(Author's Note: I'm incredibly sorry it has been so long since I last
updated this. I just couldn't seem to write it, and it wasn't exactly
writer's block-at least not the kind I usually have-since I had the ideas,
but I couldn't be satisfied with how it came out in words for the longest
time. That added to an accumulation of distractions and obligations
elsewhere accounts for the long wait. I hope to get on with the next
chapter sooner, seeing as how the idea is burning and won't go away.)
CHAPTER THREE: A FOREIGN DIMENSION
Schala was uncertain how long had passed before she reclaimed her senses. The mattress beneath her was a harsh mistress, and even with the radiance of a wax candle on the wooden nightstand beside her, it was a few long minutes before she could see properly again. There were many petite figures huddling all about her that were revealed only as shadows as they whispered in strange tongues. It took time for her to figure out that the only "foreign" languages were those of common pigs and toads.
She bolted upright quickly, but hooves and webbed fingers as well as tiny human hands wrestled her back against the stiff bed. There came the wholehearted chuckle of a hearty rich voice from the darkness that almost terrified Schala with its bold depth and timing. Then a man with shaggy brown hair all over his face stepped forth, and shook his head. Little pigs, tiny toads, and small men-not children, but miniature men-were clumped around his legs like young children beside a tale-telling father.
The bearded man spoke. His voice was rugged, but Schala could tell it was an honest one and she obeyed its command. "Now, now, lassie, I'd calm down if I were you. You just had a bit of a bump on the noggin after appearing in mid-air, that's all." He smirked at himself, and continued with his sarcasm. "You've only been knocked out for a few right days now, nothing to worry about, eh?" He stopped laughing and pressed her gently against the two pillows, which strangely felt soft and inviting in the man's presence. His smiled died and he gave up the jokes as he suggested, "Seriously, girlie, I think you might ought to recuperate yourself a bit before you go jumping all about."
She settled down and immediately the light pressure of his abnormally hairy hands lifted from her shoulders. She shifted her glance uneasily about the room once more, sighing heavily, as she was still feeling quite perplexed. "Will you-can you tell me where exactly this is?" she finally asked, rather timidly considering how relatively small her audience was.
The rugged mountain man smiled again, replying without delay as if Schala were a nutcase, "Why, you're resting in the basement of the tavern here in good ruddy old Mithril Village! Where else did you think you'd be with a place like this around you?" A few of the midget creatures around him nodded in agreement.
Schala blinked, dejected at this. She was still clueless, so she repeated, "Yes, but can you please tell me where that-here-is? What world is this?"
The man blinked too. He was beginning to get a bit muddled at this point, and scrunched his face up as such. "I just told you, didn't I? You're in Mithril Village, at the blinking inn. Er-in-well, this planet." He scratched his head profoundly at this, striving to reach the scalp beneath his bulky mane of raggedy brown. He hesitated slightly before continuing. "Listen, miss. I think I know someone back at Baron who might be willing and able to answer for you the way you want it. New arrival, too, he is. Why don't you save all this confounding codswallop for him, eh? Agreed on that much?"
Schala simply nodded, continuing to scrounge about in the dark, as if somewhere through that piercing ebony shroud she might see Gaspar and his lamp-lit platform off in the distance. So far she had not prevailed at this game.
"All right, then," the man confirmed. "My name's Cid, just so you know. Call me if you need anything; I've got some repairs to be getting about to before we can shove ourselves off this crowded hole of an island." He paused as if to remember what else to say to Schala. "The natives here should be bringing you grub and drink every now and then, don't worry about that. So, ahem-bye then." With that, Cid turned to vanish in the unseen.
Before he could leave for she didn't know how long, Schala called, "My name is Schala."
"Good day, li'l Lady Schala," Cid grunted without straying from his departure. The instant he withdrew from her sight, the peculiar creatures surrounding her retreated as well. Defeated in her purpose, she relaxed in the bed as suitably as possible and rested.
