Viper Manor, El Nido 02, 1020 A.D.
My dearest Wayne,
I hope this letter finds you in good health. I worry about you, old friend; your coughing did not sound as though it had improved, when last I saw you. You work too hard, simply, and I daresay I should have none of that elemental mixing business. Black and White, that cannot be proper for good health. With all those demihumans in Guldove, I shudder to think of what diseases you could catch. I am sorry to say so, I harbor no ill will towards them...
I am sure that must sound ominous, and you would not be half right. Daddy's guests are demihumans, too. I've only seen them from afar, as they just arrived two morns ago, and there is so little I know of them, except from their looks. I know two are women, two are men, and one is the most curious little thing. She looks a little younger than I, perhaps no more than 17- of no age to bare her legs, yet she cavorts around in the strangest jester getup with her legs in...well, in viewable nature. It is embarrassing, especially since she looks nothing like a demihuman. I thought she was a human until Daddy told me otherwise. But she is of no worry. I believe she is quite polite, actually. It is the other three that disturb me the most, however...the other woman I believe is of- and do not let this worry you- Mystic descent. Dark blue hair, powder blue skin, and dark red eyes. Luna Aurore, I believe is her name. The other two I do not know of- and I fear I shall have to. They are the most unsightly things I have ever seen. This great dragon man, towering over me, and that last one...
For Emblem's sake, I am sorry for rambling. I must sound so weak and intimidated. Part of me wishes to destroy this letter and start anew, but I have no time, I fear. Daddy will want me to meet with these four...what an experience that will be. But, do not worry, my old friend. Though Karsh has been sent somewhere today, I have Glenn with me. He would never allow anything to harm me. Anything. He is like his brother...oh, heavens...I've knocked over my glass of water. Forgive the drops there, I was simply remiss. I know what you're thinking, and it's not true. I have shed my tears for Dario. I am well now. As I was saying, Glenn is the most I could ask for. Perhaps one day he will rival his father and brother in the way of the sword, now that they are gone- I daresay he may even surpass my father, or the legendary hero for whom he is named. I do wish he would straighten himself up, though. He is trying to grow up too quickly.
Do write me back. I wish to know all about your new position as Dragon Knight of Guldove- I am sure Steena is well pleased with you. In all honesty, I think she'd be the perfect wife for you- and don't you roll your eyes at that, Sir Wayne! When it is time for her to become the Shrine Maiden, I can think of no other suited enough to be her knight. At least promise you will consider it, would you? I'd be ever so happy to see two childhood friends united in matrimony.
Oh, dear. I'll have to go into more detail when I next write you- I must be off now. Take care, old friend- may the Six Dragons bless you, and light your ways.
Forever yours,
Riddel
She had just finished writing the letter when the knock came at her door again. Sighing, Riddel put down the feather pen, and turned in her seat to face the large oak door. "You may come in."
The doorknob creaked, and in stepped the towering figure in black that was her father. Immense and crowned with balding but dazzling silver hair, General Viper struck an imposing figure, especially in the darkness of Viper Manor's eternally dismal atmosphere. He was just over six foot, eight inches tall and built solidly through years of intense swordsmanship. Eyes that glinted with wine red, a wizened face with a trimmed white beard and as many scars as there were wrinkles...there were many features of him that Riddel recognized, from childhood and from portraits. He stood regally and regarded his daughter with a chiding gaze.
"Riddel, you have shackled yourself up in here all afternoon," Viper rumbled. "Surely you are able to come and dine with our guests, no?"
"I know. I'm sorry, Daddy." Riddel smiled, but looked at her father with saddened eyes; she was able to recall times when he had no need for that dreadful black robe of armor he wore around him. The war with Porre had brought it back, though, and now her father was no longer "Daddy"- he was General Viper.
I hate you so much for it, sometimes...
Her eyes flickered to the large mirror at the corner of her bed chambers. The room itself, which had seemed light and grand to her before, now seemed dwarfed by her father's incredible size. But the mirror in its corner was not totally incapable of displaying the two of them. She saw their reflections, and fought a wince- they both were such contrasts to each other. The only resemblance in either was in the eyes, dark and red. While her father was towering in midnight-hued clothes and muscle, Riddel was anything but- a slender girl of modest height and simple bearing, with shimmering, almost purple hair. She sat in her ornate chair, making her seem even smaller compared to her father, and wore a sea green dress with long sleeves and a thin skirt, which at times tended to obstruct her movement; she only wore it because it was a warm spring in El Nido. And, unlike her father, she wore the tiara that symbolized her nobility as the Lady of Viper Manor.
The shackle, the chain, she reminded herself glumly. It feels so heavy on my head...poor Mother. How long did she have to put up with this?
Viper
showed no sign of worry, chuckling deeply as his towering figure strode over to
her desk. "Well, I am certain you have
good enough reason for it- at least, good enough for others your young
age," he said. His solid fist came
down to rest on her workdesk, and he stared down at the freshly-inked parchment
there. "What's this? A letter?"
Riddel moved to intercept it, but her father's hand swept the letter up with
speed that belied the strength in its contours. Viper's brow furrowed as he began to read, murmuring aloud. "'My dearest Wayn'- oh, come off
it, Riddel."
Her lip twisted, and she rose from her seat to grab the letter from his
hand. He allowed it- she knew if he had
not, the parchment would have been torn in two. "He's my friend, Father.
You can't take that from me, too."
His head shook from side to side.
"That child-"
"He's 23."
"And you, my young daughter, are barely a year older. That makes you both children," Viper
scoffed. "Tell me you're not
sending love letters to that Guldove knight anymore. Religion makes a rich enemy and a poor ally- you'd do best to
stay away from it, Riddel."
Riddel
curled her lip, her eyes flashing with hurt.
Were that all fathers this blind about their daughters, perhaps she
would have a few more friends.
"Love letters? They were
never love letters, Father. Back when
you still let me off the island, he and Steena were my best friends, after
Karsh and Glenn..."
"And Dario?"
