upon an abandoned hovel. It looked as if it had been deserted months ago, but it had a roof and was sturdy enough to withstand the high wind. It was a welcome change of pace and they elected to make their camp there.

While Alton busied himself with the fire and Shadow stepped outside, Locke sat himself down against one of the firm earthen walls and pulled out the scroll fragment. Alton didn’t seem to mind him hanging on to it. The man seemed to of given up all interest in it for the time being, whereas before it had been all he went on about. There was more to Alton than met the eye though. He did care bout something very greatly, but he kept such things to himself.

Little by little Locke was getting close to figuring out the nature of the lettering. He was not so certain about where the dialect originated from, but he did recall a few of the bordering symbols from memory. They were a form of hieroglyph common in the ancient architecture of Doma, though he had encountered them in other places as well.

One he was sure was the symbol for ‘spirit’ or ‘soul’, fairly androgynous terms. If it was part of a religious iconography it might have been referring to a celestial being like an angel. The other main symbol that caught his attention was one normally found in burial chambers. It was a sanctifying mark, conferred upon the dead to ensure that corruption was kept at bay. The curious thing however was that in this instance, the symbol was inverted, suggesting a reversal of such a blessing.

Locke wasn’t sure what to think about any of this, but he kept at it. If this did turn out to be what he hoped it was there was no way he could let Rostov get his hands on it. Rostov or anyone else for that matter.

***

It was fortuitous, Leo mused, that he still remembered his basic survival training. It had been years since he had needed to produce a fire from scratch. The Imperial academy had been a rigorous experience, designed to shape its cadets in to hardened warriors. He was almost afraid that his years as an officer would have whiled away his most rudimentary skills, things he had long taken for granted.

For one thing it would have been most difficult to maintain his pretence as a revolutionary, someone forced to always rely upon whatever they could find to survive. For another it was a good thing to remain warm. They had not climbed so high that they had touched snow yet and Leo was determined to keep it that way.

Locke was embroiled once again in reading over their only real lead on where Rostov was leading them. If he had discovered anything so far, he hadn’t revealed that fact to either Shadow or himself. Indeed Shadow questioned Locke every evening as to whether he had found out anything. Leo reflected that his interest was probably borne out of a desire to end this affair as soon as possible.

He decided that Locke was best left to his own devices for now. Leo’s own desire to see this ended was just as tantamount as anyone else’s. He got to his feet and muttered something about getting a breath fresh air. A pitiful excuse really, but after such a long sojourn in the presence of others it was refreshing to have some time to oneself. He was more used to that. A life in solitude was what he craved and so often indulged. He had no family, save the Imperial army, no love save for the Empire. His life was the Emperor’s and by default it belonged to the people of the Empire as well. A world order that was exactly that. No chaos, no suffering, just the will of the just and the joy of the plenty.

It was an ideal worth dying for and die he would if the need arose.

A fluttering movement caught his eye against the deep blue of the night. A tiny shape beat its way up form the safety of the mountains edge and disappeared form view.

A bird? Could it have been a carrier pigeon all the way out here?

“What are you looking for?” Shadow asked materialising beside him.

Leo had long since given up being surprised at the ninja’s ability to approach unheard. “What am I looking for?” he repeated the question to Shadow.

“Tonight,” Shadow came to stand at his shoulder and gazed out over the land below. “Your heart leads you on a path you do not understand. A mind clouded by doubt is a thing beyond pity.”

Something about Shadow’s words sparked anger in Leo’s mood. He rounded on the assassin and spoke as plainly as he would to a ill-mannered trooper. “You were not hired in this enterprise to question my feelings. Do not plague me with your morose philosophy. Mercenary,” he emphasized the last word, hoping to put Shadow back in his place.

“Such unkind words,” he muttered, though if he was truly hurt he did not sound it. “I was only making conversation. Perhaps the thief will interest me more with his tales of impotent bravado.

“Wait. What is it you think I doubt?” Leo was considering despite himself.

“Yourself perhaps. Your reasons for being here. A soldier should be fighting in the frontlines. What compels you to go against your nature?” It was the kind of question he had not expected from Shadow, he faltered a little.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m here for the sake of the Returners,” he said a little too quickly. “If what Rostov is after is a weapon, there’s no telling what devilry he could unleash. More than defeating our enemies we have an obligation to protect those who cannot protect themselves.”

“How very noble of you.”

“The strong should defend the weak. It’s that simple,” the certainty in his voice was adamant.

“I guess it depends on you see as the weak…or the strong for that matter.”

Leo shrugged. “We should get back. Perhaps Locke has deciphered the manuscript.”

“Are you sure its wise to trust him?”

“That’s funny,” said Leo, though he sounded far from amused. “I can imagine him asking me the same question of you.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” he said twisting his head to look at Leo directly. “Don’t you think its dangerous to leave him in possession of that thing?”

“What are you saying?”

“Rostov probably went mad from reading that scroll. It turned him in to some kind of demon. Words have power, remember. How do we know that the same thing won’t happen again?”

Leo hadn’t truly thought about that. “It’s only a scrap of what there was,” he defended. “Besides, it seemed more to me like some kind of malefic spirit had consumed his mind. It had to have been trapped in that scroll until it was set free.”

“Admit it,” Shadow pressed, “You don’t understand these ancient energies any more than I do. Don’t you think there’s a risk in meddling with them?”

“You’re right; we don’t have the knowledge to understand them fully. That’s why we need Locke. I don’t want to walk any further down this path in total blindness.”

Shadow made an impassive snort and looked away again. “Tell me truly. Was what we saw back in Zozo an Esper?”

