Remember

Episode Five: Rift

Chapter Two

It had been about an hour since Dimentio first arrived at his grandfather's home. He'd come intending to gather information from the old sage, but he'd come out of the confrontation with less information, more confusion, and a decision to make.

So here he sat in Merletoph's bedroom, struggling to organize his thoughts while he watched over the two inert bodies he'd saved. The boy called Ronan was lying on a blanket on the floor, next to a glass window that was pitter-pattering with rain. The anonymous woman was in Merletoph's bed, shifting and groaning in a restless state of semi-consciousness. Dimentio was curled up in a cushioned chair next to an elaborate desk, knees pulled to his chest. He mulled over what Merletoph had told him, starting over and over again from the simple phrase, 'darkness or light?'

I'll never be anything less than a dark mage like my father, was the conclusion he would reach more often than not. Then a voice would chime in, But would your father save those two humans? Would he go through the trouble to heal their wounds? And he would start over again. It was rather tiring, really.

He traced his index finger over the permanent smile on his mask, the smile that hid the scowl on his real face. Suddenly frustrated, he tore the thing from his hat and flipped it around so he could look at it.

"Half white and half black," he said through gritted teeth. "I'm nothing more than a hybrid. A mess that never should have existed in the first place." The constricting of his throat caused his voice to crackle, so he added hastily, "Aha ha."

The bedroom door creaked open, allowing Merletoph to enter. The mask was hiding Dimentio's face before his grandfather had a chance to look at him, but still the sage said, "You should leave your mask off, my boy. There's no need for it here. In fact, you could do without most of that outfit."

The mask that covered his face, the hat that covered his hair, the gloves that covered his pale hands. All of these things were meant to conceal the abnormalities that made him exactly what he was: a monster. But for some reason, Dimentio felt compelled to obey Merletoph. It was exactly as it had been when he'd first arrived here, and it was part of the reason he was still here. The other part being he intended to keep his promise to the woman who had found the two bodies, but if it was only for her, he'd have just waited outside behind a cloak of invisibility.

This fact unnerved Dimentio. The thought of feeling some sort of obedience towards anyone other than his father made him...uneasy. And yet once again he unmasked his face, placing the magic-infused porcelain on the desk. His hat and gloves followed soon after.

Merletoph merely smiled, saying nothing as he studied the likeness of his daughter in his grandson's face. It was then, while averting his gaze in discomfort, that Dimentio noticed Merletoph was carrying a scroll. A spell, he imagined, that would reduce the effects of the wound on the woman's arm.

Before moving both of the humans into the bedroom, Dimentio and Merletoph had finished mending the orb-wounds on the woman's stomach and on Ronan's chest. Being thoroughly stumped on how to heal the purple veins coming from the woman's right wrist, Merletoph had ordered Dimentio to teleport both of them to the bedroom while he searched for a cure.

That had been about ten minutes ago. Now, Merletoph unrolled the scroll and beckoned for Dimentio follow him to the bed where the woman was lying.

"There used to be a book with all of these spells," the sage was muttering.

"What happened to it?" Dimentio asked, cringing at the raw sound that came out of his mouth. It sounded different without the echo of it reverberating behind his mask. It seemed...more childish, perhaps.

"It was destroyed," Merletoph said, "just like most of the Tribe of Ancients."

Dimentio recognized the bluntness of his grandfather's voice as a verbal barrier. This was obviously not something he was keen on expanding upon. The magician said nothing in reply.

"Now," Merletoph continued in a lighter tone, "let us take a closer look at her arm. Dimentio, if you would, place your thumb over her wrist, where the lines are closest together."

"Me?" Dimentio turned to Merletoph with wide, mismatched eyes.

"You, my boy."

"But this is a white magic spell, isn't it?"

Merletoph offered him a smile. "You are correct. But as I told you earlier, your lineage gives you the opportunity to learn both white magic, like the Ancients and blood magic, like the Tribe of Darkness. Before you decide which path best suits you, I decided it would be fair to at least show you how white magic works. Come now, I will walk you through it, step by step."

A sort of twisting feeling afflicted Dimentio's stomach. He recognized it as the feeling he got when he considered running away from his father or making himself known to other members of his father's tribe. A feeling of rebellion that was quickly followed by a list of consequences. And it was a feeling that, for the first time, he was giving into, under the authority of a man who was not his father.