Riddel
felt cold settle on her back, and burning in her chest. She felt ill. "...you speak of the dead with such frankness," she
murmured quietly, shaking her head, and rested the parchment on her desk. "Were he still alive, yes, I would have
mentioned him. But he is not. So I do not include him, anymore."
Her father was quiet for a moment.
"...well, I've learned to accept the fact that I will never be able
to understand why you act the way you do," he said at last. She heard his coat flutter as he
turned. "I will not prevent you
from sending the letter."
Just like him, to shrug off Dario. Riddel felt sicker. "Thank you," she lied.
"Yes,
well..." Viper replied, letting that line of conversation die. "Will you come out to at least greet
our guests?"
Riddel folded the parchment in two, but fiddled with the bent corners for a
moment. "Hmm. Choices, choices," she murmured, icing
her words with sarcasm. "I will go
meet them. Is Glenn there, too?"
"He
has been guarding your seat for the past hour and a half, my dear."
She winced at the affection in his voice, for it sounded genuine, and that
meant he was telling the truth. Riddel
thought of Glenn standing there, arms crossed and with a leg probably sidled
over the other as he leaned on a wall, behind a seat that was yet to be
filled. Armored, probably, armed with
his steel sword and with that old bandana of his keeping his shady blonde locks
out of his eyes. A smile and a frown
fought for supremacy on her; there were few friends that loyal, and many people
who failed to return it. Riddel feared
she belonged to the latter group.
Am I really at fault, though? she pondered. Loyalty was a child of courage, and therefore required courage to exist. Riddel knew, all too well, that courage was a virtue she lacked. As her father had drifted from her these past few months- rambling too often about how "the Flame" was going to wipe the Porre from the shores- her best friends in the ranks of the Acacia Dragoons were sent out on more and more strange missions. Glenn himself had been sent pirate-hunting against that dread pillager of the high seas, Fargo, and that alone was enough to bring her fear. And now, just the evening prior, faithful Karsh had been dispatched with a group of four to Cape Howl, at the other end of the continent- on a "ghost hunt." Riddel had felt so afraid without them, at times; just recently, the guards had slacked, and the manor halls at times boasted creatures in the shadow. Riddel was not allowed to leave her room after sunset.
Somehow, she knew it was all connected with that beastly man. Riddel shivered when she thought of him. Just two mornings he had been here, but she knew he had been in contact with her father for much longer than then. He'd been...telling things, to her father. She knew it. The letters that had interrupted her lunches with him, the sounds of accompanied laughter coming from his chamber in the middle of the night- all of it came from that man. The demihuman, and his accomplices. Riddel looked at the parchment, and reminded herself why she did not know his name- she did not want to.
He frightened her. Terribly.
Nevertheless, Riddel slowly nodded. She would not leave Glenn to be in that stranger's company without her there; even if she was feeling craven, she was a Lady. "I will come," she said. "I must comb my hair, though."
Her father nodded. "Freshen up, then. We have a grand feast prepared for our fine ally. I trust you will look your best for Sir Lynx."
Lynx. The name knifed into her spine, and Riddel felt a pang there that added a physical counterpoint to the icy lump forming in her stomach. That was his name; the cold, sharp raspy sound that could only belong to a beast, a cat...a panther demon. She knew better than to believe in such things, but that was what he looked like, and that was what she was sure he was.
"I will," she said, her voice wavering. "I shall wear my best gown."
Her father left her with deep footsteps, closing the heavy oak door with a brief tug of his mighty hand. "Do hurry," he mumbled from outside, and she heard him depart down the hall.
When he was gone, Riddel slumped back into her seat. The tiara felt heavier on her head, so she removed it; as she did so, she found that upon the desk, there was her old childhood doll. It was a frog, hand-woven by her late mother, with beaded eyes and a little strip over the head and back. It had the spread-eagled form that all dolls tended to share, and was stuffed enough to where years of cuddling it had not worn its edges. Riddel and it had been inseparable when she was younger. She was the princess, it was the prince that was cursed to live as a frog until true love's kiss set it free. So many times she had played out the old fairy tale, waiting for it to take its true form. For it to respond, for it to become someone who would care for her, and comfort her, and keep her safe from all the fears of the world.
She picked it up, feebly, and hugged it to her chest. Make it all better again...someone make the world better. Please...
------------
First there was pain, then there was salt.
Serge felt a cold dampness on his lips, mixed with salt. It shut out the pain in his temples for all of a moment, but the throbbing was soon there again. He winced, feeling a tingle wash through his back- few things made a man more miserable than a nasty headache. He cracked an eyelid open, and stared down at a sparkling sheet of seawater. Fluttering his sand-crusted eyelashes, he assembled the details quickly- he was still on Opassa Beach. Face-down, in the sand, by the incoming tide; from the bright shine of the sun and the heat on his broiled back, he knew he had at least been unconscious for half an hour. He felt a weight on his ankle, and when he gave his leg a shift, Serge realized it was his Swallow.
He wanted to rise, but found he had no strength. He could only lay there, staring at the water, and coughed as it washed over his parched lips again.
What happened? I was talking with Leena for a moment, then that pain, and that...voice...crushing my mind...felt like I was falling, like somebody was using an element on me...
Serge knew of no element, though, that could put a voice in one's head.
He swallowed, and regretted it instantly- seawater was not something to imbibe regularly. As his muscles eased out of migraine-induced numbness, Serge managed to roll over onto his back, away from the tide. The motion made his head ache even worse, and he felt the Sea Swallow's edge scratch his shin. He felt awful- like someone had thrown a beached whale on him. Actually, he wished he felt half as good as that. He literally felt no strength left in his muscles.
"Lee...Leena...?" he breathed, cringing as the pain of the scratch began to settle in. "Exe...Ex? Anyo...one..."
"Well. I hope I didn't look that bad when I crashed here."
