Chrono Cross Second Journey
Fan Novelization
Book 3
2 New Beginnings
The first sensations of his home world were to Serge sweet like wine at first, but grew unpleasant like the bitter of that searing at the tip of his tongue. At every moment he was in all earthly aspects aware of himself, the subtlety of consciousness now teasing and emphasized at the every endings of his nerves. For that reason, Serge walked with his eyes fixed as straight and far as he could. There was nowhere near his feline physique he would lay his eyes on and thus would remind him of how unceremoniously this cruel fate befell. So rather he would adjust his sights toward an ultimate purpose. Yet it came to him as a thought chilling as the cold of the winds in the storm. For his purpose now seemed to lie beyond thick mist and winding paths, beyond where strong hearts and flesh even would find too far to reach.
Today, his story had only just begun. But long before this day, already the burden weighed on him, great as the mass of the world until distant stars and space condensed into tight confines. Yet in his tumultuous world there was nothing he could see that reflected the onset of turmoil, only an ironic imbalance of peace that disturbed his mind and left him absorbed in such jealousy. About him a gentle breeze stirred and the leaves of trees rustled softly. Above him birds soared and sang poetries of pride and joy. In this world, the sun shone and the seas moved. Life went forging ahead with the every passing of time, ignorant of the insignificance of his that slowly trod past.
Serge said nothing towards the path to Opassa Beach, where even the angels would lose their way. He was focused on returning to the other world, and then the journey with his friends would pick up from where they left off.
"A fair day it is, Monsieur Lynx, don't you think? The climate here is excellent, unlike the other world. Back there errands would have me under the awful heat of the sun. But here I would run more of them for you, if you so command. Do you have something to finish today?"
Serge cast a glance at her, but said nothing. He knew better than pick a fight, in words or in strength.
"You have spoken nothing. Why won't say something?"
"What do you want me to say?"
"Have you no thoughts that you would like to share? Stories? Jokes? Something?"
"Some are difficult for you to swallow, I feel."
"Should you let me decide instead if I find it difficult to swallow?"
"Well... if you insist." Serge cleared his throat and spent a short moment composing his words. "I have been thinking why you must save me, and then follow me around, when for so long you have been with Lynx." Here, he paused to observe her reaction, to verify if he had already gone too far. When what he felt was Harle prompting him, he decided to continue. "Your knowledge in the Elemental arts surpasses mine. And I-I'm just a nobody: a young child lost in the vast reality of the world. But here you are, walking with me. So, either I'm wrong about myself, so that I am someone who can help you in ways I cannot now imagine. Or, you love to waste your own time."
"Just tell me you are suspicious."
"Am I wrong to be?"
"Not at all."
"Are you disappointed?"
"No. And neither am I surprised you waited till now."
"Will I have any answers?"
"Will you trust me, Monsieur Lynx?"
In heart and mind he was torn between two worlds. The greater half of him had long decided that her presence was a precious value to his team of companions. That value could not be put in words, for it came to him as an instinct deep in the weavings of his consciousness. But the other half clearly realized only what great peril into which she would cast him. How was he to tell which was accurate? Seventeen years of the world had not yet given him the means to read people beyond their actions, beneath their words and into their eyes. Should his intuition be mistaken, there might come a terrible, red dawn when he would not wake from his sleep, for his purpose had been fully exploited and use milked dry. Darkness would consume him, swiftly and silently, and history, thereafter, mattered no longer. Such an end would indeed be costly to pay for listening to his heart, even if not at all deserved. Yet, it seemed events had been cast, for even if he resisted he might not shake off her persistence. But he attempted it anyway.
"I don't want to end up like the general," he said.
"Well, if you continue this way, our journey together in the days ahead will be very difficult. Would you like that?"
"We can do it another way--our separate ways. What will it take for you to leave?"
"Ooh. Is that a threat? It's so hurtful it aches," she said with a clutching fist at her chest. "But already you know, don't you? The answer is nothing."
"Then what about what I need to know?"
"I know less than you think I do."
"You don't know or you don't wish to tell me?"
Harle sighed and shook her head. Like soft gentle chimes the bells at the end of her headdress jingled. "Does it make you feel easier if I said I don't want to tell you? What difference is it to you? Either way, you get to know nothing. Either way, I'm not going to leave. You'll have to trust me, dear. Right now, what you need is not answers, but patience!"
"Patience. In such a huge world? I will not live beyond its lifetimes before the answers dawn on me."
"What utter pessimism!" she snapped. "Do you think the world is huge? It's only huge in relation to how little you perceive yourself to be. Monsieur Lynx, you have in you this flame that could give you the strength against your and our deadliest enemies, or it could consume you whole and leave behind only ashes drifting in the long cold years to come. You can continue to behave like a pussy cat, or you can start acting like a man, like that Monsieur Lynx of yours did."
