The Legend of Spyro
Shadow Repentance
Chapter 25
It felt like the ocean. Felt like water rushing into his ears, foaming and muffling his hearing. Felt like the pitch and hurl of the waves. Felt like the sink and rise of the current.
It happened every few moments, concentrated in his temples. It happened for only a second but it was intense, dizzying, perturbing. It happened when he drifted back to silence, stirring him up and swelling to the front of his head in a flurry of bubbling agitation before ebbing away allowing him to drop back down.
At last after many times, he did not fall back into the deep sleep. At last he began to realize his surroundings again. At last his swollen tongue felt normal. At last his limbs were under his control. At last he could close his lips and stop the stream of saliva that trickled freely from his open mouth.
He forced his eyes open. A white film of mucus clouded his vision. He blinked to make it go away but only made it worse, thickening so much he could see little rainbows from the orange sunlight upon the ceiling that filtered in through the windows.
He could see his hand but he did not recognize it at first. He wanted to move it but it would not without great effort. The fingers curled, and a weak half-open fist began to form. Another blink and the cloudy haze left his eyes. Saliva washed down his dry throat as he swallowed, beating apart the knot at the base of neck. His heart pulsed thickly in his chest, sending blasts of warm blood throughout his body.
The fist curled further, and his other hand, unseen and resting aside his back, also began to curl. His nostrils flared, forehead furrowed. He felt a surge of life cut through the fatigue and detached sensation; the puppet strings returned to him one by one.
The first finger touched his palm, then the other. One by one they tucked themselves against his palm, until all were snugly nestled together. He clenched but it was still weak, Again; stronger, but still detached and loose. He gritted his teeth, the other hand now ready for the work. He clenched again; the feeling was almost there.
The ground pulsed as a torrent of wind ripped through the tower; Spyro righted to his feet, poised and alert as he could manage. The air circled and the ground protested beneath his feet. Several feet before him, a bead of light fabricated in the center of the dormant gateway to Convexity, and grew with every second.
The light spread to a vertical line, and then fanned out into an oblong bubble. The bubble became bloated and began expanding to the very brim of its border. The blue swirls excited into mists of purple and black.
He hobbled in reverse to the back of the room as a shrill roar burst from the portal.
It was opening again, and something was coming through. A massive five-fingered hand burst forth, and slammed upon the ground, knuckles buckling as it tried to gain a hold. Another hand shot forth, and slowly the hands began pulling.
In a matter of moments, Spyro could see the face of a simian beast; ghost white hair draped unkempt around its coal-black eyes. It huffed a cloud of steam as it came forth, shaking blood from its mane.
In another moment its torso was halfway through, skewed and elongated as it came from the vortex. At last its feet were through. The beast breathed heavily, gasping for air as it rose and stood to a height twice that of Spyro's; it steadied its bulk and then set its black gaze upon the Dragon.
"Where is she?" Spyro snapped, voice still caught in fatigue. "What have you done with Cynder?"
Another shrill roar escaped the ape's gut. It slammed its hand upon the ground causing it to tremble, but the Dragon remained balanced.
Spyro felt threatened, felt the very real rush of danger seeping through the fatigue that continued to dissipate from his mind. He recalled the last memory, of Cynder glancing back; her expression was burned into his mind.
He felt a rage boil within him as the ape stared him down. The creature was tired, bloodied, scored all over his body. It was wounded, but alive—and Cynder, where was she?
Spyro lost his grip. A conclusion twitched upon his mind that he did not want to accept though it became ever stronger. He felt his anger rise to rage.
The ape charged forward, and Spyro did the same; as their scalps collided Spyro felt his weight being thrown backward. He tumbled, once and twice, but recovered on the third roll. He swayed, and as he counted the wounds on the monster's flesh his anger boiled into fury.
This ape was here, and she was not. There was only one answer why: she had fought, and she had lost.
The fatigue vanished. The Dragon felt his blood burn. His vision became sharp. His muscles flexed in a surge of energy. He felt the magic din within him simmer; he felt each element festering like a restless bird demanding to be freed from its cage. Each one was furious, and each one wanted to be loosed at once.
The ape's fists collided with the ground as it charged forward once again, and Spyro's nerves erupted as he opened his maw; a brilliant flash consumed his vision but did not blind him. There came a shriek of pain and fright. The ground trembled and the air whipped but Spyro felt nothing. A high-pitched, ethereal sound rippled through the air.