The voice was entirely new to him. Serge at first did not say anything- he simply remained sprawled there, totally still, as if to make sure he had heard the voice. When he realized he had, he turned his head very weakly in the direction of it, to his left- where Leena and he had been sitting. She was not there, and neither was Exeter. Instead, Serge found a total stranger seated there- a young man, maybe a couple years older than him, clothed in black. Details formed in Serge's vision, after he squinted to keep the sun from his eyes: long black hair, eagle-sharp green eyes, a boyish face and a lithe build, a long black cloak lined with maroon, and black garb underneath it. Everything about him was black, except two things he boasted: the glittering purple ring on his right hand, and the white-hilted katana that rested on his shoulder in a dark sheath.
A swordsman...
He leaned on the coral rock, one leg bent up with the other bent on the ground, and watched Serge with flickering eyelashes. It was only then that Serge's eyes met his, and there was a second there in which neither spoke. They stared at each other, like two members of different species meeting for the first time. Neither blinked.
"Your eyes...you're...a mainlander?" Serge whispered. Where did he come from? Have I been out that long?
The other's lip twisted up into a half-smirk. "You could say I'm from the mainland, yes," he said. "I came here looking for you...Serge, isn't it? Serge of Arni, son of Wazuki and Margaret. The Arbiter. At last, face-to-face...I've wanted to see behind your eyes for a long time."
Serge's
eyelids fell to a squint. Questions
bubbled to mind all through the man's words, but there was only one he could
manage. "Why are you...calling me
a judg-" He thought better of his
comment, as he realized something much more drastic was amiss.
"Ex...Exeter, Leena? Wh..."
he wheezed, stopping only to let another cringe run through him. "Where are they?"
The man did not answer at first, and simply kept his vision on Serge. There was a tenderness in the other's eyes,
but far from friendly. It was as though
he were looking upon Serge with sympathy.
"Your friends are all right," he told Serge. "Your friend Exeter fell unconscious as
well, 'Arbiter'. I'm sure he'll wake
soon, though- anger overcomes weariness with great speed."
Anger? Exeter?
"Leena is...elsewhere," the other continued. There was something in his voice, though, that suggested "elsewhere" was not a stone's throw.
Serge found a little strength, and rolled over a little more until he could see the man without having to turn his head. The Swallow bit deeper into his calf, winning a prompt wince from his sand-crusted face that bit even further as his muscles howled with protest. "Did...just what happened...? You said...you crashed, here?"
"Again, you could say that," the man said, resting the back of his head on an outcropping of coral, wet and dark from the seawater. "But, I can't tell you what happened. There is no term for what has just been placed upon your shoulders, and what has taken you by them at the same time to bring you here." His smirk completed. "You're in a pretty bad spot. But, as fortune favors, everyone else is in it with you."
Serge furrowed his brow, feeling insulted. "You'd think some people," he said, regaining a little strength, "would have more sympathy...for a guy that just felt himself ripped in two..."
The
man snorted, bringing his head up from the damp coral. "Tell me, how can a cripple feel sorry
for a boy who fell down and scraped his knee?
I've been where you are, Arbiter."
"And just where is...aagh!" Serge cut off to lean over and clutch at
his leg. The Swallow's fine bone edge
had done a careful job of raking his calf.
"Just where is here? I just
blacked out, I'm at the same pla..."
The man did not answer immediately. He pressed the katana sheath's edge into the sand, and hefted himself up with it. Serge craned his head up a little to look at the man- he wasn't completely towering, but reached six feet quite easily. He drew the weapon into his cloak, and offered Serge a smile that was all but wistful. Dreamy, yet mirthless. It disturbed Serge, the way the other was looking at him.
"Angelus
Errare," was all the man said.
"Let me speak a moment, Arbiter; my time is rather short." Serge watched helplessly as the man half-shut
his eyelids, and spoke. "You
remember what happened on this same beach, only so long ago. You nearly died at the claws of a panther
demon. You should give wonder, though,
as to why it did not claim your life...for in this world of dreams, you were
never meant to be conjured. That is the
nature of your own existence, Arbiter...you are a lost nightmare."
"Lost...nightmare?" Serge repeated, the term vague to him. But then, so was everything this man was
telling him. The memory of the panther
demon was still vivid in his mind, and that voice that had plunged into his
head just before he'd blacked out seemed to prove such. Remembering those eyes, cold and green with
black slits down the center, narrowing as they came at him, and then coupling
that with the ominous rasp of those chilling words before unconsciousness...it
was madness.
Serge shook the darker thoughts away. "Why are you...telling me these things?"
Ebony locks rippled as the breeze from a wave caught the man's hair. "I speak only to one of my kind. You, like me, are an 'angel' that has lost its way...or not so much an 'angel' as simply lost. Your path starts here, at this very spot, and it will end here, Arbiter. Remember that, and you may see me again. For now, though, I will have to forego a proper talk with you..." He turned his back upon Serge, then, and drew the dark cloak under an arm as he walked gracefully over the sands towards Lizard Rock. "Welcome back home. Remember my words, and you may not be so lonely."
Serge
forced himself to his bloody knee, digging his palms into the sand to hold
himself up. "Wai-wait! Why were you here, with me? Who...are you?"
The man stopped in his tracks, but did not turn. Serge saw him shake, as though with a single chuckle. "For now, think of me as
Nameless," he said, the clash of a wave behind Serge adding to the depth
in which the other spoke. "Find
her, and I'll tell you who I am, and why I'm here. That shouldn't be too hard for you."
"Her...?"
Serge repeated, feeling even more lost.
"You mean Leena?
Wait...please, tell me, what are you talking about?"
The Nameless said nothing, already walking away. As his feet trudged elegantly over the sand, Serge struggled to
follow him; the identity of the Nameless, coupled with what had just happened
to him, sent a literal dozen questions into his head, mostly comprised of what
was going on and what it all meant. He
pushed his hands against the sand, but could not bring himself to even
kneel. There was simply too much
drained out of him.
But he said 'her'...he knows where Leena is. He's got to...damn it, why can't I move!? What's happening to me today...?