What?

“I…cannot say…I have never seen one. No one living has.”

But I have. They are not the same as that thing. They can’t be.

“Of course not. Well, perhaps you are right. We shall see what Locke can tell us.”

Locke, unfortunately, was rather unforthcoming in his studies. For five days now he had been studying the scroll and all he had come up with was a few sparse comments about the age and origin of the scroll. They sat for a while and talked, trying to piece together what they knew of the history of the Magi. Shadow once again brought the up the question of Espers, but Locke was just as sceptical as Leo had been. In his eyes the Espers were still an extinct species. Leo was certain this had nothing to do with them and was more comfortable pressing on with other alternatives.

“What strikes me the most is that who ever wrote this did it long before the war of the Magi broke out.”

“Before the war? Are you saying it has nothing whatsoever to do with the magi?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Judging by the language I’d say it was written back during separation of ancient Figaro and Doma in to two separate kingdoms. What we know about that period is sketchy at best. Legend tells of how the two continents were once linked only to be sundered by the wrath of those who reign above.

“Those who reign above? Are you talking about some kind of ancient gods?”

“No one knows for sure. They’ve never been described in too much detail, at least in no story I ever heard. Anyway there’s a lot of speculation was a sign of the coming of magic. A kind of portent of what was to come, some say it was even caused by the evil of men too obsessed with enslaving the Esper race.”

“So, this scroll could have come from either Doma or Figaro?”

“Well, I’m almost certain it echoes back to time when both cultures were one and the same. If it does refer to the Magi then it’s possible we’re very close to our destination already.”

“How so?”

“Back in ages past, Figaro desert covered only half the area it does now. It used to be an entire kingdom, till it got wiped off the map that is. There were a lot of Magi living in Figaro at the time so naturally everyone blamed them for what was happening. A lot of historians cite those events as one of the main precursors for the war.”

“Yes. I have heard that tale too, but how does that tell us where Rostov might be going?”

“That maybe where we’re headed is somewhere out in the desert. Maybe the scroll told Rostov the location of one of the old cities or perhaps a tomb? It’s not much but it’s a start.”

“The desert is vast beyond your wildest fantasies. Can’t you be anymore specific?” demanded Shadow.

“Hey, I’m trying my best here! I don’t see you offering much in the way of insight,” deflected Locke.

“Calm down both of you. All of this is still just supposition. We don’t know anything for certain and won’t until we catch up to Rostov.”

“I suppose it is better than nothing,” Shadow acquiesced. “How much more do you know about this ancient kingdom?”

“Not much. There might be someone who does though. It might be worth swinging by his place when we get to the other side of the mountains. That is, if you think we can spare the time.”

“Who is this person?” asked Leo intrigued, “Do they live close by?”

“Yeah actually. Some old guy I heard lives in South Figaro. He’s pretty ancient, comes from some town to the far east. Kind of a Wiseman around these parts. It might be worth having him look at what we have here.”

“I’ll consider it as a last minute option. For now we’ll just stick to the trail.”

3: “He’s playing your song”.

Sticking to the trail over the next few days proved to be a less than cordial scheme. The further they travelled in to the mountains the more treacherous their journey became. The way forward became so unassailable that they were forced to try and navigate a section of caves. Leo was unhappy about stepping blindly in to the darkness, but Locke assured him the fresh air within was a clear indication that they led through to the other side. In some cases they were lucky to come upon bridges, constructed by the nomad peoples to move their herds to safer pastures. It was just a question of whether or not they had faith in the rickety appearance of rope and wood so old it looked rotten through.

Gradually, they became of aware in a decline in the fastness of the mountains. The desert of Figaro, an angry golden blur on the horizon for so much of their passage was now visible in plain sight. Majestic in its open purity, the desert stretched in all directions they could see. Shadow had been right, hoping to find one man amongst the sand was an impossible hope. Their only advantage was the highly lauded tracking ability of one dog.

On their afternoon of the seventh day it was safe to say they were pretty much free of the mountains. Green pastures lay ahead and they desert reared away to their left. They duly hoped not to find their course leading in to it.

As they were cresting a hill under the glare of a retreating sun, Shadow came to sudden halt and gazed off distractedly in to the distance. He cursed under his breath. Following his stare, Locke and Leo saw the object of his ire. Interceptor had come to a dead stop as well and was darting his head around in an almost comic display of canine confusion. He barked a few times, then turned and wondered over back to his master’s side. He whined and lowered his head in supplication.

“Let me take a wild guess…” began Locke.

“Interceptor has lost the scent. Even the wind moves against us. I do not believe such a thing is possible.”

“Well, believe it. What the do you reckon we do now?” Locke directed his question to Alton.

“How far is South Figaro?” Alton’s gaze was locked downwards in his own thoughts. His mood was dark.

“It’s lights burn there on the far horizon,” Shadow confirmed. “We will need to pass through the caves, but can be there before tomorrow evening.”

“As things stand, we have little choice. Locke, you are certain this old man can help us?”

“Certain?” Locke shrugged. “No, not really. Like I said I know next to nothing about him. Apart from the fact that he’s a real lover of old time music and knows far more about ancient text than I do. But it’s either that or we pack up and go home.”

“We make for South Figaro then,” the determination in Alton’s voice was almost frightening.

***

The old man who loved music lived alone in a cosy villa on the outskirts of East Figaro. He did not want for anything, supported by a sizeable acumen he acquired in his youth. Around town he was well thought of, with many of the townspeople regarding him as a Wiseman and a scholar. Others whispered that he was a lunatic who worshipped dark gods in exchange for his inexhaustible wealth, but these were generally quashed as vile rumours. None could really say when exactly he had come to settle in East Figaro or for that matter where exactly he had come from. His knowledge of the local areas history was commendable however.