He felt the pulsing heat of the woman's heartbeat before he even touched her skin. The blood magic he was most accustomed to required him to be able to sense the heartbeat within both himself and within others. In fact, if he wanted to, he could have administered the same spell that was inside the woman's bloodstream, furthering the affliction until it killed her.

Kill her. The voice that filled his head was his father's. This girl is a human. What business do you have saving her? The woman's blood pounded in his ears, and he felt the tip of his thumb pulsing and aching with the beginning of a spell.

"Dimentio?"

At the sound of his grandfather's voice, the young magician stumbled backward, letting the dark spell drip harmlessly from his fingers. He clutched his hand to his chest, his breathing quick and shallow.

"Dimentio? Is something the matter?" Merletoph turned to his grandson with concern in his eyes, a concern that increased exponentially once he noticed the darkness staining Dimentio's thumb and forefinger, the boy's own blood mixed with magic: an incomplete spell.

Dimentio studied the floor with wide eyes. "I-I…" he stuttered. There were no words he could say to describe what he was feeling. A mixture of fear, guilt, confusion, and through all of it the voice of his father telling him to finish the job.

"Perhaps I will teach you white magic later," Merletoph said. He did not raise his voice. He didn't even sound angry. But it did nothing to ease Dimentio's plethora of emotions. "For now, why don't you go sit in the living room? I will heal the girl's arm."

Dimentio had no intention of staying. It was nearing seven o'clock anyway, when he would have to return home to have his signature cloaked. It vaguely occurred to him that he'd not seen Timpani yet, and he'd promised to see her here, but he figured if she decided to come at all she would be able to see that her human friends made it safely. Without another glance at his grandfather, he teleported away, back to his place on the top of the tribe's castle.

"What?!"

The exclamation that came from Basile was more confused than angry. He looked down at his hand and then up at the young woman in front of him who was lying on the ground, unscathed. She was a pale human girl who didn't seem prepared for battle, but a human she still was, and so Basile had decided to put an end to her.

At least, he had tried.

He shot another projectile orb at her. She cowered behind her hands and drew her knees upward, curling into a ball. But once again the orb ricocheted off of her and fizzled to the ground, melting into a harmless puddle. The force of it caused the woman to slide back a few millimeters, but ultimately she was undamaged.

Basile now allowed anger to lace his tone. "You! You're a sage, aren't you?!" He strode forward with powerful steps and seized the girl by the arm before she could scramble away. "What are you doing on this world, you wretch?!"

Crystal blue eyes stared up at him with an overwhelming defiance. "I'm not a sage!" she barked, "let me go!"

"A foolish lie, girl. This is white magic protecting you!"

Struggling, she kicked out at his legs, falling silent for a moment. To Basile, it seemed as though she were thinking her words over carefully. A sign that she was trying to come up with a more convincing lie.

He gave her three seconds before he threw her to the ground and kicked her, watching with satisfaction as she rolled over the grass. As he stepped toward her again, a raindrop splattered onto his forehead, followed immediately by another that hit his hand. A light drizzle skipped onto the grass.

"Your white magic won't protect you from physical attacks," Basile grinned. As the woman struggled to her feet, he added, "Come now, sage. Why aren't you defending yourself?"

"I am not a sage!" she cried. "I haven't come to fight you!"

"Then why are you here?" Basile advanced as she backed away. "If you were a human, you would be armed with a weapon, and even then you would have come wishing to fight."

"I'm just looking for someone, please, leave me alone!"

"All of the humans who came have died, girl." By now, Basile had backed the woman up to the edge of the cliff. "And if it weren't for that blasted shield, you would be dead, too!"

Once again, a blue fire of determination lit her eyes. "I know he's alive! He has to be!"

Basile stopped dead in his tracks. He narrowed his cerulean eyes as he came to a sudden realization.

"You filthy wretch. You know my son, don't you?"

Blumiere and Aldrik teleported into the octagonal tower in the northeast corner of the castle, the location of the prince's bedroom. Blumiere collapsed onto his bed as soon as they arrived, wide-eyed.

"I need to speak with you urgently, Blumiere," Aldrik was saying. "Your father is going to come find us any minute. He knows our signatures have been cloaked, and he's grown suspicious—"

"They're all dead," Blumiere muttered, leaning forward slowly until his head rested in his hands. "I never wanted to kill them. But they're all dead now. Because of me."