A few seconds passed, in which the sound of the Nameless's footsteps faded as he disappeared behind the large coral wall that defined Opassa Beach's entrance and exit. It wasn't until he was gone that Serge realized that his palm had been throbbing since he'd awakened. Looking at it, he saw the panther-inflicted scar was bleeding again, and in such a way that Serge recoiled at a glance. It hadn't just been bleeding- it had been swelling, to a point where the rim was fit to burst. Serge tightened the hand into a fist, feeling the swelling go down as the Nameless departed, and with disoriented azure eyes, he looked at the path where the swordsman had been just a minute before.
"What the...?" Serge mumbled, trailing off as his eyes settled. There was something...not right about the entrance to the beach. Usually he'd think of it almost instantly, but through the daze he had been put in, he was left struggling for possibilities. It wasn't something added in- it was something that was missing. There was another slab of coral there, a giant puff of red rock that should not have been there. There should have been a-
It dawned on him. The palm tree. The palm tree that's been there for nine years...it's gone?
"Uuunhh...Serge?"
Exeter's voice instilled a little more strength in Serge. His muscles tightened again, and he managed to get to one knee- at least one thing he recognized was still around. "Ye-yeah...I'm over here, Ex. Are you all right?"
It was answered almost immediately. From behind the great slab that was decorated with barnacles and seaweed and seashells, Exeter's familiar cloaked frame stumbled out. His movements were torpid, but he was fully erect, dragging his tachi behind him in one hand with the other clapped to his forehead. He looked much the way Serge thought he did- rumpled clothes, wild hair, sand crusted all over, and somewhat damp from the spray of the waves. As his glazed eyes found Serge's, Exeter turned it to a frown and brushed away the wild blonde locks that covered his eyebrows.
"What...happened,
there?" Exeter mumbled to him, tugging on his single black bang. "I was over by the tree, and then it
felt like someone was trying to tear me apart..."
Serge had finally gathered enough equilibrium to grab his Swallow again. Digging its sharper tip into the sand, he
pulled himself up, leaning heavily upon its crooked frame. "I...have no idea..." With great difficulty he pulled his head up,
frowning groggily. Exeter hadn't
commented on the Nameless's appearance-
though judging by his appearance, Serge was willing to bet Exeter had
been unconscious all through the mystery man's talk. As he braced himself on both feet, Serge lolled his head back and
let the splash from a wave send sprinkles over his overheated back. It cleared his head a little, to where he
was able to speak again.
"Leena...where's
Leena?" he asked, stretching.
"Did you see her anywhere?"
Exeter shook his head, squinting as he looked around the beach. "Wasn't she with you? I was off behind that tree..." The realization of the tree's absence struck
him too, as was apparent by the sudden flash over his eyes. "Hey...what happened to it?"
Serge mirrored the shake. "It's gone...I think somebody may have come along and cast a dark element on us, or something."
Exeter
craned his head up, squinting further to stare up at the sun. "No...that's the midday sun,
and...yeah, we got here around noon," he managed, turning his gaze from it
to rub at a pang in his neck. "For
someone or something to do all that, and somehow cut down and uproot a whole
tree...well, it sounds pretty stupid, doesn't it?"
"I guess...maybe Leena ran for help," Serge mused with a wince. "She doesn't know how to use the
Elements yet."
Exeter nodded at that, helplessly. Serge had to scoff at the whole thing; it was a Leena thing to do, run for help if the both of them were unconscious. The girl simply had no idea how to use the Elements at her disposal, which, in a way, wasn't something to be ashamed of. The Elements were primarily for uses in battle and healing, but Serge had seen them used in cooking and construction and all manner of everyday life. To call upon the Elements, one needed to fully bond to his or her innate power, tested at birth, and then use it to call up the Elements through talismans. They were little jewels, usually, store-bought or found, and most weapons- including Serge's Swallow- had been forged with the intent of locking in the jewels for easier use.
But, try doing that with a frying pan. Serge fought back the urge to groan- if Leena weren't so timid about using her innate, maybe she'd have roused them sooner.
"Well, if she's run for help, I guess we ought to be getting back," Exeter said. "Besides, I think a good shot of fresh water is due...the last ten minutes, I haven't had the strength to move."
Ten minutes? Serge froze, his gaze turning sharp. "You were awake for ten minutes?"
"Yeah. I mean, I was half-conscious and I couldn't
talk without hurting, but I was awake," Exeter told him, looking
confused. "Why?"
Serge looked for a moment to where the Nameless had been sitting, to the coral
where his head had leaned upon. There
was not a crease anywhere upon the sand, and the coral was still dark from the
seabreeze, nowhere near dried from the man's raven hair. Yet he swore he had seen the Nameless leave
footsteps over the beach, heard the clatter of his boots upon rock as he left
Opassa. Serge frowned; to be awake for
ten minutes, and not hear any of that- not hear any of his words, or the
Nameless's...
A mirage. A hallucination...a lingering dream. But, why did I imagine all that?
"N-no
reason," Serge told him. "You
didn't hear anything when you woke up, did you?"
Exeter's eyes flashed to the ground in thought, then back to Serge. "When I woke up, I heard the waves and
the seagulls cawing...and, well, nothing other from the usual voices in my
head," he said, trying to alleviate the dreariness with a grin.
Serge
laughed a little, but stayed on the point.
"Hah...and what did those voices say, anyway?"
"Oh, you know...'Exeter, does this thong seem too tiny?' and 'Exeter, you
are so hot!' and 'Exeter, you have just won a free trip to Miki's backstage
rumpus room!'" The blonde
swordsman gave him a wink. "Just
that. Though if you're actually
wondering whether or not I heard voices, I did hear something like
mumbling...it sounded like like you were talking in your sleep."
"Me?" Serge raised a brow. "Well...what did I say?"
Exeter shrugged helplessly. "I'm
not so sure...it sounded like you were talking to somebody else. Did you have a dream?"
"You could say that," Serge said, and reached up to tug his bandana
forward a little. "Black
dreams...ever dreamed up someone you had never even seen an inkling of,
before?"
Exeter smiled as though he meant to share an exceptionally funny joke. "I've dreamed up quite a few strangers,
Serge."
"Hah!" Serge managed a light laugh, and was pleased to find the pain did not start up again when he did so. "Mine was a little different, I would think. But, anyway, you have a point- let's go let Leena know we're all right. I'll tell you about my dream along the way."