"I-I am no pussy cat!" he said.
He fell silent. For a long while, he said nothing while he felt his neck burn as if the heat of sun had turned on him. And for that long while, he walked with his head drooping in shame. Harle, it seemed, enjoyed the spectacle and cast consistently cheeky glances as if she intended to humiliate. As hard as he tried to muster a strong defense against her disparaging expressions, he found himself constantly humbled by her gleaming pride. And for nearly the quarter of the hour he slipped behind walls of silence, until at last she spoke.
"You are our future," she said. "Only you can shape it."
"W-Will I be able to see that future?" he asked.
Harle raised her brows and looked at the skies in wonder. "Ooh-la-la! I think you'll see it before many others do. Let's head to the other world. And see if you are still welcome."
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Following a lengthy walk westwards across the central continent, they ended their trail at Opassa Beach just an hour after noon. A cool summer breeze swept landwards from the sea and tickled the fur on Serge's face. The snowy edges of the tide lapped softly up and rolled down the quiet shores. Here a crow found itself landing gently on the white sands and then pecking into it in search of fuel for another leg of its journey. But there beyond the safety of shallow waters a flock of cranes cruised in low flight above the ocean blue, until the far south and into fading horizons. Further along the coast lay a Beachbum on its back between land and sea bathing in the washing waves.
Serge held the Astral Amulet in his hand, but beneath his chest a queer boding stirred as did the breeze to the fallen, withered leaves near his feet. Slowly he walked to where the gate should be found, but saw nothing the likes of it. He saw no shadow cast on the sands, and no flakes of light of white that rose to the sky. For a while he thought he had forgotten where the gate lay and thus, he walked around the beach in search of the door that led to the other world. But he grew anxious when the door seemed to have disappeared, the path through it sealed off. In the cool of the wind he found himself soaked in frantic perspiration. Then, he looked to Harle, who had only stood and watched, less helpfully than he would have expected.
"The gate is gone!" exclaimed Serge.
"It is?" she said as she walked over, bent and examined the sand. Then she sighed, as if wearily.
"Why is it gone?" asked Serge impatiently.
"I can only guess, Monsieur Lynx," said Harle as she stood to her feet. Then, she brushed her hands and rid them of the sand.
"Guess it then!"
"The missing piece to that world has been found," she explained with a pinch of seriousness. "Ten years before, you died in the other world and so left a gap there. Such was this gap--an imbalance--that created the gate so that you may travel between both worlds. Following the Sacrament, the body of Serge now belongs to the other world. The balance has restored, the gap filled. So the gate closes. Quite simple really."
"That doesn't make sense."
"What doesn't?"
"You say that gap was created ten years before, when I died in the other world. But only a week ago did I become aware."
"Well, I would speculate that it first appeared when Kid arrived from Zenan onto the soils of El Nido. She, too, was a significant part of the whole that created the imbalance. That was when you fell into the gate and then first met her shortly after, remember?"
Serge blinked and exhaled. He thought he should he reply but the words fleeted past the dark depths of his mind and like the faint star that fell in the black of night, was quickly forgotten. His tongue seemed as tied as the great many lines of thoughts forming between and behind his eyes.
"What? What now?" he asked.
Harle spread her arms and looked as if the answer could not be clearer. "Restore the imbalance, of course."
"How do you propose we do that?"
"I don't know," she said before she made a curious face.
"Can't we return to the Field of Chaos and return to the other world from there?"
"The way was in only," Harle shrugged. "Maybe the gate closed when I entered the Field of Chaos, who knows? There's no way back into the other world now. And there's little we can do except this: walk where our feet take us."
Serge closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. Here, another great obstacle stood between his world and the next, and most of all between him and his enemy. And now, even the jester of wit and candidness before him could offer no word of advice, save for riddle after riddle of pointless banter. This was road's end. His journey seemed over, for even if he so desired to proceed he had been given no option to. Here he was but an unwanted piece shut out by a lock whose key had been thrown away. Behind the severed choices and closed doors, his mind wandered aimlessly until it found itself at the doorsteps of his hut and there it longed for the warmth upon for his return. When all the doors to him had been sealed shut, the doors into his home opened, and thereafter he saw himself fall into the embrace of his only kin.
"Let's go home," said Serge suddenly.
"What?" begged Harle, as if in protest.
He opened his eyes and gently he smiled at her. "Let's go back to Arni."
She paused and pondered and soon in her eyes light glimmered.
"Ooh-la-la! You are ready to face your people at home?"
Serge fell silent for a short moment.
"I have to try."
