CHAPTER VII

THE ISLE OF GHOSTS

Not lightly would the commanders of Porre allow their quarry to escape they saw as the winds drove them forward. Seeing the five great ships ever present on the horizon they knew that most especially at sea they had no chance at fighting. An so they prayed that they might gain the Island of the Damned before they were overtaken. The south-west gale winds, summoned forth by Schala's spell, all the while rushed past their ears and whipped the waves into hills that tossed the little crafts violently.

But whether by luck or the will of fate their prayers were answered and, even as the sun dropped below the horizon casting shimmering twilight jewels upon the sea, they reached the isle. Indeed it was as evil as Serge remembered, if not worse. Even in the pale light he could well see the dark slopes, rent with holes and scattered with bones.

"Take the boats to those rocks," Janus cried across to Serge, pointing at a nearby hill of stones upon which the waves broke.

Beaching the boats in shadows they stepped cautiously onto the shore. In their hearts they felt the dark evil that lay about the island, and at once a black brooding fell upon their minds. Beneath their feet they felt the snap of the small bones that littered the beach.

"How can such a place as this come to be?" Crono asked with some dread as they carefully hid the boats behind the rocks, for the land about was strewn with decaying corpses. "It is unlike any other I have seen before. It is rife with death and decay, and its foul stench chokes me."

"They don't really exist," Serge said pointing about at the dead things before Janus could offer an explanation of his own. "Dark magic and hatred's done this, or at least that's what I was told when I came here before."

Janus himself said no words, but nodded silently in affirmation.

Ghastly visages peered at them from the interior of the island, and the hollow eyes of death watched them from the twilight.

Serge squinted into the darkness, catching a fleeting glimpse of some dark movement. He shivered heavily, knowing that no living beings but they resided on this island.

"Janus, are you sure that we're safe?"

Janus did not answer, but wandered some way higher up the beach, the bones crumbling all the more loudly beneath his heavy footfalls. Raising his hands towards the darkness he whispered unheard words under his breath.

After a time he waved for them to follow.

"I have commanded the dead not to harm us. Even so I do not put utter faith in the vows of the departed. Keep your guard alert."

"Janus, if this goes ill, I shall never forgive you," Schala muttered, uneasiness plain in her tone. Her sharp eyes darted ceaselessly into the darkness, ever expecting a sudden stroke. Serge too felt the disquiet that lay as a mist upon the land, and his hand never left the hilt of the Masamune. In the touch of his weapon he took some comfort. A relic of goodness amidst evil, and this reassured his mind.

"Serge, Schala!" Janus whispered with annoyance on seeing that the two moved ever cautiously and slowly. "Do not sacrifice our speed for vigilance. Those trailing us pose a far greater danger than any shade of death."

"Janus," Schala muttered angrily under her breath so that only Serge could hear, "sometimes you are not very wise. Only fools trifle with wraiths."

Making their way up towards the interior was not a light task. No paths had ever been laid on the island it seemed or, if they ever had been, they had long ago been destroyed or rotted away. So it was that their climb led them over terrain not only difficult to their legs, but frightening to their minds. Truly all four of them had seen things of terror, and faced dark evils of dread. But here it seemed that all those memories, hidden away and forgotten in dark recesses of their minds, returned anew and vibrant. And so as they walked they spoke little, their thoughts in grave disquiet.

Few places there were where some dead thing did not lie, and it seemed that spectres wandered ever at their sides and darted across the path in front of them and behind. Held at bay only by Janus' bidding, perhaps.

"How far must we go?" Crono asked wearily as they ascended yet another rise. Master of any path that he was, even he found the trail overtaxing.

"Till our pursuers have no hope of finding us," Janus said plainly, though weariness showed in his voice as well.

"Janus," Crono whispered harshly in frustration as he turned to face Janus, "I account myself a better tracker than any those that follow us," he said breathing heavily, "and I would never be able to find us even had we walked but a quarter hour into this accursed land. And here we are, having walked for near to a full hour. The sun is gone, and I cannot see well anymore. Do you revel in leading us over such ground?" he added, glancing in disgust at his feet.

Serge, though he had remained quiet till then, felt likewise.

"You may have good eyes at night Janus, but I sure don't," he said, his words trailing off as he stumbled over what was yet another corpse. "And I really don't appreciate being led over a graveyard like this, especially not at night."

