Crono strode through the council chamber, trying to ignore the plaintive greetings and murmured appreciations of his counselors. Some touched his long red cape as he walked past, a sign of their acquiescence to his royal station. He could sense the braver of them debating whether to halt his march, desperate, no doubt, to bring his attention to bear on some matter of state. He could also sense their bravery melt away as he set his face in a grimace worthy of the gods and continued to ignore them. More than their begging for his attention, their cowardice angered him. His fingers twitched towards the empty scabbard at his hip. Many a time he had thought of how satisfying it would be to send these men away in a fit of rage; to demonstrate some display of power that would send them scurrying to the corners of the castle to wipe their sweating brows and clutch their beating hearts. If a few of the frailer men lost sleep over the encounter, all the better.
Since Truce, he had often been uncomfortably hot. Yet, any time he removed the garb of royalty, the many layers of tunics and frills which designated his station, he would experience a distinct feeling of danger; chills running up his spine. He'd often thought that if he could summon the anger to use his powers, it would relieve him of all of his unpleasant sensations. Instead, he continued to abide the the fools. Knowing that he suffered their presence gave him a sense of self-satisfaction. They lived because he did not deign to strike them down. He strutted amongst them in the garb of his station and silently kept them reminded of that fact.
Some of the counselors were young enough to be thinking already of their position under the next king. Others were old enough to be fearful of making it through the reign of this one. Crono hated the lot of them. Too busy paving their own road with gold and plots to see his revolutionary vision. He yearned for Nadia's advice, her cool appraisal of the situation. He wanted her to see what he had accomplished in the months that she'd been gone, even if those months had felt like years to him.
The Masamune grew darker every day. Doreen's blood had started out as a black spot on the blade; now it was a stain that covered nearly the entirety of the sword. Crono had wiped the spot every day, but it accomplished little except to make his reflection easier to spot on the oil coloured surface. His dreams had changed, too. Doreen, in her impish form, seemed to find him no matter where sleep took him. Whether he was lost in a moment of childhood, a memory of the days when he had saved the world, or a fantasy he had yet to realize, she would appear. His mother would turn out to have her face, or maybe she would be one of the nurses present during Nadia's pregnancy. She spoke words that he could never quite remember but left him terrified. What he would recall upon waking was the sight of her blood upon his hands and a lingering smell of burnt flesh.
Finally, Crono had stopped wearing the blade, returning it to the basement of the castle where the knowledge of its presence ate at him like a disease of the flesh. He had the door to the basement fitted with a lock and the key given to Bill. It had only helped temporarily. Doreen still appeared on the peripheries of his nightmares and every day Crono felt the blade's phantom weight at his side.
Crono finally pushed past the last counselor and out of the chamber's overly ornate doors. He walked through various hallways, trying not to be annoyed every time a servant bowed their fealty. Finally, he reached the chapel where Bill was waiting for him. The chapel had been built a year after Crono had become king. It was the exact copy of a cathedral that had once sat on the border of the Guardia forest, even having the same three-tiered pipe organ that sat at it's far end, bought at auction a year ago in one of Crono's happier decisions as King. Even Nadia had been enamored with the purchase. The walls of the cathedral were lined with stained-glass windows depicting events that, of everyone in the castle, only Crono remembered, despite the original having been burnt to the ground 300 years before he was born. Though he rarely visited the replica, he felt his anger lift as he entered the place now. The smell of incense assailed him from a burner set on shelves next to the door.
BIll was crouched on his knees, his head bowed, his prayer silent. He had taken more care with grooming in the months since Truce. His red hair was slicked back into a mane that framed his features with a fiery wreath. Without the hair hanging in his face, he was revealed to have very a noble face, with the strong chin and hawk nose that were favored so much in Guardian tradition. But the effect was still marred by his eyes. They shone not with the endless possibilities of a blue sky but with the dark mystery of a still lake. Also, no amount of grooming could disguise his arms. The metal one could be gotten used to, but the other was a blemish that defied acceptance. Bill had claimed the infection had stopped spreading, but he'd taken to wearing a long black glove. Looking at it and wondering what it covered created the same itching feeling in Crono that the sword in his castle's basement did. No matter how Bill tried to hide it, Crono would never forget his last sight of the arm: the withering limb scaled over with black scabs that oozed a clear liquid when broken. Crono remembered the arm before it was blemished, for he had been the one to cause the injury. The knowledge made its current condition seem all the worse.
Bill arose a moment after Crono entered and bowed to him without a smile.
"Is there news on my wife?" Crono asked, deciding to skip the preliminaries.
