Chapter II—In the Half-Light of Memory
Nadia's final screams died into stillness. Not a sound came from the remaining audience. Everyone gaped at what they had just seen, and all eyes fixed on the Telepod where the girl no longer stood.
A moment later, Taban appeared and shooed away the crowd. "Show's over, folks. Move along. Um . . . technical difficulties!" After everyone reluctantly dispersed, Taban faced his son. "Luca, what happened?" He helplessly flailed his arms. "What went wrong? Where'd the girl go? Is she okay?"
"I don't know!" Luca yelled back, then punched a few more buttons on the desk. "I can't bring her back."
Fritz shook his head in dismay. "She just disappeared into that vortex."
Luca pondered and studied the place Nadia last stood. "I can only surmise her pendant affected the Telepod somehow. That's why the machine malfunctioned."
The father and son continued their discussion as Crono noticed something glimmering on platform of the left pod. There sat a beckoning blue sparkle amid the night's hushed blackness, and Crono knelt to find Nadia's pendant. He cupped the priceless stone in his hand. "This started everything. Sent her into oblivion." His eyes narrowed in determination. "But, more importantly, this is the key that will bring her home." He gripped the sapphire necklace as though holding Nadia's hand, then gazed off into the trees. He didn't understand why, but felt somehow her fate rested with him.
He turned to face Luca. "She won't stay lost for long." He shouted to quiet them down. "Because I'm going after her."
Taban stared at him in perplexity. "No, I will not allow that! No one enters the Telepod! It's too risky!"
Crono defiantly shook his head. "Only someone entering the portal after her can find her. She said she was new to Guardia. She might not know the way home. I should go after her. I'm not a scientist and can't help fix the machine, so you can't use me here. I don't want Nadia to be alone, wherever she ended up."
Taban thoughtfully glanced at Luca. "Won't we lose both of them if he enters the portal? Can we track his location before he disappears? If that necklace caused the portal to open, we would need to send someone with it to bring Nadia back, wouldn't we?"
Luca stared out into the mountains, then faced his father. "I agree with Crono. We have no other choice." Each of his words seemed forced. He didn't want to watch his best friend step into a potentially dangerous machine and vanish into oblivion. "I don't know where the Telepod will take you, to the mountains, out in the ocean, on an island, or somewhere else. But hold onto that pendant, Crono. It might be your only way home."
Crono nodded in understanding. "Not alone. We'll both return."
"I'll go with you," Fritz offered and stepped forward. "I feel bad about what happened. Maybe I can help."
Luca shook his head no. "Fritz, I'm sorry, but sending two people into the Telepod makes an even worse idea. You can assist us, though. I want you to stay behind and start a rumor in town. Tell the villagers everything went well and Nadia returned home safely. Do that and it will make this search much simpler. We won't be able to help her if Pops and I get tossed into prison."
Fritz glanced around at his friends. "All right, I'll do that. Be careful out there, Crono. I'll pray for you."
Luca sat down at the remote controls. "When I figure out what's wrong with the Telepod, I'll come looking for you, Crono. I promise."
Crono dropped the pendant into his tunic pocket and stepped into the left pod. "I hold you to that."
A moment later, the two scientists transferred energy into the machine, and the great blue portal opened a second time. The lightning, the same flashing energy that swirled like living liquid and beckoned blue from another dimension, enveloped Crono. It burned through the air, illuminated the mountains and filled the Telepod with power that roared to a deafening pitch. As it radiated across the sky, Crono's sight turned hazy and he felt himself fall through rain clouds that embraced his mind and exhorted him to sleep. Lights began to fade, the color of the fair, the starlit sky, Taban's nod of encouragement, Fritz' sad parting smile, and finally the reassuring blue eyes of his childhood friend. The portal widened as if to confirm the promise Luca made before Crono stepped into the machine. I'll come looking for you. I promise.
Then Crono Zenan passed through metal and light and vanished before the eyes of those who watched him go.
"Good luck!" he heard through the cold wind and the indistinct voices blowing in from the portal. Luca's voice. Then everything in Crono Zenan's small, rain-washed view of the earth disappeared in a rushing whirlpool of blue and black as he left Guardia behind and shot off into the unknown.
Crono Zenan spiraled through a swirling blue galaxy as vast as the sky and deeper than the sea. Across landscapes and darkness, voices cried out from a tornado of images and sound. His body burned with rushes of pain, and the sharp song of lifeless wind filled his ears, yet he felt no sensation from the drafts as they whipped his long hair and robes. Lost within the depths of mist, he could not discern the shape of his hands, phantasmal and indistinct, as he brought them before his eyes. Ahead, a single light beckoned, and he drifted as though falling in a dream. Flashes of the world assailed his vision—forests, rivers and foggy villages, glimpses of a kingdom that existed in a time before he could remember. The portal stretched on into eternity, and shimmered like melted obsidian. The end of Crono's transit neared with every moment. He could feel it. He braced himself as he descended into liquid blackness. Fighting back the pain, he strained his muscles to outlast what flung against him as he continued to delve maddeningly into the unknown.