Now and again a midget man, petite pig or tiny toad would prod her for attention and deliver a grand and delicate meal, but she was otherwise deserted to her own pondering solitude. Schala didn't even fret over the time; instead, she endeavored to liberate herself of the world, desiring only to meditate. She ruminated all that had hurtled by her in a mere hour's consciousness-and subconsciousness. She had gained her brother's company and proceeded to have it lifted from her, she met Gaspar and had the opportunity to observe all time only to be flung casually from the familiar realm, and she had crashed in a strange world of sentient animals and child-men.
"What a catastrophe of reality!" she thought. This reverberated seemingly for eternity in her, under finally a new echo intruded the canyon of her mind: What if this weren't reality?
She startled herself with the notion. Momentarily she reminisced of Doreen the Philosopher of Enhasa, and believed this meant she was dreaming-after all, Zeal was the kingdom in which dreams formed reality. She soon dismissed this, however, as the proper translation came to mind. And now Schala understood what the Guru of Time meant by the word paradox.
"I don't exist," she realized. She stammered to explain the logic that must have sparked ridiculousness of the sort, but she discovered nothing. All she comprehended was this.
Inevitably, as they often did, her contemplations reverted to the confrontation with Time at the End of Zeal. But now she grasped more than ever before. She did exist, but she did so only in the sense that it was her purpose to find Him and bring Him the pendant. . .
. . .And to do that, she would have to find Janus.
"But I'm powerless to do so!" she exclaimed audibly before considering that the silent shroud was her sole audience. Still it appeared to reply to her, and charged her with all that she could accomplish single-handedly. She could linger in this world and trust in her brother's vows.
She continued to ponder, "I could locate Him."
Without further mulling, she sprang from her bead with extraordinary vigor, and, snatching the candle from the counter beside her, groped through the frigid shadows for the steps upward to the surface.
For the first time, she stumbled through the ebony mist, challenging its uncertain wrath resolutely. She had fallen upward through the trials of several steps foregoing further enlightenment.
"What senselessness am I spouting?" she wondered. "I exist. . . do I not? I don't n-it's so confounding. . ."
And as Schala puzzled herself, a familiar searing heat intensified in her forehead, and she collapsed on the bitter stone. The brass saucer on which the candle rested collided with the ground and shattered, sending the wax shaft and meager flame sprawling until all radiance flickered out.
***
For the third instance in a miniscule week, Schala departed from unconsciousness with a shock. This was, however, the most severe awakening yet. Schala found herself sputtering and spewing from her swelling lungs. An intolerably pungent sensation-the mark of the sea-congested her lungs and fumed through her nostrils despite her willing strive to purge it.
It was longer before she could make sense of her situation, for whenever she attempted to open them a fresh surge of stinging salt water intruded and turned her vision into a cryptic jumble. But when her sight finally decided to return, she understood that she was now following through with the end of her last journey upon the black wind. She collapsed wearily to the near-barren stone, relaxing upon its sleek soaked surface. The cliff was icy to her skin, but she didn't mind; it helped to relieve her of the perplexing bramble that was her current state of mind.
"Schala," an unexpected gust carried the gruff voice from behind her that startled her so immensely that she nearly jerked backwards off the cape. Swiftly bypassing that shock, she rolled more cautiously about in order to identify the fellow navigator of the subconscious plane.
"Janus!" the Zealian woman cried as her heart lurched elatedly at encountering her beloved brother once again via the mystic wind. Her legs lurched too, vaulting her body into the air and nearly toppling the stout Mage of Shadow in order to embrace him.
Magus, however, didn't shift in the slightest as Schala rested her tired head upon his shoulder, except to repeat almost as if in a trance, "Schala. . ."
Schala recoiled instantly as she detected something amiss with her younger brother. Her head still cocked questioningly, she demanded simply, "Janus, please tell me whatever is the matter." His eyes were still cold and remote, so she continued, "You know you can confide in me; I'm your sister, am I not?"
