The mountains were gray and so were the lakes. Waves of mist stretched across Yalain's flat, snowy steppes, and the mist was gray too. As far as Zelgadis could tell, the mist began from a nondescript hole in the ground near the mountain's base. The surrounding area was littered with boulders, level strings, and dusty trowels. Any excavation attempt had long since collapsed like so many humanities budgets.
"So this is the Shrine of Restoration, then?" Lina said, in the guarded way she often did when trying to decide whether something was a potential moneymaker or a waste of time. In her view almost everything was one or the other.
Zelgadis pushed a few larger rocks aside to enter the shrine, a long passageway carved into the mountainside. The mist condensed into a single thin stream suspended high in the air. He cast a Lighting spell and let it float around his shoulder. "That's what the sailors in port said."
That was what the sailors in port had said to Gourry and Lina, more precisely. Even with his hood drawn and his cowl up, Zelgadis had terrified a dockhand who ran screaming about "hedgehog monsters", and the whole thing had caused a catastrophe before they were off the boat. Seyruun's foreign minister had saved the day, feigning shock at the three stowaways and their stuffed animal, and ordered the soldiers (who enjoyed their roles a little too much, in Zelgadis's opinion) to capture them. Without Lina's flashy Burst Rondos they might have really been caught.
A scant ten hours since they set foot on a brand-new continent and there were already warrants out for their arrest. It was the bad old days all over again. All that was missing was Gourry in a dress.
"Still," Lina persisted. "It sounds kinda hokey, yeah? A 'stone of transformation', 'a shrine of restoration'? It's like unicorn hair, or the kiss of a princess. And those definitely don't work, right?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yeah, I'll bet." Under her breath she added, "Down bad, huh?"
She had been making these bizarre snide comments forth for weeks now, ever since Zelgadis's minor head injury. Lina had refused to accept it was just a bad fall. When he'd told her he was fine, she switched to an ambush approach, testing his memory with endless hey, remember whens and what about that time…?s that he answered without hesitation. After hundreds of quizzes and no real evidence that anything was amiss, she had resorted to suspicious whispering.
Well, Lina could whisper all she wanted. Nothing was wrong. Perhaps something was different-he was sleeping well and felt truly focused for the first time in months-but that could be for a lot of reasons. Maybe he'd just needed to get out of Seyruun. Maybe Lina didn't like him feeling good.
His newfound goodness was tested by the presence of Pokota, who flew forward and drifted beside him. "What's with the restoration and transformation stuff, anyway?" Pokota asked.
"It could be a cure."
"A cure for what?"
A cure for…? Wasn't Pokota supposed to be some kind of genius? Not that I've ever believed that. Zelgadis angrily gestured to his own face and chest in an up-and-down cutting motion. "For-for this!"
Pokota squinted. "For being a dork?"
"For being a chimera!" Zelgadis exploded, stamping one foot. "What else could it be?!"
"I dunno! It could be durum sickness, cancer, the common cold!" Pokota shouted back. His fuzzy face scrunched up with irritation and he cast a Diem Wind spell that blew Zelgadis's hair into a triangular peak. "You're so annoying, you know that? Why do you think you're the only person in the world who's got problems? Nobody else cares about your dumb barnacle face."
As much as Zelgadis disliked social interactions he didn't try to make them painful. He'd learned to hold his tongue while working alongside scumballs and wretches. But he'd never been able to manage so much as an uneasy truce with Pokota, who provoked him anew every time he said anything. It reminded him of Xellos, if Xellos were as aggressive and vulgar as he was evil.
"I don't care what you think," Zelgadis said. "I'm here for my cure."
"Yeah? I haven't heard you mention it in months."
This pointed observation came from Lina. Zelgadis turned to face her and the piercing Flare Arrows in her eyes. She'd given him that same look years ago after they'd first met, when her suspicion had been so intense she didn't bother to hide it.
What is she getting at? "It's always my priority," he said, but it had the awkward hesitation of someone speaking a language they didn't practice. Lina's Flare Arrows sharpened into twin points, tiny and lethal. "We're here. We have a lead. Follow along, or don't."
