CHAPTER II

A MOST PECULIAR MORNING

A cat peered at him. Yet it was not a mere cat, for its eyes shone with understanding. It was a demi-human, a union in the likeness of an animal, but with the cunning of man. And it was of man-like stature, maybe taller, and arrayed in finely adorned robes; yet the face was that of a lynx, set with two evil eyes burned into his mind like fire. Where, then, was he? Was this a cavern? A stone hall, perhaps? Everything seemed in a swoon about him. There was a voice at his side, but he could not mark the words. The world reeled and swam before his eyes. Images flitted before him. There was a young girl, and he wondered if he had seen her before, for she seemed to bear a certain mysterious familiarity.

And then came dark sights: first, a knife from which newly drawn blood dripped; and then the girl again, lying still on a stone floor. Was she dead, and was that her lifeblood on the knife? Then it was even worse, for an awful premonition filled him. He saw himself. And he held the dagger, while a wicked smile crossed his lips...

Serge awoke with a profound start. He was in his room, and the bright sunlight shimmered in through the half open window, casting merry amber light on whatever it could touch. What had frightened him so? The still beauty of morning had driven the fear from him, and he fought to remember from what he had just awoken. To his surprise he found he could remember, though vaguely. But now he wished he could not. Sitting up in bed he sighed. It was ironic that he had spent the last few months hoping that for once he could recall his dreams and, now that he at last had, he would do anything not to be able to. Even in the morning light he shivered. The dream had been dark, and still haunted the corners of his mind. What did it mean? Could it mean anything at all? He hoped that Leena was right, that his dreams were just that. But no, that could not be. Not after last night. He thought back to the previous evening. Now it seemed like to a dream also. That strange man that had visited him. What had he called himself? Something foreign he could not now remember. In memory it seemed so vague. Had he perhaps imagined it all? Or, more likely, had he dreamt it? There certainly was no other way by which to explain it. The mysterious person had known far too much about him to be anything beyond a manifestation of his overtired mind. He walked to the window where he had imagined the events occur the previous night.

Outside the lush palm trees waved gently in the warm tropical breeze. He looked up for the horizon and saw that the sun was already high in the sky. Had he truly slept in so late? He guessed the time to be past midday. If that was so, perhaps he wouldn't go out fishing today. Yesterday's catch had been good enough that he could afford to forego one day or two. He could perhaps spend the day with Leena, if she wasn't busy with other things. She'd like that, and so would he. It would be a change from the way most days went. And maybe she could help him find peace with his dreams. Before they had unnerved him because he couldn't remember what they were. Now they disturbed him because he could. He put his elbows on the window and sighed. His simple life was going from bad to very much worse. First phantom dreams had haunted him, and now nightmares and hallucinations tormented him. He hoped Leena would be understanding when he told her of it. If she wasn't, he knew that nobody would be. He narrowed his eyes against the glare of the sun, looking out to sea. A few small village boats were out. And, if his eyes weren't mistaken, he could see Leena standing on the beach near the piers. He turned and slipped on his boots. He hadn't cared to change the previous night, and was still fully dressed. He tied his band fast about the top of his head and glanced in the mirror, assuring himself that he looked no worse than he had the day before. He turned back to the window. A strange thought crossed his mind: he had half expected to see his phantom sitting there, as he had imagined or dreamt the night before. But only the distant sea and beach, wreathed in palm trees like picture frames, greeted his eyes. All the more assurance that his visitor had been but a dream.

He stared for a moment, contemplating whether or not to bother eating before he went to see Leena. He wasn't particularly hungry he concluded, and he had overslept enough as it was. And at the moment he was more eager to speak to Leena than to eat. His mother didn't care when he came and left; she knew he was well nigh old enough to care for himself. With a small sideways leap he vaulted out the window and landed on the soft grassy ground beneath his window.

The air was clear and fresh, and the smell of the sea cleared his head of the last traces of sleep as he ran lightly through the trees to the beach. The beach was near and he had reached it in a but a moment.

Leena was facing towards the piers and away from Serge as he approached her.

"Hey Leena!" he called out loudly, causing her to jump in alarm.

But she knew his voice well enough and, with a sigh, she turned, mock anger on her face.

"Don't do that to me, Serge!" she said, putting her hands on her hips.

"Sorry," he answered with a smile. He looked about.

"Watching the neighbour's kids again?" he noted, noticing a few small children running around, playing at mock battles a ways up the beach.

She nodded.

"Their parents are off to Termina till tomorrow, and they asked me if I could watch them."

"What we wouldn't give to be like that again, eh?" he asked of her, seeing the children prancing about. "They don't worry about much of anything, do they?"

