The Grace of God

Chapter Three

The episode had been brief this time, only a few minutes. Nevertheless, and despite the protests of the castle guards, Celes didn't go back to bed. She and the others (sans Sabin, who, to his discomfort and by Edgar's request, was seated on the throne of Figaro as emergency regent) spent the rest of the night in Edgar's huge and cluttered inventing studio, where his experimental long-distance message machine tapped out a steady tattoo of code from around the world.

Locke, and a pained-looking Setzer, did their best to decode roll after roll of incomprehensible dots and dashes according to Edgar's notes. As for Edgar himself, he was the only one who knew how to reply, and did so until morning, frowning as he tapped the machine's small gold type-key incessantly, a black glass funnel held to one ear.

Meanwhile, The Complete Archival Collection of Polygeotic Particularity had finally been found, cross-indexed into the fiction section. Celes and Terra studied it in shifts, looking through it as carefully as they could; the paper was so old that it crumbled at the edges despite their best efforts, and the ink had faded to a faint and nearly unreadable blue. The language, too, was arcane, and referred heavily to scientific terms none present had ever come across.

The reports were much the same as they had been the last time: the same news of ghosts, inimical to the touch, and furious storms. City leaders were waiting to hear Figaro's advice as to whether they should declare states of emergency or not. Some towns, like Tzen and Jidoor, already had. Only one town had not reported at all.

Finally the waiting had dragged on too long for Celes. "Are you sure he knows how to use it, Edgar?" she asked suddenly, breaking the silence, looking up from the same page she had been reading for the past fifteen minutes. "He never was good with machines."

"Cyan helped me build most of these." Edgar did not pause in his work. "And Albrook's telegraph is one of the most advanced. He'll send a message soon."

Celes glanced at Terra, who caught her eye sidelong; both of them had heard the unspoken if he's all right in Edgar's words.

"Red sky observed on Veldt," Locke recited haltingly to Setzer, who was transcribing. "May be expo -- sorry, explosions. Wish to discuss weaponry options. Doma."

Setzer handed this message to Edgar, who glanced at it and grimaced.

Setting her jaw, Celes tried not to think about Albrook. Locke had made her promise she wouldn't try to go back until morning broke at the earliest; and besides, it would take her too long to arrive to be of any help. They had all agreed that traveling anywhere in the Falcon was too dangerous, now that the storms had proved recurrent.

Instead, she tried to focus on the task at hand. She returned to the book in her lap and, on a whim, opened gently to the slim appendices toward the end. She was turning the pages and scanning the text automatically when a phrase caught her eye:

"infinite nearby worlds"

Something about the words caught in her mind, stirred something in her. She turned back to the passage in question.

"(Byanum 6.2.5 cont'd) ... the wavefunction, instead of collapsing at the moment of observation, carries on evolving in a deterministic fashion, embracing all possibilities embedded within it. All outcomes exist simultaneously but do not interfere further with each other. Thus while it is possible to detect the presence of these infinite nearby worlds through the existence of minute interference effects, it is impossible to travel to or communicate with them ...
(Byanum 6.2.6) While proponents of the "Goddess" theory argue that magical intensity of sufficient strength could indeed breach the divider of space-time between two such paths, no known force could come close to the cataclysmic power needed to open such a passage ..."

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, and read on.

"(Byanum 6.2.7) In addition, it has been proven that such an aperture could only exist for a very brief period before sealing completely, leaving both quantum tracks exactly as they had been.
(Tussion 4.4.1 rebut.) While skeptics may claim that access to decoherent branches would be possible for milliseconds at most, some assert a gateway could remain exposed, or even be expanded, were a unique source of extreme magical complexity assimilated into a coeval parallel reality where it did not otherwise exist. Such a breach would necessarily result in annihilation for track prime, as it would be gradually corroded by the encroaching second track into non-existence..."

"Terra," said Celes. There was a hoarseness to her voice. "Look at this."

A small frown line appeared between Terra's eyebrows as she took the book. It deepened as she read.

"You think this has happened?" she asked quietly. "That there's a -- break in our world?"

