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kashiwrites(Continued from Chapter 6)
Havoc strode up to Hohenheim and grabbed the front of the man’s jacket with both fists, jerking him forward. He glared into the man’s face and growled, “Just what do you think you’re doing? Do you mean to say you’ve known all along what was wrong with Roy, and you didn’t say a word?”
Hohenheim seemed untroubled by the other man’s vehement anger. “Yes, I’ve known ever since I heard he left Central. But despite how that sounds, I wasn’t trying to keep it from you. I just felt it was better if Roy told you himself. But he had to come to terms with it first, and that’s what I hoped to help him do, if I could just talk to him in private for a while. Obviously I never got the chance to do that.”
“You bastard!” Ed raged. “You never, ever change, do you?”
But when he, too, would have stepped toward his father, fists clenched, as though to punch him or do something along a similar vein, Al put a firm hand on his arm and stopped him. “Wait, Ed,” he said quietly, sober grey eyes searching his father’s face. “I think we need to hear his explanation before we get too angry.”
“Too late, about the ‘angry’ part,” Havoc hissed, and shoved Hohenheim away as he released his fists. “But yes. Talk. Now. Or I’m going to join in with whatever Ed’s planning to do.”
Hohenheim regained his balance and righted himself, straightening his jacket and then his glasses. “It’s simple, really,” he said. “Roy Mustang has become like me.”
“He’s nothing like – “ Ed began, but stopped abruptly. “Wait a minute. You don’t mean…”
“I mean that he can’t die, any more than I can. You should have figured that out, the minute you saw this,” the man added, sweeping his hand to indicate the crushed bushes at the bottom of the tree with all the broken branches. “Because you’re right – nobody – no ordinary person – could possibly have survived such a fall and walked away from it.”
“Then he…,” Riza faltered, hardly daring to speak the words. “He’s…still alive. We haven’t…”
“That’s right,” Hohenheim replied softly. “You haven’t lost him. He’s alive.”
“But how can that be?” Havoc asked in bewilderment. “How could he have become like you? That’s just not possible. There’s never been any indication of anything like that. Are you trying to say – he’s immortal? Like…something happened to him, to his alchemy or something, and he’s…?”
“I know how he became this way,” Armstrong said solemnly. “It happened when he went to the Gate the last time. Bearing the last Philosopher’s stone, to regain his eyesight. That was when he was changed, wasn’t it?”
“Exactly,” Hohenheim nodded. “One trip too many, to the Gate. When I heard he’d done that, carrying all that power with him, I suspected right away what might have happened to him. But I was too ill, myself, to do anything about it. Once I had finally recovered, I watched him in secret for a while, to see if I could detect anything that indicated he was in the same condition I was. There were only a few hints, but I had a feeling I was right.”
“Why didn’t you just talk to him?” Riza demanded. “Why leave it so long that he had run away and you had to chase him?”
“I think I made an error there,” the man admitted. “He seemed so stable that I thought I had time to finally visit Risemboul, and let Ed and the others know I was still alive. It had already been far too long. But you have to understand. It’s a severe shock when the truth finally dawns on you. It took me years to adjust and accept what had happened to me. So I suspect that if I had just walked up to him and started talking about this, you might have seen a version of what happened up on the top of the cliff, but three years sooner.”
“So…” Havoc frowned at the man, trying to reason it out. “He finally realizes what’s happened to him, as he’s planning this vacation, and he runs off in shock. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Oh no,” Hohenheim shook his head. “No, he’d have recognized the change almost as soon as he returned from the Gate with his eyesight.”
They greeted this statement with a prolonged moment of stunned silence. But finally Riza mustered her wits enough to blurt, “That’s impossible. There was no sign of anything, not for the whole five years he was Commander of Amestris. He can’t have known. He behaved perfectly normally the whole time.”
“He’d have felt it almost immediately,” Hohenheim insisted. “But think what he was doing during those five years. The country needed restoration after all the turmoil it had been through, so he still had the discipline of his work to distract and steady him. He had a goal to work toward, that he’d been striving for ever since the Ishbal wars. This was his one chance at last, to reach that goal and make the difference he’d always wanted to make in his country. With that purpose guiding him, he’d have been able to push his dilemma to the back of his mind. But now he doesn’t have that.”
“And everything’s fallen apart, very quickly,” she supplied slowly, frowning in thought.
“I knew he’d have some kind of reaction,” the man said. “I just didn’t expect it so quickly. I had left Central about a month before he was due to retire, thinking I had time to spend a few days visiting Ed, Winry, and Pinako. But if I’d known he was planning a ‘vacation’ that would take him out of Central, I’d never have left the city. I’d have stayed there, and watched him like a hawk, and we wouldn’t have had to undergo this pursuit.”
“Either that,” Al said quietly, “or you two would have had a huge battle with alchemy right in the heart of Central. Maybe it’s better that it happened this way.”
“Maybe. But it means his own pain has been prolonged.”
