CHAPTER XVIII

SHADOWS FROM THE SOUTH

Fate is never fully kind in its dealings with men. Ever and anon when a seeming end is reached, and all prepare to rest after hard labour, it is found that it is simply the beginning. And so it was with Guardia.

It was upon the thirteenth of April that the tidings came to the castle: an army was marching north from Porre.

When Serge rushed into the council hall the other four were already gathered, all standing about the great table. Upon it was spread a map of the continent of Zenan. The four were in the midst of earnest discussion, but when Serge came in they looked up and greeted him.

"How bad is it?" he asked at once, striding to the table.

Janus shrugged his shoulders.

"I myself have only now arrived, and Crono has not told us yet," he said, glancing at the king. "Crono?"

Crono leaned over the map, tracing his fingers along a region that covered the entire north of Porre.

"I have learned that they are somewhere in these lands as we speak, and marching north by the day."

"What is this you say?" Janus asked, looking over the map carefully. "You mean to say that they are only coming by land? Not by ship? That would be a peculiar thing for Porre; they are a sea power, and have ever favoured swift landings to long marches."

"It is most certainly strange," Crono said. "And it disquiets me. But my spies have told me that every ship in their fleet is yet harboured. Their entire North Army is marching north, however," he said grimly. "That is not a light matter; it is their strongest by far: eight field divisions from the north provinces; that is four legions of two and a half thousand men: the seventh, eighth, ninth, and the twelfth. A full ten thousand men-at-arms, and they will without doubt field their cavalry."

Serge whistled.

"They really want Guardia back, don't they," he said awestruck.

"It appears so," Crono replied. "And we haven't the forces to match theirs."

"Where will they strike?" Schala asked, then of her own understanding answered: "They must mean to come direct to this fortress. One does not send ten thousand to harry farmers and villagers."

Crono nodded.

"Indeed not. But we cannot hold out in a siege against such a legion, not unless the hosts of heaven stood by my side. Ai, ai..." he muttered, looking down at the great map. At last, as if coming to a firm decision, he nodded his head, and said: "But one course is left to us. They are coming by land, and therefore they..."

"They must cross the Zenan Bridge," Janus said for him. "As my armies did as well, over four hundred years ago. We found your welcome on the far side more grim than we had looked for, however. A most grievous affray for my army, I must admit."

Crono shook his head.

"It will not be so glorious now," he said with a distant voice. "The waytower that guards the middle will not stand, and on the far side we are most surely outnumbered. If I were to raise every able man and boy in this entire land, we would have how many?"

"Forty thousands, father," Sigurd replied at once. "And that would be the boldest, only. If need pressed, we could rally thrice that."

"But by next week?" he said shaking his head. "When we rallied Guardia last winter seven thousand stood by my side. I do not think to do much better this spring. Perhaps nine thousand, if we are fortunate. And, moreover, I must leave some to hold this castle. I do not reckon on more than eight thousand." He appeared grim as he added: "Eight against ten."

"We have nothing to fear," Sigurd replied with a smile. "Guardia has ever been outmatched, and always prevailed in the end. Your Mystics, my Lord Janus, are a testament to this."

Janus nodded bitterly, perhaps ill-favoured over being reminded of such a defeat.

"Twenty five thousand I sent north. I lost two full legions in the first battles, and you lost but hundreds. Guardia was certainly stronger four hundred years ago yet, even so, how much does a people change?"

Crono sighed, saying:

"Many things made that victory: your Field-Lord was a fool, and overran his victories into traps. And in that year our longbows were yet a new thing, as fearful to your armies as the guns of Porre would later be to ours: we shot our arrows as though they were rain, and ever kept ourselves at a distance from your swords. But we cannot look for such a victory here."

"And yet it is only ten thousands now," Sigurd pressed. "My Lords and my father: I would counsel we march."

For a brief space there was silence. Then Crono nodded with agreement.