"I think it's possible." Celes saw, in her mind, the swarming white footsteps, felt in her stomach the sharp sudden shock of her universe cracking apart. "It ... felt that way."

"'Magical intensity,'" Terra read out loud. "But that can't be. There's no magic left."

"I'm beginning to wonder if we can truly know that for sure."

Terra let the book rest against the table and looked across at Celes steadily. "I'm sure."

She was likely the only person in the world qualified to be, Celes had to admit. And yet ...

Suddenly she noticed how quiet it had gotten.

"What happened?" asked Locke. He was watching her and Terra intently. "Did you find something?"

Terra looked at Celes, and cleared her throat. "Yes. I think we may have found what you were talking about, Strago."

The old man, who had been resting his chin in his hand, started. "You have? Where?"

Terra showed him the page, and Strago's mouth moved soundlessly as he followed the words. "Breach the divider ... yes ... gradually corrode. Oh, dear. Yes, I'm afraid this is exactly what I was thinking of."

"What is?" said Edgar. They were all crowded around the worktable now. "What is it?"

"These storms are not coming from anywhere in our world," said Strago. "They're coming from another realm -- one like ours, but where possibility rules."

"'Where possibility rules'?" said Setzer. "Come again?"

"This book claims that every possible outcome of every event occurs," said Celes, impatiently, "only in a different ... reality. And that there's no way to reach these different realities, I might mention."

"Unless a cataclysmic magical event opened a door..." murmured Strago.

"Which isn't possible, as there have been no such events."

"Not since four years ago," he replied pointedly.

"Right." Then Celes realized his implication. "Do you mean to say you think such a door appeared four years ago?"

"It's certainly possible."

"But ..."

"It seems to me," said Strago, "that the destruction of the Statues would most certainly be as cataclysmic as their appearance. If not more so."

"But it says here that a break would appear for 'milliseconds at most'," said Edgar, who had taken the book and was scanning it as he spoke. "Which means if something did happen, it would have been at the moment the Statues were destroyed, and not years later. Just as the storms in the legend appeared only for a short time when the Goddesses first appeared."

"Well -- I suppose so, yes," Strago said, stroking his beard.

"This one line," Terra spoke up. She was reading over Edgar's shoulder. "'A gateway could remain open were a unique source of extreme magical complexity' --" She shook her head and worked her mouth slightly, as though the language had twisted her tongue. "What does that mean?"

"A powerful magical source, if it fell into the break, could keep it open," said Edgar.

"Or expand it," said Strago darkly.

"A powerful magical source." Locke had begun to pace. "Like the Statues. But those -- those, we definitely destroyed. I mean, I was there."

"I think we all were, Locke," said Setzer.

"What else could it be?" asked Terra. "Magicite?"

Strago shook his head. "I doubt that would be powerful enough. Look here. It would need to 'yearn to return to its true home.' Be strong enough to remember ..."

"I'm not convinced," Celes spoke up. "This book even admits to being mostly conjectural. And I believe I would have remembered if we had left anything behind at Kefka's tower, especially if it were strong enough to slash open a pathway between two realities."

"Would you really have, Celes?" asked Terra softly. Her eyes were focused somewhere beyond them all. "I know I only remember that day as a blur. There was so much being destroyed. We barely made it out with our lives, let alone what we brought with us. Everything magic was leaving us ..."

She trailed off.

"Perhaps," Celes replied begrudgingly, after a minute. "But as Edgar said, why would this be happening now, and not four years ago?"

No one had the answer to that.

"So," said Setzer, at length. "Where would this break be? Everywhere? Because if that's the case, I don't think we'll be able to close it again."

"No," said Strago. He was twisting his moustache as he flipped through the book. "No, while the effects might be seen everywhere, the break would be in one place. Wherever the magical calamity occurred that opened it to begin with."

"So that would probably be --" began Celes.

Before she could finish, Edgar's telegraph machine began clicking wildly. He jumped out of his seat and rushed over to it. Without bothering to look out the paper scrolling out, he pressed his ear to the glass receiver and decoded as he went. "Areas ... surrounding ...