He broke off with a chill shudder. Not only was he tired, sore, and ashamedly frightened by the ghastly land they were travelling over, but he also felt near to sickness over the smell of death that was thick in the air.

"Can we not make camp now?" Schala demanded.

Sighing in frustration, but seeing that the other three were adamant about halting, Janus relented, albeit grudgingly.

"Very well. If you order it, we can make camp here. Take care not to disturb the bones overmuch, but we shall be as safe here as anywhere."

"Don't disturb the bones," Serge muttered to Schala at his side. "How can we help it? The ground's covered in them."

Schala shook her head, stealing an angry glance as her brother gazed the other way.

"He is too sure in himself," she whispered to Serge. "Not a few times has it nearly led to his ruin. I only hope that this is not the occasion when his devil's luck leaves him."

She drew a small lamp from her pack. Running her hand across the top, a small flame lit up in the inside, casting a soft haunting glow about the area. It was only in the light of the lamp that Serge saw just how dark it had been a moment before.

"Schala!" Janus whispered sharply from a short distance away. "Drown that light at once! Do you wish to bring their entire armada down upon us?"

Schala did not respond, but stared sharply into the darkness beyond Janus.

"Schala!" Janus repeated, vexation in his voice.

Drawn out of her silence by her brother's demand, she shifted her eyes onto him.

"If you wish. But I should hope that you then exercise more power over the dead than you are now doing."

"What do you say?" Janus questioned sharply, much frustrated by the fact that she still had not quenched the lamp.

"Turn about, then," she replied simply, motioning her hand to a place behind her brother.

He turned sharply, then started so suddenly that he nearly fell to the ground. In fear Serge wondered how Schala had been so calm a moment before. Behind Janus a pair of menacing eyes glowered, the being to which they belonged either hidden in the shadows, or simply a part of them.

"Curses," he murmured, seeing the eyes so close to where he sat.

"Tinkalach! Tarsad tagel!" he whispered shortly, sweeping his hand with a motion of command.

The eyes shimmered more darkly for a moment, and Serge feared that they would not relent. But the power of Janus was greater than they, and an instant later they dimmed and faded back into the darkness from where they had come.

"Ah! Elth aith asant il tina diomo, brother? You see," Schala said gravely, "even you can be taken unawares. Moreover, if you look out to sea, what is there?"

Janus looked out into the blackness, his keen eyes attempting to pierce the night.

"Nothing," he said at last. "I cannot see anything."

Schala nodded, looking upward.

"And above us, what do you see there?"

The other three all cast their gaze skyward, wondering at what she meant. There sat the moon, its silver glow the only light besides that of the lamp. For a moment they did not see anything amiss. Then Serge understood.

"There are no stars," he said, slightly worried. He would have accounted this to an overcast sky, but the moon shone clear, free of clouds.

"That's right," Schala answered as the others once more took to looking at her. "If we cannot see so much as the stars, and cannot see the lights of the galleons, do you truly think that those following us would see one small lantern?"

None answered. They all, Janus as well anybody, knew the truth of the matter. As much as he disliked being proven wrong, he knew his sister was right in this.

"And," she continued, adding to her argument, "I truly doubt that they would be fool enough to set foot on this island at night, as we have been."

"It was not foolish, my sister," Janus replied crossly, not overlooking the accusations against his counsel any longer.

"If not foolish, it certainly was not wisdom," Schala muttered under her breath.

"Schala, let us not argue any longer," Crono said, having somehow overheard her. "Morning will prove Janus right or wrong. We take watches, two at a time. Janus, it would be best that you and I take first watch," he added, looking pointedly over to Schala.

Janus nodded, wrapping his cloak about him.

"Serge, you and Schala try and get some rest," Crono commanded, sitting down cross-legged. "Your watch will come soon enough."

Serge attempted to sleep, as did Schala. But, for several reasons, no rest found them. Firstly, for Serge, who was accustomed to sleeping in a bed rather than outdoors, the rough earth made finding rest difficult. Secondly, and even worse, the brooding feelings of evil and darkness that had haunted their minds on the walk seemed even more potent as they unguarded their minds in preparation for sleep. Into Serge's tired mind phantoms of dark memories crept. At times he half saw his now long dead nemesis Lynx rise up in front of him in the darkness, his piercing cat's eyes glaring menacingly. At others his mind recalled with awful clarity the bloodied knife with which Lynx had stabbed Kid, whilst he had been unable to help her. Amidst such imaginings of horror and fear, Serge could find no rest. Finally he sat up, hoping at the least to dispel his half-dreams. Schala, he saw, also sat up.