Realities shifted as though his soul vacated his body, and the doorway to Guardia flickered weakly in the blue light as the walls of this transparent hallway seemed to stir and carry Crono even further from home. He could not make out the passage of time or measure the blinding speed of his travel. Everything occurred at once. He heard his name, noticed the shadow of his memories within the mirrors of half-light that surrounded him. And somewhere within the rippling lights, he thought he saw his father's face, weathered by wind and sun. He placed his finger on his opposite wrist and took his pulse as he wondered if he had died before he passed through the portal. Did he stand in the Telepod, or did he walk the spirit halls at the end of life?
Torn from the light that impelled him away, Crono aimlessly fell through the tunnel, from the village, from friends, from people he loved. Only the glowing light beyond foretold the blue tunnel's end as it drew him closer to its shine and the promise of freedom that waited in the distance. When Crono's trembling fingers at last reached the light, his senses returned all at once and a cool breath of wind overtook him. He hit the ground chest first and them tumbled against something hard—a tree.
Several hours later, Crono awoke in a mountain clearing nestled within a ring of trees. Hundreds of feet of mountain rock vertically loomed before him, and formed a dark barrier against the skyline. He heard the soft echoes of a river flowing quietly down the mountain, smelled the scent of wet grass, and his mouth tasted like dirt. For some reason, these all reminded him of Zaida Forest.
"Ugh, my head," Crono groaned as he grasped his forehead. "Where am I?" A faint curtain of moisture and sunlight dappled the green leaves and shimmering trunks. Dew sparkled in the morning light as it gently lit the woods where songbirds twittered the time of day. "I must have slept through the night." Black canyons seemed to stare down like the hoods of faceless strangers, and the ancient trees, grayed and withered by time, knifed into the heavens. The sun rose above the eastern mountains, and shot its first faint rays of light to the silent morning as Crono stirred from his resting place in the small clearing. Tiny sticks and dried leaves entangled his hair as he glanced up through the widespread gaps between the ageless trees, where small lines of mist coiled around their bases. He looked around but saw Nadia nowhere. Lost just like him, he supposed. Slowly he brushed off the twigs and leaves, then heaved to his feet with a weary grunt.
Red and green leaves shimmered above him as he hiked over to where the forest thinned, then he stared off into the land that stretched into the horizon. Amid the dense brush and deadwood beneath the canyon depths, Crono searched for movement and any traces of Nadia.
"Nothing. I'm too late." Suddenly something rustled the leafy bushes to Crono's left. Silently it slunk through the distant shade of the thick trees. But Crono's seasoned fighting senses did not miss the scurrying echo, and his hand hovered close to his weapon as he stood cautiously in the dim sunlit clearing.
"Nadia?" he called, but no answer came. Crono waited in the silence. Not alone, his sharp eyes never left the cold shadow of the woods where an unknown creature crept and watched his every move.
Then came the sinister and threatening voice. "Leave this place, mortal," it echoed across the clearing. The unseen being caused blackbirds to scatter from the trees and depart the mountain in all directions. "Turn back while you still can. You stand in Kelvenforge, where mystics rule and the Dark One sees all. Those who trespass shall be destroyed!" Crono felt rather than saw something lurking in the bushes. "Zaida Forest belongs to us now. Be gone, lest the Dark One show himself!"
"Show yourself, coward," Crono replied as he wondered at the identity of this "Dark One." "Come out of the shadows. You don't frighten me." Crono guardedly approached the bushes, and as he neared he barely avoided a deadly strike. A spear shot through the air, and impaled a tree directly behind him. Instantly a host of goblins leapt out at him from all directions. Their screeches filled the air, and their lank rawboned forms hunched darkly and menacingly. In their clawed hands, rusty sword blades glinted, but Crono stood his ground as they came at him in an uneven rush. As he pulled free his sword, he wondered at the difference in these goblins. They appeared not as the slime-green goblins of his homeland, but bigger, with black rocklike skin. Their lifeless eyes gleamed red with bloodlust, and leather garb protected their slender forms as they charged at Crono with weapons drawn high.