Slowly the ape's shrieks turned to sobs, and finally faded to whispers. Spyro's shoulders slouched as the light faded with the shut of his lips. His head sank. The wind slowed and the tapestries settled to their resting places. The ape lay motionless upon the floor, and the sun peeked through the windows far in front of him on its downward trek to the other side of the world. The sound of the swirling vortex died away as it closed.
Spyro did not move for a long time. He remained stooped, eyes closed. In his mind, Cynder was glancing back. Now he understood the expression upon her face. She did not betray him, or anyone else. She betrayed the very thing that tried to control her. That was her intent all along. Whether or not the evil inside was affecting her, she intended to go in alone and stop what she had started—even if she would not return.
"Are those tears for me?"
His eyes flicked open. A drop fell from his snout toward the ground, where three other specs of water glinted in the sunlight. His gaze rasied hesitantly, eyes scanning over the fallen body of the ape until they came upon her.
She was behind the ape's massive form, visible only from the shoulders up. She looked at him sideways, only the left side of her face and body in full view. She gave semblance of a smile, but it lasted only a second.
He began to circle the corpse, and as he did she walked backward away from him, but with great effort it appeared. He stopped.
"Gaul," she spoke against the silence.
He began to walk again; after one retreating step, she gave up.
"He bode his time for three years," she explained as he slowly approached, and all the while she kept the right side of her face away, "waiting for us to come back and vanquish Malefor," her eye trailed down to the ape's face in front of her. "He's bigger than I remember…a lot stronger too."
As Spyro approached her she kept her face sideways. Now all that was between them was Gaul's motionless head; tongue cut and bloodied, eyes listless and glazed, an awful stench wafting as the last of lifeless sighs escaped.
"His plan was almost perfect, but he didn't count on one thing."
"You fought back." Spyro stated, resting a hand on her shoulder. "You went in with the intention of fighting back." He sighed. "The look on your face before you went in…" He pursed his lips and cupped her chin. He tried to turn her head to look directly into both eyes but she resisted. He stopped the motion, but did not let go his hand. "Why did you go in alone?"
"I didn't know what was behind the door. It could have been anyone or anything—I honestly expected Malefor, despite what I said earlier."
"And you went in alone." His tone was low. "Why didn't you tell me your intention, why didn't you let me go with you? You could have—"
"I didn't want you to get hurt." She interrupted softly.
"Hurt?"
He forced her head, and then took his gaze away for just a second before regaining his composure.
Her right eye was closed, and a long gash ran down her face beside it, passing over the knot she had acquired from Vinnie. Congealed blood protruded from the wound and fell down her cheek and over her lips in dry rivulets.
"You should have told me," he said, his voice rising, "We could have prepared."
"Spyro," she replied calmly.
He stopped. His mouth hung open for a moment before he closed it.
"This was my problem from the beginning. You offered to come along, I didn't ask you." She winced, and looked down at something that Spyro could not see, "I had to make Gaul believe I was under his control—I wanted to tell you, Spyro, I really wanted to, but I…"
Spyro stepped around the ape's head, and took Cynder's right arm. He stared at it for an extended moment, before finally letting go. It swung back and forth once before she flexed to stop it, for the arm was without a hand. The flesh at the end of the broken limb was charred, naturally cauterizing the wound.
"The price I pay for toying with your trust, I guess."
"I don't know…what to do…" He admitted. He did not know whether to be angry or relieved; he did not know what emotion he felt as he stared into her unblinking eye.
She nodded, and shuffled as she turned. "Just go."
He watched her shuffle for a moment; she made her way to the crumbling wall. "You can't just stay here."
She looked back, her left hand resting upon the sill of the stone window, and then gazed out to the sky. "I can't fly," she said, and demonstrated by batting her right wing. The bones grated together.
Spyro winced.
"So just leave me for now, go back and tell the others whatever you want. I'll be here when…if…you want to come back and get me." She closed her eye and waited for his protest, but it did not come. Instead, after several silent moments, she heard his talons trot across the carpet and tic against the stone. She heard something tear, and fabric falling to the ground. Only after the rhythmic beat of his wings receded into the distance did she finally look.
One of the long tapestries was missing from the window. Torn shreds peeled away from the wall as the wind fluttered into the tower, singing a note as it went by the windows. She shook her head, dispelling her thoughts.