“But he’s not dead,” Havoc breathed, as though that fact were finally coming home to him. “That’s good, at least. There’s still a chance to help him. He’s still alive.”
“Yes. And now he’s on foot, so we should be able to track him more easily,” Hohenheim said. “One of us alchemists can widen the ledge so we can bring the horses down, and it shouldn’t take us that long to – “
“No,” Riza said. The others looked at her. “No,” she repeated.
“What do you mean?” Ed demanded. “Are you saying we should just let him go, after all this? I mean, sure, he didn’t handle things too well, and he didn’t treat his friends very well. But I think my dad is right. It all happened because this thing hit him really hard. I think he needs help.”
“I agree,” Riza said. “The best thing will be if he can talk to Hohenheim, and start learning how to…how to be immortal.” She still could hardly say the words, hardly believe them or what they meant. “But the thing is – none of you will be able to bring him back. I can already guarantee that.”
“Then what are we supposed to do – just sit around and wait for him to come back on his own? What if he never does that? And you can see he’s in a lot of pain. We can’t just let him go on like this.”
“You’re right,” Riza agreed again. She looked at Havoc. “And so were you. I understand everything now. I know why he’s running – and what he’s running from. And you were right, Jean – if anyone’s going to bring him back so he can get some help – it’s me. And nobody else.”
All he had was the money he’d had with him in his wallet when he fell. So his quarters this time were a bit rougher than what he was used to. The tavern wasn’t very clean, and he’d be sleeping on top of the covers on the rickety bed in the room upstairs tonight. If he slept at all, of course.
Roy sat at the table in the far corner, moodily staring into his mug of beer when he wasn’t watching the tavern entrance. He knew he couldn’t be that far ahead of his pursuers, but he rather expected, by now, that they’d have had to take time to pause and discuss a few other things, which might have given him a bit of extra time. He’d quickly managed to find one of the southern exits from the gorge, and had stolen a horse from a small herd in a nearby farm. (He regretted that, but he fully intended to return the animal in a few weeks, once he’d managed to shake off his pursuit.) They might have guessed that he’d do something like this, but they couldn’t be sure, so they’d probably have to split up, some of them to search closer to home and others to ride farther on.
What they probably wouldn’t guess was that he’d double back, so that he was holed up in a small town quite close to the gorge, rather than trying to get as far away from it as possible. He’d tried to leave some signs of his passage south, without being too obvious. And then he’d found a side road and had ridden as fast as he could back toward them, hoping they’d continue past him, buying him some time.
It was all he could do today. Even with his apparent immortality, he was still capable of becoming exhausted. And he hadn’t slept much last night, before leaving his house.
God, that fall had hurt. Roy shuddered as he took another deep draught of the beer. He set the mug down, and spread some cheese on the large chunk of bread that remained after he’d finished his stew. He didn’t want to think about his terrifying plunge off the cliff, but the memories kept intruding anyway.
He’d felt every broken bone and internal injury. Well…maybe he hadn’t felt the internal injuries specifically, but he’d sure felt the pain. It was worse than anything he’d ever imagined, or experienced, in his life. Except, perhaps, the rapid healing that had begun immediately, as his body knitted every bone, sinew, and membrane back together with spectacular speed.
He wasn’t sure how he kept enough presence of mind not to scream as it happened. A scream would have given away the fact that he was still alive, as well as his location. And he needed every moment of extra time he could get, to allow him to get up and run before they found him. He knew he’d have some time as they dealt with their initial shock, and then dealt with Hohenheim’s explanation about what had really happened to him. And then they’d have had to create the path that would lead them down into the gorge. So he just couldn’t advertise his presence, no matter how he wanted to scream.
One compensation, though. Once the healing was done, he’d felt good. No more pain, no tenderness, no aftereffects at all. He’d been able to spring up and run quite a distance, as though he were in the best shape of his life.
Which, of course, he was now. And always would be, it seemed. Barring one of those inconvenient, bloody painful accidents such as the one he’d suffered earlier today. Again he shook his head, once, trying to get the memory out of his head. He picked up his beer and took another long swallow, getting ready to signal the serving maid for another one. He could afford one more, and then had to find another way of getting money. He supposed he could just starve as he travelled. It wasn’t like it would kill him.
“You don’t look very pleased with yourself,” came a voice from the next table, and Roy glanced over to see an older man with deeply tanned, weathered skin. Probably a farmer from the area, he guessed. And considering his skin colour, he probably had some Ishballan blood in his background somewhere, even if he didn’t have the red eyes. This region was very close to Ishbal, after all, and relations between the two peoples hadn’t always been distrustful.
Roy smiled, leaning back on his bench and resting against the wall behind him. “It’s just been a really long day,” he said.
“You’ve been traveling, I take it?”
“Yes. I came up from the south over the past few days.” He knew this wouldn’t fool anyone if they asked around, but it was instinctive to try to mask where he’d been until today. “And my saddlebags got stolen along the way, so I’m a bit at a loss.”
“Heading for a visit to friends, or doing business?”
