Disclaimer: I don't like to write this every chapter but, hey, the law ain't on my side! I don't own Legend of Dragoon, just a copy of the CD which I have played many times!

Legacy of Dragoon

Chapter Two: A Rescue, A Resolution

They had already been travelling through the Ravine for a whole day. It was so humid in this part of the world, but she couldn't change out of her ecclesiastical robes even if she wanted to; Hananiah saw to that. He was an older priest, being of middle age he was the appointed leader of this expedition. He held authority over both Marcellus and herself, but not the hired guard leading their religious caravan through the moist, stuffy forest. That man acted on his own impulse, it seemed to her. She didn't see the way he looked at her when she wasn't watching or hear his heavy breathing as carnal thoughts seeped into his mind's eye. It was really a shame how naive she still was, but service in the canonicate had done that to her.

Slowly moving across the floor of the overgrown pit so as not to overexert themselves, they were neither aware of the carnage to the north nor associated with it. They had been sent by the Bishop of Lohan (not a very respectful position, Lohan wasn't too diverse of a town) who had been receiving increasingly panicked messages from a small village situated on the northern edge of the Ravine, about ten clicks ahead of their current position. Apparently there had been an outbreak of some unknown disease, so the bishop had ignored the plea for fear of contamination. Soon afterwards, however, he realized that if he could stop an epidemic it would work much better for his reputation, so he decided to send two young clerics and an older priest with a caravan of supplies to the isolated hamlet. He thought of them as expendable enough, but had nonetheless burdened them with many supplies.

The second of the young clerics, Marcellus, poked his head out the back of the covered wagon and grinned.

"Hey, Angela, do you want one of the apples packed away in here? They're so perfect... we gotta eat them before they get too ripe and the bugs eat them!"

He scowled at the thought of such a thing and produced an apple from behind the curtain through which he stared at Angela.

"Marcellus, those are supplies for the people in the village, not just for us. I wouldn't count on them going bad so quickly."

"You mean that they'll last longer than those blackberries we tried to bring to Bishop Hegel?"

"The only reason those didn't last was because you threw them at those bottle kids in the alleyway!"

"But they had already gone bad anyways! And besides, bottle kids are scum," he whined.

"Nobody is scum, Marcellus, that's what you've been learning in the church, isn't it? Some people are in desperate circumstances, and they can't help it if-"

"It doesn't give them an excuse to throw perfectly good bottles at people!"

Angela sighed and rolled her eyes.

"I don't want to talk about bottle kids, okay? I don't want an apple, just don't eat them all yourself."

She quickened her pace until she was no longer behind the wagon but beside the sweating priest. He was tiredly wiping his forehead with his stole and had removed his robe, walking wearing a simple beige cassock.

"How are you enjoying your walk on this lovely day, sir?"

"Oh, don't give me that. I'm fifty-three, not eighty! And for you to know – what was it again? Angela?- I was riding on the front of the wagon all of last night and my back is very sore. We shall have to set up camp and sleep lying down tonight, for my joints are already giving me trouble."

None of them had slept in a bed or even prone for the last two nights. There was a small space in the corner of the wagon bed where Angela and Marcellus could sit and lean on each other for more comfort, but it was neither warm nor easy to sleep in the confines of the wagon. The priest and guard rested in the front of the wagon in order to stop and rest the horses occasionally, for their goal was to remain undetected and keep moving. Angela wasn't sure if the guard even slept at all, he always seemed so alert and when spoken to, would always snap back instead of giving a normal reply.

"Father Hananiah, do you know if these woods are safe at night? I hear there are no bandits in the Ravine, but what about-"

"Monsters? Creatures of the night?"

He rolled the "r" of "creatures" off his tongue comically, then gave a hearty laugh.

"So rare are monsters found down here, young lady, that should one appear," he gestured to the guard who was sweeping his head left and right, searching the path ahead, "he would be able to stop it quite handily."

Angela knew that the strength of monsters varied from region to region and trusted that Hananiah knew what he was talking about. He had been assigned to the village not only because of his experience but because he was the official cartographer of Izezuza for the Church of Soa. He knew this region like he had flown over it, eagle-like, for thirty of his apparent fifty-three years of life.