Magus would not stir. He was intent on watching the horizon creep up on Schala, which she ultimately decided to witness personally. Thus she again perceived in horrifying awe the infantile crimson light rumbling through the water from the Ocean Palace far below.
"This," Magus uttered solemnly, "this is my only purpose: to retrieve my own puny self and only a handful of my cherished from this-this oblivion."
"Janus," Schala said concernedly, "what are you say-"
"Janus was an innocent prophet child," Magus muttered as the beam sliced through the convening clouds. "Janus is far departed. I am the Terrible, the Great Mage of Shadow, the Conquering God of Mystics, and the Apocalypse Summoner... ... ..."
"Magus... ... ..." Schala whispered while boulder-sized debris plunged upon the destruction's origin. She glanced up and found his eyes watering with stiff contempt for himself.
The sorcerer finally lowered his head to meet the relative eyes of that which caused his forlorn quest pleading with him to continue it. Slowly, fluid spilled down her cheeks, and finally, when Magus could no longer bear her tears, he sighed refutably, "No, I give up. We are already defeated. I'm sorry." Horror crept across his face as he muttered to himself, "What have I done?"
"No, Janus!" Schala exclaimed in panic. "We cannot surrender! You can't! I- I need you. I need the pendant... ... ..."
But Magus was once again aloof from her pleas. He riveted his attention upon the looming upsurge of the sea, repeating rhetorically, "What have I done?" The cape began to tremble, and as the clamor flushed nearer, so did Magus's lamentation intensify into a yell. Schala collapsed into a secure huddle on the earth in trepidation as the water surged over her. A barrage of sound enveloped her, but nothing reached her ears better than the howl of the wind... ... ...
***
"Lady Schala-"
"No!"
"-what is wrong?"
Schala's scream gradually died as she realized she had returned to Mithril Village. A concerned native hunched over her with the re-kindled candle repeated, "What is wrong, Schala?"
Still trembling, Schala attempted to rise, but she could only find the drive to stagger before crashing and tumbling down the staircase again. The Inn concierge rushed to assist her despite her shrugging him off with a headstrong attitude.
"But Lady Schala, you-" the midget began, until one of Schala's blindly flapping arm collided with his jaw. She continued to give her best effort in crawling up step by step, leaving her designated caretaker stunned for a moment. She managed to gain quite the height before the concierge latched hold of her leg, an irate glare masking his previously calm face. She thrust her leg backward, catching him across the forehead with her bare foot this time to send him sprawling down the stairs. Several more times they volleyed like this, Schala doing whatever she could to free anything from a leg to both of them to an arm and to her whole torso. Finally, he managed to catch the end of her gown, tugging it resolutely to keep her from advancing forward without it.
He managed to shout, "Miss Schala, stop this at-" over Schala's wailing outcry this time. However, his words were cut short, and not by a flailing limb this time. Instead, the "Shah-bang!" of the subsequent explosion was dynamic enough to have dissipated his next words-not to mention the tragedy of catching the brunt of its wrath. A mauled midget lay lifeless several feet into the main cellar below Schala, who was launched to the top of the stairwell. She steadfastly inched her way ever forward, determined to escape as soon as possible. Not only did she have a mission, but also the screams from above told her there was no one in the village that hadn't heard or received word of the explosion within a few seconds.
Just before she would have edged into its path, the door in front of her swung open brutally, flooding the basement with brilliant light. Schala looked up to see another native's shadow glancing wildly from Schala creeping across the floor to his limpkin's body downstairs. He inhaled dramatically before shouting, "What in the name of all that is evil and unholy in the Underworld happened here? My worker-you-what?"
Schala groaned exaggeratedly, "I-I-ugh." She wondered for a moment what really had happened, and why she had decided to conjure a Dark Bomb. She shook her head to rid herself of the confusion and simply cried, "Leave me alone!" With that, a visible distortion in space consumed the innkeeper wholly.