She shrugged.

"Oh, I suppose that being a kid has good things. But I don't think that I'd want to be quite that age again, Serge. Running around the whole day, starting pretend fights with everyone I meet. It would get frightfully boring."

"And real fights are better?" he asked. "Is it better to play a hero, or to actually be the one that runs around killing things and maybe getting hurt?"

"Well, that's why we can leave those things to other people," she stated. "Thank goodness that Arni's peaceful enough that we don't need to worry ourselves about things like that."

Well, peaceful enough for most, Serge answered to himself. He ran his hands through his hair, wondering how he should begin to tell Leena about his dream. Leena noticed his disquiet, however, and was quick to guess what was upon his mind.

"You had another dream, didn't you?" she said upon seeing his expression. "What have I told you about them? If you can't remember what they are, then it's best to forget you ever had them."

"But I did remember this one," he answered shortly.

At first she did not reply, not having expected such a response. Then at last she ventured to say: "You actually remembered what you dreamed?"

Serge nodded gravely, and Leena read his expression.

"It was that bad?" she wondered, seeing how upset he truly was.

Again Serge nodded.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" she asked cautiously, not knowing if he wished to speak of it or not. She could see from his face that it had bothered him deeply.

But Serge needed to tell someone, and if not Leena, whom?

He told her of his dream. Of what he could remember, that was. He didn't mention his phantom, however. That was something that he did not want to approach yet, unsure as to how even Leena would see such a thing as that. She sighed.

"I don't know Serge. I can see why it bothered you. Nobody likes to have nightmares like that. But I still think it's just a dream. Nothing to worry about, especially now that you know what it is."

Her tone reassured him. Child, he cursed himself. Of course Leena was right. He had been a fool to account too much to what he had dreamt.

"Thanks Leena. You're right," he paused, "again."

She smiled.

"Of course I'm right, Serge! Aren't I always?" she said with a smile.

She had put his mind at ease as to his unsettling dream. Yet even now he was not sure what she would say if he told her about the dream he had had of the man in his window. However, he assured himself, Leena was his truest friend. She, if anybody, would understand.

But even as he was about to tell her of it she frowned deeply, as if trying to remember something forgotten.

"What is it Leena?" he questioned, somewhat relieved that he had a few more moments to gather his thoughts.

"Oh, there was something I was going to tell you, that's all," she said, shaking her head. Suddenly she nodded, clearly remembering it.

"Oh yes, that was it. Earlier this morning someone came down to the beach asking for you."

"For me? Who?" Serge asked. He had no clue who would be asking for him especial.

"I don't know. He wasn't from around here, but he was polite enough. I think he was from the mainland in the east. An older person, with reddish hair. He said his name was Crono or something odd and foreign like that, and that you knew him. I naturally told him you were still in bed and, knowing you, when you sleep in..."

But Serge had stopped listening. His heart had seemingly turned to ice in his chest. Nothing in the world could have shocked him as greatly as what Leena was now telling him.

Leena stopped talking in a moment, sensing something gravelly wrong.

"Serge?" she demanded. "Serge, you alright?"

He didn't know how to answer that. No, he most certainly wasn't all right. His mind was confused beyond imagination. Suddenly he was unsure as to what was real, and what was not. But even so he didn't want to worry Leena.

"Yes. Sort of," he mumbled, not wanting to lie, but unable to tell the truth. "Leena, I just need to go check on something."

It was not exactly the truth, but the best he could think of in that moment. But Leena certainly didn't accept it, either.

"Serge, something's wrong," she demanded. "What is it?"

"Nothing, Leena," Serge answered hastily, wishing to leave; he needed to think, and for that he needed to be alone.

"Serge, don't lie to me! You look almost pale. What is it?" She repeated, firmly standing her ground.

Serge could see it was of no use to argue the matter. He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked at her gravely.

"I swear I'll tell you later Leena, but right now I just have to be by myself for a bit, alright?"

He hoped that Leena understood this.

"Yes, okay..." she replyed. "Are you sure you don't want to tell me what the problem is?"

She was certainly slightly hurt that he would rather run off to be alone than speak with her, but bore it gracefully.

"Leena, if it makes you feel any better, I've got no idea what's going on either. That's why I've got to go, to think about it," Serge said, hoping thereby to balm her mood somewhat.

Leena sighed, but tried to smile for her part.

"All right," she muttered in a low voice, "but don't be long."

"Bye!" he yelled absently behind him as he ran toward the village, intending to continue through to somewhere in the jungle beyond. But he had little idea of where he was heading, and hardly knew what to think. After all this, his phantom had been real? It still seemed absurd. He ran past the village tavern into the courtyard, barely aware of what was about him.