Crono had never seen so many goblins just north of his homeland, but he found no time for speculation as he readied himself to deflect the first blade coming into range. Crono parried the strike, then countered with such a vicious slam he sent the first goblin flying head over heels. The rest of the remaining troop charged as their comrades fired arrows which would quickly bring down their adversary. Groans and screeches of battle filled the dawn, and blood streaked the barren earth as vividly as the crimson sun distantly rising in the east. Crono rushed fearlessly into their midst, and executed his wild fighting maneuvers so fast he dodged and repelled every strike against him. The goblin archers, historically not intelligent, discovered their error too late as they fired on their fellow comrades in their vain attempts to kill the solitary intruder. Crono darted through the ranks, snapped necks with his tough hands and smashed skulls with his wooden sword. The goblins panicked, then shrieked out into the trees in a strange language. In answer to their cry, more goblins rushed at Crono from behind, and appeared from the dark to destroy him. But the battle lasted only a few minutes.
Crono relentlessly stormed them. His savage grimace mirrored death as he cast the goblins' weapons aside, charged in to slam his blunt sword into their slender forms, then crushed their bones under his large booted feet. The unrivaled speed and ferocity of Crono's hammering blows confused and frightened the goblins, and they fled like thieves back into the dark. When Crono heard the unmistakable echo of more goblins cry out in terror, he suspected the muffled screams emanated from a cave not far away. The goblins broke apart, retreated northward, and sought to avoid a fate similar to some of their comrades. They evidently assumed that an army of humans bombarded them instead of just one. Crono unleashed his final knockdown on those that remained, silenced and scattered the vile creatures, and laid waste to their evil. As the last goblin attacked, Crono sighed and kicked it in the face, and sent it sprawling over the side of the mountain, where it tumbled and plunged to its death. Alone once more, Crono knelt and searched the gloom for more enemies. Then he reluctantly sheathed his sword, and vowed to find his way out to continue his search for Nadia.
Clambering over goblin carcasses and following their tracks, Crono explored and scouted the trees. He arrived at a deserted wilderness and goblin camp filled with gnawed bones, dried rat meat and rusty cooking uternsils. He had hoped Nadia might wait somewhere close. But he found no one. Surveying the land once more and discovering no sign of struggle here except his own, he made his way back to the clearing. He had to assume Nadia traveled back to Truce after arriving here sometime last night and guessed her location at several miles away by now. She most likely followed the river, so Crono picked his way along the trees at an even pace. Avoiding the dense and enshrouding canvas of scrubland from which the goblins and other spawn could emerge, he determinedly marched onward. Except an occasional drip of moisture that fell from the motionless leaves in a dewy chime, no sounds or voices echoed as Crono departed what he guessed made up the Draven Canyons where he camped as a boy. The forestland stretched away in a gloomy sea of flora. As his distance grew so did his recognition when the ground level sloped downward. This mountain and forest felt familiar enough that he knew them as part of his homeland. The goblins even mentioned his trespass into Zaida Forest and Kelvenforge, and that proved it. But at the same time, the land appeared more foreign in his heart than it did in his eyes. How far north in Guardia had he traveled? In the back of his mind, a tiny voice whispered that this place was not home.
The forest deepened into a carpet of rolling hills. Only the sporadic echo of forest life broke the silence of Crono's journey. He sensed no further enemies in the wilderness, but as he reached a darker shadowing of trees he felt someone watching him, he guessed with malevolence, as a chill trickled down his spine. All at once the trees thinned and he arrived at a small road. He knew not how deep into the forest he had trekked, and even less where he headed.
He left the trees behind and breathed in the fresh air at the lower ridges of the Draven Canyon. He confirmed the place as Guardia when he beheld a perfect view of Zaida Falls thundering amid the gloom of Kelvenforge, and he excitedly climbed the nearest cliff that provided the best view of his home. But instead of observing the Millennial Festival, he found another sea of trees. No life.
"This can't be," he whispered, and checked everything twice. "Where's Havenseld? Where's my village and the fair? This can't be Guardia. What's going on?" He couldn't spot a single home in the land ahead, nor the sight or sound of human activity. Where he thought the fair once stood, now only trees, a mountain that descended towards the valley, and a great black stain of an unknown region of mist beyond.
Crono quickly climbed down the mountain, and wondered if he might have ended up further north or on another island identical to his. But he couldn't deny the familiar sights of this land because he had camped with Fritz and Luca in this very part of the mountains not long ago. He decided the best course of action would be to follow the river south until he found someone who could disclose his location. The Telepod seemed to malfunction badly, Crono recalled. Perhaps Nadia's pendant affected the machine's guiding system, and simply sent them further into the uncharted areas of Kelvenforge instead of into the opposite pod on the stage. But even that assumption failed to answer his biggest question. Why did nothing sit in its expected place? Had he landed in Guardia or not?
