Stone Tablet Chapter 2: A Price Beyond Knowledge, a golden sun fanfic

Hello once again, my friends! I think this chapter's a little better . . . it's at least longer. Here are the review responses.

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Young Shadow -- Don't worry about me giving up! I'm already on chapter five, actually. Um . . . I take it you don't like Felix as much as Isaac. ^^;

Spirit Tamer -- Continuing quickly, as requested! *salutes*

Vyctori -- Two plugs, in fact! Thanks for the compliments, and the confusion should lighten a little sometime between chapters six and eight. Maybe more, not less (unless by one chapter). Oh, yes. Alfred was coming over, but I explained what a glomp is. *calls up tree* You can come down now!

Alfred: *clinging to tree branch* NO!

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There you go! Thanks also to EchoKazul, who tried to review but got her review eaten by Fanfiction.net. Now for the inspirations:

Inspirations and Sources

Azul Eclipse's Gather to Me. I heard about it by word of mouth, so I haven't actually read it yet. For the effects of the Tomegathericon.

Glossary for Chapter One

Caste: Indian social class

Dharma: Religious, also honour and duty

***

Yoshimi: Okay, enjoy the update, as well as it is possible!

Alfred: Disclaimer: Yoshimi doesn't own Golden Sun or anything in it, thank goodness.

Chapter One: A Price Beyond Knowledge

Camellia draped herself over a branch of the tamarisk tree in the middle of Kandorea, Indra, the small village nestled in the crook of the mountains' arms. As everyone knew, tamarisk trees were magical, so it lent an air of mystery over what was, not counting the temple ruins, a very ordinary, ramshackle village.

"Camellia?" a voice called from below.

She dropped down, bending her knees to absorb the impact as she landed in front of the two boys.

"Mm? What is it?" she asked, a little irritably. "And how did you know I was up there?"

"When are you not?" one of the boys, Simon replied gently. "Also, your sword brushed against the branches as the wind moved them."

She placed a hand on her sword, belted at her side. It was a family heirloom, different from any other sword she had ever seen. Despite it having passed down the generations of her father's family, it was still as bright as if newly forged. "It still could have been someone else," she said absently.

"There are only three people who carry a sword so openly in this village, and you are the only one who wears a dress. I heard the wind catch it."

"Shouldn't a Venus warrior be more careful about being discovered?" the other boy, Terry, asked and adjusted his grip on the basket he was carrying.

"Shouldn't a non-Adept pipsqueak be more respectful of Venus warriors?" she retorted. "Be quiet and respect your elders."

The eight year old turned red and nearly dropped his basket while yelling, "I am not short! I just haven't reached by growth spurt!"

"Sure, squirt," Camellia said airily, every inch the haughty teen.

Simon sighed. "I wish you two could get along," he said wistfully. "It would make things so much easier."

"Since when have I been concerned with making things easy?" they chorused, making a face when they realized that they had said it at the same time.

Simon sighed again. "Well, Master Forn told me that you were missing, again, from the group working on the restoration the temple. He asked me to tell you that you are going to get extra work tomorrow."

Camellia made an unlikely suggestion about what Master Forn could do with that idea, already thinking about how to escape work.

Simon, looking displeased, turned away and began walking down the path, planting his wooden stick in front of him. "Camellia, you know that Master Forn is only doing his job," he said to the air in front of him. "Terry, come here. Mrs Greit will need aid with her ankle."

Terry scowled. "I don't see why the assistant healer needs to be busier than the actual healer."

Simon glanced back over his shoulder. "You know full well that Miss Bernsford works very hard."

"Yeah, yeah," Terry said, scuffing his feet on the ground.

"Y'know, if I didn't know better," Camellia teased. "I'd think our ickle Simon had a crush on the village healer."

Simon turned his head away. "Of course I don't," he said quickly, his ears turning a delicate pink.

Camellia smiled. Someone who didn't know Simon as well as she did would think that she had hit a weak spot, but she knew that Simon would blush over almost anything; he couldn't help it.

She turned to see Terry silently sneaking away. She gave a crooked grin. Terry did not share Simon's workaholic nature.