It was approaching late evening as the three of them came to call at his door. A pale light at the window light was an ample enough indication that he was within. The villa was fairly modest by most standards, built from reliable stone and surrounded by a flourishing garden. A hanging basket was hooked just above the door, its contents a peculiar foreign flower with orange petals.

Shadow paused to regard the flower momentarily, something in his quiet manner prompting caution. He took a step backwards and turned to survey the rest of the garden. Locke exchanged a bemused look with Alton, but knew better than to question the ninja’s uncanny behaviour. It was a few minutes before Shadow spoke and when he did there was an odd aspect to his voice that Locke had never heard before. It almost sounded like pain.

“This old man. You say he is from the east?”

“Yeah. No idea where exactly,” Locke scratching the back of his head. “Some kind of backwater island perhaps.”

Shadow didn’t wait for him to continue. He stalked off in to the night with his dog, not even bothering to give them an explanation. But then when had he ever?

“What’s his problem?” asked Locke.

“What man can say? Come, we will see what this sage can tell us.”

The old man was not in much of a mood to tell them anything, save for some very damning words about their respective mothers. Still, after some beratement on Alton’s part and a closer look at the sword at his side the old man relented and let them in. He was particularly ancient and was dressed in a preposterous robe of vermilion and orange. Otherwise he seemed to take little pride in his appearance. His hair was wild and unkempt, his fingernails encrusted with dried ink.

“I hope you realise I’m not truly accustomed to working at this hour. You will have to pay for my expertise as well.”

“Of course,” assured Alton, “We have the utmost respect for your privacy sir. We’ll take as little of your time as necessary. If our errand were not urgent we would not have called on you at all.”

“Wouldn’t you now? Well that is a comfort to my old and foolish ears. My name is Tesso, not sir. And I would be better disposed to receive you if your friend there would stop eyeing up my fine Albrook porcelain.”

“Huh, what? Me?” Locke had been gazing idly about the room, he looked up in surprise at the old mans accusation.

“Don’t play dumb with me boy. I know a thief when I see one and you sir are a thief.”

“This is unbelievable,” Locke laughed shakily. “I’m sorry I even mentioned this old coot. Forget this Alton, let’s just grab Shadow and get going.”

“Sir, if you please? We have questions.”

The old man grumbled under his breath and shuffled over to a gramophone that looked fairly capable of being even older than he was. He shifted the needle to the far side of the record he had already on there and waited patiently for the melody to begin.

“Do you know what this piece of music is called?” he asked softly.

“No,” replied Alton in all honesty.

“What about you young man?” he asked Locke.

“Can’t say I do.”

“This is the last movement of the Baractiov, sometimes called the Homeless Heart. I listen to it every day. It never fails to remind me that no matter how far you go or how lost you get there’s always a place for you to return to. At least that’s how the music makes me fell. The reality however…is far different.” He turned to face them a different man than the one who had admitted them at the door. His appearance had not changed, nor his voice. But there was knowingness to him. It was unsettling.

“I’ve been expecting you, you know,” he said.

“You have?” Alton seemed at a loss to know how.

“Indeed I have. Two days past an Imperial Army passed through here. They questioned some the townsfolk and not gently. They were looking for…

“Rostov!” Alton jumped ahead in his conclusion. Locke saw some small shadow of fear register across Alton’s look as he asked his next question. “Could they be after him as well?”

“A name I do not know. No, they were looking for three men, not one. I can only assume they were looking for you.”

“How can you be so sure of that?” asked Locke a little too complacently. “For one thing there are only two of us here.”

“I’m well aware of your shady friend, wherever he snuck off to. Besides, you two have the stench of the old power hanging over you. The only question that I have is this,” His old eyes narrowed in suspicion, “Why would the Empire be so troubled over such a rag tag group of ruffians?”

Because we’re working for the Returner’s, thought Locke, although suddenly he wasn’t so sure. What were they themselves really after here and why did the Empire want it so badly?

“The Imperial force, where did it go after it was done gathering information,” asked Alton, “What course did they set?”

“In to the desert. I know no more than that. They seemed anxious to be on their way. However, this was not the reason you came calling on me today I suspect. You have brought me something.” The old mans gaze was altogether knowing. Locke felt almost compelled to reach inside his pocket and bring out the parchment. He did so any way, but told himself it was of his own volition.

The old mans eyes alighted on the blackened scrap of paper and then went suddenly wide with unmasked fear. He took a step backwards and nearly stumbled. Behind him, the music of the Baractiov soared in to a crescendo of strings and drums.

“Where…where did you get that?” He stuttered, a gnarled hand clawing up towards his chest as if he was short on air.

“It was an heirloom, belonging to a merchant family by the name of Carlusso. All we know for sure is that it is a map of some kind. That and that it harbours some ancient power. From what we’ve read of it…”

“You have read it?” The old man seemed incredulous. “I could not have dreamed that even the young could be so very foolish. A map you say? Perhaps in some terms that is correct, but in truth it is a trap, forged by bitter men on the verge of annihilation. You have truly read it?”

“Only this piece. The rest was destroyed in a fire. The man who owned it, he read it and we think it drove him mad.”

“By all the gods and elder powers. To think that such a thing could still exist in these times,” Tesso placed a weary hand upon his head and sighed heavily. “I see now what has been at work. I had felt the sadness on the wind, seen the shifting of the sands, but I paid it no mind. I came here so long ago to escape such dreadful powers, but they are part of the very earth itself. Now something has been awakened and it calls out so that all may answer.”