Exeter
nodded, already bringing up his great tachi to rest over his shoulder. "Lizard Rock shouldn't be much trouble
on the way back, in our states. Most of
our scaly friends should be sleeping at this time of day. You okay to go?"
Serge gave a tight swallow, nodding the affirmative. "I'm fine...I'll be better when I know that Leena's all
right."
They shared another nod, then turned towards the path that would lead them out of Opassa Beach. Serge noticed, though, that as they proceeded, the coral was even more abundant than it had been before. The lack of the long palm tree and the presence of the dark crimson stone was enough to perturb him, but there was an even greater sense that something was amiss over all of it. As he trudged over the sand, there was a different feel to it, as though it were a foreign soil. Cramped and dark, the sand no longer gave the luster that was familiar to him.
Serge felt a warm tingle trickle down his calf, followed by a sting. The accidental cut from his Swallow seemed to burn much more painfully at that acknowledgement, and as he trekked forward to the bleached stones of Lizard Rock with Exeter, he watched the blood fall to the sand. Watched it sizzle a moment, and then sink into the ground-
What the...?
When it struck the ground, the blood disappeared. There was no stain, no trace that it had ever dropped there. As though it were transparent. Serge looked over in alarm to Exeter, but the other had not noticed. That only added to his worries, for suddenly, Serge felt ultimately out of place.
Find "her". Leena...I'll meet up with her, and we'll all be all right, and this will just be another weird day.
-------------
What an awful day.
The flint stone ran easily down the length of the steel blade, and was finely toned enough to where it did not give off sparks. With the weapon propped over his knee, though, Glenn was giving it a very rough drive along the blood channel- more than was needed. A sword displayed the attitude of its bearer, though, and Glenn was in a foul one. The young dragoon perched with his weapon upon the bed in the corner of his room, usually a calm spot, but on this sunny afternoon, he saw nothing but storm clouds.
It had been an awful, awful day.
None in the Viper Manor barracks- which was where his "room" was- gave him a look. Drifting about in their standard white-and-gray uniforms, occasionally stopping at the bright green prism beside the door to the barracks, they were aware of his bad mood. He knew that; despite their eyes' aversion, their tongues still flapped in hushed tones. Most of it was directed at him, and what had happened at the banquet General Viper had hosted earlier.
Glenn said nothing to any of it, and simply continued to run the flint stone down his sword's curved edge. Never mind what he'd done at the dinner- as far as he was concerned, that bastard draconian deserved such cold words. Then again, so did he, from General Viper's own mouth. Why he reacted so badly to it, Glenn did not know...
Because he thinks he's my father. He thinks...he thinks that because my father, my mother, and my brother were all his friends, that I would be the same.
He came across a stain on the edge of his sword, and sighed. That damn beast had stained mythril silver with his foul wine- mythril silver! A sword of such high quality would run at ten, fifteen thousand gold pieces in Master Zappa's forgery, and now it had alcohol splattered over it. Glenn gnashed his teeth over his lower lip, setting down the flint stone to look for some sort of cloth. There was none, save for his blanket. He growled; nothing was going right today.
There was a knock at the far door, and briefly Glenn turned his emerald-hued eyes to face it. When one of the dragoon soldiers ventured over to it, he turned his gaze back to his sword. Probably General Viper, come back to scold him for what had happened at dinner. Suddenly, he wanted to take a nap.
Ah...had this happened a few years ago, Dario would flash that smile to the General and all fears would be allayed. Brother had that sway over Viper. Damn him for dying.
Dying. Glenn felt his lips part in a chuckle, and his eyes drifted over to the unoccupied standard bed across from his. Identical to his in every way- plain and springy, with only one small pillow. But, there were two things that did not match: the thin white blanket woven of silk, and the mirror which hung on the wall above the bed. There was a simplicity about it, but the tokens added a hallowed feel to the bed whenever he looked at it. An oval mirror, rimmed in gold, coupled with a white silk blanket. In the moment that he looked there, Glenn remembered a hundred instances where he had turned over in the night to gaze at it, as he had when he was a youth in Master Zappa's back room.
Dario used to sleep there. Just like when they were younger, they had been given double beds when they came of age to join the Acacia Dragoons. A faint smile tugged at Glenn's lips; when he was still alive, Dario had often turned over in that bed and whispered over to him as the rest of the trainees slept. Comments about Karsh's hair all came up, a favorite topic of theirs- their friend was crowned with a long purple mane that had gone through hairstyles on a bi-monthly basis. Glenn had tried not to laugh at such instances. Then there were the serious talks: dreams. Glenn and his brother had shared so many talks of the things, enough to where it was a regular topic of conversation.
He always wanted to have a farm, somewhere. He always wanted to separate from Viper and all the others when he was a little older, when the Porre army was driven back, and just cultivate the soil. He loved the land. And her.
Glenn raised his head a little higher, from where the bed rested. The mirror was a keepsake of their father, Garai. He had been a towering man of silver hair, armor, and blade- the finest of the Acacia Dragoons. A hero in a time where heroes had been needed; the ten years earlier in which the Porre army had tried unsuccessfully to claim both Guardia and Acacia at the same time. They had succeeded in the first, but utterly failed in the second, thanks only to Garai's blade. Glenn had no idea where the mirror had come from, but he knew his father had always been fond of it.
He looked at himself in it, and thought of Dario again. He could see his brother in himself, in a way- and he liked that. They were very alike. Both of them had the same eye color, the same overall lithe and supple build. There were a few differences, though, that were more apparent in Glenn than in Dario; Glenn had darker, wilder blonde hair, now tied up by a white bandana, and his skin was a little more tan. He was shorter, only some 5'9", and his armor was light, bronze, and black. Dario had always worn heavy steel armor and a green cape, and had never worn a buckler shield on his left arm, as Glenn did. Dario's specialty was with single blade techniques, but Glenn had trained in both one- and two-sword styles.