"Terry," Simon said quietly. "If I were you, I would not be trying the east road. You might remember that Master Forn is looking for young volunteers at the temple."

Terry froze in mid-step. "Do you hear everything?"

Camellia knew the exact smile that Simon would be wearing at the moment. "I try to. Now, Mrs Greit."

Watching her younger friends walking down the road, she thought it incredible how easy it was to forget that Simon was blind.

***

Camellia dumped a pile of bricks into the dust, next to the wall under construction. She leaned against it, frustrated.

Master Forn noticed in an instant. "Hurry up," he instructed briskly. "Only fifteen more loads to go."

"Wondrous," she muttered grimly. "It's not like I haven't already carried several hundred."

Master Forn gave an exaggerated sigh of impatience. "You have carried six," he told her, tapping his foot on the dusty ground. "And considerably slower than you could. If you had been here when you were supposed to be, you would be done by now. Ah," he continued, holding up a hand as she opened her mouth. "You have told me several times over that you are going to be late for your sword lessons. It is your own fault, so continue working."

She grumbled. "As a warrior, I . . . ."

Master Forn's foot tapped faster, stirring up dust. "In a village such as this one, one man of the warrior caste is enough. Your father may have wished for one of his daughters to carry on the warrior caste of his family, but he is not lacking in wit to the extent that he is lacking in sons. He will understand that, for the good of the village, if you are going to take up the male's warrior caste, you should do the work assigned to normal village boys of your age. Many other sixteen year olds are doing the same task . . . at the right time of day, may I add."

"Master Rendal doesn't have to do any such menial tasks."

Master Forn's foot was now encased in a dust cloud. "He is an adult, full trained to the warrior's caste. He does his duty in the protection of the village, and he is enough for the protection." Master Forn turned away, bearing down on one of the sweepers. "Not there! You can't sweep the dust from the ground! In the stone floors. . . ."

Camellia sighed and walked over to the next load.

***

Finally! Freedom! Camellia raced along the streets, nearly singing in joy. Unfortunately, she didn't see Simon and Terry coming back from Mrs Greit's house.

From the pileup that ensued, Terry muttered, "Anyone would think you were the blind one."

"Now, now," Simon restrained himself from saying "children." "Be nice."

Camellia stuck out her tongue at Terry. "Yes?" she asked in an innocent voice.

Simon rubbed his eyes; a futile gesture he knew, but he couldn't stop the habit from those four short years ago when he could see.

"Well, well children," a strange voice said, sounding as if this were his second language. "How are we today?"

The three turned towards the sound. There, a man was sitting behind a small table.

"What do you see?" Simon whispered to his friends.

"What a strange man," Camellia exclaimed softly. "He's dressed from head to toe in green and black vertical stripes! And he's got a hat that looks utterly ridiculous! It's got bells on the ends of the two ends of it and it's slipped halfway over his face, so the only way you can see his eyes are through those slits he's made in it. He's grinning almost madly . . .I think it's just too cheerful or something."

"He's harmless," Terry added. "He's just one of those travelling fortune tellers and magicians from Angara. He's got a crystal ball and some of those Angaran card things."

"I'm not so sure about this," Simon began quietly when the magician called again.

"Don't be frightened," he called. "Do you have time for a lonely . . . magician, and his bag of tricks?"

As they approached his table, Simon whispered, "Camellia, aren't these Angaran fortune tellers usually Jupiter aligned?"

"Of course! Their element aids to such work," she replied. "Why?"

"This man is definitely not Jupiter. In fact, I don't sense any normal Psynergy about him," Simon began.

"Little boy, would you like to play a game with me?" the magician asked Terry. "If you can pick a card and then find it again, or any card of the same alignment, then I will give you a prize. There is no fee."

"Maybe he's just . . . what do you mean by 'normal Psynergy'?" Camellia asked as Terry picked a two of Flame.

"His powers are a dark presence, growing on my mind as I search for their origin . . . I don't know whether I like this."

"Now," the magician told him, placing the card back in the deck. "You may shuffle it as you wish. Find the same card, or a card of the same alignment, and I'll give you a prize . . ."