"I will find my answer in time," Crono murmured but remained unaware of the deeper meaning of those words as he pushed on into the gloom.
Avoiding the cracks and crevices of the mountain surface, he slowly continued downward and jumped from large stones sealed into the mountainside. Then he followed a small stream and trusted that its life-giving waters would lead to civilization. At the bottom of the mountain, another forest appeared, twisted, toxic, and devoid of roads or the footsteps of any living creature. The stark grass denounced color and life, and stretched into the distant groves like a writhing sea of black thorns that clutched the corpses of small animals. The black leafless trees thrust into the somber skies as if to beg mercy for their tortured earth, which appeared skeletal and dead against the dusky horizon.
Crono noticed nothing lived in this place but, even more frightening, black and red storm clouds took shape in the skies as he proceeded south. He felt a curse shadowing his footsteps from the scowling heavens. Anxious to flee the ominous onyx ceiling that stirred overhead, he hastily broke into a run. Abruptly the mountain path ended as he came upon a field of gray mist, and Crono stopped there to gaze into its deep unyielding presence. He stared at the swamp in fear and confusion, and could almost feel it staring back.
"What the?" he questioned as he recognized this place as the black stain in the land he had seen from the northern canyon. "What is this place?" All across the voluminous landmass that once comprised Havenseld, gray fog windlessly roiled. The mist felt ice cold as it unnerved Crono with the biting sense that foul creatures lurked within. Into the horizon the marshes disappeared. The mere sight of the fog seemed to whisper voices in his mind, voices that told him he would not pass through alive, that the dead forest and animals behind him mirrored his looming fate should he pass into the swamp.
The terrain breathed and undulated as if expecting him. It appeared so cursed and impure that even orcs seemed to avoid the area. Then he suddenly noticed something, a cloaked and hooded figure standing in the mist ahead. It carried with it a long scythe, and wore black featureless robes that reflected death as the hollow hood turned in Crono's direction. For a moment, Crono uncertainly thought he saw long blue hair fluttering from the hood. As the unholy being approached, it levitated above the water, and Crono couldn't tell if it represented mystic or human. Crono immediately hid behind a rock as his terror intensified in his isolation on that cold sunless mountain edge. Fear of the shadow's gaze crept like liquid ice in his veins, and chilled his very blood. Crono risked a quick glance over his stone sanctuary, and caught sight of the being retreating into the distance. Crono deeply sighed in relief. The creature had not seen him. He lay against the rock and waited for his heartbeat to slow as he peered into the somber shrouded marshes and at the suspended figure far beyond. Even from the distance, Crono felt the foreboding presence of the shadow, and he stayed silent until it disappeared entirely.
Breathing easier now, Crono rose to his feet, and pressed on into the foulness of the black marshes with vigilant senses. Nothing but grim wetlands dominated the path ahead, and permeated Crono's body with each of his steps as the trail stretched across Guardia. The place smelled of rot, soaked deadwood and muck. From the blackened waters, the saturated roots of old trees lifted skyward. Insects buzzed around the carcasses of deer, skunks, and small animals that lay half buried or lifelessly floating in the swamp. All beauty and virtue of Crono's light-sheltered homeland left behind, the atmosphere whispered only of death. Through the mist miles ahead, the land appeared empty and gray. Nothing but joyless skies crowned the backdropping mountains that appeared as the knuckles of giants stretched painfully against the horizon.
Crono looked to the heavens, but when he glanced once more into the swamp, he stopped in horror. Dead bodies lay scattered across the marshes, the corpses pallid and rotting in the gray half-light, their remains floating adrift the blackened waters. Blood caked their wounds and emptied into the swamp, but even blood did little to color the desolate surface of this place. Crono noted eyes gouged out and mouths lying open in silent screams that must have formed just as death overtook them.
Crono grew more heartsick with every step as he discovered these men bore the symbol of Guardia. The crimson-gold flag of his homeland lay broken and smudged. But this can't be Guardia, Crono told himself again. He knelt before the men, and whispered a silent prayer for a flight of angels to sing the knights to eternal rest.
A moment later, an eerie glimmer caught Crono's eye through the mist several yards southward, and he rose to his feet to detect the strange presence. When he stepped across the slushy grass, the mist began to clear and he came upon patches of black flames that burned in a smokeless dance. Wreathed by lavender, the fires seemed infused with magic. But sorcery disappeared from Guardia centuries ago, Crono thought. He hypnotically stared into the dark flames, and became mesmerized by the beckoning void as he wondered why the blaze existed and what created it. The flames originated from no fuel but burned strongly atop the waters amid the mist. Crono's knowledge of fire whirled him in circles. The flames crackled slowly and absorbed sunlight, fire that in fact stole away light rather than gave it back.