"It is the only course left to us, rash though it may seem. We cannot hold this castle forever, and in marching now we may at least make the battleground of our choosing. If we can force the battle to be in the Annoth-Tin fields at the bridgehead, then it may be better for us. The land there is good for the defenders."

"Ah, wonderful," Sigurd replied. "When do we march?"

"A week's time; I think that both more and less should lead us to ruin," Crono said. "At the end of this I will lead the army south, with Schala, Serge, and Janus in my company."

"But," Sigurd said, suddenly angered, "what then of me? You would leave me behind?"

"You shall remain in the fortress, and be the steward of Guardia," Crono answered.

"Do you not trust my sword in the field? Any chancellor can rise to such a position!" Sigurd replied in rising anger.

"No, child," Crono said softly, "if it is royal blood it would be for the best. You shall stay, and mount a final defence of the fortress if ends come to it."

Sigurd turned away sharply.

"Royal blood is meaningless in Guardia," he muttered. "You yourself, father, are of common blood. And is not every kingly line but risen from the ranks of commoners? I pray, do not leave me to sit idle on a throne! Do you think so little of my sword that you so lightly throw it aside?"

Crono sighed, but would not yield.

"Whatever might be, I am yet king, and will not have my wishes gainsaid, not even by you. It is my will that you be Steward, and by that choice you will abide, whether you wish it or no."

Sigurd glanced crossly at his father and, with not a word, strode from the chamber with an angered pace.

"Crono, you might have been a space kinder to your son," Janus said when at last the heavy footsteps had died away.

"Kinder? Do not make me laugh. Who are you to admonish kind words, or to deal advice on the raising of a prince? I have no need for your words on this matter," he said, casting a vexed look upon him.

"Yet remember, Crono, that you look upon a prince. Think you that a commoner such as you can raise a kingly heir better than one of high lineage? Knowledge of it is in my very blood, and if you were wise you should listen to my counsels."

"A commoner? If you look about you, Janus, take note that I am a held to be a king, in despite of what I may have been at my birth. You, friend, are bereft of your titles; save for the lordship I have granted you in this land of mine, you have no standing greater than that of a commoner."

Janus did not take kindly to these words, as might well be thought.

"Ai! Do not be a fool and cross me! To be a prince of Zeal, if only for one's youth, is a greater honour than to be even king of such a land for a millennia; tis better to be servant among gilt jewels than lord of ashes, the saying went in Zeal. And aside my ancient land, what more is Guardia than a field of dust?"

"Curse you," Crono muttered under his breath. "Do you not see that you are the only fool? For all your high-held blood lineage, this kingdom of mine outfought your precious Mystics; only in numbers did you press forward your assaults, and with heavy loss, as you must surely remember. History judges that, in the end, we won that war. It stands as a testament to your weak skill at rule and kingship."

At which Janus cast a most bitter scowl at Crono.

"Arrogant child," he hissed, and turned about, perhaps angered for the twofold reason of Crono's words being truth, and he finding no fitting reply to them. He strode to the door with yet more vehemence than Sigurd had done a minute before, and flung it open.

"Curses upon you for eternity; I had thought that you would have learned some wisdom, at least, in our time apart. But you are as foolish as ever, Lord Kronos."

Without another word he strode into the far hall, leaving only three.

"He's always been like that, hasn't he?" Serge asked of Schala as Crono, too, left, leaving the two alone for whatever words they might share.

Schala nodded.

"Very nearly. At the very least so long as he can remember, which is since he was a young child."

She turned and looked at him with a strange eye.

"You think ill of him for it? Serge, do not fault him too much: he has suffered the span of his life. Remember what he has said: Lavos has left a deep scar. He knows his own follies well enough, I dare-say, but cannot act contrary to what is his nature. I am certain he repents most bitterly every day of his vehemence and anger, but is cursed with being ever in thrall to it. And this, too: if you would judge him, you must do the very same against me, for he and I are not so far removed of mind."

"No, you're quite different," Serge said quite adamantly. "He's very bitter with nearly everyone, even his friends; I'm glad that I can usually avoid him. But you seem calm, and..."