"What about if he loses?" Simon asked loudly.

Camellia wasn't sure, but she thought that the man's eyes narrowed slightly at this. However, his grin never lessened. "What makes you think that anything will happen?"

"Terry, I wouldn't . . ." Camellia warned.

"Relax," Terry said, shuffling the deck expertly. "There's a good chance I'll win, and nothing's going to happen if I lose. Don't break my concentration."

Simon didn't say any more, but he watched the magician carefully.

"And now, watch the master!" Terry declared confidently. He placed the deck back on the table and drew a card. It was a four of Thunder.

Simon, just before Terry drew the card, straightened with a gasp. "Foul!" he called, just a second too late. "He used Psynergy to alter the deck!"

"Too late!" the magician cried, standing with a slightly mad chuckle. "He has played the game; now he will pay the price," he muttered insanely, placing a hand in a pocket and fishing out a black book. "The price demanded by the Tomegathericon!"

Terry stepped back anxiously. "But you said there was no . . ."

"There was no fee for winning," the man said nastily. "But the price for losing is high beyond knowledge . . . the price, dear boy, of your very soul!" He lifted the clear gem on the table with a flourish. "Say goodbye to life, and hello to your new world! Tomegathericon, call to his soul!"

The black book glowed with a fierce black light. It raced out, scattering upon impact with Terry.

Terry collapsed with a gasp. Catching him, Camellia shouted, "What did you do to him?"

"I thought I made that quite clear, dear," the magician replied, intent on the now glowing crystal. "But we can't have you following us, no, that we cannot!"

"You aren't going to stop us!" she shouted angrily, letting Terry drop and drawing her sword.

"You won't have any choice, my dear!" The magician brandished a whip. "Wild Wolf!"

There was a growl, and Camellia was staring at the largest--and deadliest--wolf she had ever seen. The magician gave another insane laugh and fled down the road, leaving his table behind.

"Oh boy," Camellia muttered. She placed her feet where her father had instructed her to and placed her sword in front of her.

Simon quickly moved behind her. He was no warrior. It was up to her.

The wolf was luckily, despite size and power, no smarter than the normal wild wolves. It announced its attack with a howl and lunged for her throat. She brought up the sword into its path. The wolf brought its jaws crashing into the metal, drawing sparks. It fell towards the ground, dragging her sword down with it. It bore down with its teeth, attempting to snap the metal. Luckily, the sword was strong enough to resist and she was able push with the sword, driving the wolf backwards. The wolf let go at the last moment and leapt backwards, circling around to see if it could get at her more easily from another side.

Simon also moved, trying to find a place to get to so not to be in the way. Camellia instructed him to run down the path towards the village. He took off, obviously pacing himself so that he could make it due to his poor physical shape. The wolf tried to take off after him, but she slid on one knee in its way, trying to hit the leaping wolf from beneath. The wolf twisted in midair, trying to avoid the stab. She grazed it with the sword and rolled to avoid its landing. She started to get up, but the wolf landed on her, teeth bared. She used her sword to hold its mouth back, but she was trapped beneath the wolf's large body. She struck out with her free arm, but the wolf held firm, pushing on her sword. She grabbed it with both hands and pushed back, grunting with effort.

"Enough," a voice called, full and clear.

Looking beyond the large, furry body, she saw her father, large and forbidding as ever, holding a sword in his hand. She smiled in relief, but turned quickly back to keeping the wolf off her.

Her father strode forward and struck at the wolf. It snarled and tried to escape, but as it did so, Camellia's sword was able to push upwards, throwing the wolf off her. It struggled to get up, but her father brought the sword down, decapitating the beast. It twitched once, and then went limp.

She turned to her father. He smiled, but said nothing except, "Remember to wipe your sword after battle."

She laughed and rushed to do as she was told.

***

Camellia helped to support her father on the way home. In battle, he had broken his leg, and it had never properly healed. He could move short distances, but walking too far was troublesome.

"Now then," he asked. "How did this come to pass?"

She told him everything since she had first met the magician. As she told of what had happened to Terry, her father tightened his grip on her shoulder, but remained silent. When she had finished, he was quiet for a time.

