The Legend of Spyro

Shadow Repentance

Chapter 26

The air smelled sour, filled with salt. The rock was wet from rain that leaked into the cave. Wind whipped noisily at its mouth. The peel of lightning and sound of thunder were far in the distance, causing the ocean to crash and pitch grumpily.

The mist that blew into the cave wetted Cynder's face.

Spyro worked to start a small fire behind her. "Your tremors have stopped," he said as the embers came to life.

She could feel the heat against her hindquarters.

"Why don't you move out from the rain?" He extended his hand to help her up.

Her eye rolled to him for a moment, then rolled back toward the outside.

Spyro lied down beside her, on her left side. He looked out into the rain, the mist catching his face as well. He blinked the water away from his eyes. The dark curtain of the stars was drawn, and the moon performed its play.

Far in the distance, there was a brilliant spectacle of sapphire light; a patch of forest unique to any other forest in the world.

"The Dark Pools."

Spyro looked at her, water flinging from face as it turned. He was not exactly sure she had spoken at all. "I'm sorry?"

"The Dark Pools," she repeated, her eye fixated on him.

"What about them?"

"...It's not over, Spyro."

"What isn't over?"

Cynder's eye darted forward for just a second, and then back at him. She shifted, propping herself up by the stub as she tried to rise.

"Wait, let me—" He paused, his hands upon her shoulder ready to help. But the look in her eye told him she wanted to rise on her own. His hands fell away.

Her legs shook as she rose, her front leg buckling as she tried to find a balance on odd limbs. Finally she reached the threshold, shifting weight onto her back legs, and she managed to sit upright.

"Now what?" He asked.

She turned her head.

He caught a glimpse of her wounded eye, weeping fresh blood as the scab cracked from getting wet. He followed her gaze; she looked to the back of their shelter, where a long tunnel yawned beyond the fire.

She rose; her weight teetered from front to back. She abated his urges to help with periodic glances. Finally she found balance, and moved her right foot forward. Her front left moved up, and in habit the stubbed limb moved with it; she stumbled but did not fall.

He watched as she began to walk, a sort of pain aching inside of him. He wanted to help but he could not—should not. He saw determination on her taught lips. He followed her as she walked, stepping only every few moments so that she remained a foot ahead. Her pace was slow and haggard at first, but after just a few moments it became more natural.

She led him, whether she intended to or not; in fact it seemed she had forgotten him altogether. She disappeared as the firelight fell out of view. But just as it disappeared, another light began shining in the cave. It was dim and gray at first but quickly intensified to a deep purple.

Spyro stopped when his eyes came upon the black smoke that hovered over his feet. He looked up to Cynder still treading onward around the turn, toward the source of the acrid fog.

The Dark Pool was small compared to the others he had seen. It was more akin to a glorified puddle, and yet it gave Spyro the same fear and anger he had come to don when the slightest sign of this darkness was made.

"Cynder, stay away from it."

She ignored him. One-two…three, one-two…three. Her steps, like a drum off of beat, continued on.

"Cynder," Spyro repeated in warning, strafing to the side of some invisible boundary he did not allow himself to pass.

This time she stopped, just a step away from the pool. Her head rose and she turned back to him, eye gleaming in the light.

That same expression. Spyro felt his blood go cold.

"This is going to frighten you," she said, and made her way into the water to the center of the pool. She stood for a moment, then her right shoulder dropped abruptly.

Spyro stepped forward as he saw her roll into the water.

The reaction was immediate; the light dimmed, then brightened against the walls, displaying ghostly shadows all about him. He watched as she lay on her back in the water, surrounded by the smoke. It gathered around her, engulfing her.

He took another step, but the smoke pushed him back; his legs buckled and his jaw crashed to the floor. He blinked, shaking his slurred vision into focus. As he gathered himself, the smoke began to dissipate. He called her name, dashing forward until he felt his hand breach the water.

He balked, jerking his hand back. He looked down at the water—and slowly submerged his hand back in once more. It was clear, lucid, and coolly fresh. It was no longer the thick, black and viscous liquid. He heard a grunt, almost of pain, and looked up.

Cynder rose to stand upon four limbs, both eyes bolt open and glaring into the water. She grunted again, staggering side-to-side. A dark mist surrounded her; her eyes were glazed and black as coal.