When Crono first noticed the blaze, he grew shocked to find some warmth in this eternal gloom, then rushed forward to bask in the fire's life-giving heat. But the closer Crono came to the fire, the colder he became. He placed his hands above the flames, and received only cold. They emanated a glacial aura like a mirror of true fire that consumed heat as well as light. The unholy beacons seemed put there solely to render the marshes lightless and freezing as they formed the insignia of a crescent scythe impaled in a skull, an image of malice spawned from a heart as cold and unfeeling as the one who created it, a man whose name appeared only in legend and nightmare.
Crono slowly circled the flames before a gruesome creature, disguised as a massive rock in a large puddle several feet away, explosively burst from the depths of the blackened water with a terrifying roar. Hulking and overly muscled, the beast stood eight feet tall. Crono observed pale blue skin and crooked teeth, gnarled fingers broader than knotted sticks, and a face contorted into a savage grimace as its beady black eyes hungrily fixed upon its prey. Quick as a whip, the creature immediately charged at the brawny youth with a mace in hand. Crono startled and then realized he faced an ogre. But they have not been seen in Guardia for hundreds of years, he rationalized, though he had no time to dwell on the matter. Crono withdrew his wooden sword and leapt to the side with catlike reflexes just as the huge iron-spiked mace crashed to the earth in an explosion that rocked the swamp. The blasted trees shook violently, and although Crono dodged the blow, the quaking still knocked him from his feet. He fell back into the water, then tried to regain his standing. His movement slowed and became slippery from the murky cold of the swamp floor.
Apparently famished for human flesh, the towering monster relentlessly attacked Crono. The clumsy creature missed often when charging but managed to land an excruciatingly painful blow on Crono's shoulder. The youth slammed to the ground, and his head struck an uprooted stump. He slumped over as if he would never rise again. Barely conscious, he rolled away from another assault, then rose to his feet, struck back the beast with all his strength, and landed a mighty blow on the back of the creature's thick skull. Unfortunately, the wooden sword simply shattered on impact, with Crono not harming the beast at all. The beast only roared louder. The weaponless fighter knew he now stood no chance against the ogre, then turned around and fled for his life. But the ogre chased after Crono like a maddened wolf hunting a wounded rabbit! Crono bolted southward and would have outrun the creature had not a stabbing pain dogged his every step. His wounded shoulder burned with every movement, and he knew if he did not escape soon or kill this monster, he would die. He ran a quarter of a mile through the marshes before he tripped and fell into the swamp, with the creature lumbering up hard and fast to finish him.
Crono Zenan lay flat on his chest, his bent arms raising his face out of the murk, and envisioned his fate as he stared into his reflection in the water. He knew his life would end here. On the verge of giving up, he felt cold touch his hand as the steel blade with the emblem of the silver flame fell from a pocket in his robe. Keep it close. Nadia's words echoed in his thoughts, and in stunned realization Crono drew the knife he had taken from the bully the day before. Crono rose to his feet with a mighty push of his strong arms and turned around.
"Come at me! Let's finish this!" Crono challenged the beast, then streaked mud on his face like warpaint. The ogre rushed at Crono, but the boy reacted faster. As the iron-spiked mace descended, Crono sidestepped its blow, then climbed up the length of the ogre's thick inclining weapon and pierced the beast's throat. The ill-fated ogre gazed into the fire of Crono's flaring eyes before it fell to the ground with a thundering crash, shook the entire swamp, and shuddered out its final breath.
Crono stared in disbelief at his kill. "I beat it! Yeah! What now?" He kicked the beast in the head in celebration and then spit on it. "Not so powerful when you're dead, are you?" He pulled his blade from the creature's throat and wiped it clean in the dark swamp water. "That's for breaking my dad's training sword, you hellish beast!"
Crono brushed himself off, took a few deep breaths and secured his long knife in his robe before turning his gaze and his path southward. He continued in that direction for a long time. With sore legs and muscles, he remained lost and alone as he half blindly traveled the deep mist for several miles.
Hours later, through the mist, Crono recognized red pinpricks of torchlight dotting the well-defended stonewall borders of a small community. The night-pitch backdrop of the skies faintly illuminated the crimson sparks that escaped into the air. The scent of burning wood mingled with the cold stench of the marshes. That and the distant scrape of rough voices from armored watchmen atop the barracks filled the air. Crono felt the wind on his face as the mist cleared significantly and he followed a dirt road towards the beckoning red lights of the faraway village. Some guards held bows at the ready while others gripped spears. All watchful iron gazes fixed upon the solitary traveler who had emerged like a ghost from the deadly swamp. Crono held his hands above his head and kept his palms open as he approached the tiny gathering of life amid a sea of gloom and death. At the steel gate, surrounded by murky streams and damp soil, the guards ordered Crono to tell them his name and show them his ears, as they informed him they killed any pointy-eared mystic on sight. On discovering Crono a human who sought only shelter, one of the guards gestured for the doorman to open the entrance and Crono stepped slowly into the gated community.