"I'm afraid we'll find no rest here, Serge," she said with a short yawn, "no matter how tired we may be."

"You cannot sleep?" Crono called from where he held watch.

Schala shook her head.

"Whenever I shut my eyes," she said with a shiver of fear, "I see Lavos. I feel his presence as I did in the Tesseract. An echo of an evil memory, nothing more. But I cannot overcome it, at least not enough to sleep. You and Janus rest. Serge and I will keep watch."

"I," the voice of Janus said with uncommon frailty, "I do not think I shall be able to find rest either."

Serge peered into the dim edges of the light where Janus sat at his place. It made him shiver to see the wizard so for the flickering lamplight made him appear as a ghost himself, his sunken and sharp features more akin to a terror of the night than a living man.

"Janus?" Schala queried with concern, "Are you alright?"

"Yes. Es adah saio aith aichos," he replied with some distance in his voice, "but I would that you not speak to me, and allow me my peace."

What it was that haunted his mind, whether some dark memory from the past or simply the evil of the place, he did not say. And none of them sought to question him further. But try as he might Crono could not sleep either, and finally they all resigned themselves to remaining awake throughout the night. To keep their minds from darkness, and partly in fear from the groans and haunted whispers that swept the island, they took to tale telling. Serge spent time recounting those of his adventures that the others knew little of whilst the others listened quietly. This Crono too took up in his turn, telling of his last battle with the great evil Lavos. Even Janus broke his wonted silence to give his words of embellishment to this tale. To Serge it sounded as though it had been epic, a great battle more dire and incredible than any he had faced in his time. When they had finished, however, Schala hinted to him quietly that it had been twenty years since that duel, and that in the telling the details may have been made to seem grander than they truly were; that it was unlikely that Janus had single handedly wrestled with Lavos before Crono had struck the creature the death blow. Or, moreover, that they had exchanged insults with the Evil (greatly though Crono professed this to be true).

But Serge did not care overmuch if the facts were left behind somewhat. The talk of vanquishing evil and brighter futures had a way of clearing away the gloom that sat in their minds and made the night pass more swiftly. So, even as Schala was beginning to speak a few words of her own, a tale long forgotten that came out of ancient Zeal, the first rays of the dawn sun touched upon them. The four stood to greet the sun wearily, though much relieved that morning had come at last.

"Aha!" Crono yelled jubilantly as his eyes sought the ocean. "I was wrong to doubt your counsel, Janus! We have come safely through the night, and now have evaded those seeking us."

He looked out to the sea with a smile upon his lips, seeing the five galleons drawing in their anchors.

"They shall never think to look for us behind them, and so I trust that we can now come safely to Guardia."

Janus proudly rose beside him, sharing in the sight.

"As always, I have chosen rightly. Next time, do not doubt me."

Schala herself stole but a fleeting glance to the distant seas. She shrugged, though without any smile.

"Your luck has held true, brother," she whispered from behind into his ear as she passed him. "For now. I foresee it will not always be so. It is always the weakest that defeat you, not the strongest."

He turned his eyes to look to where she walked away from him, as if she had not said a word.

"Whatever for do you say that, Schala?" he asked with a curious confusion in his tone.

She turned slowly, a grim smile crossing her lips.

"Too long have you been fortunate. Never does fortune last forever. And as you said those words, a chill of foreboding crossed my mind."

He blinked and looked at her searchingly in confusion.

"Your ways are strange, my sister. I do not doubt you, but I also know that you yourself cannot wholly see what it is that is shown to you. Take care that you are not overzealous in your dire predictions, sister," he returned carefully.

She cast up her hands in silent submission, and turned her eyes away from him.

"Well now, let us make for the boats," Crono said, breaking the silence that followed their words.

Serge nodded, feeling all the more as a follower in this adventure as its hours passed. It had not been so the last time, but here he felt no desire to lead. Perhaps it was the company of more stern and determined leaders than he, or maybe it only meant he was finally finding his place in this quest. This he hoped. He did not care if he was to be a follower the whole road, so long as he knew what fate was upon him. Still...

"Halt!" Crono whispered harshly, raising his hand in alarm. As swiftly as a hunted deer he leaped into hiding amidst the rocks. Serge and the others also sought hiding places, looking questioningly to Crono.

"Quiet!" he said near silently. He motioned urgently over the rocks at a nearby gully that their path led into.