Roy hesitated. “Neither,” he said. “I think I’ve just been going where the whim took me.” He managed a wry smile. “I should have gone by train, it seems like.”
The man chuckled. “Only if you wanted to stay in some of the little places longer than you planned. Sometimes there’s only a couple of trains a week – or less – to some of the smaller towns. And none at all to this one.”
“And look what I’d have missed,” Roy grinned, and the man laughed outright.
“Quite right.” Now Roy’s companion glanced over his shoulder and caught the barmaid’s eye. “Let me buy you another beer, since I see that one’s almost gone.”
“You really don’t have to – “
“I think I do, if you’ve lost some of your money along the way.” The man signaled, pointing both to his table and to Roy’s, and the woman nodded, heading toward the bar. Glancing over at Roy again, the townsman asked curiously, “So, what will you do now? Are you still heading north?”
“I think I might go east,” Roy said.
“Ishbal way?” the man nodded. “There are trains going that way, that’s for sure, or you can take one of the new roads. There’s been a lot of repair going on, the last five years.”
“So I’ve heard. I’ve even been there a couple of times while it was going on. It’s better than it was before, even if they don’t quite trust us yet.”
“Can’t blame them, really, can you?”
“No. You can’t blame them at all. But with all the rebuilding going on over there,” Roy mused, “I thought maybe I could get some work and help out a bit, while I’m refilling my own coffers. Maybe I can do some good while I’m getting back on my feet.”
The man nodded again. “That’s a good plan. My son’s over there right now, helping to lay some new railway tracks.”
“Is he? That’s good. It’s good for young people to get some exposure to other cultures. It might help us keep ourselves from getting into the same mess in the future.”
“Maybe so. Though from what I heard, we got pushed into that mess without even knowing it.”
Roy nodded, and then took his fresh mug of beer from the barmaid with a smile. He lifted the mug to his companion. “Thank you, sir. I really appreciate this.”
Somehow, the beer tasted better than it had before. Either the tavern had opened a new keg or – and Roy suspected this instead – he was just glad of the company, which made both food and drink seem a little more palatable. As he set the mug down and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, it occurred to him just how long it had been since he’d sat down for a simple, pleasant conversation with anyone. A couple of weeks, at least.
Pinako and Winry had told him how lonely he looked. And they hadn’t even known the half of it.
“You’re going away from me,” the man said from the next table.
“Oh – sorry. Yes, I was just thinking about…things. What’s behind me. What’s ahead.” Roy shrugged. “There’s a lot of time to think, when you’re traveling alone.”
“And they look like sad thoughts, to me.”
Another shrug. “Some of them are,” he admitted. “But I’ve got a lot ahead of me too. I think every life has its pluses and minuses as it goes along, don’t you?”
The man’s eyes narrowed shrewdly, but he merely said, “You’re right about that.”
“Tell me about what you do, instead,” Roy suggested. “Have I guessed right? Do you farm in this area?”
“That’s right,” the man nodded with a pleased smile. “I was selling some pigs this afternoon, and I decided to stop in here for a breather before riding back out to my place.”
“Tell me about your farm,” Roy said. “It’s been a while since I spent any time in farming country.”
He cupped his hands around the mug of beer, leaning forward on his elbows to listen. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to know all about any particular farm – though he did find such things interesting, and this man was friendly and liked to talk. It was more that the very act of conversing like this, in such a comfortable way, was a balm to his soul right now. He’d spent so much of his adult life in the midst of desperate, earth-shattering events. It was soothing, at last, to be able to sit with someone and just talk.
He’d probably get weary of this, too, over the long years ahead of him. After all, wasn’t it true that he’d never again really be like any of these people, and never belong with them, no matter how much time he spent among them? He didn’t know what he was, but he wasn’t actually human any more, was he?
But just for tonight, surely, he could pretend. He could listen, and ask questions, and admire this farmer for his neighourliness and his hard work. And his supremely normal life.
He learned about the farmer’s family (he had two other sons and two daughters who had married in the district). He learned what crops grew best in this region, and what animals the man kept (cattle, chicken, and pigs). And he learned that the man did, indeed, have an Ishballan in his background – a young woman who had met and married an Amestrian, and moved with him to the farm, three generations ago.
“My great grandmother,” said the farmer, whose name was Jeb. “I barely remember her, since she died when I was five. But we still visit our Ishballan cousins from time to time.”
A thought struck Roy. “It must have been very hard for your family, during the wars.”
Jeb hesitated. “A little,” he finally conceded. “We really worried about our cousins, for one thing. And the people around here…” he glanced around the tavern, which had gradually begun to fill as he and Roy talked. “Well, they didn’t know what to think, sometimes. It helped that we’ve always been so involved in the community, but they did sometimes look at us differently. If any of us had inherited the red eyes, well…I think a few of our countrymen might have lost their heads for a while and done foolish things.”
Roy closed his eyes. “I’m sorry you had to go through such things. I’m sorry any of it ever happened.”