Black clouds hung low across the skies, and the shadows cast by trees lent the village below a gray and wintry presence. Smoke curled out from the stone chimneys of small cottages, and blended with cold winds which blowed from the roaring seas beyond the village walls. The air swayed with the fumes of an old land. Paint chipped from wooden homes. Stone roadways lay marred and worn, with fences shattered and broken, and gardens infested with weeds. The ragged and somber residents drifted through doors and past windows with what Crono noted as suspicion and fear in their eyes. But even the sight of people did little to dull the sickening in the pit of Crono's stomach. He knew not if this originated from his last battles in the disease-infested marshes or from this village, which appeared very similar to his own but unnervingly ghostlike. The bleakness confirmed he had not stepped into Truce Village, the lush beautiful homeland of green valleys and blue rivers he had left behind. Not a single mystic lived here, only humans wearing swords, axes or knives on their outer garments, but no name of a town came to Crono's mind.
Aching and sleepy eyed as he studied his surroundings, he slowly walked down the rutted and cracked streets. Further north, the marshes lay silent as death, and the eastern sea spilled from the southern beaches, where gray grasslands stretched westward into a place that looked like the Lazaren Highlands.
Suddenly reminded of Truce Village, Crono felt sickened and cold as he bent over and vomited.
"You all right, lad?" someone asked him, yet Crono did not acknowledge the man. He simply nodded yes, but remained heartsick and homesick. His mind raced. Something horribly wrong had happened to this place. Not only did the half-dead peasants, clad in rags, match the begrimed fate of the land, but the place looked exactly like a Guardia Kingdom stripped of its color and joy.
Crono never imagined such a horrible place existed. The sky shone dully, smudge colored with gray through breaks in the roiling black clouds. Not even the faintest sparkle of sunlight broke through the screen of darkness that shrouded the land in a ceiling of shadow and sadness. Even the number of monsters had increased, for Crono now knew goblins and other foul beasts roamed the mountains. The people cowered from door to door, and regarded Crono with fright and curiosity. Most stayed clear of him as soldiers followed the newcomer's every move with cautionary eyes.
Crono tried to not call attention to himself, although that proved impossible because of his flame-red hair and greater cleanliness, even with swamp water soaking his clothing. He wandered down roads and between lanes, then noticed a sign for an inn, opened a small gate and took the path leading there, where he would seek information. Parting the front doors to the tavern, Crono glanced around the wooden structure's interior, the polished chairs and circular tables, and the sweeping bar several feet from the entrance. Then he approached the bar.
He saw nobody in the tavern except a fairly pretty girl, who wore a light blue and green tunic, and stood at the front counter as she stared at Crono with chestnut eyes. Her long brown hair fell back from her faintly freckled pixie face. Crono said nothing for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. A savage-looking youth, beaten and bloodied, wounds and grime streaking his face, he must have seemed so frightening to the young lady. Exhausted and having not slept well in the forest clearing, he knew he could not continue his search for Nadia half dead. He rented a room, washed himself in the warm basin of water the maiden provided, paid her to wash his clothes, and fell asleep in seconds.
Crono awoke to another dawn of black storm clouds that skulked across the windows of the inn, then realized almost an entire day had passed! Dazed and confused, he sat up, reminded himself he had to find Nadia and berated himself for sleeping so long. He left the tavern that morning with a pleasant farewell to the girl, then headed out to the smithy's forge. Crono studied the people in wonder again and smiled. Things did not appear as bleak as they had when he felt tired, but the peasants seemed frightened by something that slipped Crono's mind. Their eyes seemed to always stray to the darkness outside the walls in fear that something lurked there, waiting. Nobody smiled back at him. The people simply mirrored their surroundings, the gray mist a piece of their somber presence, the ceiling of storm clouds symbolizing their belief that no light would ever shine down to them, and the colorless world that reflected the inner struggle in their hearts.
The village contained homes, businesses, churches and taverns, but at the moment it seemed like an armed camp. Guards stood in front of the shops, at the ends of the streets, under the torch lamps, atop the barracks surrounding the stonewall borders, where they watched everyone with suspicion and weapons held close. Crono wondered how someone as beautiful as Nadia could have ended up in such a place. Had she even survived the wilderness or made it off the mountain? For that matter, would she stay here for very long? He had no answer as he blindly clutched at faith and wished for a miracle.