"It's from Albrook," he announced at a break in clicking, and Setzer, thinking quickly, threw him the notebook. Edgar caught it one-handed and began to write.

The message, when it has been sent in its entirety, read:

"Order restored in city and areas surrounding. Unconfirmed reports of perpetual darkness in Vector desert. Please come as soon as possible. Be armed for battle. Cyan."

"You didn't think we'd need to use them again," said Celes. It wasn't a question.

"No. No, I'd hoped not. But Cyan seemed ... Anyway. If we're going to be prepared, I say we should be prepared in style. Weapons are over here. General relics are in that chest, although I can't see much use in taking any of those rings, or that old gem-encrusted box ... look with your eyes, Mr. Cole, not with your hands."

Locke, who had been rifling through the chest, looked wounded. "I was only making sure everything's in order."

"Right. As long as by 'in order' you don't mean 'in your pockets.'" Edgar had opened a massive, glass-faced cabinet in which dozens of swords and daggers were displayed. "Let's see. Here's your rune blade, Celes. Locke, you'll want the graedus, I think. Ah." He went quiet.

"What is it?" asked Celes.

"I had forgotten." Carefully, he drew a long, blue-bladed sword from the back of the cabinet, its edge as sharp as the day they had found it. Shimmering, it caught the light both within and without; the shine was remarkable. The Atma Weapon.

He handed it to Celes. At once she found herself back in the past, when they had been on their desperate crusade, when all of them had been as fiercely close as ones bonded by blood, when she had been too occupied with life and death to wonder why nothing seemed to make sense.

"I think you should take it, Terra," she said suddenly.

"Me? Oh, I don't need -- I mean, Edgar, you don't have a weapon yet."

"Ah, but I do." From a display case he withdrew a dark mahogany automatic crossbow, its finish slightly battered from wear, but its gold gears and sprockets shining as brightly as ever. "And how I've missed it."

"I think you should take the Weapon, too, Terra," said Locke. "I mean, it's from the Esper World, after all. I've always thought of it as yours."

Slowly, Terra reached out to take the sword. As soon as her fingers touched it, the blade pulsed, once, with warm white-blue light from hilt to tip -- just as it always had in Terra's grasp.

For Celes, it had always remained inanimate and cold.

"Scabbards and sword-belts, ladies," Edgar was saying. "I believe this one's yours, Terra. And yours, Celes. Now." He opened a chest of drawers. "Here, Locke. I suspect Setzer will want his poison darts -- careful. A dirk ought to do for Relm, don't you think?"

"Relm will be fighting?" Terra looked alarmed.

"No. Of course not. I hope not. I just want to be prepared for any possibility, that's all."

Just then Setzer stuck his head into the room. "Ooh," he said, surveying. "Fancy. Pick up anything nice, Locke?"

"Actually, I --" Locke saw Edgar's glare. "No, of course not, Setzer. I'm offended you would even say such a thing. Here, these are yours." He handed him a polished chestnut box.

Setzer snapped it open. "Ah, lovely. You know, I've gained quite a reputation because of these. No one will play darts with me anymore. Anyway, Edgar, the Falcon's all ready, but I thought you should know that it's snowing out."

"Snowing?" Edgar was dismayed. "Yesterday was the first day of spring."

"Yes, well, Mother Nature has a cruel sense of humor. But she provides fantastic winds, so I can't complain."

"All right. Thanks, I suppose. We'll be right there."

Edgar crossed his arms, thinking.

"Cloaks," he said finally, with a sigh, pulling open another drawer. "And scarves, and gloves. Damn. I'd thought we'd finally beaten this winter."

"Well, I sure as hell can't see anything," he said to Celes, raising his voice to be heard over the wind. "Can you?"

"A little," she shouted back in reply, which was only barely true. She could just make out the shapes of the various farms and villages on Albrook's outskirts, but there was no destruction that she could see. Which was good, of course, but a part of her was frustrated. Collapsed roofs, broken fences, split trees: all of them would have been something physical, something definite. Instead it felt again like the storms and apparitions could have been nothing but a dream, one massive worldwide hallucination.