She said nothing else, so Zelgadis kept walking. He focused on the walls and the interlocking spiral patterns that the dragon race used to represent eternity. He tried to find meaning in them, or some kind of spiritual awe, and could not.
Beyond the carvings there was little else to see. Like most works of dragon architecture, it was vast and sparse, tall enough to accommodate any pilgrims who might take on their true forms in a fit of religious passion. Any adornments were long gone. Yalain might have just discovered the shrine, but they were the last to know. Dents, chips, and flattened spaces on every surface spoke to centuries of enthusiastic pilfering; eager pickaxes and hammers had created intricate angular etchings rivaling the original ritual designs. If you chose to read it as a metaphor for the endless spiritual war of base instincts versus divine holiness, you would have to conclude that vice won this round.
The trail of mist culminated at a slab of slate gray rock on a squat pedestal. The slab was engraved with a dozen rounded, weathered holes the size of ogre apples. Mist and the faintest cold air seeped out from a long angular crack along the slab's front.
"Hrrrm." Lina reached into her cape and, after a bit of indelicate rummaging, produced the milky white and gold stone she'd taken from the crypts in Calliope. It fit into one of the round holes with a brisk click. "Wow, whaddya know? Hokey or not, I guess Filia was right."
"Okay, but now what?" Gourry asked.
No one was quite sure, but nothing happened, and with eleven other stones still missing Zelgadis was confident nothing would. Seeing no further reason to remain, he turned to leave, when a loud rumbling noise and a tremor knocked him over sideways. He caught himself just as something black and sour whizzed past his shoulders and landed in a chunky glob on the ground beside him. Lina's disgusted cries confirmed what he had dreaded: this one was going to be gross.
Of course, he thought, as he got up and faced the ugliest invertebrate he'd ever seen, a fat, fleshy tube as wide around as a man's torso. Of course it would be a creature that spat mucus from its jawless, bisected mouth like upside-down lungs, with four rows of more teeth than he could count. Of course it would be trailing sticky slime from one pinched end. Zelgadis expected nothing less because he'd washed his cape the day before.
Lina ducked behind Gourry. "You had to ask, huh?!"
"I've got it," Gourry said. He was no stranger to seeing and slaying the occasional monster that appeared out of thin air. He held his sword drawn and angled himself in a defensive stance, elbows back and shoulders square. "It's just-" and he parried a second splat of mucus, "-a worm."
"A nasty worm!" said Pokota, ducking as more mucus flew over his head between his long ears.
"It's more of a leech," Zelgadis said. The creature paused and burbled its appreciation.
Lina held both hands over her face. "I don't care what it is! It's way too close to a slug!"
Taxonomical concerns notwithstanding, everyone present could tell this encounter was not going to be a breakthrough in peaceful human-monster relations. It was time to get on with the combat. The beast bared each one of its teeth in a wave that rippled across its repulsive mouth.
What are you afraid of?
It seemed to plant its question into Zelgadis's brain, intimate and invasive, but he shoved it aside. Lina and Pokota recoiled, looking stricken, and Zelgadis could tell they had felt it too.
He moved to stab at the creature's limp, quivering body, but Gourry beat him to it. Gourry barreled forward in a flèche so rapid it didn't seem to happen at all. He had been in one place, shielding Lina, and then he was at the other side of the altar in the same ready pose. Zelgadis's peerless ears picked out the sickening sound of a blade slicing through greasy meat. The monster slumped over in three enormous pieces leaking blood and more slime.
"I don't get it." With all limacine presences neutralized, Lina could set aside puerile terrors and return to her regular self. She knelt down to peer at the gory hunks of dead leech, spasming with a few last electric impulses through its severed nerves. "That thing had an astral attack, but these things can be harmed by swords?"
"The crabs, too," Zelgadis pointed out.
"So if they're not mazoku, then what…? And where did this thing come from, anyway?"
They exchanged puzzled scowls, both annoyed at the prospect of a mystery beyond their understanding. Gourry sheathed his sword again with an unbothered whistle. Mist continued to leach from the altar in a long languid stream, out of the temple and far across Yalain.