"There isn't, though if there is something that you'd like me to do in this matter, I will be happy to oblige." It was a polite nothingness. There was nothing that could be done. The two men that they'd hired hadn't reported back in for two weeks. Crono had never liked the oily-skinned man with the greasy black hair and the constant smirk on his face, but Grecco he'd more or less trusted. His reports had come regularly every week for three months, never hopeful but always honest. Then, nothing. Something had happened, that much was obvious. Trying to work out the possibilities without any clues was like trying to cook without ingredients. It made Crono's head ache and, as time had passed with no answers, his mood had steadily grown fouler.
"If there is something to be done, I'll do it myself," Crono retorted. "If we haven't heard anything by the week's end, send out another team. A larger one this time. Equip them with weapons and a royal decree. Someone must know something; someone must have harbored her at some point. I want such people found. I want them questioned."
"Yes, my lord," Bill said, with a slight bow.
"Stop calling me that," Crono said angrily. "You're not one of those fools that hangs about in the Council Room, waiting for me to die or to give my favor." Bill didn't answer and Crono couldn't help but like that. He liked that Bill didn't feel the need to answer every statement with one of his own. Acknowledgment was useless. Action was what mattered.
Though he would never tell the man, Crono admired Bill like a father might a son. The two of them seemed to think alike. Rarely did Crono have to explain his intentions to the man. Crono had appointed him head of military five days after he had returned from Truce. He'd given Bill a list of duties. Bill had accepted the post and the list without fanfare and had begun executing his orders... which first declared that he execute a number of counselors suspected of treason. Bill had opted to have them stripped of rank, instead. Crono had let him, not really caring how the men were disposed of. The next order of business had been to exile anyone with close relatives in Truce. Bill had pardoned many, after forcing them to reswear their fealty to the King. Crono had figured this to be sufficient. Crono ordered there to be no more talk of lowering taxes. In fact, in the King's name, Bill had managed to raise taxes. Crono had been particularly pleased by this, for the final item Bill was to consider was to be an expensive one. He was to plan an expedition to the El Nido peninsula. This was the one time Bill had asked what he should do. He'd wondered what Crono's next orders would be, once he'd finished the planning. Crono had told him to make up his own list, an invasion list.
Three months later and Crono didn't know the troops any more. When Bill had been given control of the army, he had done more than command it. He had transformed it. Gone were the knights of the old brigade, with their stories and tired sword arms. Their replacements were young and eager, men from Truce who had lost homes and needed one and men from Poore who needed a way to feed their families. They trained constantly. The castle was filled with the sound of swordplay and, more recently, the thunder and sulfur smell of gunfire.
"If this doesn't involve news of my wife, then I trust it involves news of El Nido?" Crono pressed.
"My apologies, the invasion will take longer than you had first ordered." Bill gave the news without hesitation, despite surely knowing that Crono would dislike it.
"Train the troops harder."
"It is not our forces. Our supplies run low. The royal coffers are expansive, but we cannot strain them beyond a certain point if there is to be a Guardia left to host the invasion."
"We logged the forest," Crono protested. "The timber is good wood; old wood. It should sell for an incredible price."
"Our nation grows. Poore is expanding at an exponential rate. The city limits stretch to the border of the old forest. Much of the wood has gone towards the new buildings. Then there's the forges to think of."
"Excuses. There should be plenty of wood left over for sale."
"Medina has closed its markets."
"Then open them."
Bill opened his mouth briefly and then closed it without saying what he was thinking. Crono smiled slightly. He had flummoxed the man with his drive, he was sure of it. Time to play the mentor.
"Remember what you told me, after we fought inChoras?" Crono asked.
"Of course."
"Say it again."
"If I cannot defeat the man who holds the greatest power in all the world, then I should serve him."
"You've done me great service, William, and taking El Nido will be your greatest accomplishment. An act that will be remembered by civilizations to come." Crono smiled wider. There had been a time when the future had already been decided, its shape carved by forces which had come to the planet in the dawn of its years. Crono had torn down that future. What were left were possibilities.
"We get to build the future, William. We have a responsibility to build the future."
"I agree."
"Good. It will not be easy. People will oppose us. They will close their borders, ignore the trade agreements we settled on so long ago. They will call us war-mongers and invaders."
"They'll thank us, William," he continued. "They will. When we bring technology and civilization to their primitive lives, they will honor us. They will remember us when they live in our future."
Crono's memory flashed and he recalled a reception held by prehistoric man for a party of time travelers. The concept sometimes still seemed ridiculous to him, even though he had been there himself, challenged to a wine swilling contest by the female leader of an ancient tribe of warriors.
"Big man strong ruler," Crono said and laughed. Bill glanced at him, his blonde eyebrows arched in confusion.
"My lord?"
"Nothing," Crono said, still smiling. He clapped Bill on the back with a hand that was still calloused from the long duels they had held before Nadia's disappearance. "The El Nido province has not been touched in a hundred years. But when we are finished with it, you will have a kingdom there. "
"I wouldn't presume to accept such an honor."