"Janus," Schala thought as though her brother could hear her, "why do they have to get in the way? Why must they try to stand between us? Do they not know that I have to find you at any cost, lest it grow to late?" She marveled as she continued to snake her way across the inn lobby, leaving the wreckage behind.
CHAPTER THREE: A FOREIGN DIMENSION
Schala was uncertain how long had passed before she reclaimed her senses. The mattress beneath her was a harsh mistress, and even with the radiance of a wax candle on the wooden nightstand beside her, it was a few long minutes before she could see properly again. There were many petite figures huddling all about her that were revealed only as shadows as they whispered in strange tongues. It took time for her to figure out that the only "foreign" languages were those of common pigs and toads.
She bolted upright quickly, but hooves and webbed fingers as well as tiny human hands wrestled her back against the stiff bed. There came the wholehearted chuckle of a hearty rich voice from the darkness that almost terrified Schala with its bold depth and timing. Then a man with shaggy brown hair all over his face stepped forth, and shook his head. Little pigs, tiny toads, and small men-not children, but miniature men-were clumped around his legs like young children beside a tale-telling father.
The bearded man spoke. His voice was rugged, but Schala could tell it was an honest one and she obeyed its command. "Now, now, lassie, I'd calm down if I were you. You just had a bit of a bump on the noggin after appearing in mid-air, that's all." He smirked at himself, and continued with his sarcasm. "You've only been knocked out for a few right days now, nothing to worry about, eh?" He stopped laughing and pressed her gently against the two pillows, which strangely felt soft and inviting in the man's presence. His smiled died and he gave up the jokes as he suggested, "Seriously, girlie, I think you might ought to recuperate yourself a bit before you go jumping all about."
She settled down and immediately the light pressure of his abnormally hairy hands lifted from her shoulders. She shifted her glance uneasily about the room once more, sighing heavily, as she was still feeling quite perplexed. "Will you-can you tell me where exactly this is?" she finally asked, rather timidly considering how relatively small her audience was.
The rugged mountain man smiled again, replying without delay as if Schala were a nutcase, "Why, you're resting in the basement of the tavern here in good ruddy old Mithril Village! Where else did you think you'd be with a place like this around you?" A few of the midget creatures around him nodded in agreement.
Schala blinked, dejected at this. She was still clueless, so she repeated, "Yes, but can you please tell me where that-here-is? What world is this?"
The man blinked too. He was beginning to get a bit muddled at this point, and scrunched his face up as such. "I just told you, didn't I? You're in Mithril Village, at the blinking inn. Er-in-well, this planet." He scratched his head profoundly at this, striving to reach the scalp beneath his bulky mane of raggedy brown. He hesitated slightly before continuing. "Listen, miss. I think I know someone back at Baron who might be willing and able to answer for you the way you want it. New arrival, too, he is. Why don't you save all this confounding codswallop for him, eh? Agreed on that much?"
Schala simply nodded, continuing to scrounge about in the dark, as if somewhere through that piercing ebony shroud she might see Gaspar and his lamp-lit platform off in the distance. So far she had not prevailed at this game.
"All right, then," the man confirmed. "My name's Cid, just so you know. Call me if you need anything; I've got some repairs to be getting about to before we can shove ourselves off this crowded hole of an island." He paused as if to remember what else to say to Schala. "The natives here should be bringing you grub and drink every now and then, don't worry about that. So, ahem-bye then." With that, Cid turned to vanish in the unseen.
Before he could leave for she didn't know how long, Schala called, "My name is Schala."
"Good day, li'l Lady Schala," Cid grunted without straying from his departure. The instant he withdrew from her sight, the peculiar creatures surrounding her retreated as well. Defeated in her purpose, she relaxed in the bed as suitably as possible and rested.