"This place sucks," Pokota declared. No one disagreed.
xOxOxO
Yalain (YAH-layn): a dukedom on the northeast coast of the Western Continent. The territory consists of a central town and villages amidst interconnected lakes. Ruins may indicate ancient (pre-Koma War) occupation by dragons, but magic is not in use as of this writing. Summers are mild and winters are severe. Prominent exports include timber, wheat, rye, and tea.
Five sentences. The sum total of Seyruun's knowledge about Yalain amounted to five sentences in the Seyruun World Factbook. Every other reference she found in the library paraphrased those same five sentences. Yes, it had barely been five years since the barrier fell, but how could there be so little information in the record?
Amelia dropped her head onto her crossed arms. It felt good, and so she did it again. Bonk, bonk, bonk. She thought about how so much of the knowledge from her adventures was limited to her own head. Of course checking in libraries and official sources wouldn't help. She ought to seek out travelers, thieves, assassins-
"Amelia-san!"
Amelia turned her cheek to look at Filia, Sylphiel, and a host of librarians chasing the livid dragon-woman stomping around in the stacks. Amelia sat up, rubbing her bleary eyes. "Oh, Filia-san, I was just reading."
" 'Reading'!" Filia repeated, appalled. Her voice wobbled the flames on the mounted wall torches. She put her hands on her hips, Dragon Mother Mode engaged. "It's the day of the Holy Ladies Tea and Cake Society biannual meeting and you're reading?! We are leaving right this instant," and the librarians as one exhaled with relief, "and we are putting on the frilliest gowns you have and drinking tea and eating cake, as per the terms of our charter!"
Amelia blinked. She could have sworn that their tea was scheduled for tomorrow, not today. Time had passed in tense, interminable drip since the delegation departed. "Oh, but don't I-?"
"I already talked to your seneschal, and he was very understanding," Filia said, which meant her mace had done most of the talking.
Because reading the same five sentences over and over did her no good, and she couldn't very well break her agreement as a signatory of the charter, Amelia met her friends in a special private parlor outfitted for the occasion. It was all flouncy chiffon and silver-trimmed porcelain, hand-painted rosettes on petit fours and candied violets, and a delightful lack of men.
The Society had emerged from a chance encounter when Sylphiel and Filia had met while visiting Seyruun. Amelia had been apprehensive, what with Filia's tendency to overpower any situation, but within minutes the two had discovered common ground on everything from tea to white magic to the lack of dresses designed for tall women. Besides, Filia liked to lead, and Sylphiel liked to follow. In some ways it made Amelia think of Sylphiel and Lina's relationship, but without that unspoken ache.
"Ah!" Filia opened the balcony doors so the autumn air could intermingle with steeping tea and flutter the ends of their gowns. "Perfect. Now, to important matters. Sylphiel-san?"
"Oh, well…" Sylphiel lowered her head. "U-um, Amelia-san can go first."
"Ahh, no, Sylphiel-san! Please, go ahead," Amelia protested. Sylphiel gave her a panicked look. Across the table Filia narrowed her eyes at them both. Amelia took the plunge to prevent a mace coming out before noontime.
"I've been thinking about the delegation to Yalain," she said, stirring sugar into her cup. Filia's tremendous sigh reminded Amelia that her friends had heard nothing else since they'd arrived. "I know it's silly, but there's so much we don't know. And I think about all the times we went places not knowing anything about them. It didn't feel scary then, but being here, being a princess...it's scary. Something could happen, and I wouldn't…" Amelia gathered her flowy dress in her hands. "It sounds strange, but I feel like the older I am, the scarier things get. I don't know how Da-Father did it."
"He trusted you, just like you trust them!" Sylphiel said, touching her knee.
"But we...almost…" Amelia would not say it to Sylphiel, who she suspected had seen something far worse in their encounter with the Hellmaster. She had seen so much loss in such a short time, but never spoke of her own grief. "So many times. We didn't know what we were doing."
"Maybe that's why we weren't scared, because we didn't know any better. But we did okay, didn't we?"