Crono discovered a blacksmith's shop and hoped the laws of this foreign land would allow him to purchase a sword. The women, with their ghostlike children hovering close, glanced suspiciously at Crono, and cautiously whispered as he entered the weapon store. The long structure had been constructed of dried dusty wood that echoed every man's smallest step, and a whiff of sawdust faintly hung on the air. A large window fronted the entrance of the shop to display an array of decent weapons, some in glass cases, others on the wall behind the lengthy counter where the blacksmith stood. Crono became astonished to find the fellow smiling, then he approached him.
"Pleasant day to you, Sir," the blacksmith greeted, and Crono somehow felt he had known this man for a long time. "How are ya?"
Crono graciously smiled. "I'm doing better now. It's nice to finally meet someone who can smile."
The man chuckled. "A merry heart keeps you strong." The blacksmith seemed in the prime of his life, and nowhere near as rundown as the people of the town. Long dark hair shot through with gray fell away from his sun-browned face and rough countenance, and his eyes reminded Crono of Luca.
"Do you purchase blades by chance?" Crono asked.
The man nodded yes. "Depends on the quality of the weapon. What are you selling?"
Crono quickly pulled free the polished long knife of the bully and set it on the counter for the man to inspect.
The blacksmith studied the knife for a time, then carefully picked it up and held it to the light. "I've never seen a blade quite like this before. Where did you get it?"
Crono did not wish to disclose his discovery of the village entirely by accident after passing through a blue portal. "Spoils of war. I found it on an ogre in the marshes."
The blacksmith slowly set the weapon back on the counter. "As much as I'm impressed with you killing an ogre, I must ask why in the world you would ever go to a place like that. Nothing but death waits out there. And if the land doesn't get ya, the demons will."
"I learned that the hard way."
The man grinned. "Glad you're all right. I'd hate to see another youth buried. I offer you one hundred drakes for the knife, fair enough?"
Crono accepted the offer at once as he eyed the twinkling swords on the far wall. "May I purchase one of your own weapons, Sir? Or am I too young?"
Suddenly the man burst into laughter as if he'd heard the greatest joke of his life. "Can you buy one of my swords, hah! You're quite the joker, eh? I have sons half your age who wield my weapons! Of course you can buy a sword. Which one do you like?"
Crono's eyes lit up. "What's the best one you've got?"
The man paused. "The question is, frankly, can you afford my finest sword, lad? By the looks of ya, mind you, I'd say not."
Crono waved his hand as if to brush aside the blacksmith's doubts. "Never judge a book by its cover."
The man scratched his beard in thought, and his eyes grew distant as he spoke. "Never judge a book by its cover . . . Those words ring strangely true. Hmm. . . I've never heard that one before. What are you, lad, one of the tavern bards? That was good."
Crono uncertainly hesitated. How could this man never have heard such a common saying? Everyone had heard that! What went on with this town?
"So I assume you made all these yourself?" Crono asked as he glanced around.
The blacksmith nodded yes. "I even built the shop you're standing in, lad. Every blade, piece of wood and nail, built it with my own two hands." He beckoned. "Come over here. I want to show you something. Consider yourself lucky. I don't show this to many people." He led Crono to the far side of the shop and removed a scabbard from underneath a detachable section of the counter, then withdrew the blade that rested within. It gleamed truer and sharper than any other blade mounted on the wall. The cold blue metal glittered sharply in a luster as if from gathering stars, and a silver ray cut with its smallest movements. The blade shone three feet long and thick but appeared weightless in the blacksmith's hand and this sword indisputably beckoned to Crono. The muscled youth took in everything the blade represented, a handle as black as the night, steel as vibrant as the moon, and the ever-glimmering blade seemed almost as grand as the forgings of Melchior.
"A beautiful sword," Crono said. "How much?"
The man set down the sword and crossed his arms as if amused, and his eyes narrowed in challenge. "A thousand gold, sonny boy, and don't even think of haggling me. The last fellow who did left with a broken wrist."
Crono placed his money pouch on the table. "That won't be necessary, my good man. Because you've got yourself a deal. I want that sword."
The shopkeeper didn't appear amused now. Evidently, he had never seen so much gold in his life. His mouth gaped as he opened the money pouch and counted out exactly 1,000g, then handed the rest back to Crono, who took the sword and sheathed it across his waist.
A moment later, the blacksmith chuckled. "Never judge a book by its cover. I'm going to remember that one."
"May I also buy two tonics from you?" Crono asked.
The man nodded yes and removed two of the small herbal potions from a cabinet behind him, then placed them on the wooden table. "That'll be 20g, sir."