"You have said it! I seem one way. But, Serge, twixt, how I appear and how I truly am there is a great disparity, as it is with many things. Be wary in this world, and discern closely. For my mood is nearly the same as his," she said with a deep sigh. "I but dissemble it through a greater will, and allow what wisdom is mine to overrule foolish and misleading passion."

"I still don't believe it," Serge replied. But he saw or, rather, took a nearer note of his memory, thinking for the first the grim tone in which Schala spoke of some things.

"Have you never looked into my eyes?" she said to his disbelief. "Have you never seen that evil flame that burns within me?"

He nodded, and to his mind come the memory of her fell battle-mood. He had wondered about it at the time, but the continuing war had driven it from his mind. Only now did he think on it again.

"I am still a slave to that evil," she said softly. "And ever I am on the brink of falling to its corruption, and so I must always guard myself. That is why I do not welcome this new war. I do not wish to give that darkness a free hand to overcome me. And my heart forewarns me that if battle should fall upon us, which seems now a certainty, it will be difficult to restrain all my dark strength. This is even as it is for Janus, who is still a slave to his own dark will at times."

"Kid," he said, stressing her younger name, perhaps without thought saying it in the uncertainty of this dark talk, "how can you compare yourself to him? I've never heard you say anything wrong of anybody."

"Not with voice, no. But if you mark my eyes, the disdain is there nonetheless. To most my words are but lies or, rather, I say what I deem I should say, rather than what I feel and wish. I abhor the weakness that is shown by this rabble of peasants, though my reason tells me it is a groundless and dark pride, and only a grain of memory of my princess-hood grown to over-bearing pride through the corrupting touch of Lavos. But sins of the mind are no less grievous than those of speech."

"But your brother's way more critical and proud than you ever are, I'm sure," Serge insisted, but Schala only said:

"Ha! Is he, now? Again, Serge, you would be much mistaken if you think that that which is put forth in words is the only truth. To you I hold no ill feelings, but I am not as joyful as I may appear. Schala is every bit as bitter as Janus is," she paused a moment, then said: "No, the darkness is deeper. My brother had his mind tainted by ill teaching of sorcery and ceaseless thoughts of dark vengeance. But I, Schala of Zeal, am far darker than he, for I was joined with the blackest evil to ever afflict this world. If Lavos has left a mark upon Janus, how much more has he left a scar upon me. But for Kid, I would not be so much different than he is. Her righteousness, and Schala's wisdom, are perhaps the only things that hold the evil in guard."

She turned from Serge.

"Pray for my sake, and all those whom I might call enemy, that they never fail."

----

Schala did not speak to him more about such things, and he thought it best not to press her. If truth be told, it did not sit well with him to hear her speak so. He had ever thought her to be a soul matchless in goodness: someone to whom he and all people might look up to and learn ways of righteousness from. But when she spoke as she had, it dispelled any such grand thoughts, and tainted his memory of her. He wondered even after what, fully, she had meant by it. He realised himself slightly naive to think her unchanged by the Tesseract, and that the Chrono Cross could have cured all her hurts. But that her scar ran yet so deep? He had not fully understood that. She had ever made pains to hide it from him, and he had purposefully blinded himself to seeing it. For, though she was surely still his best of friends, she was not who she had once been, and would never again be that one.

He often spoke about this to Leena, but she counselled him to leave Schala to her own. After all, she said, Schala was, for the most part, an ancient princess whose lineage was higher and greater than any who yet lived save Janus alone. She did not need the counsel of any others, and if she willed it she would ask.

Even so he tried at questioning Janus about it more than once, but all the wizard would tell him was: "Schala is not a slave to anything but herself, and she is her own counsellor. Even I do not question her concerning this matter."

And so it was left at that, and all the while the preparations for war went onward, growing apace as the days wore nearer to when they must march. As could be expected, Leena did not take well to the prospect of yet another war, and more than once put forward that it might be best that they return to El Nido ere it began. But Serge was adamantly unwilling to leave Guardia to its own devices. Not only was he bound to it by friendship to its king, but he had been knighted now as a lord of its realms, and honour, then, compelled him to the war.