"They wouldn't be any safer if they did," Filia said with a dismissive flick of her wrist. "Honestly, Amelia-san. If you have to worry at all, worry about the places they go out to eat. Those poor little inns and pubs will never recover."
Sylphiel laughed far more than that line deserved, yet it somehow cheered Amelia up. A tiny pistachio cake with a frangipane bottom helped too. She watched a few doves flutter and land on the balcony railing.
Filia nodded approvingly. "Now it's your turn, Sylphiel-san," she said. It was no wonder that visitors who saw the two of them together in the palace sometimes assumed Filia was the princess. No one commanded an audience as well as Filia (until she was triggered by some passing fancy, or a craving for tea, or anything Xellos-related). "How are you doing?"
"W-well, I'm also worried. When we came here and heard about Yalain, it made me think about Calliope, and Sairaag." She turned to the balcony, a profile of classical beauty in a pale green dress. "Amelia-san, you said the people in Yalain hate white magic, even though it's part of their history. In Calliope, they just built their island up over and over, always leaving the past behind. Back in Sairaag I ask myself all the time what we should teach, or how much of it. There are children being born now who don't remember what Sairaag used to be. I worry that we won't tell them the right things. What if Sairaag turns its back on everything it used to be?"
Amelia had to swallow a piece of lokma so she could contribute. "In Seyruun," she began, wiping her mouth on a dainty lace napkin, "that's for the priests and priestesses. We teach history in schools, but most people learn from festivals and holidays." In the past Seyruun had marked averted coups and assassinations with celebrations, but over the past two generations there had been more than could fit on the ritual calendar, and the wine manufacturers couldn't keep up. Now there was one Day of Royal Victory that was uncomfortably close to Amelia's mother's birthday.
"You can't count on that!" Filia cried. "Priests and priestesses and fancy holidays, that's just...that's just propaganda!"
"Filia-san, that's not propaganda, that's our heritage! It's part of who we are. And so are the bad things too, but..." Amelia hesitated, not wanting to think about how many of Seyruun's darkest moments had been a mystery to her. How many more were hidden in archives in forgotten parchments?
"Propaganda," Filia repeated to Sylphiel with a firm wave of her teacup. "Priests and parties aren't there to teach the truth, it's just a version of history that's convenient for them. Sylphiel-san, you've got to teach everybody as much as you can, good and bad. The people of Sairaag will decide what it means for themselves."
"But isn't that a risk?" Sylphiel asked, looking vexed. "What if they look at all the destruction magic has caused and they decide magic is evil, like in Yalain?"
This had evidently not occurred to her. "Oh…! Well, goodness, I don't know. Do you think they might?"
"I don't know. There's so much sufferings in Sairaag's history, I'm worried that people might look at it all and want revenge."
"That's why you celebrate!" Amelia said, and pounded her fist into her palm. "Celebrations aren't just telling a story, it's passing along the memories of old Sairaag, good and bad. You and the other priestesses can make a link to those memories and inspire your people. Anything is possible if there's hope for the future!"
"But not," Filia said, chilly as the lemon squares fresh out of the icebox, "if you lie."
An anxious silence fell over them, punctured by the coos of doves hoping for crumbs. Filia sipped passive-aggressively at her tea. Amelia realized she didn't know where the tea was from or who had prepared it.
"Filia-san," Amelia ventured, "would you have stayed a priestess if the Supreme Elder had told you what the golden dragons did to the ancient dragons?"
Filia took a deep breath and set her cup down. Her gloved hands had an alarming quiver. "I'll never know. Maybe I would have, maybe I wouldn't. But they never gave me that choice. They let me believe something that was wrong, about something so grave-my whole life, my whole identity, they used me-"
Sylphiel bolted up in her chair. "Filia-san, please try the macarons!" she exclaimed. Amelia snatched a handful and fired them into Filia's seething mouth. It dislodged Filia's anger, not to mention a potential palace-wrecking dragon transformation, and Amelia was so relieved that it occurred to her somewhat late that she ought to do something about her friend choking and going blue in the face.