"Sleep well, Serge?"

Serge stopped at once.

He knew the voice. He turned and found himself face to face with the very same man who had confronted him in his room. He leaned in the shadows against the wall of the tavern, his arms folded lightly across his chest, one foot on the ground, the other set on the wall behind him. His face was slightly haggard looking and unshaven, as of one who has been out in the wilderness for some time. He wore no cloak now, and Serge could see he was dressed in a most peculiar fashion. Indeed, it reminded him not a little of the style of the Zenan mainland. He wore calf-length pants that none in Arni would even contemplate wearing in such a hot climate. He bore a worn shirt as well, this all being draped over by knee length robes of silvan-green, kept from half-open by a black belt that encircled his waist. And, just as Serge remembered from the night before, from his side hung an elaborate falchion sword. The man smiled at him.

"I suppose that I continue to startle you, do I not? First I appear in you window in the middle of the night, and now I surprise you as you come around a corner..."

He laughed faintly. Something in the man's friendly manner seemed to calm Serge's initial shock. Despite the sword, Serge felt less intimidated by this man in full daylight. The man put his foot down and stepped from the wall.

"But I know that the time has come now for a formal introduction. I already know well enough who you are, so do not trouble yourself with that. As for who I am," he trailed off, rapping his fingers along the tavern wall. "Well, that is somewhat of a long story, if truth be told, and so I will attempt to make as brief as possible now. Doubtless you've heard of Guardia?"

Serge nodded. Everyone had at some time or another. Now a legend of a sort, it had been a peaceful kingdom on the mainland continent of Zenan nearly twenty years earlier. But it had been overrun by the Porre empire around the time Serge was born. Now Guardia was a merely a sweet memory in the pages of history, and Porre commanded a vast empire that stretched from the western El Nido islands to far eastern realms Serge had never even heard of. The man continued:

"Well, you should know that I am the exiled prince of Guardia. Or was, once upon a time. The king is long since dead and, were Guardia to ever rise again, I would be sovereign. But until that day comes, I continue to hold my title as prince. So, you can well see why I've been so furtive. El Nido is under the heel of Porre, and I cannot simply let them know that the heir to the throne of their enemy is here. Anyway, as for my name...as I told you before, I am known as Crono; that is Kronos to the learned, I believe. Not my true full name, but a taken one better than any others I have had. And it's what my friends have always called me. The rest of my story, and yours too, you will learn in time. For now it must simply be said that...

But Crono broke off in the mid of his sentence and froze, as a deer startled in the forest by an approaching hunter. In one swift movement he had swept about and was against the far wall of the tavern.

"Curses," he murmured. A Porre officer was wandering with a determined gait through the front gate of the village. Serge wondered absently for a moment what a soldier was doing in such a small village, for though Arni was surely under the empire's power soldiers almost never came here unless there was some great need. However, one glance at Crono's agitated face answered his question in full.

"I do not have time for this. Get rid of him!" Crono whispered urgently, making himself as invisible as possible.

Serge glanced over at Crono. He didn't particularly wish to deal with a Porre soldier.

"By all righteousness, don't look this way of all ways," Crono muttered between his teeth, his hand going at once to the hilt of his sword.

Sighing with frustration, but wanting least of all to have a battle here in the very centre of the village, Serge stepped forward to greet the officer, who had wandered importantly to the centre of the square. His dress was typical of the soldiers Serge had seen before. He wore a pristine blue uniform, long sleeved and adorned with various belts and decorations. Even his black boots were somehow untarnished. A slender sabre and a flint musket were slung from a hip.

As Serge approached him he was glancing about the square aimlessly, stroking the dust from his hat without thought. He saw Serge and, standing straight and tall, said:

"Greetings, child, from the empire of Porre. I am Gaheris, captain in the El Nido division of the Porre army. I am here to apprehend a dangerous criminal come lately to these islands. Have you seen any strangers about these parts, boy?"

Serge caught his breath. He was about to say that he had not, but then realized that in his slight pause in answering the soldier would see the truth. He chose instead to give only half of it, and hoped thereby to seem as truthful as possible.

"Yes. Yes I did. A man with a sword and red hair? He was here earlier today, near the beach. He left."

It did not do as well as he had hoped. The officer was unconvinced, and clearly saw the lie. He looked keenly over Serge for a second.

"Do you know the penalty for lying to an officer of Porre is death, boy?"

Serge was speechless. He didn't know what to say now that his lie had been uncovered. He contemplated saying all that he knew, yet somehow felt that doing so would be very wrong.