“You know what it is then that Rostov seeks?” asked Leo. “He is the man who read the scroll. He said something about serving the old powers.”

“How much do you know about ancient history? Specifically, about the history of the kingdom that once stood upon this very desert? It was not always a desert you know. Once, long ago, it was a prosperous land, green and fertile. That was before the war of the Magi. Before those half mad sorcerers tried to break the world in two. In that time there were cities as far as the eye could see, temples built to honour the ancient beasts known as Espers.”

“The Magi worshipped Espers?” asked Locke.

“At first yes, when they were still men. Soon however their passions turned from love to desire and then ultimately in to obsession. There were a scant few, the first to go against the ancient teachings and attempted to take the Espers divinity for themselves. They were cursed. Punished as heretics. The faithful bound them up within the deep of the earth to suffer for all time. That was the fate of those who attempted such an act. For those who were successful…the fate was far worse.”

“What does this have to do with the scroll?”

“When the war came everything changed. The kingdoms of man were torn apart in a frenzied desire to possess all things. Some blamed the heretics, some blamed the Espers and all fell upon each other in a sea of blood and flame. At the last, before the Kingdom that once stood upon these lands was destroyed forever, a few men who still held true to the old ways foresaw that this was an evil that would never end. They were deranged in their zealousness, consumed by guilt for not protecting their gods. If ever the greed of man lead him down the same dark path they would see to it that man would know untold desolation. Scrolls like these, were imbued with the spirits of heretics, written in the blood of Espers they had slain in their lust for power. They call to those whose hearts beat as theirs once did.”

“You know this to be true?” Alton seemed uneasy with excepting this tale.

“I too hear the call. I am attuned to such things. It is a terrible thing, wracked by torment and longing,” the pain in his voice was evident and borne of just more than old age. “It’s source is nearby, in one of the old temples perhaps. Buried deep.” He peered closely at the both of them. “It calls to you too.”

“You make no sense old one,” Alton told him loftily, “I hear no call.”

“Do not think of it in terms of sound or knowledge. The Call is a power wrought in seduction and beguilement. The caller wants to be found. It needs to be heard. If it detects even a trace of desire of grief within you, it will draw upon that. It will draw upon you.”

Alton seemed to chew on that for a moment. “You…said you knew where this thing may be?”

“I suspect as much. Nothing more,” Tesso replied.

“Look, anything you tell us could be of help,” beseeched Locke.

“What do you think will happen boy?” he answered Locke, but his eyes were fixed on Alton. “If you find this thing? If you answer its call? Why do seek such a dreadful thing.”

“I don’t know anymore,” said Alton. Locke looked threw him a perplexed stare. “Perhaps I wish to see it same from those who would fall prey to it.”

“And you?” he turned his full attention back on Locke.

“Me? Listen I’m just in this for the money. I’ve got no interest in whatever it is you guys are talking about.”

“I see.” The old man did not sound convinced. He paced a little, inclining his head to catch the final movement of his beloved music. “You know the desert well?”

“No,” they replied together.

“You will need to. Find someone who does. Travel due west from the caves for about a day. Eventually you will come to an oasis. Don’t worry, it’s quite large, if you have help you’ll find it. There is a rock formation there, too strangely formed to be of natural design. Somewhere nearby you may find something of what you’re looking for.”

“Old man, what is out there really?” Alton asked, his voice tinged with wonder.

“Don’t you know already? It is the…HRAH!”

The old man had left his window open. It was understandable given the humid weather. There was no warning made by shattering glass, the knife was thrown with expert ease and caught the old man high in the back. He lurched forward with a sudden spasm and then fell forwards heavily.

Locke gaped at the still corpse and the rapidly expanding pool of blood that spilled out of him. Alton was already at the window with his sword drawn trying to pick out the assassin in the dark.

“Someone must have overheard our talking,” he spoke in a hurried tone.

“Who?” asked Locke in alarm. He could take his eyes off the body. “Who knows about any of this?”

“I cannot be sure, we must find them before they get away.”

“But where…”

“There! I see them, quickly Locke!”

Alton was already halfway out the window before Locke could even think of a reply.

***

The air was thick and clammy outside, even despite the late hour. Locke’s shirt clung to his back like a soaked flannel as he ran. He wasn’t entirely sure where he was going. It was all he could do to focus on Alton’s back as it surged rapidly ahead of him in to the darkness. They must have run in to the town proper at some point as Locke suddenly became aware of the close knit buildings on either side of them. Alton dived around a corner in pursuit of the killer and it was all Locke could do keep up with him in time to make sure he didn’t lose sight of him altogether. South Figaro was not well lit considering, it was supposed to be a kingdom of industrial advances. Still compared to Vector it didn’t really have a leg to stand. Locke would have taken simple living over that smoke filled nightmare any day, but right now he begrudged them their high powered lights.

Alton was leading them down an alley now. The cramped sides of the two town houses flashing by as Locke sped down in chase of Alton and the killer. On the ground vague shapes that could have been boxes or rubbish or bodies for all he knew swam out of the darkness with an alarming persistence. And each time he was forced to leap and throw himself clear of these hindrances he was certain he would end up impaling an eye or an even more vital organ on something sharp and invisible.

Physically, Alton was a powerhouse. He cut a blinding pace through the cramped confines of the town without any signs of slowing. He displayed no caution whatsoever in his course, blindly taking turns and vaulting over low walls that obstructed him with seemingly no thought for what lay beyond.