"By the way, Angela," he continued, "what do you think of him?"

Angela stared between the plates strapped to the mercenary's shoulders at the tattoo of a severed womans' head, heavily obscured by a jagged scar. Hananiah must not have seen it, for he was the one who hired this particular guard, and simply hired the man judging by his fierceness and probably spending money that should have gone to another guard on getting drunk. She thought that whatever such a tattoo meant, it disturbed her to even think about what kind of past this man must have had.

"Well, it seems that so far we can trust him. He only speaks when spoken to and agrees well with orders. I'm not too sure about his attitude, he's always so affronted whenever I try to speak with him."

She sighed lightly.

"But I do feel safer with him here," she lied.

"That's good, I'm glad you think so. I knew he would be useful in a pinch, you see, because it's not always the ones who look dangerous that are, but it doesn't hurt to look so."

"I guess that makes sense. I'm going to try speaking to him again."

Without waiting for a reply from Hananiah (perhaps he had none), she briskly walked ahead to where the fierce-looking hireling was patrolling the forest road, just ahead of the two worn horses.

"Good afternoon," she said as pleasantly as possible, "how are you enjoying the weather?"

He turned to her and her blood froze solid as his grey eyes pierced right through her. His face was lumpy and his jaw protruded slightly to the left and outwards. The eyes were the worst, though. The grey was embedded icily into the whites, which were not diminished at all by the color. He seemed to be wide-eyed at everything, aware.

"Just fine," he said in monotone.

"That's good. I was just wondering how you were feeling and if you, uh, maybe... wanted an apple from our store?" She was taken aback by his ugly, expressionless, wide-eyed face and spoke clumsily.

"No."

With nothing else to say and a desire to retreat from her strange escort, Angela turned around and walked toward the wagon. Before she could hoist herself into the seat, the guard said:

"There's a stream ahead. The horses will be thirsty."

"Good idea," called back Hananiah, "I think we could all use some rest now, Gurn."

Gurn did not reply, but only stepped over a large root and continued to the stream without so much as a warning; a "damn, watch that" or even a glance backward. The wagon thumped over the root and five minutes later was parked near a wide but shallow stream, the horses drinking their fill of the clear, cool water. Marcellus jumped out the back of the wagon and pitched his apple core into the woods. The noise in the brush caused Hananiah to turn and say, "What was that?" He squinted into the brush and then walked to the side of the gentle brook.

He had been trudging through the woods for over an hour, but his sense of time was weak and the pain of the journey made it seem like days. The pain in his belly had grown worse, but the bleeding from his side, face and various other wounds had subsided. His feelings alternated between powerful anger towards those who had done this to him and great loss for the only family and friends he had ever known. The hot day made the journey twice as fatiguing, and the loss of fluid from both bleeding and sweating left him on the verge of total bodily shutdown.

The progression of afternoon to evening of the sweltering day had changed the hue of the woods from a sickly green to a cool blue. The temperature, however, remained just as unforgiving. He stumbled across an old road and reentered the undergrowth to be met moments later by a stream trickling it's way over the smooth rocks on the bed of the Ravine. He not so much stooped as fell into the cool water and gulped heartily of the fresh drink. He didn't care about the sting of the water in his wounds or the dirt and blood flowing downstream from his body, only that his thirst was quenched and he could rest. He was soon disturbed, however, by the sound of voices to his left.

Nolan looked up, dripping, from the stream and clutched his broken spear-end. In a tormented and injury-caused dementia, he murderously stumbled towards the noise.

The crew of religious missionaries and their estranged escort were perched at various points along the shallow brook, drinking their fill and splashing the cool water over their bodies to try and wash away the sweat and heat. Suddenly Gurn stood up and said, to nobody in particular:

"I'm scouting ahead. Wait till I get back."

Hananiah gurgled his approval through several handfulls of water that just couldn't seem to quench his thirst. None of them noticed Gurn exit in the wrong direction. He left in the direction from which they had come and not where they were going as he had said.