Aldrik stared at him. "Blumiere, are you listening to me?"

"What if Timpani had been there? Oh, she probably knew some of them…"

"Blumiere!" Aldrik took hold of his nephew's arm and hauled him to his feet. Recoiling immediately, Blumiere cried out in pain and clutched at his left bicep. Blood was still seeping out of the blade wound he'd received before Aldrik had saved him.

"You're wounded?" Momentarily Aldrik examined the cut on the prince's arm. "Oh, Blumiere. You could have prevented this."

I deserve more than that. Blumiere bit back his reply. With a shake of his head, he tried to clear his thoughts, realizing that he wasn't doing anyone any good by feeling sorry for himself.

"I will have it fixed up later," the prince sighed, placing a hand over the wound. The pain had brought him back to reality. "Now, what was it you were saying, uncle?"

"Your father is going to need a reason as to why your signature is cloaked."

At these words, Blumiere suddenly recalled what his father had said earlier that morning, at the beginning of the battle: "And I will need a word with you, too, Blumiere. I'd like to have a talk with the both of you, actually."

His stomach churned. "I...I don't know what to tell him!" with exasperation he looked to Aldrik. "What are you going to tell him?"

"Do not worry about that, Blumiere. I have managed in the past."

Blumiere couldn't help but think about what his uncle meant by that, but decided he'd chalk it up to Aldrik's odd behavior as of late. Walking over to his window, Blumiere stared blankly at the glass. It was just starting to rain, and as he watched each drop hit the windowpane, Blumiere wracked his brain for a viable excuse—

"Mother!"

—and didn't have to search very far.

"I'll tell him I wanted to visit mother's grave." Half of him screamed that Basile would never buy it, but for now, it was the best idea he had.

Aldrik chuckled. "Ah, the same excuse you used on me after the first time you visited the humans. That should work. For now, anyway."

"What am I going to do, Aldrik?" Blumiere sighed. "Father's going to be keeping a closer eye on me than ever. There's no way I'll be able to see Timpani again…"

"Things will be difficult from here on out," Aldrik mumbled, and Blumiere noted it was mostly to himself. Louder, he continued, "At any rate, it may be a few months before you're on your father's good side again…"

"I can't wait that long to see her. Not after the damage I've caused…" Blumiere clenched his teeth. Mimi, at least, is in good hands with Merletoph, and Ronan is hopefully safe at home with his grandmother. But Timpani…

Aldrik hummed. "Well, it is about six-thirty now. You have until about eight-thirty, when your signature's spell will fade, to find her. That is, assuming your father doesn't come looking for you during that time."

It was a risk Blumiere was willing to take. Maybe he could arrange something with Timpani, or at least tell her that he wouldn't be able to see her for a while. And if his father went looking for him during that time, at least he could use the battle as an excuse for being out of his room. Besides, he couldn't imagine being in any more trouble than he already was.

Standing up, Blumiere managed a half-smile and met Aldrik's gaze. "Thank you, uncle. I will see you soon."

Once Blumiere had teleported away, Aldrik uttered a chuckle.

Narrowing her eyes to shield them from the raindrops, Timpani peered up at the dark mage in front of her. So this was Blumiere's father, then. She could see now why they didn't get along.

"I don't know any son of yours!" Timpani desperately threw out her response, unsure if it would help her or make things worse. All the while she kept backing away from the blue-faced man, aware that she was getting closer and closer to the cliff's edge. Her whole body ached from where he'd thrown her to the ground and kicked her, but it seemed as though the shield Merletoph gave her was slowly easing that pain. She reminded herself to express an abundance of thanks to the sage.

"You're the reason he's been sneaking off into town!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Timpani stopped centimeters away from the cliff, trembling. The rain was starting to soak through her dress.

"You have no other reason to be here. All of the humans are dead. And the only other being you would be trying to find…"

With a mighty step forward, Basile placed both hands around Timpani's neck, hauling her backward until only her toes were still on the edge of the rocky cliff.

"...is Blumiere."

Timpani choked out a gasp, arching her back in a desperate struggle to keep herself standing. She felt the hands around her neck tighten in an attempt to suffocate her further, but somehow her airway remained open enough to allow her to breathe shallowly. Realizing he wasn't doing enough damage to kill her, Basile roared furiously, and a burning sensation fizzled at the back and front of Timpani's throat. She felt some sort of liquid stream down her skin.