Crono tossed him the coins, thanked him for his business, and slipped the tonics into his robe pocket.
The blacksmith crossed his arms again. "You know, it's funny, but I feel like I've known you a long time, kid."
Crono gazed into the man's eyes. "Perhaps you and I knew each other in another life, my friend. I look forward to seeing you should I ever pass back through this fine village."
The man laughed. "Fine village, eh? Well, I wouldn't exactly call it that, but thank you. May your blade always strike true, kid." Crono waved goodbye as he headed for the door. "Oh and kid, if you're leaving the village, don't go further than the highlands. Even with the best sword in town, hunting invites danger in this land. Good luck to you."
Crono exited the shop and stood for a moment on the walk to get his bearings. Above him swung a wooden sign with the name of the smithy store: The Blades of Devir. Devir. Luca's last name. What a coincidence, Crono thought as he crossed the street to a tavern. When Crono parted its door, he noted a fire in a small stone hearth against the far wall to his right. Four patrons seated at the bar looked his way as he entered.
Crono walked up to the counter and addressed the gray-haired bartender. "Excuse me."
"For what, boy?" the owner asked. His wrinkled face squinted as he both studied Crono and wiped a small cup.
Crono wondered if the smart-mouthed elder didn't like outsiders. "Um, well, I don't know where I am exactly. I'm looking for a place called Guardia Kingdom. If you could point me in the right direction, I'd appreciate the . . ."
Not only the bartender but the four patrons snorted.
Crono clenched his fist. "What's so funny?"
The now amused bartender wiped his wrinkled forehead on his sleeve. "What is this, some kind of joke?"
Crono's serious expression did not change. "What are you talking about? I'm not kidding! Where is Guardia Kingdom?"
The bartender raised a bushy eyebrow. "Kid, you're in Guardia Kingdom."
Crono incredulously stared. "What? How? This can't be Guardia! Where's the Millennial Festival and the . . ."
"Millennial Festival?" The bartender frowned.
"Yeah, the festival! You didn't hear about it? They hold a festival in Guardia to celebrate the New Millennium!"
The man derisively shook his head and chuckled again. "Well, boy, if you're looking for a Millennial Festival, you've got a long wait ahead of you. It's the year 600 A.D. Or had you not heard?"
Crono's mind blanked. "No . . . I'm . . . This can't be!" This guy must be crazy, he thought, but maybe these men thought the same about him. The past!? How could he have possibly landed in the past? The dizzying flow of the blue portal rushed into his mind and he realized its secret all at once. "Time travel," Crono whispered, then caught himself against one of the tables, and nearly knocked over a chair. "Luca invented a time machine . . ."
"What's that, kid?" the bartender asked, still confused.
The rugged youth did not answer. To travel through time, was that even possible? Had he truly landed in 600 A.D.? The time when the Dark Lord . . . "Oh my God," Crono announced as he realized his greatest fears. "The Black Marshes, I saw him . . ."
"What's wrong with you, boy?" the elder asked as his eyebrows knit in confusion.
"The war . . ."
The tavern owner nodded. "Yeah, what about it? You looking to sign up?"
Crono stared into space, and recalled the black-robed shadow levitating above the marshes the dawn before. "Magus . . ."
With the unholy name hanging in the air, the tavern owner and his patrons started and instinctively leaned away from Crono.
"Do not speak his name, fetcher!" the old man menacingly warned, and drew a weapon. "Here we do not welcome mystics or his kind, and neither will we welcome you if you speak his name! Who are you? One of his servants?"
Crono didn't answer. He turned, traversed the room and went through the door. Adrift in thoughts too dark and truth too cruel, he could not find the words as he realized he had lost his home, family and friends. He studied his surroundings again—the people, the land and the dingy skies. Realization dawned like a flaring red sun as he discovered, upon the Town Square, only a stretch of dark land and a great emptiness where Leene's Bell would one day ring.
Crono truly had landed in Guardia Kingdom, his homeland, four hundred years back in time. The greatest wars in history took place in this age. And if Crono did not return to the future now, he would get caught up in those wars. But how would he escape?
Stuck in this land of death, uncertain how to ignite the portal back in the mountains, and knowing nothing of Nadia's location, he wondered but felt uncertain about the damage he could cause if he stayed here and affected the future. Yet in his heart, he knew if he had the chance to turn back now and go home, he would not. He could never leave Nadia here alone. He knew, somewhere in this land, she counted on him. But the only one with even the faintest idea how the Telepod worked would not exist for another four hundred years.
"Luca," Crono whispered into the gloom as he stared into the hollow resting place of Leene's Bell. "Where are you?"