But, thankfully, he was spared the choice. The man caught sight of something by the tavern. He drew out his musket and frowned. Indeed it was not Crono, who had hidden himself far too well. Perhaps it had been but in the imagination of the soldier, but whatever it might have been it gave him reason to begin walking in that direction. Serge stood frozen, feeling dread sweep over him.

But then something happened, the likes of which Serge could never remember having seen before. So swiftly that Serge nearly missed seeing it, Crono had leaped from his hiding place behind the tavern. Before the startled Porre officer could understand what had happened, Crono's sword was swept out and wheeling through the air as though it were a thrown knife. It narrowly missed both Serge and the officer, and embedded itself deep and quivering into the wall of another building far behind. It frightened the wits out of Serge, but the officer, as a man of battle, was quick to recover, and drawing back the flint raised his weapon at Crono. Crono, however, was too swift. He flourished a hand in the way of the officer. A sharp wind swept past, seemingly from nowhere, and, with a crack like a gunshot that pierced Serge's ears, a bolt of white lightning lashed from Crono's hand. Serge leaped backward a full pace, it startled him so. The officer, too, had not looked for such a thing. The branching tendrils split, then joined again in unison as they struck him full in the chest. The air trembled with the last echoes of the fading thunderclap, and then all was deathly quiet and still. The officer stood still for a second, then fell senseless to the earth. Serge, for his part, shook his head in bewilderment. His ears rung, and the flash still burned in his eyes. He could scarcely believe what he had just seen. True war magic? He had heard stories of sorcerers and magicians, but had only ever half believed them.

"Serge, are you alright?"

It was Crono, who had now run up beside him. Serge blinked. The shadow of the light was fading from his eyes and his ears no longer rung, and he nodded. Crono sighed, looking down at the man, saying to Serge:

"I apologize for that, but I couldn't well let him shoot me, as I am sure you understand. If this was my homeland, he'd have taken my sword through his heart; but to do so here would bring the wrath of the Empire down upon your village: a thing I would be loath to do."

Serge looked down at the stricken soldier. A chill swept through him, for the man appeared to be dead.

Crono kneeled down and put his hand on the officer's chest.

"No, he isn't dead. His heart is beating, at least. I did not really wish to kill him, as I've said, though maybe I was a trifle harsh; he will feel the pain of this for some time."

But despite whatever this Crono professed, Serge knew that it was still trouble. Dead or not, an officer of the Empire had been attacked, and the Porre military did not take kindly to such things.

He took a step backward as Crono stood again, trying in some way at least to distance himself from the event. Crono looked urgently about, then glanced at Serge with a hasty eye.

"Come, Serge! We must depart before more arrive. His absence will not go unnoticed for long!"

He grabbed Serge's arm.

"Serge, we must go, at once!"

Serge pulled his arm from Crono's grasp, and took another step backward, looking at Crono in disbelief.

"You did this! You go...leave! I'm not going anywhere."

Serge retreated a few more paces. Villagers were now gathering at their windows, curious as to the cause of the commotion. Serge was relieved that no one else had been in the courtyard to witness the event.

"Do you truly think that Porre will leave you alone now Serge, even if I leave? You lied to him," he pointed at the unconscious soldier, "he knows that. He knows you were helping me. Unless you want to kill him. I advise it, but I hardly think you would do so."

Serge narrowed his eyes at Crono, menace and hatred building in the gaze. Crono had brought this trouble upon his village, and upon Serge. It wasn't Serge's fault. Then why did he feel guilty and responsible? He had followed his heart, and had tried to help Crono. Yet it had betrayed him and led only to this. Now he would follow his reason, and no longer his feelings.

"I'll tell them the truth then. Leave, because next time I won't lie for you," Serge said calmly, yet with vehemence and anger barely masked.

"All right, if that is how you want it," Crono answered coldly.

He walked over to the far side of the square to where his sword still stuck in the wall of the building it had struck. Drawing it from the wood, he looked over his shoulder at Serge.

"You can try to forget but, mark my words, your heart will never let you."

He sheathed his blade and turned to Serge. Serge stood quiet, making certain his anger showed.

"Your past will overtake you," Crono said in reply, "whatever you may do to run from it."

Despite the malice plain in Serge's face, which he clearly saw, Crono smiled.

"Farewell... friend."

And, turning, he walked out the gate as boldly as he had entered the night before. Serge watched him leave, glad to be finally rid of that phantasm.

But by now a large crowd, likely half the village, had gathered in the square. Some were standing about the officer, trying to help him rise. The rest milled about, talking excitedly about what could possibly have happened.