From their hidden places they could see nothing. The grim terrain brooded in silent menace, and the sea wind wandered slowly in from the ocean, stale from passing over the land. Serge raised his hands in question, unsure as to their sudden furtiveness.

But then he the voices, barely carrying up the cleft in the rocks to his ears.

"Captain Norris, if I were to offer my opinion...," he heard a voice say. It stopped as if interrupted by a quick reply, but he could not mark what was said in reply. Norris. Little wonder they had had such trouble evading the galleons. He was no fool, Serge remembered. But the last time his quick minded stratagems and war-skills had been used to aid Serge. He found himself wondering if they should not surrender themselves, and find some way to bring Norris back to his rightful memories. But his contemplations were stilled, for the voices continued, now louder and presumably closer.

"Sir, I do not think they would have spent the night on this damned island. I didn't even know an accursed place like this existed. Bones and rot everywhere, even in the daylight," the one who had spoked before continued.

"Peace, lieutenant. You're new to the Black Wind. I've been hunting this 'prince of Guardia' for near to two years now. I've underestimated him once too often to think lightly of him."

Serge shook his head. Norris had been hunting Crono for two years? Norris had never told him that before. Then again, there had been no reason to do so. To Serge himself Crono's name had meant next to nothing until the last day.

"Sir!" a new voice interrupted hastily. "The sorcerers say that they cannot sense a thing on this island. Our magic is blind here."

For a moment there was a pause. Then Norris spoke again.

"Shrewd. A wise move, Crono," he said, speaking noticeably to the wind. "I was too eager to capture you, and in reaching out my hand to ensnare you have had you yet again slip from my grasp. No matter. Wherever you may be, wherever you flee to, you will yet be mine," he said with resolution, then continued in command to his soldiers. "Return to the ships. They have a night's sailing on us. We must be swift if we wish to overtake them now."

With heavy footfalls the sounds of the troop faded down the hills and in return to the shore. When only the whispers and groans of the isle met their ears, they felt it safe to stand again.

"You know Norris?" Serge asked of Crono as they cautiously crept down the cleft and along the shoreward paths.

Crono nodded, carefully leaping down a small cliff that fell downward some twenty feet.

"This is not the same path we followed upward, Janus," Crono said curiously.

"Verily, it is, Crono. But come now! You cannot expect this island to be faithful to truth. But can you not feel it? It is full of deception," Janus replied cryptically, landing with surprising lightness at Crono's side.

"A memory of Lavos," Crono muttered. "His shadow lingers yet in forgotten corners of this planet, I see..."

Schala followed the first two down, albeit with more grace.

Finally Serge, carefully judging his fall, dropped down.

"You didn't answer me," Serge said to Crono, halting him in his tracks.

"Yes, I know Captain Norris," Crono said bitterly. "And I know well enough that you were comrades with him once. But he has been a thorn in my side these last two years."

He turned, a grim anger on his face.

"It was his trap that ensnared Marle two months ago," Crono said. "He is a shrewd commander of men. Whatever he may be to you, until some great deed shows me otherwise, he is my mortal enemy, and I will not pause to kill him if I have the chance. I half wish Janus had done so three nights ago. It would have spared us much difficulty, I think."

"He is a good person," Serge argued weakly. "He really thinks you're evil, otherwise he wouldn't hunt you down like he is."

"And who shall tell him otherwise, Serge? You?" Crono asked. "No. Remember, he does not know you anymore. He may not be evil at heart but he is, willing or unwilling, the pawn of Porre, and so is at needs my enemy."

"Can't you forgive him, Crono? Somehow have him join your side?"

But Crono laughed.

"Join my side? The great captain Norris breaking faith with the Empire to fight alongside a brigand? Ha, that is a laughing matter. But I see, now, why you say this: you're too kind-hearted. I used to be very much like that, but twenty years has hardened me. No, I fear that Norris is very much my enemy, as is he yours now. I am sorry. I know it is difficult to find yourself at odds with an old friend, but that is how things need be in this tale."

Serge shook his head thoughtfully. He could not bring himself to believe that Norris, great-hearted Norris, was now his enemy. He could not shake the hope, naive though he knew it to be, that through some twist of fate Norris might see that he served the wrong side and come to ally with Serge again.

"Serge?"

It was Schala that now spoke.

"You alright?" she asked in concern, fixing her piercing eyes on him.

"Fine. I just hope it doesn't come to..."