Now and again a midget man, petite pig or tiny toad would prod her for attention and deliver a grand and delicate meal, but she was otherwise deserted to her own pondering solitude. Schala didn't even fret over the time; instead, she endeavored to liberate herself of the world, desiring only to meditate. She ruminated all that had hurtled by her in a mere hour's consciousness-and subconsciousness. She had gained her brother's company and proceeded to have it lifted from her, she met Gaspar and had the opportunity to observe all time only to be flung casually from the familiar realm, and she had crashed in a strange world of sentient animals and child-men.
"What a catastrophe of reality!" she thought. This reverberated seemingly for eternity in her, under finally a new echo intruded the canyon of her mind: What if this weren't reality?
She startled herself with the notion. Momentarily she reminisced of Doreen the Philosopher of Enhasa, and believed this meant she was dreaming-after all, Zeal was the kingdom in which dreams formed reality. She soon dismissed this, however, as the proper translation came to mind. And now Schala understood what the Guru of Time meant by the word paradox.
"I don't exist," she realized. She stammered to explain the logic that must have sparked ridiculousness of the sort, but she discovered nothing. All she comprehended was this.
Inevitably, as they often did, her contemplations reverted to the confrontation with Time at the End of Zeal. But now she grasped more than ever before. She did exist, but she did so only in the sense that it was her purpose to find Him and bring Him the pendant. . .
. . .And to do that, she would have to find Janus.
"But I'm powerless to do so!" she exclaimed audibly before considering that the silent shroud was her sole audience. Still it appeared to reply to her, and charged her with all that she could accomplish single-handedly. She could linger in this world and trust in her brother's vows.
She continued to ponder, "I could locate Him."
Without further mulling, she sprang from her bead with extraordinary vigor, and, snatching the candle from the counter beside her, groped through the frigid shadows for the steps upward to the surface.
For the first time, she stumbled through the ebony mist, challenging its uncertain wrath resolutely. She had fallen upward through the trials of several steps foregoing further enlightenment.
"What senselessness am I spouting?" she wondered. "I exist. . . do I not? I don't n-it's so confounding. . ."
And as Schala puzzled herself, a familiar searing heat intensified in her forehead, and she collapsed on the bitter stone. The brass saucer on which the candle rested collided with the ground and shattered, sending the wax shaft and meager flame sprawling until all radiance flickered out.
***
For the third instance in a miniscule week, Schala departed from unconsciousness with a shock. This was, however, the most severe awakening yet. Schala found herself sputtering and spewing from her swelling lungs. An intolerably pungent sensation-the mark of the sea-congested her lungs and fumed through her nostrils despite her willing strive to purge it.
It was longer before she could make sense of her situation, for whenever she attempted to open them a fresh surge of stinging salt water intruded and turned her vision into a cryptic jumble. But when her sight finally decided to return, she understood that she was now following through with the end of her last journey upon the black wind. She collapsed wearily to the near-barren stone, relaxing upon its sleek soaked surface. The cliff was icy to her skin, but she didn't mind; it helped to relieve her of the perplexing bramble that was her current state of mind.
"Schala," an unexpected gust carried the gruff voice from behind her that startled her so immensely that she nearly jerked backwards off the cape. Swiftly bypassing that shock, she rolled more cautiously about in order to identify the fellow navigator of the subconscious plane.
"Janus!" the Zealian woman cried as her heart lurched elatedly at encountering her beloved brother once again via the mystic wind. Her legs lurched too, vaulting her body into the air and nearly toppling the stout Mage of Shadow in order to embrace him.
Magus, however, didn't shift in the slightest as Schala rested her tired head upon his shoulder, except to repeat almost as if in a trance, "Schala. . ."
Schala recoiled instantly as she detected something amiss with her younger brother. Her head still cocked questioningly, she demanded simply, "Janus, please tell me whatever is the matter." His eyes were still cold and remote, so she continued, "You know you can confide in me; I'm your sister, am I not?"
Magus would not stir. He was intent on watching the horizon creep up on Schala, which she ultimately decided to witness personally. Thus she again perceived in horrifying awe the infantile crimson light rumbling through the water from the Ocean Palace far below.