She turned toward the scenery, watched as the sun touched the horizon with its toe. A great band of shimmering light reflected off the ocean, turning the rolling waves into waters of gold and silver.
She clutched the stump of her arm, recalling the moment when she lost it—and quickly sent that thought away. But it was too late; the seal was broken and the strain began to take its toll.
Her breathing became shallow and sporadic. She rested upon the window to try and steady herself but it was worthless. Tremors rippled throughout her body, small and quick at first, and ascending rapidly. Her knuckles buckled and stretched as she tried to control the shakes, to no avail. Even her tongue was quivering.
"It's all your fault," she said to the lifeless form behind her, "Damn ape, stay dead this time!"
"On the bright side, he actually did you a favor."
Spyro stood in front of a wooden hatch at the other side of the tower.
She said nothing as he approached.
"I still don't know what to think," he spoke in a low voice, "And really I don't want to think about it right now. I just want to get out of here." His hands cupped her chin, steadying her shaking face. His thumb gently rubbed away the dried lines of blood that crossed her lips.
She stared at him distantly, as if she could not decide if he was really there.
"You know that I can't—that I won't leave you behind." He nodded toward the door from which he emerged, "That hatch leads out of here, but it's blocked just a bit so it might be tricky." His hands fell away from her cheek, and he proffered his right. "I want you to come with me. Will you?"
Her eye darted from his hand to his face, or at least tried. Her lids twitched and her pupil flicked back and forth uncontrollably. She did not speak, either because she could not or because she would not. For a few moments she simply shivered, but finally she calmed herself enough to raise her hand just a few inches above the ground. Immediately it was taken into his grasp.
He moved beside her injured half and lowered, placing the stubbed arm over his neck. "Let me help you walk."
He led the way, balancing her patiently as she took small, hesitant steps. It was the work of three minutes just to get to the hatch only a dozen feet away, and several more to walk down half of the endless flight of stairs circling. He started off clumsily at first but as the time passed he managed to get the hang of coordinating his steps with hers.
All the while she simply followed like a sleepwalker guided by her dream.
They came upon the obstacle he had mentioned; the outer wall had crumbled and a large collection of stones barred their path. Normally it would be an easy task to hop over them but that required four legs, and maybe two eyes.
Spyro made his way over the rocks and then turned back around. He ushered for her hand, and she offered it haphazardly. He guided her over the obstacle with effort; she was uncoordinated and her steps were hesitant and unbalanced, but he could tell she tried her best to work with him.
"It's okay, you're just a little shocked," he excused, "Just step forward, I've got you."
She stepped, and then slipped.
He took a bracing step backward but the breadth was too wide; he missed the stair and slipped down farther than he expected. She jerked forward, and he caught her but lost his balance. She tumbled without so much as a sigh, but as she let go of Spyro's hand to catch the stair, his palms slapped up under her chest and for a moment he grunted as he lifted her back up to balance while her arm dangled lazily.
"Sorry, are you okay?" He expected no response. "It's not much farther."
He went back to her right side and helped balance her again. Her steps were a little more hesitant, but he relentlessly coaxed her to keep going, that she was doing perfectly fine. Finally, they made it to bottom of the flight, and through the threshold into the open air.
Outside was fresh and cool. Cynder felt the warm sun lick her wounded face. It was a little farther along, up to its calves in the ocean. She felt Spyro lift her up onto his back and carry her over to a familiar piece of fabric, laid out upon the open stone floor, torn end ruffling in the gentle wind.
He set her upon the middle of the tapestry so that she crossed it transversely. He gathered the ends of one side, met her eyes and nodded as he passed toward the other, a smile flashing on his face for just a second.
She let the fabric fall on her back as it folded over, and watched him as he went to gather the other ends. At last she realized what he was doing, while his wings lifted him off the ground.
The ends of the tapestry became taught, and he beat his wings more heavily.
She felt the ground fall away, and her body sagged comfortably into the fabric. It rose up to her chin, fitting snugly around her. She looked up at Spyro as he flew with a corner of tapestry in each talon.
She averted her gaze when he looked down at her, toward the purple ocean mixing together with the pink sky. She could see their shadow far off in the distance, slowly gliding along the marbled surface.
After a while, she sighed bitterly.
The shackles were gone. She was free.