"Serge, are you all right?"

It was Leena, who had rushed up from the beach.

"Yeah, I am...now," he said, glancing pointedly at the gate, where he had last seen Crono.

He was gone now.

Leena gasped shortly, seeing the soldier lying on the ground.

"What happened?"

"I'll tell you, when we're alone." Serge said quickly, praying that the officer would not awaken. Moreover, Serge didn't want anyone else knowing that he had any part in this, as gossip spread like fire in a village as Arni.

"Let's get out of here," he said to Leena, wanting nothing more than to leave the crowded square.

He took Leena's hand, and together they walked back towards the beach. But before they had moved more than a few steps, a harsh voice called out to him:

"Hey, boy! Where do you think you're going? Stop, or you'll have musket-shot through your heart."

Serge turned with a falling heart. The officer was rising weakly, aided by some few of the village-folk. His uniform that had been spotless before was now tattered and dirty, and a great blackened spot marked where the lightning had struck him. His formal hat was nowhere to be seen now, and his tossed hair hung in disarray from his head. From wherever it had fallen he had retrieved his musket and was now pointing it at Serge's chest, flint cocked menacingly. The villagers all took several steps backward to be well out of the way of the weapon. Serge, for his part, did not fear the weapon so much become angry at what was occurring. That idiot Crono had begun a dire problem.

"You're under arrest, boy. I'm taking you to Termina."

The villagers were aghast. A few attempted to argue on Serge's behalf, but to no avail. In the midst of all the confusion the village chief, an elder named Radius, stepped forward, and he, too, argued to Serge's defence, albeit with more vehemence and skill.

But Serge saw from where he stood that such struggling merely made matters worse. The officer's anger was rising by the minute, and he would likely have set the whole of the Porre army upon the village if he had been able. Serge knew what he needed do.

He looked over at Leena.

"Leena, I've got to go and straighten things out. Otherwise Porre will never leave Arni alone..."

Leena sighed. She knew the truth of this, but hardly wanted him to submit to arrest.

"Don't worry for me Leena, I'll be okay."

As he said it he didn't exactly know it to be the truth, however. Only a hope. He smiled at her, attempting to make their parting more pleasant. She weakly returned it.

"All right, but be careful," she admonished him, whispering in his ear: "Don't get them angry, and I'm sure they'll let you go. But I wouldn't trust them."

Maybe, Serge thought to himself, but there were others to trust less; perhaps here Porre was the lesser evil. Leena whispered him a fond farewell and stepped back.

By this time the entirety of village was in an uproar, from child to elder. In the very middle the officer still debated angrily with the chief, who was attempting now to explain the political results of such an arrest, in a vain attempt to help free Serge from his predicament.

Even as Serge strode forward to the two the chief was saying, in a darkening voice:

"Let us not forget that the people of El Nido outnumber your armies twelve to one. I would warn you against such thoughtless actions."

Certainly the officer was about to reply in kind with an even graver threat, and warn in his turn about the mighty warriors of Porre. Likely he would have tried to cow the irate chief through the memory of the myriad of weapons by which the Empire had subdued the peoples of the islands in conquest nearly two years before. But Serge spoke before he could, saying:

"I'm not hiding anything. I'll come along and tell you whatever you want to know."

The chief looked at Serge in bewilderment.

"Serge, they cannot do this to you! By the laws of their Empire, they cannot arrest you without proof of treason. The officer himself admits you did not harm him in any way. You have not done a thing meriting arrest," he said, casting an angry glance at the officer.

Certainly the chief knew the politics well, but such things are fickle at best, and even more so on colonies that lie at the far fringes of an empire. That Serge knew, and understood that the law of the Empire could be easily overlooked by those soldiers who manned the colonial garrisons. Such a small province as El Nido did not warrant any representation in the Senate, and in practice the governor and his occupation troops could do as they pleased, harrying the villages of the islands if they so wished it. The people would be powerless to stop it, and so the fragile peace that existed between El Nido and the Empire's troops was a dangerous thing to endanger.

"I haven't, I know. But..."

The chief nodded, understanding.

"This is very noble of you, Serge."

He looked around at the gathered people.

"We'll be praying for you."

And at those words the officer gripped roughly at Serge's arm and walked him out the gate. Glancing back, Serge saw Leena looking after him, waving farewell; but there was caring worry in her eyes, as might be well imagined.

What a cursed day, thought Serge as the soldier led him onwards. Dark dreams and dangerous brigands were no enjoyable thing to endure. Curse that fool Crono, he added in his mind. At least he had seen the last of him now.

(Last Edited August 17, 2004)