There was a long silence, until he opened his eyes again and found the farmer watching him. “Tell you what,” the man finally said. “Why don’t you come out to the farm with me and stay the night? Letitia – my wife – she’ll make you a good, filling breakfast before you head out again. And you’ll have a much better bed than anything they’ve got here. It’s a good place, as taverns go, but I know the accommodations upstairs leave something to be desired. What do you say?”
Roy bowed his head, staring into his beer. He wanted to take the man up on the offer – oh, how he wanted to! But it just wouldn’t be fair. He couldn’t get this friendly farmer caught up in his affairs any more than he already was. There would be questions coming – he could tell by the look on Jeb’s face. And the last thing he wanted to do was get into that sort of explanation, or spend more time trying to evade giving real answers.
“I appreciate the offer,” he murmured, “but I really can’t. I think I’ll be up and out of here even before you get up in the morning.”
“I doubt that,” Jeb chuckled.
Roy managed a smile. “I used to be a soldier. I can set my internal clock to wake me almost any time I need to. But anyway – I just can’t take you up on your offer, I’m sorry. But you’re very kind to make the suggestion.”
Jeb took another drink of his beer, his eyes watching Roy intently over the rim of his mug. “Ah, well, I’m sorry you can’t. But never mind.”
They talked a little longer, the conversation gradually moving into other realms. But soon, their beer was gone and Roy’s companion was pushing back his chair, standing up. Roy stood with him, extending a hand. “Jeb, it’s been a real pleasure chatting with you. I hope you got a good price for those pigs.”
“Good enough,” the man nodded. “Thanks for the good company before I headed home.” He squeezed Roy’s hand between both of his own, and lowered his voice. “And I hope you find a way to banish those sad thoughts, Commander.”
Roy froze. In fact, he must have looked so surprised that Jeb laughed, saying, “We do get newspapers out here, you know, and they do have pictures of important people. But don’t worry…this is a dark corner, and I don’t think anyone else has paid attention.”
“So much for going undiscovered,” Roy muttered. “And I’m not the Commander any more, anyway.”
“I know that. Which is why I’m curious about why you’re here, of all places. But I’m not going to pry,” Jeb smiled. “I just wish you well. And maybe we’ll see you here again sometime. On your way back from Ishbal, maybe.”
Roy nodded. “I hope so. I’ll look you up if I come back through.” Unless, he thought with a pang, he was away long enough that it would be this man’s son – or grandson – or great grandson! – sitting in the tavern on the night he passed through again.
He watched Jeb make his way among the tables, stopping briefly a couple of times to greet others he knew, and then the man was gone. Roy sat down again, staring bleakly into his empty mug. He could conceivably meet every descendant this man ever had, for generations. And he would remember the living, breathing man, long after his descendants had forgotten Jeb’s very existence, let alone his actual name.
The room upstairs, when he returned to it, felt like a prison cell. Roy poured fresh water into the wash basin and splashed it on his face. When he bent over, leaning on the stand and looking into the small mirror above it, he saw the same face staring back at him that he’d always seen. Except that it was utterly changed, now and forever.
Forever…
Those exotic black eyes that had set women swooning all across Amestris. Eyes with clear sight – perfect vision now, as it happened – they were the reason for everything. If only he hadn’t gone to the Gate to get his sight back! He should have taken a lesson from everything that had happened to Ed and Al. If only he had been content to let others bring peace to his country and remain blind himself, instead of thinking he was the only person who could accomplish the task. He should never have done it. He should have refused Marcoh’s gift of the last Philosopher’s Stone.
Maybe if he put both his eyes out and blinded himself again, he thought desperately, maybe then it would all be undone –
Except that they’d just heal right back, wouldn’t they? Perfectly sighted eyes staring back at him, within just a few minutes of his ruining them.
The face in the mirror blurred and he bowed his head, tears dripping into the basin. How could he possibly stand this? How could he go on? He wished he had been killed in Ishbal. He wished he had had the nerve to use his gun on himself, before Hughes had inspired him with visions of the future. He wished –
Never mind. Nothing he could do about it now. He needed to sleep, so he could think more clearly and come up with a new plan for tomorrow. And maybe some day, if he could find a place where he could be alone and think, he’d finally discover a way to make the years – the endless, interminable, horrifying years that lay in front of him – tolerable.
Roy threw himself, fully clothed, across the bed covers. He had time for a flash of amusement at the way he could still become exhausted even if he couldn’t die or be permanently injured. And then he sank into a sleep that was, mercifully, dreamless.
When he finally awoke, the angle of the beam of light shafting into the room from between the curtains told him that it was at least midmorning. So much, he thought in fresh amusement, for that internal clock he’d bragged about. But he did feel rested, and he sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the cot, realizing that he’d better get moving and trying to throw off the pursuit that was undoubtedly coming.
Except that it had already caught up to him. Riza Hawkeye stood leaning back against the door of his room, arms folded across her chest, waiting patiently for him.