Glenn found the cross scar on his cheek, and his head fell. Actually, we weren't so alike. He had his looks, I had mine. His specialties were not my own. Our dreams...we only had one trait that was in common. That was...
"Are you all right, Glenn?"
Riddel's voice. Glenn shut his eyes; fate was such a drama queen.
She stood in the center of the barracks, just a little space away from him. Glenn realized it had been her that had knocked at the door, and thanked the stars he hadn't been in the mood to answer it. He found the other dragoons backing away, taking their glances with great reluctance from the Lady of Viper Manor. He had to smirk at that; tearing their eyes away from a woman each of them wanted to have, but had none of the courage to go after. What great examples of men they were.
Hypocrite.
He ignored the voice, and kept his eyes on Riddel. She looked at him in a tentative manner now, her deep gaze now timid and concerned. She still wore the sea green gown she had donned for that ill-fated banquet just an hour prior. Her own dark hair was still tied with that hairband Dario had given her, her lips pink in contrast to the purple lipstick she had put on for the dinner. Her hands were folded in front of her stomach, as though waiting on his answer. Her eyes were swollen, as though from crying. Bloody hell, he hated that look. He hated her eyes.
They're always filled with Dario.
Glenn put the curved edge of his sword into the sheath, and slid it forward until it clicked. One did not show weapons to the Lady, but he let that motion double as her answer.
Riddel's
lip twisted, and she came forward with a slow step. "I'm sorry for what happened," she offered softly. "I know you had the best of
inten-"
"Forgive me for interrupting with a curse, my Lady," Glenn said, just
as quietly, "but if that animal insults your integrity again, I will flog
him with his own tail."
She
smiled, but he did not. "I also
have to thank you," Riddel said, her next step a little quicker. "You're always the one to stand up for
me...I suppose I should show you how much I appreciate that, more often."
He was tempted to say it, but kept his face neutral. "No, my Lady," he said, rising for her, and then
dropping back to a kneel with the sword in front of him. "You haven't thanked me often because
I've done nothing worth thanking."
He could just see the look of confusion that passed over her face. "What are you talking about?" she
murmured. "And get up, please-
we're friends, Glenn. Don't look at me
like a queen..."
Glenn gave a sigh, and rose from the kneel.
He was very sorry he had done that, yet he had no idea why he bent the
knee all of a sudden. Maybe to humble
himself a little before her, or quell the anger that throbbed on his cheek. "...forgive me," he said, staring
at her. "I only meant to apologize
for earlier. I had no right to yell at
Sir Draco in front of you, much less challenge his authority. I realize now that he is our guest,
regardless of whatever views he has that I consider very nearsighted and
boorish. He was right to throw his
drink at me. I ask your
forgiveness."
"You haven't heard one word I've said," Riddel mumbled, her face
turning from him. "I'm not the one
who's angry with you. Daddy is."
"And I apologize to his whole family," Glenn told her. "That outburst was unlike me. I apologize if it contributed to your
discomfort..."
Riddel did not look at him still. He
felt ill at that aversion, and considered letting his equilibrium fade, letting
his head bang against the brick wall of the barracks. By the Emblem, he was being so, so stupid today. All this morose brooding, the crass thoughts
and pain that kept him up at night...he wasn't supposed to act this way. He was a swordsman- no swordsman ever let his
composure break like that. There was no
reason for his attitude, these past few days.
Except, maybe, those instances when it peaked. When he made eye contact with those four demihumans that had arrived, especially their leader. That nightmarish, dark beast...
Lynx is his name. Lynx, the ambassador from Porre, and his guests- Luna Aurore, the veiled Lady of Medina; Harle, Lynx's right hand- or paw, hah- jester girl, very flirty; and then, of course, the charming Senfara Draco, giant draconian snob. All of them...my gods, something about their eyes...
His musings ended when he saw Riddel standing closer to him. She had her hands folded in front of her still, gazing down at the bed that would never be slept in again. He saw her face in the mirror, saw the slight quiver of her lower lip, and the crimson throb in her eyelids. Mental images of the four demihuman visitors departed from his mind, now thinking only of her; she looked so delicate in that mirror. Her expression downcast, one shock of purple-tinted hair hanging over her creamy forehead, her petite form elegant even with her hung head. Though four years his senior, Riddel was still shorter than him, not the least bit changed from a few years prior.
Glenn looked at the silk sheet over Dario's bed. Well...perhaps more than a little changed.
"Discomfort?" she whispered. "You...Karsh...you're the only ones I
feel safe with anymore..."
He imagined his arm around her shoulders, and that brightened him a
little. But then it turned into an
image of that arm around her waist, and that gave way to thoughts of both arms
around them, and tugging on those slim hips, and turning her face up to
his. He fought back a flush of
embarrassment, turning it to one of anger.
Directing anger towards the self was the best way to kill such thoughts,
he had learned. It did not bother him
and it did not hurt him, but it always ended in the name that he now
spoke. "Riddel..."
She turned her head up a little, looking at him through the mirror. He looked at her apologetically, and
continued. "I'm sorry. I'm used to having Karsh around to knock
sense into me when I am angry..."
Glenn gave her a sheepish smile, which he knew she liked to see. "I'm...I'm not mad. I just worry about you."
Riddel
finally smiled, though he saw a crystal drop rain from her eye to the silk
sheet. She shifted to let her hand rest
on her forearm, hugging it to her side.
"If you worry about me so greatly...why do you not show it?"
she asked gently, shutting her eyes.
Glenn wished for a moment that his room actually were a room. The dragoons were leaning forward a little
in their beds, looking out of the corner of their eyes. Checking to make sure Riddel's eyes were
still closed, Glenn shot them a look and slowly raised the arm that held his
sword. The dragoons summarily looked
away, glancing back to the Record of Fate hovering over in the corner.
"...I would not know how to show it," Glenn continued, keeping his voice low.
Riddel
opened her eyes again, and turned her head a little to look over her shoulder
to him. "Take me somewhere. Take me out of the manor, into Termina or
somewhere...let's revisit your father and brother's graves, just for a
while."
I HATE THEM BOTH!