After they had walked farther, he finally spoke. "This . . . an old warrior like myself cannot discover the truth on my own. Come, help me to the old meeting hall. We will call the council."

They redirected their steps toward the meeting hall. At the doors, Camellia was instructed to wait outside. She sunk down and waited as the clamour of voices commenced. The bell at the top of the hall was rung, summoning the members of the council.

Simon came, following the village's healer. He leant against a wall, arms crossed, nearby her, staring at the distant horizon and thinking.

'He thinks too much,' she thought. 'I almost feel that he's a scholar trapped inside a fourteen year old body.'

She sighed. There was nothing to do but wait. So she let her head fall forward and fell half-asleep.

***

When the doors finally opened, Camellia was awake enough to hear it and stand. A man looked around. Seeing her, he announced, "The presence of Camellia is requested."

Simon looked over, surprise in his eyes, his expression still impassive. Camellia walked briskly into the hall. Maybe she would get some answers. Or, she thought suddenly, she was tasked with tracking down the magician!

She smiled. Soon, they would have to see her as the warrior she was.

As she entered, she saw Master Rendal, the third warrior of the village, leaning against the wall behind the high seat, looking at the ground, eyes closed.

"Camellia," the man sitting in the high seat. "We have decided to let you let go of your normal duties of the village and take up fully the dharma of the warrior's caste."

"Am I charged with tracking down the magician?" she asked excitedly.

Surprise was displayed across the man's face. "No, of course not!"

"You are charged with my task." Master Rendal had lifted his eyes. "To guard the village against the possibility of attack. I, being the far more experienced warrior, shall track down the evil."

"Exactly. I . . ."

"One moment!" Camellia called, slamming her hands down on the table. A scribe made a strangled noise as all his papers went airborne. "I am skilled enough to find and destroy this magician, and I know what he looks like!"

The man's mouth opened and closed, flabbergasted. "But you . . . you're . . ."

Camellia's fists tightened on the table. "A girl?" she ground out, continuing fiercely, "The people around me can vouch for my ability."

"I can vouch for her strength, at least," the scribe muttered, picking up his papers.

"Camellia." Camellia looked at Master Rendal, who had stepped forward. "You may have potential. You may be able to beat village louts who have had no more lessons in swords work than you have had in normal woman's work. The times may be calming down from what they were when the lighthouses were lit, but there is still danger. If you were to go, you would be killed. Stay here and work that potential into skill."

"No." Camellia placed a hand on her sword. "I challenge you to a fight. The winner will have proven themselves to have won the right to leave the village."

"You don't have to . . . ." The man in the high seat stood in rage.

Master Rendal stepped forward. "Sit," he whispered out of the corner of his mouth to the man. Louder, he told Camellia, "Fine. This will be the best way to show you why you cannot leave the village without harm coming to you. So neither of us will get ourselves killed, we will use wooden swords, weighted to the weight of the sword we normally use."

"Fine." Camellia tightened her grip on her sword. "The sooner, the better."

***

"You all know the rules. Now, face your opponent and fight!" The announcer scurried off the field of battle.

Camellia brought the wooden sword in front of her and ran towards Master Rendal. He stood still until she brought her sword around to strike. He blocked, blocking each of her blows, obviously bored. He continued to block her strikes until she brought her sword straight through his defences with a feint. He quickly twisted around the sword and disengaged.

"So," he said, a look of slight intrest now in his eyes. "You have trained better than I had thought. But it will not change the fact that I will defeat you." He placed his sword level from his shoulders and crouched. "Prepare yourself!"

He rushed forward, bringing his sword swiftly towards her. She danced to the side, bringing her sword up to counter. Only luck allowed her sword to be in the way as he readjusted where his sword was moving, bringing it sideways at her.

'A feint!' she thought, ducking under and bringing her sword above her head. 'He never meant to hit with that strike, only to bring in the element of surprise.'