(Continue to Chapter 8)
Havoc strode up to Hohenheim and grabbed the front of the man’s jacket with both fists, jerking him forward. He glared into the man’s face and growled, “Just what do you think you’re doing? Do you mean to say you’ve known all along what was wrong with Roy, and you didn’t say a word?”
Hohenheim seemed untroubled by the other man’s vehement anger. “Yes, I’ve known ever since I heard he left Central. But despite how that sounds, I wasn’t trying to keep it from you. I just felt it was better if Roy told you himself. But he had to come to terms with it first, and that’s what I hoped to help him do, if I could just talk to him in private for a while. Obviously I never got the chance to do that.”
“You bastard!” Ed raged. “You never, ever change, do you?”
But when he, too, would have stepped toward his father, fists clenched, as though to punch him or do something along a similar vein, Al put a firm hand on his arm and stopped him. “Wait, Ed,” he said quietly, sober grey eyes searching his father’s face. “I think we need to hear his explanation before we get too angry.”
“Too late, about the ‘angry’ part,” Havoc hissed, and shoved Hohenheim away as he released his fists. “But yes. Talk. Now. Or I’m going to join in with whatever Ed’s planning to do.”
Hohenheim regained his balance and righted himself, straightening his jacket and then his glasses. “It’s simple, really,” he said. “Roy Mustang has become like me.”
“He’s nothing like – “ Ed began, but stopped abruptly. “Wait a minute. You don’t mean…”
“I mean that he can’t die, any more than I can. You should have figured that out, the minute you saw this,” the man added, sweeping his hand to indicate the crushed bushes at the bottom of the tree with all the broken branches. “Because you’re right – nobody – no ordinary person – could possibly have survived such a fall and walked away from it.”
“Then he…,” Riza faltered, hardly daring to speak the words. “He’s…still alive. We haven’t…”
“That’s right,” Hohenheim replied softly. “You haven’t lost him. He’s alive.”
“But how can that be?” Havoc asked in bewilderment. “How could he have become like you? That’s just not possible. There’s never been any indication of anything like that. Are you trying to say – he’s immortal? Like…something happened to him, to his alchemy or something, and he’s…?”
“I know how he became this way,” Armstrong said solemnly. “It happened when he went to the Gate the last time. Bearing the last Philosopher’s stone, to regain his eyesight. That was when he was changed, wasn’t it?”
“Exactly,” Hohenheim nodded. “One trip too many, to the Gate. When I heard he’d done that, carrying all that power with him, I suspected right away what might have happened to him. But I was too ill, myself, to do anything about it. Once I had finally recovered, I watched him in secret for a while, to see if I could detect anything that indicated he was in the same condition I was. There were only a few hints, but I had a feeling I was right.”
“Why didn’t you just talk to him?” Riza demanded. “Why leave it so long that he had run away and you had to chase him?”
“I think I made an error there,” the man admitted. “He seemed so stable that I thought I had time to finally visit Risemboul, and let Ed and the others know I was still alive. It had already been far too long. But you have to understand. It’s a severe shock when the truth finally dawns on you. It took me years to adjust and accept what had happened to me. So I suspect that if I had just walked up to him and started talking about this, you might have seen a version of what happened up on the top of the cliff, but three years sooner.”
“So…” Havoc frowned at the man, trying to reason it out. “He finally realizes what’s happened to him, as he’s planning this vacation, and he runs off in shock. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Oh no,” Hohenheim shook his head. “No, he’d have recognized the change almost as soon as he returned from the Gate with his eyesight.”
They greeted this statement with a prolonged moment of stunned silence. But finally Riza mustered her wits enough to blurt, “That’s impossible. There was no sign of anything, not for the whole five years he was Commander of Amestris. He can’t have known. He behaved perfectly normally the whole time.”
“He’d have felt it almost immediately,” Hohenheim insisted. “But think what he was doing during those five years. The country needed restoration after all the turmoil it had been through, so he still had the discipline of his work to distract and steady him. He had a goal to work toward, that he’d been striving for ever since the Ishbal wars. This was his one chance at last, to reach that goal and make the difference he’d always wanted to make in his country. With that purpose guiding him, he’d have been able to push his dilemma to the back of his mind. But now he doesn’t have that.”
“And everything’s fallen apart, very quickly,” she supplied slowly, frowning in thought.
“I knew he’d have some kind of reaction,” the man said. “I just didn’t expect it so quickly. I had left Central about a month before he was due to retire, thinking I had time to spend a few days visiting Ed, Winry, and Pinako. But if I’d known he was planning a ‘vacation’ that would take him out of Central, I’d never have left the city. I’d have stayed there, and watched him like a hawk, and we wouldn’t have had to undergo this pursuit.”
“Either that,” Al said quietly, “or you two would have had a huge battle with alchemy right in the heart of Central. Maybe it’s better that it happened this way.”
“Maybe. But it means his own pain has been prolonged.”
“But he’s not dead,” Havoc breathed, as though that fact were finally coming home to him. “That’s good, at least. There’s still a chance to help him. He’s still alive.”