It had been the same in Albrook. When they arrived, Cyan and Gau had been waiting for them at Town Hall, the only figures in the completely -- and eerily -- empty streets. However, though all the townspeople had holed themselves up in their homes -- or already fled -- the city itself was as quiet and peaceful as could be, the snow falling gently on the fully intact buildings and into the calm, steady waves of the harbor, as if nothing had happened there at all.

Cyan's face, when he met them, told a different story.

"I saw it myself," he said. "For a short while there were no houses: instead giant towers, and factories spewing smoke, the likes of which I have not seen since last we visited Vector. And everywhere, those cursed phantoms. They were far more corporeal, and higher in number, than they had been at Figaro. Indeed, it all of it seemed very nearly real."

When Edgar asked him about the 'unconfirmed reports' he had mentioned in his telegram, Cyan glanced at Gau.

"A merchant arrived early this morning. He claimed to have been near the Tower Ruins when the storms took place; he saw much the same we did. However, he insisted that even when the lightning ceased, the wasteland remained dark as night, and moreover obscured by some strange heavy fog. Certainly he was terrified; I think, perhaps, hysterical; and thus I would not have been inclined to fully accept his account as truth, except ..."

Here he trailed off, and Gau, looking at the ground, spoke.

"I know. I saw. All the animals all run away from that place, to the forest west. They are all scared. Something is there, bad. I know."

Cyan had promised to stay in Albrook for as long as was necessary, and Celes had reluctantly agreed. There was no sense in lending her presence to a ghost city when she was needed elsewhere; and besides, now, more than ever, she wanted to learn what was at the root of all this.

The hatch on the deck's floor opened, and Setzer stepped up, his coat whipping in the wind.

"Well, this is certainly unpleasant," he said, as loudly as he could manage. "You sure you don't want to come down, Celes?"

"No, thank you."

"Suit yourself. Don't blame me when you become icicles. Two leagues to the Tower Ruins; see anything yet?"

"Not a thing," said Locke, his teeth chattering.

"Everything looks normal to me," said Celes. "I wonder if --"

And there she stopped, because all at once it was upon them.

It was as though they had entered into a black, opaque, silent sea. One moment the sky was bright and pale gray with clouds, and the next there was nothing: no light, no snow or wind, no sound except for the humming engine and their own startled breaths. But for the break in the air the Falcon left in her wake, they might not have been moving at all.

"Good God," Celes heard Setzer mutter. There was the sound of thumping, of someone fumbling around with something metallic, and a click. Then there was light again: just the dim red glow from the airship's emergency lights, but most welcome nevertheless.

"What is this?" said Locke.

"I think we've hit our 'perpetual darkness,'" Setzer said grimly. "Wait. Look there, up ahead."

He needn't have pointed. Far beyond them, near the horizon, was the only thing visible in the dense blackness: a dim, white-gray blur. As they grew closer, it became brighter, more distinct.

"I'm landing," said Setzer abruptly.

The Falcon touched down on what should have been the rocky, debris-strewn plain that made up the Vector Wastes, but instead, with a loud clang, it hit against a ground that was perfectly level, and clearly metallic. Setzer kept the engine running as Celes and Locke climbed down.

The hatch opened. "Hey, guys," said Relm. "Are we -- holy hell."

She stepped out, her mouth a dark gap. Strago followed behind her, and then Edgar and Terra, until they were all gathered on the metal floor of the wasteland, staring at the only beacon in an ocean of darkness.

It was a tall, flat, luminous pane, like the sole remaining wall of some massive self-shining rectangle. Its surface constantly shifted with grayish light, crackled with tumultuous energy, its edges blurred to indistinction. From its center it exuded a fine, steady haze that looked somewhat like fog but that, Celes knew, was something far more insidious.

"This is it, isn't it," she said. "The gash."

What had she expected? A phantom door, perhaps, or a bottomless hole; or maybe a ragged tear in the sky itself, bleeding darkness like a wound. Not this coldly geometrical thing that radiated a chill that went beyond the lingering winter weather. She found herself shivering.

"Yes," said Strago. "'The place of storms.' And the everlasting night ... Yes, this is it."