"Nonsense! It is an honor, indeed, but it is more my honor to give it than for you to receive! I declare that you shall have this kingdom, William. I decree it!"
Bill winced and didn't respond. Crono felt embarrassed, like he'd said something wrong. In an instant, this embarrassment turned to frustration that Bill hadn't more graciously accepted his compliment and generous offer. He reached up to his neck and fingered the pendant that hung there, which Nadia had left behind when she had fled the kingdom... or no, she had been kidnapped. Too often, these days, he forgot that detail. Too often he rubbed this pendant and didn't know what his reaction would be when he saw her again. There was an area inside him that felt like it was missing, in the same way that one mislays something inside their home and then cannot find it. He knew that whatever was missing was within his grasp but he didn't know where to look for it. When Nadia returned, would he greet her with apologies and proclamations of his love? He saw himself hugging her in his mind, under a brightly glowing sun. He saw himself kissing her and being kissed back, both of them crying silently for joy of being back with each other. He would stop crying first and turn his attentions, selflessly, to comforting her. He would tell her it was alright and she would smile, safe in the knowledge that she needed him.
There was another vision, too. In this one, only Crono kissed. Only Crono cried. Only Crono needed comforting. Nadia was like stone, in this one, brought back to a place she didn't want to be. This vision was grey, and for its greyness, all the more real.
Bill was saying something. It was about his name, how the name William made him uncomfortable. Crono had heard it before. Bill had been named after his grandfather. Bill's father, who Bill described as a cheerless man who made sure his only son feared him, had always used the full version of his name until the day he passed away. Bill said it brought him memories he'd rather forget. As he spoke, he brushed a strand of his strawberry blonde hair out of his eyes with one hand. The glove had slipped past his elbow and Crono caught the sight of blackened skin.
"I hate that arm," Crono said. Bill stopped talking. "Both of them. But that one, that one makes my skin crawl. I could order you to have it looked at."
Bill still didn't answer and Crono grew more annoyed. This was how their sword duels ended, as well. At some point, Bill would simply stop fighting. Crono would make a few more thrusts and slashes but it was hard to feel good about fighting a man who was turning his back on you and putting away his weapons. Similarly, railing at Bill now felt infinitely pointless. He might as well have turned to one of the church pews and told it that he didn't like the look of its wood.
"You had something to show me," Crono said, giving up. "What have I come to see?"
Bill bowed, all formality again. "An inspection of the troops, as you requested."
"Did I request that?" Crono searched his memory. Thoughts came and went like traveling performers, these days. Since Truce he had trouble recalling what he said from day to day. "It had something to do with..." he tried.
"You wanted to see the new weapons."
"Of course," Crono smiled. "Let's go, then."
Bill led him out of the Cathedral, snuffing out the incense with two fingers as they passed. The smell of burnt cedar flooded his nostrils.
The moment Crono entered the council room he was struck by the silence. The councilors that had filled the chamber's broad space and high ceiling with their their pleas for Crono's attention and sent the hurried whisperings of their plots into the crowded shadows of its corner were gone. They were replaced with the stoic stares of fifty of the kingdom's finest soldiers. Crono recognized a face here and there: the men were all from Truce, all young enough to be his brothers. All of them holding the latest designed rifles from Poore: the weapons that would win them a new kingdom.
Bill never said anything. He simply nodded.
The pendant around Crono's neck rang out in a shrill note as a bullet ricocheted off of its dreamstone innards. The glass containing it cracked, but the dreamstone remained untouched. It was the only bullet to miss its mark. The others tore through Crono, embedding themselves in his guts, his muscles, his bones. The pain was brief. The sensation was what lasted. It felt like having chains wrapped around his body. He seemed to have gained twenty pounds in an instant. The sound of the gunfire seemed to take forever to catch up to the feeling. By that time, the weight had already pulled him to his knees.
Crono blinked twice, slowly. By the second blink, his head was slumping forward. He tried to get angry, but there was no need anymore. The heat was gone. He remained crouched like that for several more seconds before whatever strength had been in him left quietly and he collapsed to the cold floor of the council chamber.
Dirt. The dirt was warm and full of life. Crono felt the sun on his neck and he reached a tanned hand up to rub it, his hands feeling, without complaint, the places where the skin had been burned. To be burned by the sun only meant that the harvest would be a strong one. A beetle crawled across his foot, parting with delicate ease the stalks of corn where Crono worked. It paused for a moment and they regarded each other. Then Crono heard a call come from the farmhouse. He turned. Nadia was waiting for him at the door to their home and when she saw him coming, she smiled.
Long after the soldiers had left, Bill remained seated by the body, his shoulders slumped, his decaying arm hanging at one side, his other resting lightly on Crono's face where metal fingers had closed his eyes. Bill made no sound. He thought that maybe he would cry, but he didn't. After so long in waiting, the actual moment of his revenge felt too familiar to be anything but empty.