“Yes. And now he’s on foot, so we should be able to track him more easily,” Hohenheim said. “One of us alchemists can widen the ledge so we can bring the horses down, and it shouldn’t take us that long to – “
“No,” Riza said. The others looked at her. “No,” she repeated.
“What do you mean?” Ed demanded. “Are you saying we should just let him go, after all this? I mean, sure, he didn’t handle things too well, and he didn’t treat his friends very well. But I think my dad is right. It all happened because this thing hit him really hard. I think he needs help.”
“I agree,” Riza said. “The best thing will be if he can talk to Hohenheim, and start learning how to…how to be immortal.” She still could hardly say the words, hardly believe them or what they meant. “But the thing is – none of you will be able to bring him back. I can already guarantee that.”
“Then what are we supposed to do – just sit around and wait for him to come back on his own? What if he never does that? And you can see he’s in a lot of pain. We can’t just let him go on like this.”
“You’re right,” Riza agreed again. She looked at Havoc. “And so were you. I understand everything now. I know why he’s running – and what he’s running from. And you were right, Jean – if anyone’s going to bring him back so he can get some help – it’s me. And nobody else.”
* * * * * * *
All he had was the money he’d had with him in his wallet when he fell. So his quarters this time were a bit rougher than what he was used to. The tavern wasn’t very clean, and he’d be sleeping on top of the covers on the rickety bed in the room upstairs tonight. If he slept at all, of course.
Roy sat at the table in the far corner, moodily staring into his mug of beer when he wasn’t watching the tavern entrance. He knew he couldn’t be that far ahead of his pursuers, but he rather expected, by now, that they’d have had to take time to pause and discuss a few other things, which might have given him a bit of extra time. He’d quickly managed to find one of the southern exits from the gorge, and had stolen a horse from a small herd in a nearby farm. (He regretted that, but he fully intended to return the animal in a few weeks, once he’d managed to shake off his pursuit.) They might have guessed that he’d do something like this, but they couldn’t be sure, so they’d probably have to split up, some of them to search closer to home and others to ride farther on.
What they probably wouldn’t guess was that he’d double back, so that he was holed up in a small town quite close to the gorge, rather than trying to get as far away from it as possible. He’d tried to leave some signs of his passage south, without being too obvious. And then he’d found a side road and had ridden as fast as he could back toward them, hoping they’d continue past him, buying him some time.
It was all he could do today. Even with his apparent immortality, he was still capable of becoming exhausted. And he hadn’t slept much last night, before leaving his house.
God, that fall had hurt. Roy shuddered as he took another deep draught of the beer. He set the mug down, and spread some cheese on the large chunk of bread that remained after he’d finished his stew. He didn’t want to think about his terrifying plunge off the cliff, but the memories kept intruding anyway.
He’d felt every broken bone and internal injury. Well…maybe he hadn’t felt the internal injuries specifically, but he’d sure felt the pain. It was worse than anything he’d ever imagined, or experienced, in his life. Except, perhaps, the rapid healing that had begun immediately, as his body knitted every bone, sinew, and membrane back together with spectacular speed.
He wasn’t sure how he kept enough presence of mind not to scream as it happened. A scream would have given away the fact that he was still alive, as well as his location. And he needed every moment of extra time he could get, to allow him to get up and run before they found him. He knew he’d have some time as they dealt with their initial shock, and then dealt with Hohenheim’s explanation about what had really happened to him. And then they’d have had to create the path that would lead them down into the gorge. So he just couldn’t advertise his presence, no matter how he wanted to scream.
One compensation, though. Once the healing was done, he’d felt good. No more pain, no tenderness, no aftereffects at all. He’d been able to spring up and run quite a distance, as though he were in the best shape of his life.
Which, of course, he was now. And always would be, it seemed. Barring one of those inconvenient, bloody painful accidents such as the one he’d suffered earlier today. Again he shook his head, once, trying to get the memory out of his head. He picked up his beer and took another long swallow, getting ready to signal the serving maid for another one. He could afford one more, and then had to find another way of getting money. He supposed he could just starve as he travelled. It wasn’t like it would kill him.
“You don’t look very pleased with yourself,” came a voice from the next table, and Roy glanced over to see an older man with deeply tanned, weathered skin. Probably a farmer from the area, he guessed. And considering his skin colour, he probably had some Ishballan blood in his background somewhere, even if he didn’t have the red eyes. This region was very close to Ishbal, after all, and relations between the two peoples hadn’t always been distrustful.
Roy smiled, leaning back on his bench and resting against the wall behind him. “It’s just been a really long day,” he said.
“You’ve been traveling, I take it?”
“Yes. I came up from the south over the past few days.” He knew this wouldn’t fool anyone if they asked around, but it was instinctive to try to mask where he’d been until today. “And my saddlebags got stolen along the way, so I’m a bit at a loss.”
“Heading for a visit to friends, or doing business?”