"So the book was right," said Setzer, who looked the way Celes felt: agitated and anxious. "What do we do now?"

"We enter it," said Strago quietly. "And retrieve what it was we lost."

"But we don't even know what that is!"

Meanwhile Celes had drawn closer to the gash. It was two-dimensional, that much was certain; viewed from the side, it was invisible, except for a nearly imperceptible white line every time its surface flared with energy. She walked around to face it again. Experimentally, she took a pin from her hair and tossed it through. The faint twang of metal on metal told her it had landed safely on the other side.

"How are we supposed to enter it, Strago?" she asked, retrieving the pin. "It doesn't appear to be accepting visitors."

"Well, quite right, it wouldn't. There is a way to force it to. However ..."

"Yes?"

"It involves a spell," he said, looking troubled.

"A spell?" Locke said. "A magic spell?"

"Then that's it," Relm spoke up, her expression bleak. "We're done. We're done for, aren't we?"

"Not at all, lovey, not at all," said Strago. "Hand me the book, if you could? If a magical source created this opening" -- he sat on the cold steel ground and flipped through the pages, squinting to see in the weak light -- "it's likely that the world it leads to contains magic. Wherein lies our opportunity."

Celes gazed at the wall's flickering, fluid surface.

"What does that mean for us?" said Terra.

"Well, if I'm reading this right, if one of us casts the spell while standing in the gateway, it will work."

There was a long silence. Celes knew what they were all thinking: without the help of Magicite, there had only ever been two of them who could use magic. Her, and Terra.

"How can we know for sure?" she asked at length.

"Quite easily, actually." Strago inclined his head. "Terra, you and Celes could each step into the gateway and try to cast a simple spell. I don't know -- cure, perhaps."

The air was so still now that it seemed somehow menacing, as though the silence were a living thing. Celes looked over at Terra. In the starless, artificial night, her face was shadowed and inscrutable.

Celes drew a deep breath. "Very well."

Walking into the gash was like entering a frigid stream. She gasped at the shock of it, at its migraine-like intensity; but then, as though she were indeed in a stream, forced herself to adjust to the feeling. Soon it had abated to an uncomfortable jumpiness in her chest, like the rushing sensation of adrenaline. Then, with her back to the red-glowing airship, and facing the black abyss that had once been the Wastes, she repeated the words she had spoken only the night before. The spell of ice.

Nothing happened. Celes tried again, half-whispering, with the same results. She was beginning to tremble. One final attempt, and then she had to half-step, half-stumble out of the glowing wall, or risk her legs failing her. She shook her head at the others, not trusting her voice.

Silently Terra stepped forward.

The shock of the gash seemed to hit her harder; she recoiled as if struck, her face twisted in pain. It lasted, however, for only a moment. She drew the Atma Weapon, braced herself with it against the metal ground, and opened her mouth to speak.

Before a word had escaped her lips, a sphere of red and white flame burst to life in the palm of her outstretched hand, pulsing and writhing, illuminating the plain for a mile in all directions. For a minute, Terra only stared at it, too astonished to react. Then she closed her fist, and, with one last lick at the darkness, the fire vanished.

Strago was the first to speak. "Remarkable. Remarkable. So you see."

"Yes." Terra's voice was a whisper; she still stood in the midst of the glowing wall. Celes took her arm gently and led her out.

Edgar folded his arms. "Then we're going."

"Wait." Strago was flipping through the book again. "We can't all of us go. It's difficult enough sending one person through the gateway, let alone six others."

"Are you saying that we should have Terra go by herself? To a world that may be completely different from anything we know, to find some ... thing, that none of us even remember losing?"

"You'd find it easily enough once you got there," Strago said. "Something that powerful practically oozes a trail of magic. And no, I don't think you should go alone, Terra. You'll need help, I daresay."

"I think," Setzer spoke up, "we should pick a nice round number. Three. Three more people."

The shifting gray-white surface of the wall wavered and flared.

"I hate to bring this up," said Edgar, "but the polyzotic book said there might only be a few differences between this other world and our own, right, Strago?"

"Very possibly."