"To fighting old friends," she answered for him. "I know. You forget that I, too, knew Norris. A good man, as you say. But as a servant of our enemies he is a dangerous foe."

"You three talk too long," Janus muttered, taking up stride down the path. "At this rate it shall be twilight again before we reach the boats. Enough of this worrying and childish naivety. What will come will come, and you, Serge," he said, casting his crimson eyes Serge's direction, "can do yourself no good in contemplating these things so much. You would do well to pay less heed to your feelings and more to the sense of your mind."

The three glanced amongst themselves and found that, with those words, their conversation had come to an end. So it was in relative silence they struggled their way down the slopes of the island.

Why had he come along on this? Serge continued to wonder as he followed his comrades. To what purpose and end was he needed? Because Schala had insisted upon it, he concluded. She had admonished Crono to seek him out, he remembered. She it was who had sent out her comrades in an attempt to draw him from his village so that she might speak to him. Were her feelings of gratitude to him that great that? Perhaps, though something troubled him, and he could not place what it was. But at the very least her summoning of him from his peace had served some greater purpose than a simple thanks. Crono did indeed need his help, though he found himself now unsure as to what his part was to be. But to fight friends... he did not think that he could bring himself to do such a thing. He did not have the will.

But perhaps Janus had spoken wisely, he decided. Such things one cannot know till one is tested, and that time was not yet upon him yet. To wonder the outcome of a trial days or months in his future was to no avail. He checked his mind of his thoughts therefore, and forced a peace onto his heart. Fate would reveal his part in this in the eventuality of time. Time would tell...

----

From that day onward their luck held true. They gained the boats without trouble, and were on the seas again before mid-morning was upon them. Having now slipped behind their pursuers they found themselves safe from most any danger, save that of the sea itself. And it, they found, took a fond liking to them. Small winds whipped about the seas as is usually the case, but they met no storms. At least nothing that was out of Serge's skill to weather. In this time Serge learned much about Crono, and for his part he recounted all that he could remember of his own life. Schala listened much, but also gave her own tales (most often tales of daring that she had experienced in her life as Kid, by Serge's side, but also some more ancient ones from Zeal) . So it was that the trip went by swiftly, and not unpleasantly. When finally they sighted Guardia in the far distance it was the morning of the fifteenth of October, a full half month since setting out from El Nido. It was a chill day and the sky was filled with wisps of cloud.

Long though the sail had been, Serge did not begrudge it. He found that he had made as firm a friendship with Crono as he had ever had with any of the others he had travelled with, save that which he had had and still held with Kid herself. And for his part he felt that his old strength was returning to him. Slowly, certainly, but rising none the less. He no longer felt out of place in the group, and could think of few others whose company he would rather share in friendship.

Looking up across the bow of the boat Serge saw for the first the rocky coasts that lined the western ridges of the great land that had once been Guardia. Great cliffs, grim in the wan light of the autumn sun, cut from the rocks of the land through a thousand thousand years of waves beating upon those shores. The cliff-tops were no less than fifty feet from the surf, affording no place to beach the boats. They would have to sail the length of the coast in order to find a landing beach.

"The western coasts of Guardia," Crono pointed out to Serge needlessly. It seemed altogether grim to look upon those stony shores and cliffs upon which the surf broke violently. His own homeland near always, winter or summer regardless, seemed alive with abundant colours. The palm trees grew eternally green along golden beaches, and the sky most often was a cloudless blue. But not here. Here the hues of the land seemed to be in shades of grey and brown, and the green that crowned the landscape seemed somewhat more glum than at home. It was old, full of much history. And it was into this grim and ancient land that his destiny led him, he knew.

"It is Fall, and the western coasts are never a glad sight to see," Crono said, seeing that Serge doubtfully contemplated the land. "The east is far more pleasant, and autumn has beauty of its own in my country."

Serge nodded. Whatever it might appear as to him, this at least was true: they had reached Guardia at long last.

It took the better part of the day to sail the coasts. The great cliffs, Serge discovered, were quite common along the seashore. And, moreover, they had sailed too far north. As Crono told him, to go ashore here would be of little use. To come to the villages and towns of Guardia they would have to go south as it was. It would be a swifter journey to do by sea.

But it was not a long one, however. By twilight they at last found themselves with only the eastward journey across the fields and woods of Guardia remaining, and so went ashore.