"This," Magus uttered solemnly, "this is my only purpose: to retrieve my own puny self and only a handful of my cherished from this-this oblivion."
"Janus," Schala said concernedly, "what are you say-"
"Janus was an innocent prophet child," Magus muttered as the beam sliced through the convening clouds. "Janus is far departed. I am the Terrible, the Great Mage of Shadow, the Conquering God of Mystics, and the Apocalypse Summoner... ... ..."
"Magus... ... ..." Schala whispered while boulder-sized debris plunged upon the destruction's origin. She glanced up and found his eyes watering with stiff contempt for himself.
The sorcerer finally lowered his head to meet the relative eyes of that which caused his forlorn quest pleading with him to continue it. Slowly, fluid spilled down her cheeks, and finally, when Magus could no longer bear her tears, he sighed refutably, "No, I give up. We are already defeated. I'm sorry." Horror crept across his face as he muttered to himself, "What have I done?"
"No, Janus!" Schala exclaimed in panic. "We cannot surrender! You can't! I- I need you. I need the pendant... ... ..."
But Magus was once again aloof from her pleas. He riveted his attention upon the looming upsurge of the sea, repeating rhetorically, "What have I done?" The cape began to tremble, and as the clamor flushed nearer, so did Magus's lamentation intensify into a yell. Schala collapsed into a secure huddle on the earth in trepidation as the water surged over her. A barrage of sound enveloped her, but nothing reached her ears better than the howl of the wind... ... ...
***
"Lady Schala-"
"No!"
"-what is wrong?"
Schala's scream gradually died as she realized she had returned to Mithril Village. A concerned native hunched over her with the re-kindled candle repeated, "What is wrong, Schala?"
Still trembling, Schala attempted to rise, but she could only find the drive to stagger before crashing and tumbling down the staircase again. The Inn concierge rushed to assist her despite her shrugging him off with a headstrong attitude.
"But Lady Schala, you-" the midget began, until one of Schala's blindly flapping arm collided with his jaw. She continued to give her best effort in crawling up step by step, leaving her designated caretaker stunned for a moment. She managed to gain quite the height before the concierge latched hold of her leg, an irate glare masking his previously calm face. She thrust her leg backward, catching him across the forehead with her bare foot this time to send him sprawling down the stairs. Several more times they volleyed like this, Schala doing whatever she could to free anything from a leg to both of them to an arm and to her whole torso. Finally, he managed to catch the end of her gown, tugging it resolutely to keep her from advancing forward without it.
He managed to shout, "Miss Schala, stop this at-" over Schala's wailing outcry this time. However, his words were cut short, and not by a flailing limb this time. Instead, the "Shah-bang!" of the subsequent explosion was dynamic enough to have dissipated his next words-not to mention the tragedy of catching the brunt of its wrath. A mauled midget lay lifeless several feet into the main cellar below Schala, who was launched to the top of the stairwell. She steadfastly inched her way ever forward, determined to escape as soon as possible. Not only did she have a mission, but also the screams from above told her there was no one in the village that hadn't heard or received word of the explosion within a few seconds.
Just before she would have edged into its path, the door in front of her swung open brutally, flooding the basement with brilliant light. Schala looked up to see another native's shadow glancing wildly from Schala creeping across the floor to his limpkin's body downstairs. He inhaled dramatically before shouting, "What in the name of all that is evil and unholy in the Underworld happened here? My worker-you-what?"
Schala groaned exaggeratedly, "I-I-ugh." She wondered for a moment what really had happened, and why she had decided to conjure a Dark Bomb. She shook her head to rid herself of the confusion and simply cried, "Leave me alone!" With that, a visible distortion in space consumed the innkeeper wholly.
"Janus," Schala thought as though her brother could hear her, "why do they have to get in the way? Why must they try to stand between us? Do they not know that I have to find you at any cost, lest it grow to late?" She marveled as she continued to snake her way across the inn lobby, leaving the wreckage behind.