Blue
a brief foray into Genso Suikoden II
by Mithrigil Galtirglin
'What last grand adventure?' he'd said. 'What last grand adventure?' As if he could have gone on without stopping, the way Viktor did. As if he had a True Rune to keep him alive.
At nearly ninety years old, Flik still wore Odessa on his hip and in the nape of his neck, where his mind ended and fancy began. And yes, he could still wield her, could still slay whatever aggressive fauna did not fear the power that emanated from him like the halo around a rune. And yes, he still wore the Thunder Rune on his hand, and time had sharpened his mind so that a bolt from heaven took but a wave of his hand. And yes, decades of intermittent warfare and wild goose chases had hardened him, but his hands were still beautiful, if callused and spotted, and his glimmering blue eyes could still melt the hearts of all manner of womenfolk, from proper young ladies to surly tavern wenches.
But Viktor, at nearly a hundred, did not look a day over forty-five.
When the pair had discovered that the Star Dragon Sword did, in fact, induce agerasia and immortality, they came back South to fetch it from Edge. Viktor decided--and it was within his right to do so, Flik agreed--that he didn't want to foist the burden of a True Rune on anyone, even someone as ambitious and capable as Edge. And so Viktor and Flik found Edge, and Viktor and Edge dueled, and Viktor accepted the Sword, this time for good, without giving Edge the full reason for it. That had been two score years ago.
Flik knew that he was beginning to slow Viktor down. Viktor would only admit it in jest, of course, over a pint--pint, singular, Flik no longer drank--or beside a fire. "Lightning," he would say, or slur, "yer cramping my style." And Flik would riposte with some remark about grooming, or swordsmanship, or prove that even he, with his sunspots and wrinkles, was more attractive to the barmaids than the burly bear across the table.
That did not discount the truth of what Viktor said.
'What last grand adventure?' Flik had said, as if he could outrun time.
His eyes had not failed him, and here he was, sitting watch, in a dense forest not quite out of Kamaro. The moon overhead had been full four days ago, and hung ominous and dark, its edges blending in with the heavy autumn sky. Precious little of the blue light made it past the barrier of branches over where Flik and Viktor had bivouacked; Viktor slept silently, having finally outmatched the snoring he'd been prone to in the earlier years, and Flik sat with his back against the thickest-trunked of the trees, wrapped in his cape, warming himself with thoughts of the past.
"You tried to kill my husband," an effortless, quiet voice whispered from the other side of the tree's trunk.
Sierra, Flik knew, and drew Odessa an inch out of her scabbard. "Several times."
"He is a bother, sometimes," she went on, "I almost didn't mind."
Flik closed his eyes and began to get to his feet, joints creaking with the application of forgotten stealth. He knew that he was no match for her, the eldest of the Vampires, and debated waking Viktor. "Why have you come?" he said, loudly, in the hopes of masking that he was standing, and perhaps, making it easier to rouse Viktor if the need arose.
He saw her shadow on the ground, among the phantom grappling branches. "You're old. You might die."
"Might?"
She extended her ghastly white hand beyond the circumference of the tree trunk. The Blue Moon Rune glowed gently, a very little brighter than the night sky. "It...it suggested you might want to not die."
'What last grand adventure?' Flik had said, as if he could go on adventuring forever.
Still holding Odessa's hilt, a raw inch of blade gleaming in what it reflected, Flik edged around the tree, toward Sierra. She was as small as ever, and her glowing hand was barely on level with Flik's waist. He peered at the wisps of silver hair and gentle cloth that had caught in the bark--but even as he approached, she retreated into the shadows, maintaining her advantage. It was a game Flik and Odessa had played while she still lived, a game so many lovers had played, built on coyness and feigned chasing...and yet no, this was no game, and there was no jest.
"It suggested?" the old man asked.
"It suggested," she repeated, still circling the tree, a hair out of his sight. "And much more politely than its brother would have."
Flik was ready to ask what the Blue Moon Rune's brother would be--and then he saw Viktor, asleep in the grass, the Star Dragon Sword--the Night Rune--just inside an arm's length of his rising and falling chest.
Sierra sighed, and the sound barely reached Flik's ears. "It's so polite that it's letting you say no, if you want to." She stepped out of his sight again, in a somber parody of the games of children. "It wouldn't do that for just anyone."
"No," Flik whispered back, "I'm sure it wouldn't." He glanced at Viktor again, leathery skin and ragged hemlines and haphazard shaving, almost exactly as he'd been for the last fifty years--fifty years!--of second watches. And again, he looked down at the Star Dragon Sword, its gemstone stirring as if to wakefulness.
He followed Sierra's hand, not beckoning him, but floating before him, a curiosity.
"Why?" he asked, and then he knew.
No.
"No," Flik said, suddenly and flatly, stopping in his inch-by-inch pursuit, giving Sierra no time to answer. "No."
The fingers of Sierra's hand shivered, just slightly. "No?"
"I would rather die than become his enemy," Flik clarified, in a whisper so hoarse he thought he'd never said the words at all.
'What last grand adventure?' he had said, as if there would never be a last.
The shadow on the other side of the tree stilled, and the elegant hand bearing the jagged rune lowered, out of Flik's sight. "It says you don't understand," she whispered back, "but that it's probably just as well."
"What about you?" the question was out before Flik could stop it. "Do you want me to take it?"
Sierra hesitated, and some of her hair fell out of where it had caught in the bark. "I thought I was being kind," she said, almost as if in quiet protest.
Flik shook his head. "You were, and I thank you for the gesture," he said, and to prove his sincerity, sheathed Odessa and let go of her hilt. "But I'd still rather die."
"All right," he heard Sierra reply.
Flik watched the few remaining strands of silvery hair fade into shadow. A slight gust caught his own grey hair, and edged it into the corner of his eye. He brushed the bangs off his forehead, thinking back to when they had been brown and thick, and to when that gesture had been the signal to initiate a three-point attack. He turned back to Viktor and leaned against the tree, sinking back to the ground spread with fallen leaves, their color drained on this bleak night.
He told Viktor and the sword when they exchanged the watch, an hour and a half later.
"Sierra came to see me," he said.
Viktor guffawed, stretching. "Get some sleep, old man. Your mind's going." Twisting at the hips and working the cricks out of his massive back, he strapped the Star Dragon Sword over his shoulder and added, "I'm off for some firewood."
"She did," Flik asserted, to the sword this time.
The jeweled and carved pommel seemed to lower its eyebrows in the fickle moonlight. "Then why are you still here?"
"I..." Flik began, and then considered his lack of a clear response. "I don't know," he admitted, and laughed a little. "I'm stealing your bedroll."
"Fine by me."
'What last grand adventure?' Flik had said, as if he could have chosen otherwise.