Eventually they broke out in to one of the main roads and Locke saw Alton come to an abrupt stop. It was a wide street, mainly dominated by taverns and less legitimate locales. Many people were in the street, all quite happily going about their merry making business and not paying the two of them much attention at all. Another alleyway led off directly opposite them. To Locke it seemed obvious which way the killer had gone, but Alton clearly was not so certain.

“Lost ‘em?” Locke asked panting hard for air.

“No. He knows he’s being followed,” he craned his head purposefully from side to side. “He’s tired perhaps. Or he wishes to take care of us as well. He's not running anymore.”

“Did you get a good look at him?”

“No, he was dressed in black.”

“Oh?” that was interesting. “Sounds a little like someone I know.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions before you know the facts. Black garb is well favoured by assassins.”

Locke took a closer look at some of the townsfolk milling about the street. A few of them were kind of wearing black, but it was hard to tell for sure.

“It could be anyone of these people. But I still think the MO is a little too much like our old friend Shadow’s.”

“This is exactly why we should question it, then. If this person has been following us, they may have a darker motive than killing a defenceless old man. No, I don’t believe it’s any of these people either. The killer is not that ambitious or stupid. They are hiding.”

“You sound pretty sure.”

“It is what I would do,” he implied with certainty. “You should go check the alley, I’ll go this way.”

Fine by me.

Locke loosened the dagger from his belt and held it cautiously to one side so as not to alarm any of the townsfolk. The alley was even more cramped and dingier than the last one had been. It took Locke a total of about five seconds to surmise that the Killer hadn’t come this way at all. The alley wasn’t so much an alley in that it ended about ten paces in a brick wall. There was nowhere for anybody to go, but back out. Locke was about to do precisely that, but as he turned to go a dark shape reared up and crashed in to him, pushing bodily to the ground he landed in an untidy heap amongst the rubbish. Dashing over him, the black clad assassin ran straight in the direction of the wall and began to scale it with a speed that seemed more akin to an insect than a man.

Locke cursed and pushed himself to his feet with all haste as the killer disappeared up the side of the wall. Seeing that his target was well beyond his reach already, Locke stuffed the dagger inside his belt and did his best to follow suit.

Climbing the wall was for Locke, something that had appeared much easier in his head than it actually was in practice. He was nowhere near as graceful about it, but hand over hand scrabbling for whatever grip he could get and gritting his teeth at the bare exertion of it all he pulled himself up there. His chest burned angrily as he levered an arm on to the ledge and used it to drag himself off the wall. He was on a roof, not that high, but still overlooking a good portion of the town. A blue sea of empty slated rooftops and here and there the odd chimney gushing out silky white smoke. Of the killer there was next to no sign at all.

Just like that. Gone like a ghost.

It annoyed him that he had bothered to come all the way up here without alerting Alton. He had no idea how dangerous this killer was. He was more than capable than looking after himself, but he liked to have a good idea of what he was up against.

He took a few hesitant steps along the roof, not quite trusting that he was on safe ground. Even despite his caution, his heart jumped in to his mouth the second he felt a tile slip beneath his foot. He went rigid, ever muscle frozen as he took a deep breath and lifted his foot gently away. Standing there on the roof with one foot in the air and the other planted squarely where it was he allowed the relief to flood through him for just a moment.

Only to have it cruelly ripped away from him by the airborne slate, spinning end over end on a direct course with his head.

Locke did have time to be afraid anymore. He didn’t even have time to think. The knife was already back in his hand and slicing upwards to catch the projectile. It shattered, just inches from his face, covering him in a fine blue dust. He already knew another was on its way. That’s why he leapt backwards, higher up the roof, hoping to find a safer footing. Another did come, but what he had not been expecting was an extremely sharp and far-more-deadly-than-a-slate knife. He fell backwards against the roof, just in time to watch as the knife embedded itself next to his right thigh.

He looked up and caught a flittering glimpse of a shadow against the night. The killer, his would-be killer was running again. He had no intention of seeing them succeed this time. He didn’t wait to stop and see if the roof began to give way underneath his every step. If he came to a gap between houses he jumped it. It wasn’t that far, he would tell himself, after he was safe and across.

The killer was nearing the edge of town. Just a few healthy running strides and he would be in to the trees. Locke had no intention of following him in there. Flipping the knife in his hand as he ran, Locke caught the blade in his fingers and drew it back over his shoulder. The killer took one final leap towards the edge of the roof it was on and stopped to turn and look. Locke rolled forward in to crouch and hurled the knife in a curving arc at the waiting shape that stood blacker than the night sky.

It reached out and caught it.

Locke felt his jaw lower a few inches than he thought possible as he stared blankly after his tossed weapon. The dark figure seemed to weigh the knife in its hand and then raised it in mock salute to him. It was sending him a message. Thank you, it was saying.

Smug bastard he thought, as he watched the killer hop backwards and fall beyond his sight. He was free now to be swallowed by the night and go as he pleased. Locke sighed to himself as he got his feet as brushed the dust from his jacket.

Had he really agreed to go through all of this for just money? Not for the first time he questioned his purpose in being there. Besides money the Returners really had nothing to offer him. No, the only reason he was till here was because he had no other course in life, nothing more than a dim hope of admonishing his guilt.

Finding a low enough ledge, he leapt down from the roof top and made his way back towards the town centre. Alton found him soon enough, his face a mixture of anxiety and concern.

“There you are? Did you have any luck?”

“I had nothing. The killer got away. Whoever they were they were, they were extremely well trained. A professional assassin maybe.”