The twentieth of April dawned as might be expected in such a land as Guardia. The frost was heavy on the ground, the outcome of the springtime warring between the outgoing winter and approaching summer. But the sky was clear and blue, and bode well for the future. At the very least it was a more pleasant to set out upon than if it had been drear and cloudy. Serge took the early hours to one last time stand upon the battlements, as he had ever so many times in the winter months since they had laboured to retake this fortress.

"Omens may be but illusions of memory and the mind," Crono said, wandering up beside Serge. "But still, I feel that this is a fair beginning. The day is fresh and clear, and lightens my spirits."

Serge nodded, looking out over the plains of Guardia that seemed somewhat grey with the morning frost.

"For sure. Are we leaving yet?"

Crono shook his head.

"Not so soon. The first of the supply wains begin to leave late this morning; I will send a guard company with them, but we ourselves are not needed so soon. Our horses are swifter than the armies, anyhow. I do not think we will need set out till late this afternoon, and even that will afford us the leisure of a gentle pace. But all this brings me to a question."

"What?" said Serge.

"Why? Why do you still follow me? You have done me much service already; far more than I had begged of you. First you forsook your own land, and followed me on an ill-advised quest..."

Serge shrugged it aside, thinking to himself 'how could it have been otherwise?'

"...you have placed yourself in the way of mortal peril," Crono continued, "and all for the sake of a kingdom and king you had scant heard of. And now you continue to do so? Serge, your duties are now complete, and you have done deeds beyond the calling of honour. Leave now, and you will still be held in high esteem. I assure you this. Moreover, you have things you should not abandon now. What of your wife? Would you leave her to waste away in fearful waiting in this fortress while you ride with your battle-comrades?"

Serge leaned back against the battlements.

"Strange: that's nearly what she told me earlier today. She naturally told me not to go, and that you wouldn't fault me. She thinks we should leave for El-Nido as soon as possible."

"Then do so, Serge," Crono said, his face turning stern. "Do not continue to torture yourself so for a foreign kingdom. We are already indebted to you far more than we could repay."

"Well," Serge replied. "I think the debt's a lot smaller than you make it out to be; I didn't die, and a few worries and scars aren't new to me. Remember that I've fought worse battles before. And this all was my own choice. I'd leave it were over, but this isn't a new war: it's the end of the same one. I've got to stay till it's done; I can't leave now."

"Yes, you can," Crono returned. "I would not fault you."

"It wouldn't sit well with me. Your people would wonder, too, and no matter what you say, they'd think me a coward," said Serge. "Janus would curse me for a weakling if I left, also."

"But would you expect any less of him? He would name you a coward to leave, and a fool to stay. He seeks to find folly or cowardice in everything. It is not wise, and most tiring, to listen to him overmuch. But heed my words, my friend. Keep yourself from this; depart, and find your home elsewhere."

"Home," Serge said. "Yes, I want to go home. But, no, I can't."

"Serge," Crono sighed. "If you do not do so willingly then I should order as one of my knights to forsake this land."

Serge shook his head.

"You wouldn't, and I'm coming with you all. For the same reason that I came with you before: my hand and the Masamune can't just sit at the side and do nothing. Could I just sit back and let everyone else bleed and die? If I fight, that means that a few less of your people will die. You know that, and that's why I have to."

"That," Crono said, "is your hero's tongue speaking. What, now, of last winter, when you desired naught more than to return home?"

Serge shook his head once more, and paced a few steps along the battlement. He glanced down into the courtyard far below.

"But like you told me then, I wanted to go home to be with Leena. And she's with me now; I don't want for anything. And I can see what I should be doing rather than what I want," he looked up and met Crono's eyes. "I will be coming with you no matter what anyone else may say, for friendship if for nothing else."

Crono shook his head with a sigh.