As night fell the group had managed to set up a crude camp in a small stretch of stony beach that lay between the sea and the eaves of a dark forest that Crono said were named the Heckran Woods. They sat around the small campfire, the chill evening wind still managing to bite into their skin. Serge shivered and crept closer to the warm flames of the burning fire. Meanwhile they held council regarding what their plans should be. Crono was the first to speak, being the natural leader of the party.

"So, we are in Guardia at last," he said, tossing a branch into the flames where it sparked and was engulfed, "Now we must decide what we will do. If my counsel were to be heeded, our first mission is to free the person who is missing from this league," he paused for a moment, "or whatever it may be called."

Crono stood and began pacing around, his breath leaving grew plumes of smoke evaporating into the night air.

"Marle. Certainly not only because she is my wife, but for her war-skill: her touch with a crossbow is remarkable, as I am sure you will remember, Janus. And," he continued, "not to be forgotten, her healing sorcery is likely unparalleled in all this world. We will have need of that in time, no matter how good our luck may seem."

Serge and Schala nodded their agreement silently, all the while creeping nearer to the warmth of the campfire. Neither had much liking to the chill weather native to Guardia. Janus, for his part, didn't reply, and Crono took his silence as affirmation.

"Now, this is a difficult matter as she is certainly imprisoned within the strongest fastness in the land. This is, without doubt, the castle of Guardia."

This stirred Janus from his silence.

"And in what way is this a problem, praytell?"

"It means that we will not be wandering in the front gate, at any rate. Not without an army at our heels," Crono replied.

Janus gave a short laugh that showed his disdain for this over-caution, as he saw it.

"You had little problem doing so when you assaulted my fortress. Why, Crono, I think you are becoming fearful in your age."

Crono cast Janus a vexed look.

"Janus, that was twenty years ago. Over four hundred years by the reckoning of history. Regardless, it was a very long time ago. We were young then; brave and fearless, yet reckless and foolish. Almost it was our undoing there. I would that we do things differently now, and not tempt fate yet again."

"Aha! So you are weak now, and frightened of death. My, my, you're getting cowardly. What happened to that fearless young boy who defied me, the great Sorcerer of the Mystics, in my very own fortress, and lived to defy the mighty demon Lavos?"

Crono laughed at Janus' taunting mockery; it had been many a long year since he had heard it so, and it brought to memory his youth, when the wizard had ever spoken to him so.

"He grew up and learned wisdom to temper his wild heart. I was fortunate, that was all."

"And yet you did succeed, in spite of me. And, you know well what is said, that fortune favours the bold."

Crono laughed, his voice echoing deeply throughout the cold night air.

"Ha! Perhaps. Such things are never without truth, but it should end with 'for a time'. It abandons its favoured when they need it most. We both remember the disaster that befell us at the Ocean Palace."

Janus muttered to himself.

"And yet chance and fate saw to it that that did work for the best, in the end."

Crono merely shook his head.

"Nevermind. No, we cannot do that here. These Porre soldiers are hardly fools as your captains were. At your fortress they were so arrogant that they opened the doors to us, thinking us but little danger."

Janus sat back with another laugh.

"Oh, yes, I had forgotten my pitiful Field-Lord. That fool underestimated you to the last."

Schala stood up and broke into the prattle between the to.

"Enough of the past, I am beyond caring. What of the future? What of tomorrow? For what it's worth Janus, I agree with Crono. Stealth would serve us far better."

Crono nodded.

"So wisdom agrees with me. As I was saying, we must find another way of achieving this end. We may be mighty, but remember: but one arrow can still kill us, as it can anybody. And we cannot face too many foes or else be overwhelmed. No, indeed, we cannot risk raising the whole castle against us."

Serge turned from his spot by the fire.

"And I guess you already have this planned out, or something?"

Crono nodded.

"Yes, I do have a faint idea. Only a small chance, but it is worth a try, at the least."

He knelt down beside the fire and, drawing out a knife, began sketching in the dirt a simple map of the fortress. "Inside the castle is an ancient cathedral. It is built as part of the outer wall," he continued, motioning to what he had etched. "And this cathedral is connected to a small system of old catacombs where many of the kings and nobles are buried from the early centuries of Guardia. I have only been down there on occasion, but I'm near sure that there is some channel into it from outside the walls."

Janus laughed at this, saying:

"But you don't know with certainty, do you?"

Crono stood with some frustration.

"Certainly not, but we will find a way. If all else fails we can climb the battlements, and assault the prisons from the top."

Janus sneered and shook his head.