Spyro tore into the pool. As he approached, arms outstretched, she took them, pulled him closer and held him, her throat emitting an elongated sound of pain or anger or frustration—maybe all that at once.

She bit onto his shoulder, muffling screams into his scales.

Amidst the screams he heard what sounded like a dozen voices whispering all around him. She began to tremble uncontrollably in his arms. He held her close, tried to subdue her quivering, tried to abate the rising fear and confusion boiling inside of him.

"Stop it!" He finally shouted over several seconds.

Silence. About them was utter silence.

He opened his eyes with great hesitation, and met hers; white and gentle with dilated pupils. He shifted, disengaging from her embrace. His hands held hers, and he stared upon the new arm. In the pale light that still came from the glowing algae in the water, he could see that it was different somehow: made of scales somewhat the color of the Dark Pools.

His hand let go for only a moment as he traced a scar that ran from behind her eye to the edge of her cheek. It too was the same color, pocked within the reptilian skin. Beyond the scar was her wing, also embroidered in the same colored scales, like stress-marks in the living limb of a tortured tree.

"Spyro," she said, and he met her eyes once again.

"What's happening to you?" He whispered, "What do you mean it's not over—what's going on, how did you get your hand back?"

She remained silent.

"Answer me!" His voice was loud within the small chamber; not with anger, but with confusion that demanded clearing. A moment of silence blanketed them, broken only by the sound of dripping water.

She looked at him, and placed her hand upon his shoulder, squeezing it. "I know you're scared…and I know you're confused," she took in a breath. "Spyro, there are many facets of evil in this world and I know most, if not all, of them."

"Some of them," she continued, "are benign. But some of them are very powerful…it took all I had to keep Gaul from controlling me." She swallowed, "A part of me is evil, and someday I'll do something like this again; I know it will happen." She quickly took his hand in hers, "But I don't wantthat to happen, I really don't," she insisted.

"I don't either," he said, squeezing her hand thoughtfully. "But I don't believe that what you say is inevitable. A part of you is evil, sure, but you're good Cynder, I know you are." The expression on her face seemed hurt, as if she did not want his kind words to enter her ears. He stroked her cheek. "If there's a way for you to control that evil part of you, I'm sure you'll find it."

"There…" She traced her fingers over the back of his knuckles. "There is a way," she pulled his hand to the crook of her shoulder, "But…you may not like it…"

"I don't care. Whatever it is I'll try it."

For a moment doubt crossed her face, but at last she gave a feeble nod. With the quickest motion, her newly aqcuired hand slashed down his shoulder, cutting a thin wound into the scales. She pressed her palm against the wound as he hissed in pain, and comforted him on the other.

For several moments her hand rested there. He opened his eyes to see her face, stilled and with sorrow. He could feel warmth from the blood seeping down his shoulder, saturating her palm.

At last she drew away, and as she did he covered the wound with his own hand, but the wound was already becoming scabbed. She rubbed her palms together, ensuring they were completely covered in the dark red ink. She then lifted her chin up, exposing her neck. Her hands cupped around her throat, painting the blood in a circle about her neck.

A gentle glow of deep red peeked through her fingers as the base of her palms came together. She made a motion as if she was gripping a length of rope, and pulled away from her throat—and an ethereal rope did appear. Once it was a foot in length she let one hand go and held it palm-up.

He hesitated for a moment, his lips parting and closing while his hand floated adrift. The display was very eerie, and made the tips of his horns tingle nervously. He looked from her open palm, clean of his blood, to her eyes and back. He licked his lips and slowly rested his hand upon hers, palm down.

Quickly she clapped her hands together, sandwiching his and the thread of magic together. She waited for a moment, and with a contented exhalation, released him.

He pulled away quickly, clutching the thread. It felt solid in his grasp. He opened his hand, and blinked; he turned his palm over with surprise. The thread was not simply held in his hand, it went into it.

"What is this?" He asked with uncertainty, attempting to pull the thread out of his palm. It did not budge, but he could feel tension all throughout the arm as he tugged.

"A leash."

"A leash?"

"If ever you're worried; if ever you're concerned; if ever you just don't trust me; pull on the leash." She cupped his hand and closed it about the thread; it disappeared into latency. "It's directly linked to my power. If you pull it, I promise you I'll become docile."

"Docile?" He repeated, "Why are you doing this Cynder?"

"Because," she said solemnly, "I don't want you to trust me."

"…What do you mean?"