“Locke…”

“I know,” he relented, “It wasn’t Shadow. I saw that much. One thing for sure however, we’re not alone in this.”

“Then we should not tarry here. Let us see if we can find Shadow.”

***

They found him in a tavern. He was sat alone in corner, far from the light with an untouched mug of ale in front of him and his dog dozing lightly beneath the table. He didn’t bother to acknowledge them as they came in. He just sat there; his eyes locked on some far away place that only he could see. He still did not deign to look up, even as he spoke.

“You did not take long,” he stated categorically.

“Our audience was short lived,” replied Leo.

“But did you learn anything?” asked Shadow? Any interest he had was to deeply veiled in his malaise.

“Barely. The old man is dead,” said Leo trying not to sound too imposing.

“Oh? That’s unfortunate.” He said flatly.

”You don’t sound very surprised,” there was accusation in Locke’s voice, despite his earlier admonition.

He looked up on that. His deep brown eyes glinting with what might have been amusement.

“Old men have a tendency to die more often than young men. I should be surprised by this?”

“He was murdered Shadow,” Leo said. He did not find the situation funny at all.

“Not by me.”

“I never said…”

“But the challenge is there all the same,” Shadow pointed out. “You both think it. I take it the killer waited until at least the old man divulged some form of useful information.”

He had, but that was hardly the point. Leo didn’t know how to convince Shadow of his trust.

“The Empire was were here you know,” said Shadow.

“And they headed out in to the desert. They don’t know about this mission, I’m sure about it. They had nothing to do with this.” If they did, there was no way they couldn’t know about his own involvement. What sort of individual would take such a titanic risk in trying to usurp his mission and by default Emperor Gestahl’s will?

“Oh come on,” said Locke breaking in to his thoughts. “The old guy said they were asking about us. They’ve been on to us since the very beginning.”

“This is not good,” Shadow conceded, “there were Imperial forces in Jidoor. They must be the same ones. But how could they know so much about our mission?” Asked Shadow.

“No, that’s impossible,” insisted Leo. “They would never have been able to get here so fast from Jidoor. They were here in South Figaro before us. There’s no way they could know of what we’re searching for.”

“Well, they do now in any case,” stated the assassin. “They know exactly what we know…which is?” he prompted.

Locke related to him all that Tesso had told them about the history of ancient Figaro and the directions he had given them to the temple. Leo was still pondering what they would do about a guide when Shadow piped up.

“The desert? We needn’t waste our time with a guide. I can take us there.”

“You know this land well?” asked Leo.

“I travel far and wide. I know all places well.”

“Fine,” he had made his decision. “We’ll leave at first light.”

“And hope the Empire still knows less than we do.”

“Yes,” he said with feeling. “I hope that very much.”

***

The sun was all that mattered in the desert. Blinding globe of undying light and impossible heat, it permeated the senses with its presence. It was the master of life and death out there among the sands. Locke pulled his bandana free of his head and ran a hand across his sweat caked brow. He had been expecting the heat, he been awaiting the dryness of throat and the scorching touch of the wind, but he had somehow glossed over the fact that it was all going to sear in to his very bones without mercy.

They had purchased enough supplies in town to last them a whole week if need be. They had also needed to drop by the armourers to in order for Alton and Locke to replace their lost weapons respectively.

The sand was so hot it burned his feet through the soles of his boots. He had tried to talk Alton and Shadow in to hiring Chocobo’s to get them to the oasis. He’d been through the desert before, but always on the back of a swiftly moving giant bird. Chocobo’s however, seemed to have a strong aversion to going underground and they would have had to bring them through the caves in order to take them across the desert.

He uncorked a bottle of water and filled his throat with soothing cool liquid in a series of heavy gulps. The horizon revealed nothing but a fine film of haze that blurred the northern mountains. Figaro castle was out there somewhere. Or at least it might have been. The Castle had a frequent tendency to move.

He was about stick the bottle back in his pack and follow on after the others, when he caught sight of something in the corner of his vision. Far to the North West, it had been a flash of something. A light perhaps? He thought about saying something to the others but decided against it. The desert had a way of playing tricks on you.

They continued on throughout the day. Making frequent stops for water and food. Locke was beginning to feel increasingly light headed with each passing hour. Sometimes when he looked out over the hills he almost thought he saw sand clouds in the distance, but he wasn’t sure. As he walked he found himself looking out for them more and more.

The dunes seemed to roll on forever before them, each no more or less striking than the last. Each one they crossed revealed only a thousand more.

When evening came they still hadn’t found the oasis and decided to make camp amongst some rocks. Locke found some old dry wood scattered amongst them and sorted them out a fire. Alton surprised him by producing a bottle of wine form his sack and popping it open. In all this time Locke had never once seen him touch anything vaguely alcoholic. He just didn’t seem the type.

“A drink?” he offered, bringing forth a few pewter mugs as well.

“I won’t say no.” Locke’s surprise must have been pretty plain as Alton smiled across at him.

“Wine is a vice I find little time to enjoy these days. Sometimes when the weight of the world is upon you, you have to put aside such luxuries. Still, I expect the world will become all the heavier in the coming months. Here, take a cup.”

“You make working for the Returners sound like a real chore.”

“War is an unflinching foe. You would do well to remember that, if you intend to take part in it,” he looked up at Shadow who had seated himself on a nearby boulder. “Shadow, will you take a glass of wine?”

“No.”

“So…when this job is done, do you think you will choose to fight for the Returners?” He asked turning back to look at Locke, there was a seriousness to his manner that seemed odd to the treasure hunter.

“That’s part of why you recruited me isn’t it?” he asked uncertainly. “Still, I’m not sure. What can a few men hope to accomplish against the Empire?”