"The front is still the wiser choice, if any should ever listen to me."

"Oh, shut up you fool, will you!" Schala shouted. "Cease mocking him, Janus. This is most serious!"

Serge broke in, standing from his spot on the cold ground.

"Which of us should go then. If we're going to try and sneak in, I think only two of us should go."

Crono frowned in thought for a second, and at last said:

"I agree. Two can guard each other better than one, but with three we are too many and would be spotted. All right then, this will be our plan. In the morning we will make for Truce village. Several days journey from here, but it is my old home, and within less than half a days walk of Guardia castle. Then we'll wait for nightfall and, while you and Janus wait for us," he nodded to Schala, "Serge and I will attempt this."

"Why him?" Janus asked, standing up, his face glowing like a spectre in the soft light of the moon and fire.

"I am more powerful. Why not me, or my even my sister."

"Because, little brother," Schala laughed in interruption to his protest, "you're likely to try and take on the entire castle on your own. And somebodies gotta watch you and make sure you stay out of trouble."

Janus sneered at her and moved off into the shadows, sulking.

Schala chuckled grimly at this.

"He is...too sure of his own power. Much too sure," she said breaking off into a mutter.

Anyway," she continued, raising her voice again, "Crono, I agree with you."

She pulled her dagger from her side and examined its glinting blade in the firelight.

"Ah, I had hoped never to have to use this again."

"But such are the times we find ourselves in," Crono replied, "and our hope is often betrayed with reality. No, to go to war is not a choice I would gladly make. But I have been fighting too long to not see the obvious truth. It may be unavoidable if Guardia is to be reborn. Never do things come about without some sacrifice. For almost every good that is accomplished, some evil occurs, someone must suffer. That is the way with things, the balance in this cursed world."

Schala nodded, still looking at the knife upon which the shimmer of the campfire danced crimson.

"Yes, I know that certainly. That wisdom my years of grief have taught me. But, we shall not worry our hearts with such things now, upon the eve of a quest..."

She looked around the fire, studying the group gathered, her darkened countenance breaking into a smile.

"Once again are some gathered together to defy the order of the world. And here we have those who have passed the bounds of time," she looked to Crono, "survived the shadow," she nodded to Janus, who still sat in the darkness, "and have crossed the doors between the dimensions," she concluded, allowing her gaze to rest on Serge.

"What a company," she said distantly, looking up absently to the stars as she paused in her words.

After a moment she returned her gaze to the party, continuing her speaking, "Unlike any that was ever before. Together," she said with a smile, nodding her head knowingly. "Together, if we remain united and undivided, we could do much. The hope that is inspired by heroes may call to the hearts of simple folk and people unforseen valour, and that is the power that has felled many a mighty empire since the beginning of the world."

Crono smiled, glancing about the group.

"Well, here are the heroes!" he cried gladly.

Schala nodded, and said:

"And I, for one, swear that so long as this company lasts, so long as but one other remains, I shall remain forever faithful and loyal to you," she looked around at them each in turn. "So long as I still have life and breath in me I shall be ever there in my friends' need, and shall not forsake them, though either pain or death be the path. And let anyone gainsay that oath at his peril!"

She flung her dagger back into the scabbard. Serge was quick to respond.

"I'll swear to that also. I swear on my sword, the holy sword Masamune, that I will be always loyal to the three of you."

Crono swung out his own sword and held the grip to his heart, the blade pointing down, glinting red in the firelight.

"And I on this, my rainbow sword made of the craft of ancient Zeal, which dealt death unto the demon Lavos, will swear to the same. Amicus usque ad aras, as the Romans would say. Let only death break this vow."

Janus chuckled. He had rarely had much use for oaths. Yet he too knew what loyalty was, and honour was in him also. He once before swore to protect his sister, no matter what, and by that oath he still bound himself. Therefore he too stepped into the firelight and, for the first time since Serge had seen him, a true smile, not of darkness, crossed his lips.

"And I, Janus, prince of the ancient kingdom of Zeal that is now beneath the waves, swear to keep this promise, too. Let us be justly feared by our enemies, for now the Lord Magus fights along side as a brother."

Schala smiled even more so than before.

"Excellent! So tomorrow we set forth once more, and may the dawn bring us a beautiful day on which to begin this quest, the quest to restore the throne of Guardia. But now," she broke into a smile, "Now I'm bloody tired and want to sleep."

(Last Edited August 28, 2004)