Roy hesitated. “Neither,” he said. “I think I’ve just been going where the whim took me.” He managed a wry smile. “I should have gone by train, it seems like.”
The man chuckled. “Only if you wanted to stay in some of the little places longer than you planned. Sometimes there’s only a couple of trains a week – or less – to some of the smaller towns. And none at all to this one.”
“And look what I’d have missed,” Roy grinned, and the man laughed outright.
“Quite right.” Now Roy’s companion glanced over his shoulder and caught the barmaid’s eye. “Let me buy you another beer, since I see that one’s almost gone.”
“You really don’t have to – “
“I think I do, if you’ve lost some of your money along the way.” The man signaled, pointing both to his table and to Roy’s, and the woman nodded, heading toward the bar. Glancing over at Roy again, the townsman asked curiously, “So, what will you do now? Are you still heading north?”
“I think I might go east,” Roy said.
“Ishbal way?” the man nodded. “There are trains going that way, that’s for sure, or you can take one of the new roads. There’s been a lot of repair going on, the last five years.”
“So I’ve heard. I’ve even been there a couple of times while it was going on. It’s better than it was before, even if they don’t quite trust us yet.”
“Can’t blame them, really, can you?”
“No. You can’t blame them at all. But with all the rebuilding going on over there,” Roy mused, “I thought maybe I could get some work and help out a bit, while I’m refilling my own coffers. Maybe I can do some good while I’m getting back on my feet.”
The man nodded again. “That’s a good plan. My son’s over there right now, helping to lay some new railway tracks.”
“Is he? That’s good. It’s good for young people to get some exposure to other cultures. It might help us keep ourselves from getting into the same mess in the future.”
“Maybe so. Though from what I heard, we got pushed into that mess without even knowing it.”
Roy nodded, and then took his fresh mug of beer from the barmaid with a smile. He lifted the mug to his companion. “Thank you, sir. I really appreciate this.”
Somehow, the beer tasted better than it had before. Either the tavern had opened a new keg or – and Roy suspected this instead – he was just glad of the company, which made both food and drink seem a little more palatable. As he set the mug down and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, it occurred to him just how long it had been since he’d sat down for a simple, pleasant conversation with anyone. A couple of weeks, at least.
Pinako and Winry had told him how lonely he looked. And they hadn’t even known the half of it.
“You’re going away from me,” the man said from the next table.
“Oh – sorry. Yes, I was just thinking about…things. What’s behind me. What’s ahead.” Roy shrugged. “There’s a lot of time to think, when you’re traveling alone.”
“And they look like sad thoughts, to me.”
Another shrug. “Some of them are,” he admitted. “But I’ve got a lot ahead of me too. I think every life has its pluses and minuses as it goes along, don’t you?”
The man’s eyes narrowed shrewdly, but he merely said, “You’re right about that.”
“Tell me about what you do, instead,” Roy suggested. “Have I guessed right? Do you farm in this area?”
“That’s right,” the man nodded with a pleased smile. “I was selling some pigs this afternoon, and I decided to stop in here for a breather before riding back out to my place.”
“Tell me about your farm,” Roy said. “It’s been a while since I spent any time in farming country.”
He cupped his hands around the mug of beer, leaning forward on his elbows to listen. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to know all about any particular farm – though he did find such things interesting, and this man was friendly and liked to talk. It was more that the very act of conversing like this, in such a comfortable way, was a balm to his soul right now. He’d spent so much of his adult life in the midst of desperate, earth-shattering events. It was soothing, at last, to be able to sit with someone and just talk.
He’d probably get weary of this, too, over the long years ahead of him. After all, wasn’t it true that he’d never again really be like any of these people, and never belong with them, no matter how much time he spent among them? He didn’t know what he was, but he wasn’t actually human any more, was he?
But just for tonight, surely, he could pretend. He could listen, and ask questions, and admire this farmer for his neighourliness and his hard work. And his supremely normal life.
He learned about the farmer’s family (he had two other sons and two daughters who had married in the district). He learned what crops grew best in this region, and what animals the man kept (cattle, chicken, and pigs). And he learned that the man did, indeed, have an Ishballan in his background – a young woman who had met and married an Amestrian, and moved with him to the farm, three generations ago.
“My great grandmother,” said the farmer, whose name was Jeb. “I barely remember her, since she died when I was five. But we still visit our Ishballan cousins from time to time.”
A thought struck Roy. “It must have been very hard for your family, during the wars.”
Jeb hesitated. “A little,” he finally conceded. “We really worried about our cousins, for one thing. And the people around here…” he glanced around the tavern, which had gradually begun to fill as he and Roy talked. “Well, they didn’t know what to think, sometimes. It helped that we’ve always been so involved in the community, but they did sometimes look at us differently. If any of us had inherited the red eyes, well…I think a few of our countrymen might have lost their heads for a while and done foolish things.”
Roy closed his eyes. “I’m sorry you had to go through such things. I’m sorry any of it ever happened.”