"Very well. I did not think that I would be able to dissuade you."

"Leena put you up to this, didn't she?" Serge asked as Crono turned to leave.

Crono nodded.

"Certainly. She is most ill-disposed, I will have you know. As she told me, I was her last hope for having you see reason."

Serge smiled.

"But I do see reason. And I know she's not happy. But there are some things have to be done. Trust me, I'm no happier than she is. But really, do any of your people feel happy about leaving their families to fight?"

Crono nodded.

"A true point, if you were a son of Guardia," but he paused, and said: "Yet, you have bled with us upon the fields, so perhaps you are a blood-brother of my people then, at the least. And so I must now go and tell your wife I have failed in my mission."

Serge shook his head.

"I'll do that myself. I have to say my goodbyes yet. It may be the last time I see her."

"Serge," Crono said, "I fear for you, and what I have done to you. You said that as if nothing were the most common of things. Have I turned you into a warrior that you should speak thus? Remember who you truly are, and that, as you said to me on the day in which we rescued Marle, that you value peace over all. Never become familiar with death, or else it will become altogether too familiar with you."

Crono left him, and Serge looked grimly out over the plain. Perhaps his friend was right. Yet after all these battles, what was the coming one but a mere one more? Certainly he feared it, but not beyond reason, and it did not seem strange. He was keenly aware of his own mortality now as a fickle thing that ever hung in a balance mastered by fate. Now, would that be accounted for good or ill? Both, he thought with a silent laugh in his mind. If naught else he had grown, and that is near always for the better in the end. And through it all he still had Leena's love, and that was what was most dear to him. And for that reason he could elect to march to war without concern; he knew that, live or die, she would still love him always. And so now, at least, he would march free of doubt.

----

Things went well for the remainder of that day. Serge made his peace with his wife, at least so far as to make their parting as sweet as any may ever be when a loved one marches to war. Crono said farewell to all those that he knew in the fortress, and tried at reconciling himself with his son somewhat. In the end all that he received was a short formal bow, and best wishes. Sigurd was adamant to show his ill-favour at being kept from the war, and did not show more than royal courtesy to his father. It grieved Crono, but he judged that in this matter he knew better than his son, and took comfort in the knowing that Sigurd would surely come to see this in time.

So leaving the castle in the care of this ill-tempered steward they left. The company they rode with was small by any measure. But what guard did they need? There was no danger of assault in these regions of Guardia, and it would have been a foolish company, indeed, to try at challenging these four, who were worth a score of masterful knights apiece. And so as they went they talked brightly in some effort to dispel the shadows of war that were deepening upon them (all, that is, save for Janus, who seemed to revel in the grim foreboding of battle.) In this the weather, too, was kind to them, giving them joyful days of bright sun under which to travel.

On the third day, the twenty-third of April, they found had reached the verge of the Annoth-Tin plains that lay at the head of the Zenan bridge. Before them lay the assembled hosts of Guardia, having arrived the day before, and already the near edge of the field was strewn with the tents and palisade walls of a war-camp. Crono took some hours taking council with his chief captains, and when he at last thought all to be prepared the twilight was hard upon them. And so they made their own camp of captains some way from the main host, in an open glen that lay amidst a nearby stand of trees.

Though the next day would surely be one of much bloodshed, the night came pleasantly. No alarms of scouts or attack woke them, and sleep found them swiftly.

----

"Serge?" A voice behind him called. It seemed strange, for it was familiar, in some fashion. Yet its tone seemed nearly empty and hollow, as though speaking to him from afar, or through a cavernous expanse. He turned slowly, his mind swooning. He could mark none of his surroundings, and of all things about him only this strange and ghostly voice was clear as it called his name for a second time. And he feared what would meet his eyes when he turned.