She struck at his left side, but the blow was blocked by the wooden sword and pushed back. She barely regained her balance when he swung towards her left side. She blocked, but just as it clicked against her sword, his wooden sword was on her right. She hastily brought her sword there, but his sword was already about to hit her left leg. She moved it, allowing him to just strike at the empty part of her dress. She tried to attack, but he blocked and then sent a powerful blow towards her front. She blocked, but its force knocked her backwards. As she began to fall, he moved swiftly to the side and struck her across the back. She fell forward. She could barely hear the announcer call that she was defeated.

He lowered his sword. He only whispered, but she heard it loud and clear over the announcer's voice. "If you were to leave this village, you would face people of my skill. And with real swords, there is no second chance. Good luck in the village."

She watched him turn and walk away, never once glancing back at her. The noise of the crowd seemed distant as Simon walked forward. She knew he was talking to her, but the only thing she still was conscious of was the back of Master Rendal, walking towards the village exit.

***

She woke later that night, still in bed in the healer's house. She stared at the ceiling.

There was one thing for certain. She was going to go after the magician, no matter what others told her. She was going to get stronger, and it wasn't here.

She sat up, cringing a little as her back protested. She dressed and strapped on her sword. She then took a stick and wrote on the clay tablet on the wall, explaining where she had gone. She then walked outside.

She stayed in the shadows, pausing only when another person walked down the darkened streets. She walked down, out of the village in the area least likely to have anyone nearby.

Suddenly, a full bag was tossed at her. As she caught it, she heard a familiar voice.

"You aren't going to get very far as unprepared as that."

She looked forward. In the moonlight, she made out Simon, holding his staff in one hand and holding the string attached to his bag over his shoulder.

"Simon? How . . . ?" she asked.

"I haven't known you this long for nothing," he replied. He turned. "I figured that you might need a healer on such a dangerous journey."

She stared at his back. "But, you love this village! Your family . . . your teacher . . . ."

He bowed his head slightly. "They'll get over it," he said, apparently trying to hide the sad tone in his voice. He looked back. "Besides, what kind of a friend would I be if I let my friend go searching for my other friend on her own?"

She looked at him, smiled, and ran ahead. "Well, you'd better be able to keep up, then!"

"I was sort of guessing you might wait for me, seeing as how my bag has all the food," he replied, smiling.

She ran back and grabbed his sack. "Now it doesn't!"

"Camellia! Hey, wait!" He took off after her, smiling all the way.

~~~

Yoshimi: There you go! . . . . What's that smell? *walks into kitchen*

Alfred: *sleeves rolled up and wearing apron* *mixing something in bowl* Hello, Yoshimi-san.

Yoshimi: WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!

Alfred: *confused* I'm making dinner.

Yoshimi: You are? Really? Sorry for yelling. I'm not used to a muse that actually helps me!

Alfred: *searching through cupboards* Mm-hmm . . . now, where's the sugar. . . .

Yoshimi: *shudders* After one of my muses, I got rid of all the sugar I could, or else the world would have ended by now. I'll go get some. *leaves*

*later*

Alfred: *leaning on the counter with nose stuck in cookbook* Let's see . . . preheat the oven to. . . . What's an oven? *looks around* *sees dustbin* I guess this must be it. *casts spell to make fire in dustbin*

Bag inside dustbin: *melts*

Alfred: *sniffs* Hmm . . . strange smell. Yoshimi must have left something in the "oven." I'd better put it away in the "refrigerator." *puts melted bag of garbage into refrigerator* Now . . . place bowl in oven and cook for twenty minutes. *places bowl in dustbin and casts the fire spell again* Now . . . take other bowl and warm in microwave for fifteen minutes. Okay. . . . *places bowl in oven*

*fifteen minutes later*

Yoshimi: I'm ho--

Bowl in oven: *explodes*

Yoshimi: AAAAAAAAAH! *dives for cover* *knocks over dustbin*

Bowl in dustbin: *on fire* *falls on floor*

Yoshimi: !!! Fire! I'd better get some water to put it out! *goes to refrigerator* *nearly passes out from smell* AAARGH!

Alfred: *comes in* Oh, the "microwave" bowl must be-- YAAH! FIRE! *tries to smother it with apron*

Apron: *catches on fire*

Alfred: ACK!

Bowl in oven: *contents begin to seep out of oven door*

Yoshimi: HELLLLP!