There was a long silence, until he opened his eyes again and found the farmer watching him. “Tell you what,” the man finally said. “Why don’t you come out to the farm with me and stay the night? Letitia – my wife – she’ll make you a good, filling breakfast before you head out again. And you’ll have a much better bed than anything they’ve got here. It’s a good place, as taverns go, but I know the accommodations upstairs leave something to be desired. What do you say?”
Roy bowed his head, staring into his beer. He wanted to take the man up on the offer – oh, how he wanted to! But it just wouldn’t be fair. He couldn’t get this friendly farmer caught up in his affairs any more than he already was. There would be questions coming – he could tell by the look on Jeb’s face. And the last thing he wanted to do was get into that sort of explanation, or spend more time trying to evade giving real answers.
“I appreciate the offer,” he murmured, “but I really can’t. I think I’ll be up and out of here even before you get up in the morning.”
“I doubt that,” Jeb chuckled.
Roy managed a smile. “I used to be a soldier. I can set my internal clock to wake me almost any time I need to. But anyway – I just can’t take you up on your offer, I’m sorry. But you’re very kind to make the suggestion.”
Jeb took another drink of his beer, his eyes watching Roy intently over the rim of his mug. “Ah, well, I’m sorry you can’t. But never mind.”
They talked a little longer, the conversation gradually moving into other realms. But soon, their beer was gone and Roy’s companion was pushing back his chair, standing up. Roy stood with him, extending a hand. “Jeb, it’s been a real pleasure chatting with you. I hope you got a good price for those pigs.”
“Good enough,” the man nodded. “Thanks for the good company before I headed home.” He squeezed Roy’s hand between both of his own, and lowered his voice. “And I hope you find a way to banish those sad thoughts, Commander.”
Roy froze. In fact, he must have looked so surprised that Jeb laughed, saying, “We do get newspapers out here, you know, and they do have pictures of important people. But don’t worry…this is a dark corner, and I don’t think anyone else has paid attention.”
“So much for going undiscovered,” Roy muttered. “And I’m not the Commander any more, anyway.”
“I know that. Which is why I’m curious about why you’re here, of all places. But I’m not going to pry,” Jeb smiled. “I just wish you well. And maybe we’ll see you here again sometime. On your way back from Ishbal, maybe.”
Roy nodded. “I hope so. I’ll look you up if I come back through.” Unless, he thought with a pang, he was away long enough that it would be this man’s son – or grandson – or great grandson! – sitting in the tavern on the night he passed through again.
He watched Jeb make his way among the tables, stopping briefly a couple of times to greet others he knew, and then the man was gone. Roy sat down again, staring bleakly into his empty mug. He could conceivably meet every descendant this man ever had, for generations. And he would remember the living, breathing man, long after his descendants had forgotten Jeb’s very existence, let alone his actual name.
The room upstairs, when he returned to it, felt like a prison cell. Roy poured fresh water into the wash basin and splashed it on his face. When he bent over, leaning on the stand and looking into the small mirror above it, he saw the same face staring back at him that he’d always seen. Except that it was utterly changed, now and forever.
Forever…
Those exotic black eyes that had set women swooning all across Amestris. Eyes with clear sight – perfect vision now, as it happened – they were the reason for everything. If only he hadn’t gone to the Gate to get his sight back! He should have taken a lesson from everything that had happened to Ed and Al. If only he had been content to let others bring peace to his country and remain blind himself, instead of thinking he was the only person who could accomplish the task. He should never have done it. He should have refused Marcoh’s gift of the last Philosopher’s Stone.
Maybe if he put both his eyes out and blinded himself again, he thought desperately, maybe then it would all be undone –
Except that they’d just heal right back, wouldn’t they? Perfectly sighted eyes staring back at him, within just a few minutes of his ruining them.
The face in the mirror blurred and he bowed his head, tears dripping into the basin. How could he possibly stand this? How could he go on? He wished he had been killed in Ishbal. He wished he had had the nerve to use his gun on himself, before Hughes had inspired him with visions of the future. He wished –
Never mind. Nothing he could do about it now. He needed to sleep, so he could think more clearly and come up with a new plan for tomorrow. And maybe some day, if he could find a place where he could be alone and think, he’d finally discover a way to make the years – the endless, interminable, horrifying years that lay in front of him – tolerable.
Roy threw himself, fully clothed, across the bed covers. He had time for a flash of amusement at the way he could still become exhausted even if he couldn’t die or be permanently injured. And then he sank into a sleep that was, mercifully, dreamless.
When he finally awoke, the angle of the beam of light shafting into the room from between the curtains told him that it was at least midmorning. So much, he thought in fresh amusement, for that internal clock he’d bragged about. But he did feel rested, and he sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the cot, realizing that he’d better get moving and trying to throw off the pursuit that was undoubtedly coming.
Except that it had already caught up to him. Riza Hawkeye stood leaning back against the door of his room, arms folded across her chest, waiting patiently for him.
(Continue to Chapter 8)
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Date: 2011-02-07 02:37 am (UTC)