A Seyruun super-strength chest compression ejected unchewed macaron onto the ceiling. "Ah, yes, thank you, Amelia-san," Filia said without missing a beat. "As I was saying, they lied to me about everything that mattered, and now I don't know if there are any golden dragons left to tell me anything different." She took another breath, short and tight, a small whoo sound. "I suppose that's the end."
"But it's not the end, is it?" Amelia pointed out. She could feel a speech coming on and welcomed it. After all, one of the best ways to be reassured is to reassure someone else. "You have a little egg at home, and someday it's going to hatch and you're going to raise him with all your memories so that he knows the truth, the same way Sylphiel-san and her priestesses will share everyone's memories and the true history of old Sairaag."
"But there are so many painful memories," Sylphiel protested. Amelia could not be deterred. She took both of Sylphiel's hands in a tight grip.
"That's why you have to always fight for justice and love, so you can be a role model to everyone around you! You'll teach the people of Sairaag how to carry on with their pain and be strong just like you are! All our memories make us stronger!"
They beamed at each other, fingers intertwined and eyes shining, awash in that deathless human hope that had once blossomed with every blessed leaf of Flagoon, now growing strong again outside Taforashia. Filia, having no experience with the real healing power of close female friendship or magic deus ex machina trees, was less impressed.
"Lina-san told me about the time you two picked out dresses and fishnets for the men to wear in a fashion show," she said.
Sylphiel went so tense her joints locked, holding Amelia's hands prisoner. She did not blush so much as burst, as though someone had blown red powder straight onto her face. Amelia feared she didn't look much better.
"That never happened," Amelia said firmly.
xOxOxO
They had come to the Outer World prepared, or so Zelgadis had thought. They had cover stories and plenty of local currency. What they did not have was adequate clothing for Yalain's brutal, bone-chilling cold, so cold that it made brittle icicles on their eyelashes. Slick ice formed around the rough stones on Zelgadis's body; the stones had no feeling, but the ice stung and chafed his skin. They needed better gear if they were going to survive, although between Lina's nagging and the sheer fact of Pokota's existence, eternal silence was starting to look pretty good.
In Yalain, Pokota's existence was more problematic than usual. While he could be hidden for short periods, a sentient stuffed animal was a glowing bullseye in a land that despised magic. Because Pokota could not be trusted to stay still or quiet, the second-most obvious solution was to cast Sleeping and bundle him up in Lina's cape along with all their talismans. (The most obvious solution, throwing Pokota into a snowbank and deciding whether to come back later, had received the rare Gourry veto.) So three explorers and one sleeping bunny ventured into an outfitter's shop in the bordering village, a shop with the blessings of a merry hearth. The heat was nearly as shocking and painful as the cold had been. Several minutes passed before the three of them regained the strength to control their chattering teeth.
When she regained her fine motor control, Lina held out two handfuls of coins that were sufficient to preclude any questions. "Thanks, mister! We'll take the thickest thing you have, whatever it is!" she said. Zelgadis was glad Pokota was not awake.
"Huh," said the outfitter, since anyone selling warm clothes in the snow doesn't need great customer service. At any rate he was not unaccustomed to strangers barging into his cozy shop, lined wall to wall with fur coats. Another man in creased leather and pelts sat drinking beer beside the fire. He had untidy brown hair that hung around his shoulders.
"Lucky, huh?" said the drinking man. "You've had lots of tourists these days."
"Sure, lots of tourists who don't know that it's cold up north this time of year." The outfitter had the puckered face of someone who had never had a happy surprise in all his life. "The last person who showed up here was half-naked. Do they not have maps where you're from?"
"We could use a map, actually," Gourry said. "We're kinda flying blind here."
With Lina still shivering and Zelgadis doing his best to disappear between coat racks, it was up to Gourry to take the lead. Their encounters often went better when he did, as Gourry's good looks and relaxed demeanor had a way of opening doors. Every time it happened Zelgadis remembered that Gourry deferred to Lina by choice, not necessity.
"I can sell you a map," said the man in leather. He reached into his layers of coats and jackets and pulled out rubies, a statue, copper dragon talismans, and at last a weathered old scroll. The outfitter regarded his wares with manifest disapproval.