"You are nothing more than a filthy human, aren't you!? Were you trying to seduce him? Did you hope to kill him once you were finished with him?!"

Tears leaked out of Timpani's eyes as she thrashed around, clawing at the mage's blue hands with her own. What a twisted view you have! She wanted to scream at him. I would never do anything like that to Blumiere! But in her current situation, she could manage nothing more than a hoarse gasp. She needed all of her energy to breathe.

"You're lucky I can't kill you right now, vermin. But I promise you, if I ever see your wretched face again, I will see to it that you receive an agony far worse than death."

With those haunting final words, Basile kicked Timpani's legs out from under her, sending her toppling over the edge of the cliff.

"Were you looking for me, brother?"

With black hair slicked by the drizzling rain and a devilish grin on his lips, Aldrik watched as his elder brother turned away from the cliff, surprise evident in his cerulean eyes.

"Aldrik! Where have you been all afternoon?"

The stern tone of the king only made Aldrik's grin widen. "Are you curious about the absence of my signature?"

"Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I am." Basile narrowed his eyes and took a few steps toward the younger mage. "I would like to believe you've had some involvement in Blumiere's disappearances, as well."

A cold laugh filled the air. "How dreadful! Could it be that it was I who urged him to leave in the first place?"

"What are you saying!?" Basile's slow-burning anger was more noticeable in his expression than in his tone.

"Oh, and perhaps I sent him out in hopes that the humans would find him and kill him."

Deadly silence followed. Basile locked eyes with his brother; a spell already prepared in his fingertips. "You what?!"

"Well, I suppose I can't take credit for all of it. It wasn't entirely my idea."

Aldrik advanced on his older brother, who immediately expelled the dark magic he'd prepared. The spell bounced off of Aldrik, revealing a rippling magic shield. Eyes bulging, Basile took a hesitant step backward.

"I have a secret to tell you, brother," Aldrik went on. "You see, I don't take direct orders from you unless I want to. Do you know why?" He stepped closer and closer. "Because you are not my king, brother. There is only one being who I will submit to."

With a cry of utter rage and exasperation, Basile lunged forward, grappling Aldrik. With a physical strength that the younger mage couldn't match, Basile grabbed his brother's arm and twisted it around behind his back, holding it in such a way that he wouldn't be able to create a spell. Before he could secure the other hand, Aldrik uttered another chilling laugh.

"You know what I refer to, don't you, brother? The Dark Prognosticus, of course."

Basile faltered for just a moment, but that small amount of time was just enough for Aldrik to make his move. He made contact with his brother's hand and administered a freezing spell more powerful than anything Basile was capable of. Wrenching himself free, Aldrik turned around to look at the king, who was now frozen helplessly in place.

"Ironic, isn't it?" Aldrik quipped, a smirk playing on his lips. "Your whole life you deemed yourself a king, the one who would pass on the knowledge and magical powers of this tribe to the next generation. But you were also a tragic second prince, forced to take the crown after our dear brother died. You tried so hard to call out to the Dark Prognosticus, but it would not call back. You thought yourself a failure. But really, all along, it was because it had found a more suitable host. And yet you remained as our king! Aha ha. Simply ironic. Now, tell me brother, are you surprised?"

Basile's blue eyes glared daggers at Aldrik's calm, red gaze.

"Of course you are. You always are." Reaching the next part of his monologue, Aldrik began pacing back and forth dramatically. "I have another secret to tell you, brother! Would you believe it if I told you that this isn't the first time we've had this conversation? It isn't! And it isn't the second, or the third, I'm afraid. Oh no, my dear brother, we've had this conversation countless times before! And it always ends the same way. With me, one step closer to reaching my goal, and with you, going back to being blissfully oblivious. Indeed, my dear brother, once I'm finished, you won't remember a word of this conversation! And you'll forget about my absent soul signature as well. Sure, I could have taken that memory from you without going through the trouble of telling you all this, but… well, this was much more fun, wouldn't you say?"

"Damn...you…" Basile growled with as much force as he could manage.

Aldrik laughed softly, almost sympathetically. "I'm already far more than damned, dear brother." And with that, he placed both of his thumbs over Basile's temples. "Aha ha. Don't worry. This will hurt, but you won't remember a thing."