The mental outburst widened his eyes, and he almost stumbled from the shock. Riddel caught it, her brow furrowing in alarm. "If...if that's all right with you," she uttered gently.
"Of-
of course..." Glenn nodded his
head, forcing a smile, yet within his mind there was complete amazement. Why in the Six Dragon Gods had he thought
that? He didn't hate his family. "I'm sorry about that, I just felt
that...tingle, that you get down the back of your spine, sometimes." He brought himself up a little more, forcing
himself to calm his mind. "I...would
love to."
Riddel regarded him with a little more concern, but had regained her
smile. "Good, good...I would like
to talk with you of some things, there."
Her smile turned a little more impish.
"Perhaps you would enjoy taking me to the Magical Dreamers concert
tomorrow night."
For the first time that night, Glenn chuckled.
"I didn't know you cared for such wild tastes, Miss Riddel,"
he said jokingly. "And I am
speaking of the lead singer when I say such, by the way."
She flashed teeth in a grin. "You
cannot tell me the fabled 'dynamite dancer' does not turn your eye, Sir
Glenn. I only consider your
wellbeing."
Glenn chuckled again, though the mirth was halved. "Ah, Miss Riddel, you look a thousand times better than
she..."
He trailed off. There was a moment of
pure awkwardness there, as Riddel's cheeks slowly turned pink, and Glenn heard
a snicker from one of the dragoons behind the wall. Probably young Sergeant Trahn, eager for a sheath-spanking. Glenn would be happy to oblige, later, but
for now, he looked to Riddel with a little more embarrassment. "Sorry, Miss Riddel..."
"That's all right, Glenn...it was a compliment," Riddel said, her
blush fading. "Hah...that's just
like something Dario would say."
Glenn smiled, and let the cross-hilt of his mythril sword ease out a little,
until it cut through his glove and into the surface of his thumb. He kept it unseen. "So, tomorrow then," he said, his voice even.
Riddel
nodded, her lips favoring him with one last smile. "Perhaps around noon...we can have lunch out there in
Termina. Just a little sojourn from
things," she told him. "We'll
visit the Einlanzer grave, and then let's be children again."
Glenn felt blood welling against the sword's edge. "It will be a good day," he said to her.
Her smile widened, and with it, she nodded. "It will. Well...I shall bathe now. Take care, Glenn...I'll come back before I retire to my chambers. See you then."
Glenn sucked in gently over his lower lip as the bloody warmth now spread to his palm. He stopped it there, and removed his thumb from the blade. "That you will. Farewell, Miss Riddel."
She stepped in and politely pressed her lips to his scarred cheek. The dragoons in the room groaned with his heart. Riddel made eye contact with him as she stepped away, for the briefest of seconds, and then nonchalantly paced over to the door. Her bright green gown sparkled with the thrum of the jade Record for all of a moment, and then the door was opened by another dragoon, and she was gone.
Glenn slid the sword back into its scabbard, slumping on the bed. Then, all at once, he gasped sharply, taking in a soft groan as he clutched the throbbing cut. His nose snorted and sniffed hot air as he pressed the thumb into the palm of his warmed glove. His other hand fumbled on the low belt he wore, and found a small vial in which there was a curative Tablet. He raised the domino-sized square to his palm, snapped it open, and let the transparent fluid sear over the cut. There was momentary pain as the germ-killing chemicals seared into the cut, and then nothing, as it patched up again.
He saw the dragoons looking at him, and leaned back upon the bed to rest his head upon the pillow.
A very awful, painful day.
-------------
Daylight had hit its climax over the broiling trees of the Arnian path. Now the jungles sweltered with heat that was all too familiar to Serge, and it was exemplified in poor, black-clad Exeter's face. The swordsman was crowned with sweat that beaded down his forehead and along his blonde eyebrows, even though he showed no sign of tiring. His black ronin robe was likewise damp near the collar, prompting Serge to thank himself for wearing a silver netvest over a black undershirt. Likewise, the billowy blue shorts he wore also helped for airing out the heat.
Not to mention all the blood on his leg.
"You
all right?" Exeter asked, suddenly.
"That's been bleeding for a while, now, and I'm still not focused
enough to use a curative element..."
"I'm fine, don't worry," Serge told him, though he did limp a little
even with the help of his Swallow.
"My own fault for having a double-bladed can opener. Mom will fix me up." He tilted his head a little, gazing up at
the blonde swordsman as they trudged forward.
"And shouldn't I be asking you that? You're sweating like a horse..."
Exeter offered a rare honest look.
"I feel sick. It's not
supposed to be this hot, even in Arni..."
Serge nodded, regretfully, and tugged down his bandana to block the sun from
his eyes. "I know. I'm...feeling out of it,
myself..." He craned his head back
over his shoulder, towards the path that led to Lizard Rock. "Something was wrong, back
there...didn't you think? Like the
place was foreign."
"There were no Komodo pups," Exeter said, grimacing. "Not one. No Beach Bums or blue lizards, either. There were dark shapes in the water. Big ones."
Serge's brow furrowed to a frown.
"That's not like the place, is it?"
"No. But then, it got hot, all of a sudden,"
Exeter said. "The animals could be
hiding for shade."
"Unlikely," Serge said with a sigh.
"All the animals there have glands specifically designed for
negating that heat. We should have at
least seen a few Beach Bums..."
Exeter shrugged his shoulders.
"You're the animal expert...I just hit things with a sword."
The tone in his voice was off. Serge
tilted his head. "You all
right...?"
The swordsman did not answer at first.
Finally his grimace settled into a sad glance. "I had kind of a bad dream...about the war." He gave Serge a wry smile. "Don't ever let anyone tell you, Serge,
that battle is anything glorious. The
cruelest image you can conjure up of what war is like...it's not even half as bad
as it really is. You just fight with
whatever you got...I remember guys whose blades snapped, so they started
throwing rocks instead. Throwing rocks
at guns..."
Serge listened with a ball of discomfort growing in his stomach. Exeter did not usually talk of such things,
and when he did, in not so open a manner; he wondered if the talk earlier had
knocked loose a few bricks in the swordsman's barrier. Or if I just annoyed him enough. Poor guy...I shouldn't pester him like that.