"I mean…I do want you to trust me, but I know I have to earn it back." Her lips tightened. "What I did was…not what I should have done. You're right, I should have told you."

"You did what you felt was—"

"No," she interrupted sharply, slapping the back of his hand gently, "Don't go excusing me. You know what I did hurt you, hurt your trust." She met his eyes.

"Cynder…" He breathed out as if to say something, but no words came to mind.

Eager to break the moment she began to walk, and led him silently back through the cave.

As they approached the hissing fire, a cool and gentle wind rushed to them, churning the stale air they had been breathing for the past ten minutes. The storm was passed.

"It stopped raining," Cynder commented as they approached the mouth. They lied upon the tapestry, crammed and furrowed into the small opening of the cave. "Look," she said, pointing with her new finger, "Over there; you can see the forest, even from this far away."

"Is that what it was?" He asked rhetorically, "I couldn't tell. Didn't think about it much."

"It's so bright, Spyro. I wonder what it looks like close-up at night."

He placed his hand over hers.

"I bet it's beautiful," she continued, unaware of the action, "The Arboktu are lucky to have such a bright and happy place to live."

"I think," he finally spoke, "that it's bright and happy because of what it was made of."

She nodded, "I guess so. The crystals are very pretty by themselves but I never thought they could reshape into trees and leaves and—"

"I wasn't talking about the crystals."

"You're not? What else is it made of, then?"

He squeezed her hand gently, "Belief."

Her shoulders tingled from the magnitude of the single word. She did not even think to appreciate it in such a way. Her eye caught him staring at her.

He spoke softly, "I know I've said it before, but I think I understand what you're going through. And I'll play along—" he shook his head, "well that's not really a good way to put it. What I mean is; I will not trust you."

She took her hand away, curling it underneath her chest. She stared out to the twinkling light so far in the distance, breathing stiffly. She was still angry, mostly at herself. Finally she relaxed, and he patiently took her hand once again.

"Thank you." She said.

"But you will get it back. I promise. And when you do, I won't need this leash anymore."

She shook her head. "You put too much faith in me."

"You said I shouldn't trust you—you never said anything about having faith in you."

She sighed. "I guess I can't change that now. But the others…they won't share that opinion." She scratched at the rocky ground. "Are you…going to tell them?"

"No," he replied softly but immediately, "I'll leave that up to you. Now get some rest," he whispered, kissing her on the cheek.

"I can't sleep, not after today."

"Try," he pleaded.

"…All right, but only if you try too."

"I will, but, I don't think I'll get there."

"Well then…let's both stay up."

Spyro chuckled, and despite how terrible she felt inside Cynder began to laugh as well. "Look's like we're at a stalemate."

"How about this," she proposed, pointing to the glowing dot of light in the distance, "we'll have a staring contest. We'll both look at the forest," she waved her finger, "no blinking, and no looking away. Whoever falls asleep first has to sleep the rest of the night; the other gets to stay up if she wants."

"She?" He chuckled, headbutting her nicely, "I see how this works. All right, you're on."

At the count of three they began their game, all four eyes staring out to the open air. It was like looking into the mirror of another world, framed so concisely by the edge of the cave. They stared so deeply for three minutes that Spyro could see wisps of fog in the air above the trees. For a moment, he broke his gaze and glanced at Cynder.

"Hey!" She lightly slapped his shoulder with her palm, "That's cheating."

"What about you?"

"…I was making sure you weren't cheating," she said, fidgeting with her hands.

"All right, let's just start over."

He counted to three once more, and a new round began. This time, he kept his eyes fixated upon the forest—whether she would or not. Several minutes passed. He felt something lightly tap his shoulder. He brushed his hand over it to sweep it away and his fingers bumped against something. He craned his neck to see.

All he saw out of the back of his eye was her tail swishing back and forth across the ground. He shifted for comfort and began concentrating on the forest again, and after another moment he realized that the light looked a little foggy to his eyes. It finally hit him when his body felt heavy.

"You…" he grumbled, the sedative from her poison element getting him for the second time, "…Such a…cheater…"

She leaned over and kissed his cheek as he blinked, trying pitifully to resist. She covered his eyes with her hand and pulled his head to rest on her shoulder. He breathed deeply, exhaled, and fell asleep. "I warned you not to trust me," she said with irony, stroking his forehead. "Sweet dreams, Spyro."