"Don't show off that trash in my shop."
"Pay no attention to Bulach," the other man said to Lina, who could shiver and check out his merchandise at the same time. "He won't have anything to do with magic if he can help it. As for me, my principles as a merchant won't get between me and cash. Hell, never passing up cash is my principle."
Lina smiled, and the man held out a gloved hand that she gladly shook. Greed recognized greed. "The name's Kaunan. I'm an antiquities dealer," he said, stretching the art of euphemism to new limits. "When I was young I had to leave Yalain to make my fortune in artifacts, but now everyone wants to either buy them or smash them. I profit either way."
"How fortunate that you can make money from our destruction," Bulach replied. "The mist from that damned shrine is driving everything mad. Monsters, cattle, even the fish. Everyone's starving, and the monster attacks got so bad that they had to abandon the shrine anyway, but we still have elites telling us magic is a valid way of life." He sneered. "If they don't kill us all, the mist will. Freeing this land of sorcerers is the only chance we have."
Bulach glanced at Zelgadis, but Gourry stepped in front, blocking his gaze with his broad shoulders. "Oh, yeah, sorcerers are total monsters," he said sympathetically.
At first Zelgadis wondered whether Gourry could improvise a convincing rant and for how long. It was soon clear that Gourry would have no trouble whatsoever.
"It's not just all the death and destruction, but they're all so emotional and impossible to reason with," he went on. "They don't care about anything except more power, or stopping their rivals from getting it. They always think they're the smartest people in any situation. If you want to survive an encounter with a sorcerer, all you have to do is make them believe you're not a threat. And if you want to talk about egos, well..."
After some disagreement over the number of silver pieces and a lively thumb war, Lina and Kaunan concluded their negotiations; Lina was left clutching the map while Kaunan massaged his hand. "Pleasure doing business with you," he said, rising. "Meanwhile, the biggest, richest crop of customers I've ever seen in one place just fell right into my lap. I'm sure they've got some artifacts they'll find a way to part with, one way or another."
"I wouldn't count on it," Bulach said. "They won't be staying."
"No?"
Bulach, now rifling through his dozens of coats, did not elaborate. Zelgadis noticed Lina pretending to examine a set of belts.
Kaunan sighed. "I'll hurry, then. I'm not passing this up."
The outfitter Bulach was a bigot and possibly a terrorist, but the quality of his goods were beyond dispute. Even Lina was willing to swallow the hit to their savings in exchange for gear that withstood the biting cold. With a map in hand and a newfound ability to stay outdoors, they climbed a plateau outside the village to see more of Yalain for themselves.
The harvest moon had a sterile tinge that gave the whole landscape an ailing pallor. In the distant mountains Zelgadis could see the gradual curvature of a crater encircling Yalain's frozen lakes. There were several islands connected by long bridges and ferries that cut paths through thick ice. One island with a pitchfork-shaped castle loomed above the rest. Around the shores were more little villages with nestled cottages, their lights forming patchy trails like swarms of fireflies. Mist hovered near the plains, and Zelgadis imagined he could see it coming closer.
Lina looked at the largest island with the castle, the map, and the island again. "That must be the duke's castle. Nice digs."
"And I'm guessing that's the lagoon of the fish-people way out there," Gourry said, pointing at a darker groove along the coast.
"Let's get a ferry to the main town," Zelgadis said. "It sounds like someone is planning to attack the delegation. We should be there just in case."
A strong gust of wind blew across the village below, spinning weather vanes into blurs and rattling wind chimes. The melody of polished bones clinking against one another swept in an arc from north to south. Zelgadis's right hand shot out, arm extended. His fingertips reached out for an unknown stimulus.
Why-?
"You okay, Zel?" Lina asked.
He dropped his hand again and shoved it into the pocket of his cloak. "It's nothing."
Maybe it wasn't nothing, but he couldn't have said what it was, either. He felt sure it was something unwanted, something that had weighed him down. Zelgadis was glad to cast it away without a second thought. The impulse dissipated into the encroaching mist. Yalain and its manifold gray dangers waited for them across the lakes.