Not five minutes after the mercenary had left they were disturbed by a crash in the undergrowth. Marcellus, who was closest to the bushes, let out a squeak and backed up into Angela who, even in the heat, had still not peeled back her ceremonial hood. For reasons strange to her companions, she almost never removed the symbolic white hood from her head. The girls in the denomination were only expected to wear such a hood in certain ceremonies, but not at all times.

"Marcellus, what a-"

"Angela, I heard something in the woods! Where's Gurn?" He looked around wildly.

"He's gone, I'm sure it was just a rabbit."

As she turned away, ignoring Marcellus entirely, she heard a cracking and brushing of leaves in the bush. Marcellus squeaked again. She, too, now stood cautiously. Whatever it was sounded big and clumsy. Seconds later a boy of about her age emerged from the undergrowth and was he ever a frightening sight. He had a swollen, bruised face, cuts on his neck, shoulder and torso. His disheveled, sweat-drenched hair hung in his face and on his shoulders. He looked like he had been raised in the woods by an abusive sasquatch and what was worse was that he was armed.

Nolan stared hazily at the three before him. His vision was darkening and fading, but he could see their canonical wear and forms -two kids and a man. A fourth stepped out of the trees and halted abruptly, placing his hand on the sheathed weapon at his belt. A mercenary! Thought Nolan, and they`re all with the church. I`ll have to kill them all-

He tried to step forward but fell unconscious to the ground. The four travellers stared, confused and stunned for a moment before Gurn stepped forward.

"Strange. I've never heard of a wild-man in these regions. Good thing for him he collapsed."

"He's not a wild-man, he was attacked, can't you see that? Would a wild-man be wearing clothes you stupid barbarian?"

Everyone was surprised by Angela's outburst and couldn't argue because she had already rushed to the back of the wagon. She emerged moments later holding a small jar with a lid screwed onto one end and some wax paper loosely fastened to the bottom. It seemed to be filled with a dense blue mist. She knelt down beside Nolan and, after unscrewing the lid, pressed the jar to his face, covering his mouth. Hananiah protested;

"Angela, that Healing Fog is for the people in the village! Why are you helping when you don't know if this boy was going to try and hurt us or not, and with an expensive item I may add."

"Well he won't be trying to hurt us after we help him like this. He's in very rough shape, if you can't tell."

She uncovered the wrapping on the bottom of the jar and air flowed through several holes in the bottom, drawing the powerful fog into Nolan's lungs. The vapor diffused directly into his blood from there and immediately travelled throughout his body, healing any wound. Angela watched as shards of glass were pushed from the wounds in his face and neck before closing like mouths. The bruises yellowed briefly before dissolving beneath the skin and he groaned in his sleep as something cracked in his abdomen.

"Now do you see what I mean? He had glass in his wounds, so he must have been attacked in some nearby house, like in the village..."

She trailed off and looked up from the boy she had saved, dreading what they would find in the hamlet which seemed so close now and infinitely more frightening.

Several hours later, it was well into the evening and the sun was beginning to sink into the western horizon. Nolan had been laid out on some dirty rags near the brook and an old roll of canvas supported his head. Angela had washed the remaining blood and dirt from his face, being careful not to wake him. He actually looked peaceful as he slept on the hard ground, much unlike the disheveled savage who had emerged from the forest hours before. When she walked to the river to rinse the cloth, his eyes slowly opened and gazed into the forest canopy.

I'm alive? he thought, those people from the church didn't-?

He quickly shot upright, searching left and right for his would-be captors when he realized his wounds had been healed. His stomach no longer hurt, he had been cleaned. He checked his cuts, all gone. His face had returned to normal, too, and with minimal scar tissue. He heard a slight gasp behind him and twisted around; a girl of his age -one of the kids he saw- was staring at him, clutching a moist cloth in her hand up to her face in surprise. He checked himself embarrassedly before turning back to the stranger.

"Did... you help me?"

She nodded and lowered the cloth slightly. She seemed to be surprised that he could even speak. No wonder, he thought, with the condition I was in, I'm lucky to be alive. She took a step towards him.

"You came out of the woods like someone gone mad... what happened to your village?"