“Hmph. Sometimes, men will fight when they feel they have no other choice. It is the way of the world. I wish it were otherwise.”

“So, you don’t have a choice in all of this either?” he posed.

“Huh?” Somehow, Locke’s question had surprised Alton. He seemed to gather himself slightly as he sipped at his drink. “A man always has a choice. It just depends whether or not he is willing to forsake that choice for the sake of what he believes in. I’m sure that even the soldiers of the Empire feel that way.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

Alton’s eyes flicked to his, then away again to drink in the night sky. “You really hate the Empire don’t you?”

“Hate them? Yeah I guess I do hate them. The Empire doesn’t care about your choices or your beliefs. All they do is take, whatever they want they take. Anyone who gets in their way dies really fast. I’ve seen it for myself. The Empire is no better than a pack of wild dogs.”

“They have caused you harm? You have suffered at hands of the Empire?” Alton was no longer looking at the sky. He was staring in to the depths of the fire. Locke wondered who he saw burning there.

“Someone I knew…they...The Empire took them from me,” it was hard to get the words out, even after all this time.

“Truly? You amaze me. With all that rage pent up inside of you…I would have thought you’d have joined the Returner’s long ago.”

“And do what? Would steeping myself in revenge undo what happened? Can death make life anew? Besides, as much as I hate the Empire…I…I…” he didn’t know where to go from there.

“You hate yourself.” Shadow finished for him.

Locke glared up at the ninja. He was sat almost casually with his chin rested upon one knee.

“You feel that you are to blame for the actions of others,” he went on. “How ultimately foolish.”

“You don’t know me,” Locke voice barely concealed his growing temper. “You don’t know the first god damn thing about my life.”

“I know about life,” Shadow assured him. “I’ve seen it end a thousand times over. It’s the one constant in this world. Do you think you can control such a thing?”

Locke had no answer for that. He could not say what lay so very deeply within his heart. He took a long swig of his wine, wanting for the rich sweetness to drown his inner pain.

“Perhaps I was wrong about you,” admitted Leo after a long silence. “A man will not fight unless he has something worth protecting.”

“I had someone worth protecting,” Locke asserted. “But I couldn’t protect her. I failed. I lost everything at the expense of my own foolish dreams. Ever since then I‘ve been looking for a way to set things right.”

“What were you searching for?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” Locke looked distastefully in to remaining contents of his mug and then threw them in the sand. “So do you have something that’s worth protecting?”

“What?”

“You’re a Returner. There must be a reason why you choose to fight the Empire.”

Alton seemed to lose himself in thought again. “Yes. I have something. Something I have sworn to protect.”

“So that’s why you want to find this thing?” asked Locke.

“Yes.”

“And what about you Shadow? You got anything you’d like to die for? Any great cause?”

“I have nothing.”

Locke wasn’t sure if wanted to laugh or cry. “You’re a strange guy Shadow,” he rose his empty mug in mock salute, “A strange, strange guy.”

4: Going down

The next day they travelled together in a brooding silence. Leo wasn’t sure if it had been the talk last night or perhaps the looming sense of dread that had been hanging over him since South Figaro, but something troubled each of them. At his point, he wasn’t certain how valid his mission was anymore.

The Emperor had despatched a Imperial force to find the scroll. Was there any other explanation? He had wanted to believe it was a bizarre coincidence in Jidoor, but he could not deny the talk nor the plain evidence in Figaro. The Imperial Soldiers had been suited in Magitek armour. It was a heavy strike force, employed only for missions that required maximum devastation. Only the Emperor could have ordered their deployment.

No. If he had done so, he would have told Leo of his plans. His Emperor would not have lied to him. He would not have sent him here on a fruitless mission while he was needed so much more dearly elsewhere. There had to be another explanation.

There was. It was not wholly inconceivable that treason was at work here. A high ranking officer could have ordered the deployment without the Emperor knowing in the hopes of betraying the Empire. If so they were using the troops for their own selfish means. Leo did not like to think about it, but Kefka was more than capable of such an act. If the Emperor knew of his treachery he would surely have the insane clown executed, but only if he found out.

Once Kefka had what he wanted, he would make sure that Leo never returned to Vector alive. Unless of course, doing away with Leo was his entire objective and he did not care about this heretic’s tomb at all.

Locke looked severely tired. He probably hadn’t slept at all. When Leo had retired for the night, the young thief had been awake still, pouring over the scroll fragment. Leo didn’t know what help that would be to them now. Shadow in stark contrast seemed especially determined today.

By mid afternoon they came upon the Oasis. At least, it seemed like it had been an oasis, before someone came along and razed it down in to still smoking embers. Ashen stumps stood forlornly in the burnt sand. The oasis itself was as dry and empty as the sand. Leo searched the sand for signs of Imperial tracks but found none. Whoever had done this had done it recently and they done it without the use of magitek.

“Holy…” began Locke.

“This is bad,” stated Shadow.

“The Empire?” questioned Locke.

“No. They haven’t been here. It can have been…”

He was interrupted by a low growl from Interceptor. The hound sat up on his haunches and sniffed the scorched air.

“He smells him,” said Shadow with an air of approval. “The corruption is too close to hide itself any longer. He must still be near.”

Interceptor dashed off towards the west, leading them away from the burnt out oasis. Leo cast a wary eye over the horizon and followed. He held his sword firmly in his hand as he crested the next dune.

Interceptor had come to a stop in the middle of a vast flat plain of sand. He was digging. Scrabbling away at the sand.