"In that case, I think having a king on hand might be useful. And more importantly, of course, I could never let a lady go unescorted."

"Hey, I might very well be a king in that world," said Setzer, grumpily.

"That, I very much doubt."

"I would also like to go," said Celes, interrupting the beginnings of a cat fight. "There's too much of Kefka in this, too much about the Empire. Unfortunately, I'm an expert on both."

"Then I'm going," said Locke at once. They turned to look at him.

"Because, uh ... I want to," he explained lamely.

Setzer raised an eyebrow drily. "A sound reason."

"Then if you'll just go over the spell with me, Terra, my dear. As you see it's just a modified version of warp ..."

Celes felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around to see Relm, her uncovered hair looking copper-colored in the ruddy gloom. She was holding something tightly in her hand.

"Hey, Celes." Her voice was low. "I'd like it if you -- um, I want you to have this."

She handed her a cool, heavy object. Celes held it up, to see it as well as she could in the artificial twilight.

It was a plum-sized ball of pure polished silver, its surface intricately engraved with swirls and curlicues. Celes recognized it at once.

"Relm." It was all she could say.

"I thought I would bring it in case there were any monsters or anything here, but there aren't. And you need it more than I do."

"But ... Relm, this is too important to you. I couldn't possibly take it."

Relm smiled, though there was a quaver in it. "It's all right. When he gave it to me, he said, 'use it only in an emergency.' I've decided that this is an emergency."

Celes hardly knew what to say. "I -- thank you." She tucked the ball into the pouch on her belt. "I'll bring it back to you."

"Well, whether you do or you don't. Good luck, Celes. Not that you'll need it, considering who's coming with you." She grinned mischievously. "Love conquers all, doesn't it?"

This time Celes was too flustered to even shrug.

Strago and Terra, meanwhile, had finished their conference and joined the others.

"I'm afraid this break will only grow faster and faster while you're gone," Strago was saying. "Albrook could become engulfed in less than a week. The entire continent in fewer than two."

"So we'll just make sure to be back as soon as we can," said Edgar.

"It's not as simple as that. While it may be difficult to enter the gateway, it's almost impossible to return. The spell can only be cast once for both ways, and it only lasts for a short while."

"How short?" Celes asked.

"'Four sunsets,'" Strago read aloud. "No longer than that. You have to be back here by nightfall on the fourth day, or you'll never be able to return."

They took this in.

"As I see it, Terra," Celes spoke up, "you're really the only one of us who can make this decision. Edgar and Locke and I are just your backup. You're the one this endeavor can't do without. What do you think?"

Terra was quiet.

"It seems to me," she said at last, "that all of us will be lost if we don't go."

Strago nodded. "Yes. Yes, exactly. So that's that." He looked the four of them over. "Have you got everything you need? Weapons? Gold?"

Edgar held up a velvet purse that jangled lavishly.

"We're ready, I think," said Celes.

"Well, then," said Strago. "Terra, I leave it to you."

"I'll be here in four days' time," said Setzer. "Don't keep me waiting."

"Good luck," said Relm. She held to Strago tightly as she watched them walk away.

Terra stepped up to the glowing wall and placed her right palm flat against its surface, as though it were the pane of a window. "Each of you needs to be touching my left wrist," she told them, her voice slightly uneven, "near the pulse. Locke, I think you need to take off your glove. All right. Brace yourselves when I tell you."

She took a deep, shaky breath. "Now."

With that, she began to chant a rhyme, over and over, again in a strange, unsettling language that Celes had never heard before. The words felt like more than words; with their harsh and jarring sound, they broke the stillness of the air at last.

The wall crackled, then rumbled deeply. Soon it had drowned out the sound of Terra's voice. Celes opened her eyes. The gray-white fog had thickened around them to the point of impenetrability; she looked behind her, but couldn't see anything of Strago and the others.

The rumbling grew to a thunderous roar. Terra's mouth was still moving, rapidly, soundlessly; then there was a crack, and a rushing sensation. Celes felt herself falling headlong into nothingness, and opened her mouth to scream.

But she hit solid ground before she could -- for by then they had made it through.

[Chapter 4 >]

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