My village? She doesn't know anything about the farms being taken? I'll go along with this, but I must test her first...

"Um, I was leaving there to visit my uncle on his farm south of here, but I don't remember what happened... do you know what's going on down there?"

She certainly seemed confused. "The farmers are... farming, I guess," she laughed nervously, "I don't know what to tell you."

She forced a smile, but he still noticed how pretty she was. He took this time to size her up; she had sandy brown hair -no, it was more of a dirty blonde- and wore a white ceremonial gown of the Soan Church; white with green strands lined with red filaments reaching down the middle and lining the hems on the sleeves and bottom. She seemed fit enough, the gown showed her figure to a surprising degree, but he did not allow his eyes to linger there.

"That's too bad," he began, "but thank you so much for helping me. I would have been maggot food if you hadn't found me."

"I was just doing what comes naturally. It's not like we could have just left you here to... besides, it was you who found us, remember?"

She smiled genuinely this time. For a moment he sat there, smiling back and just looking at her. Then he rose from the ground only to be overcome with fatigue and sat down on a moss-covered log. She came and sat beside him, though at a distance. As they began to talk about the strangeness of such a day and even about themelves Gurn re-emerged from the growth, gripping a good-sized rabbit by its broad, floppy ears. He sat on the rags where Nolan had rested.

"Hey, why are you going to kill that poor thing? We have food in the wagon, and you're welcome to it." Angela was clearly against harming the wildlife.

"I enjoy hunting for my food, and I'm not causing any damage to the forest. Just keeping the natural order of predator to prey in check."

"Gurn, I overall find it offensive that you would kill that rabbit before us, you know we're religious and try to avoid unneccessary harm to living creatures, now would you please let it go?"

"I heard you telling that kid before to preserve our food for the people in that hovel nearby, if they're even still alive. For his sake, you don't want to go against your word do you?"

She noticed that Marcellus and Hananiah were still nearby, preparing their own supper.

"But-"

Gurn snapped the helpless creatures' neck before she could finish. The head lolloped at a strange angle as the body went limp. He began skinning it in front of them, forcing them all to turn away in revulsion. Even Nolan looked away, but not because he was disgusted -he had seen Dario do such a thing many times- but it was just that; the reminder of his friend treating the meats peacefully, although messily, who was now gone. It also reminded him of the pointless loss of life he had been experiencing all day, even now when he thought he had found comfort. He made a note to himself: hurt Gurn before he was done here. Quickly recovering from her disgust, Angela turned to him and asked;

"What is your name, anyway?"

Nolan looked at the ground and thought about his own name. He had been told once that it meant "champion", but he was in no way such a thing. He had failed to protect the only family he would ever have, his friends, and even himself. Actions such as that don't warrant the title of champion. He spoke the truth to Angela.

"I had a name once, but it means nothing now."

She saw his pain immediately and, confused as she was, answered with equal quickness.

"Well, I'm Angela. You're coming with us back to your village, right 'No-name'?"

She smiled again. He absolutely could not resist that smile and felt bad for not answering her when she had just wanted to know the most basic of things about a person; a name. Something to refer to him by, and "No-name" would not do. As she got up and turned to eat with her companions, he remembered Fungai and his cruel reminder to Ryan of his past. He needed a reminder to himself of his new goal for vengeance and his search for answers.

"Cross."

She stopped and turned around. "What was that?"

"Cross... you can scrape it on my gravestone... as it is my name."

No more words were spoken as he got up to meet her companions and join them for a meal. He still had some jerky, after all, and it was damn good.

I am aware that this was a bit of a boring chapter, and short too, but it's still essential to the whole plot. I am very meticulous about my writing and would like to say that when I refer to "horses" or "rabbits" in this story I mean those little ground squirrels from the game with the big ears and the weird horses with feet as well. I just don't want to come up with names for them so I refer to them by their real-life counterparts.

Thanks to Shinshia101 and People Of The Black Waters for the reviews, your support has me thinking that this story will be finished someday and it will be glorious!

Edit: I finally discovered that the chapter title didn't match up with the one in the doc, so I changed it. Sorry bout that.