Coming to stand around the dog, they became aware of a faint outline in the sand. It was rectangular in shape and about two metres square across. Kneeling down, Locke brushed away at the outline and uncovered rough stone underneath. Archaic symbols were etched in to the surface of the stone. Leo recognised some of them from what had been on the scroll. If Locke saw this also he made no mention of it. He looked up at the both of them.

“This is it I’d say. I don’t think it’s an entrance of any kind. It’s more of a cover stone.”

“Here.” Said Leo, going to one knee beside him. “Let us get the sand off it and get a closer look.”

Shadow did not move to join them. Instead he walked steadily around the perimeter of the plain, his eyes fixed on the ground. Gradually, the stone came in to the light. It was a ruddy orange colour and sank in to the sand only a few inches. It was certainly not an entrance.

“What do you think it is?” asked Leo. “Is there something underneath?”

“Maybe. It says here that…the path of…justified? No, righteous, it says righteous. The path of the righteous man begins here.”

“What does that mean exactly?”

“Well, this is just a wild guess, but I’d say that what we’ve got here is a…”

“It’s a switch,” said Shadow from across the way.

“A what?” asked Leo.

“A switch. Look, there is another outline here in the sand.” He was right. You could just make it out. It was far larger than the stone they had just uncovered, almost twenty feet in width alone.

“A switch? I see, but then how does it work?”

“What? Don’t you know anything?” Locke got to his feet and planted a foot firmly in the middle of the stone. It accepted his weight for a second, but then it began to retreat back in to the sand with a deep rumble. That rumble was echoed seconds later by a cavernous roar. A tremor shook the earth beneath their feet as a hole suddenly appeared in the middle of the sand where Shadow had shown them the outline. The hole grew out wards at an alarming rate as sand poured in to it from all sides.

Leo could just make out steps within the chasm. They seemed to have been made for beings with the feet of giants to enter. They lead down. In to the eternal darkness of the earth. This was the entrance to the temple of the Espers, forgotten here for over a thousand years. Hidden deep within it’s bowels something was waiting for them. He did not intend to disappoint it.

***

There was a very real feeling of stepping down in to the gullet of some great sea leviathan as they descended those steps. The light of day only reached so far inside and so the were forced to fashion torches. The steps themselves were truly monstrous. It was hard to believe they had been fashioned to allow access to ordinarily sized people.

He had ordered Interceptor to stay at the entrance, the blindly faithful creature had not understood at first. It had always been that way, following him about wherever he went, no matter what horror’s he faced. He did not want the hound to go down to the earth with him this time however. It felt wrong somehow.

“Interceptor. Guard,” he had said sharply and the dog had understood. He would follow orders. He would follow them till death.

Shadow held his torch up to the wall as he walked, casting flickering torchlight on to the arcane carvings that had been left there by the Magi. He had never been a great admirer of art, but even he had to admit the workmanship had been styled by a skilled hand.

“We must be the first humans to walk here in over a millennium.” He heard Alton whisper.

“You are probably correct. Is that not something that concerns you however?”

“What do you mean?”

“We must be the first ones here. The entrance way could not have been opened beforehand or we would have found it straight away. Do you see a problem with the picture I am painting for you?”

“Rostov? If Rostov hasn’t already entered, then where the hell is he?” Locke gave voice to what they were all wondering.

“We can worry about that later. We are just fortunate to be a head of him,” said Alton.

“But he is nearby. It was he Interceptor sensed, I’m sure of it. We must remain cautious.”

The darkness yawned before them like an eternal void, empty, hollow. They walked for what seemed like hours, each step bringing them deeper in to the fastness of the earth. The air was grim and stuffy the further down they went. It reminded Shadow of a charnel house, stacked with bones and dried skin. It was not a remembrance he relished dearly. The soft sound of their footfalls upon the cold stone rang out in to the cavern. It was the only sound that accompanied their ascent, though occasionally the ninja thought he heard more than the echo of their own feet. From time to time he cast he gaze back up towards the dwindling light. He wondered how long it would be before he saw it again and how much he would care if he did not.

Locke faltered at one point, tripping over himself in sudden shock. He stared aghast in to the gloom below.

“What is it?” Shadow asked. If the there was even a hint of danger ahead he wanted to be ready.

”Didn’t you see it?” there was a fervour to the thief’s voice he had not noticed before. He stammered in confusion as he tried collect himself. “Up ahead…I-I thought I saw…didn’t you see it?”

“Locke,” Alton uttered softly, “we saw nothing. Right Shadow?”

Shadow nodded.

“But…I’m sure I saw it. It looked like…a girl. I thought it looked like…”

A girl? What foolishness is this?

“There was nothing Locke,” assured Leo. “I’m sure your mind is just playing tricks on you.”

“I guess you’re right,” he agreed. “There’s no one down here but us.”

The steps wound downwards in a straight course; as far as they could judge they were travelling down in to part of the temple catacombs. There were no intersecting corridors, no shafts providing air or light to the lower levels. It was like a vast funnel down in to the desert. It was not however, entirely without end. Eventually they passed under a sinewy arch, fashioned in the form of a serpent. The ground began to level out and the roof disappeared above their heads and in to the unseen reaches of the gloom above. They found themselves in a vast hall. Towering pillars shot upwards to the invisible ceiling, they were monolithic in stature like the legs of giants.

“Look at the size of those things,” Locke whispered in admiration, “think they’re holding up the whole roof?”

“I wouldn’t think otherwise,” replied Shadow dryly.

The floor was covered in a thin layer of white dust, totally undisturbed. Truly no living creature had stepped here before them in the past one thousand