At first he saw nothing. Then, slowly, coming from the fog enwound his eyes, a figure appeared. It seemed to be a man, no more than his stature. At this sight, Serge felt both fear and sadness. The ashen figure seemed as if born of the very mists, all in cloudy array and countenance. Serge had no doubt that, had he reached out to touch this thing, his hand would have passed through it as through smoke. But Serge did not move, and simply stood his place, fearing to approach, and unwilling to run. Before him the figure's eyes, as lifelessly grey as the colour of his flesh, seemed weary and mournful.

It was without question a wraith, a shade of death, come to visit him. Yet even so he could see well what it had been in life: a man of the ocean, for the sea worn lines upon his face not even his ghostly colour could hide. But the face that smiled mournfully at him now was not unfamiliar, and the eyes, though devoid of life-fire, seemed not unlike his own.

"You do remember me, Serge, do you not?" it questioned, hope clear in its hollow voice.

Serge nodded at this apparition.

"I wouldn't forget my own father. If that's who you are, because you are dead."

With a voice of deep sadness, the shade replied:

"Indeed, I am dead. Long have been the years since I walked the earth in life."

Serge looked about him.

"And this? Where am I? Is this Hades? Or is it a dream?"

The figure nodded slowly.

"A dream most surely. But take heart, child, that I am no illusion of your mind."

"Aren't you? If this is a dream, than aren't also? Has Zurvan opened its doors that the dead are coming to talk with the living?"

"Seldom is it that the departed may return even in thought amongst the living, for returning they bring with them knowledge of things that the living are not to know. But it has been ordained that I may come to you, if only in your sleep, for a time. And even so the time granted is but brief. Doubt me not."

And Serge did not. Whether convinced by the ever sorrowful eyes, or haunting voice, Serge did not think false of the words now spoken to him. He said:

"It's wonderful to see you, even in such a ghostly way, father. But why have you come to me now?"

"Right you are in asking this, Serge. We have little time in which to speak, and it is for no errand of fatherly meeting that I come hither, out of realms unknown to the living. For in death I perceive many things unknown to the living, and I know of what is to come. Listen! it is in warning that I have come to you."

The dark tone of the words, mingled with the ashen countenance of the speaker, made Serge's heart chill.

"Of what? Are you saying that we'll lost the battle tomorrow?"

"I cannot say. So much is not permitted. All I may do is admonish you to keep your guard, and be wary of your foes. Greater power than you know walks with their ranks."

"How can I guard myself against the unknown? Please, say more!"

The figure sadly shook its head.

"I cannot; I have sworn silence on my soul. But trust to your hope. Whatever lies in your future, ready yourself for much bitterness. It will not be over swiftly. But in these days will your future be born. Remember that you are not a simple boy any longer, such as I tried to save once. You are the master of the Masamune."

To this, Serge could not answer. It seemed this wraith of his father had come in dire warning. Yet, as it was oath-bound against speaking of what was to come, it but filled Serge with a fearful wonder of the unknown future. Then, to his father's side, came another voice, one he had never heard before.

"Your father speaks truly in this. Many hands have held this weapon called Masamune, and used it for both good and ill."

He turned to the new speaker. It was an old man, aged with years, and as shadowed as the form of his father. The cloudy raiment he bore was of a strange design, and seemed as if from an age long since gone.

"I am Melchior of Zeal, and by my hand was the Masamune forged," the figure said, "yet by others was it born into its true self. Its masters have been countless, and many have been the deeds of valour done through it. Yet in your hands, and in the hands of those you love, shall it come into the title that was given to it of old. Soon it shall be truly known by the name that has been destined for it from the first. It shall be forever Diom Tinao, the Death of the Shadows."

To Melchior's side Serge's father came, and nodded in affirmation of the words.

"The day draws near to fulfilment, Serge. Yet it shall not be with joy that these high things come to pass. Evil are the coming hours, and fraught with much sadness ere the glory is achieved. Therefore take care, my son, and may nothing vanquish your spirit. I will beg God's mercy and comfort to be upon you, my mighty son."

And with that as a parting word, he left. As if a wind from an unseen world were blowing them away, the two shades faded to fleeting mist, and from mist into nothingness.

(Last Edited September 21, 2004)