Exeter simply shrugged it off. "Whatever. I haven't had good dreams in a long time...well, um, except maybe of Leena laying side by side with me on the beach in nothing but her dainties," he cracked, though it was a little forced.
Serge chuckled anyway, and they kept walking.
The sun broiled with such heat that it felt impossible to keep going, after a while. There was a dampness to the leaves that made them hang, as though they themselves were sweating. Serge had trouble keeping his eyelids open, the fatigue of marching so great that it literally stung to blink. What had happened back there, anyway? He saw no tracks of the Nameless while leaving Opassa Beach and all through Lizard Rock, and felt physically the same as he always had. Mentally, there was something else- it was a growing sense of nervousness, as though he were stumbling into a haunted house or a crypt. Someplace he didn't belong.
It weighed on him, as he walked in silence.
Exeter suddenly stopped, and Serge followed suit. "We're here," Exeter said, nodding to the faintly lit end of the path ahead of them. Serge followed his gaze to find the familiar tropical fruit trees that marked the entrance to Arni Village; at this time of the year, they were in full bloom. Starfruit and passion flower wreathed along the ornate entrance, giving Serge pause to sigh in relief. Well, some things were still the same, and he saw no signs of panic near the gate.
"Think Leena made it in all right?" Serge pondered aloud.
Exeter
sidled the long tachi over his shoulder, walking ahead. "Only one way to find out. I'm more concerned that the poor girl may
have been overheated. Perhaps she shed
a few garments..."
Serge dug the Swallow tip into the ground and pushed himself after the other,
managing a grin. "The depth of
subtlety that you emit, Exeter...wow."
He shook his head, and pushed himself along, towards the gate. "I'm sure she's all right...has to
be. She's Leena."
"Frying pan and three laces, yep," Exeter replied with a wink.
Serge
blinked. "Three laces?"
"Yeah. That's how many I'd have to
pull in order to stri-"
"Sorry I asked," Serge gritted out.
As he reached the gate with Exeter, he peered into Arni Village once again. Almost instantly he was alight with a smile- everybody was around. The huts were still decorated with flowers and fruit, as though in sheer defiance of the intense heat. The old saleslady from the mainland pushed her cart along in the center of the town square, and around her he could see the children of the town. The inseparable little island boy and girl couple, Kiki and Lolo, played hide and seek around the place- either that, or Lolo was literally hiding from Kiki. He remembered Kiki had made like Leena that morning and threatened Lolo with a ladle unless he got her some Komodo scales. Other than that amusing sight, Serge saw most of the older denizens still hobbling around, chuckling at the youths in play.
He looked over towards his house, but did not see his mother in the window. Most likely laying down, he supposed.
"Huh,
well, everyone's excited about something," Exeter mumbled as he paced
in. He glanced over to a figure coming
out of the nearby bar hut- old man Parjay, it looked like. "Hey, Jay!"
Parjay was squeezing what looked like rum out of his beard, but when he saw
Exeter, he brightened into a smile.
"Hey, hey! Mister Ex,
you're back! I thought you headed up to
Fossil Valley."
Serge and Exeter exchanged a blink, and then Exeter turned back to Parjay with
a shake of his head. "No, uh, I
went over to Opassa Beach. Get some
scales for Leena."
"Haha, you're a slick one, Mister Ex," Parjay said with a
chuckle. "She's over by the
dock. She was worried about you when
you didn't show up earlier, but she'll be glad to see you. Hey, why don't you and I share a little
toast inside? I'll tell ya about that
time I wrestled a sharkfish butt naked and covered in sauce."
Serge frowned a little at that. Didn't
show up earlier? Well, what did she
expect, I was unconscious.
Exeter
was likewise bothered, but he brightened hesitantly. "Haha, sure, I guess...might help if you tell me just what's
going down lately." He looked back
to Serge and quietly whispered to him.
"Go check up on Leena, find out what the hell's wrong with
her."
Serge nodded, then tipped his bandana to Parjay. "You two have fun," he said, suddenly very confused.
Parjay
flashed a half-toothless smile, then glanced to Exeter and offered a hand as
the other padded up the ramp to the bar hut.
"So, like I was tellin' you the other day, I was all alone on my
third honeymoon..."
His voice faded into the background as Serge walked the short distance to the
pier. The blood had caked on his leg,
though the pain was now gradually getting worse and worse. It was like a bad headache, in the purest
sense- it even gave him the mental frustration of a migraine, too. Already he was confused; Parjay had only
asked about Exeter, and what the whole thing about Fossil Valley was about,
Serge had no clue. Maybe they'd been
out a little longer than he thought- or maybe Leena had been in a daze when she
came here, muttered nonsensical things.
As he passed his home, Serge saw the lights were off. His mother probably wasn't feeling well- though if Leena had said he was missing, he doubted she could sleep. He reminded himself to come right back after seeing Leena.
He trudged out on the pier, glancing over as his feet found the floorboards. But as he stepped out, he paused somewhat. There she was- Leena was standing on the pier, clear as day, and in the exact same garments as before. She had her hands on her hips, and was staring out at the sparkling sea beside the spot reserved for old man Parjay. Her face was blank, normal- as though without a care in the world. That bothered him.
"Hey,
Leena!" he called, though tentatively, and limped up to her. "Sorry I'm late- Exeter and I are okay,
though. We just passed out, so
whatev..."
He stopped. Leena had turned to him
with a look of pure confusion. Her brow
furrowed, and then her lips moved.
His ears buzzed with the echo of her words, and his eyes sharpened. He literally thought it was a joke, at first- that she was mad about something. That he had done something on the beach that was wrong to her, and would prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that he just did not understand women. Or that she was playing with him, popping a mean joke that he would ironically laugh about and then end up in her leash again. But the look in her eyes was not something that could be faked. Horror, surprise, and confusion mixed as one were impossible to forge.
"Huh? Who are you...?"
As Serge finally realized what she had said, his palm and calf burned, and then dripped with blood.