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Like the coming of dusk in the still of night, silence suddenly fell. When Serge walked into his home village, the faces of smiles and laughter crumbled as quickly as the stir of the winds and in no time all were hushed. Caution instead spoke loudly through their eyes that fell on the baleful combination that was both the sharp, silver weapon and his feline form. In some corners of their memories they must recall that a young seventeen-year-old instead wielded one weapon such as a swallow. But his new form now became the margin that carved a great rift his true self and their acceptance. By now, the villagers had huddled into two great crowds. And in the light of the day, the stillness could not hold. Soon a word or two was whispered, and then more. Terror melted into doubt, and doubt then degraded into rumors, until came a point when all the soft words were of disasters and stoning, of killing and of retribution.
A young girl ran into Serge and fell to her bottoms, and upon her notice of him quickly broke into tears. Serge tried to help her, but found the innocent child struggling to wriggle far from his grasp. The parent of hers ran to her and hauled hastily the child far from his reach and gaze. Some few days before, he recalled, he had been put through such ordeal, and this day again the people he grew up with cast him beyond their little world. The rejection was ever so familiar but this time undoubtedly real such as the prick of a pin on flesh would tell.
"What kind of an attitude is that?" said Harle, an eyebrow raised. "Not even a word of gratitude. Have you not seen demi-humans before? Look harder and I'll smack your derrieres so hard, you'll fly to the moons!"
"Seen it we have!" shouted a villager. "But not of such devilry!"
Harle gasped, as if startled. "Devilry even we mean no harm?" she asked.
"Who, then, in the world are you things?"
It was then that anxiety seized the moment. And in the haste of his speech, Serge tripped over his words. "I'm... We're... Serge."
Whilst the villagers began to whisper amongst themselves, Una, the younger brother of Leena, stood out against much of the tugs and dissuasion from the adults.
"That cat-thing is Serge?" he said. When from the adults he struggled free, he yelled, "Give me a break! Our Sergey is human! Read my lips. HUMAN!"
Soon, it came to Leena's turn to come pushing through the crowds. When she saw Una confront Serge, she came between them both, arms spread in defense.
"What are you up to, you beast of a thing!" she said curtly, but not the least unexpectedly.
As Serge approached her, he said, "Leena, listen to me--"
"Don't'! Don't c-come near me!" she yelled, but already her face had turned pale and clearly at her feet she quivered. Even the tone in her voice shuddered with fear. "H-How did you even know my name?"
This while, Marge walked out of her house and here the attention of the village turned to her.
"What is going on?" she said. "I heard Serge's name?"
"Mrs. Marge, this monster claims he's Serge!" said Una. "And he's just full of it."
"What?" asked Marge.
"Obviously a lie, Mrs. Marge!" warned Leena. "This is ridiculous! Serge indeed! You can just walk into our village and claim that you are anybody."
"I-I..." were the words Serge could find.
With each word the voice of Leena became stronger, and firmer as did her feet on the ground. Up in the air were both her fists ready for a brawl if the circumstance so required. At her gaze he felt a blade of blue frost lay on better memories of their past wounds too bitter to imagine. The friend whose opinions were as stubborn and unmovable as the heaviest of mountains had never once regarded him in such a way as hostile and unforgiving as this moment. But her bravery in such face of terror became the unspoken bidding that stirred and called forth the stronger of the villagers, and quickly before the crowds they took their stand, with sticks, stones, and weapons of such in their hands. Solidarity now held together the stones of their walls and a fight so it seemed was imminent.
"Get out!" she demanded. "Get out of our village, now!"
"Hold your fire!" said Harle with a hand raised. "We didn't come to create trouble. Give us a moment to explain ourselves!"
"What is there to explain?" shouted a stout villager.
"Now, now!" said Harle with a smile. "My friend here is not nearly as good with his tongue as I would have liked. But I believe he never said he was Serge."
When Harle cast a glance at Una, his face flushed red as the fire of the sun. Then, she cast another at Serge, who, in all honesty, was appalled by her twist and wondered what precisely was up her tricky sleeves.
"We are friends of Serge," she explained. "Some of you may be aware that Serge has gone on a journey. But ever his heart is with you great folks and in his home here."
"Has anything happened to him?" asked Marge fearfully.
"He is safe," said Harle quickly, "but he's still somewhere, er, stuck. So we return on his behalf to bring news of him."
Marge eased though relief was still not yet apparent.
"How do we know you are telling the truth?" said Leena. "That you are not making that up? Show us some proof."
Harle cast a glance at Serge, and in that expression requested for an answer. He took a while to scour his occupied mind in search of anything to win the hearts of his own villagers. Just when it seemed like the villagers were getting impatient, he spoke. "Your Komodo scale necklace. He never takes it off his wrist."
"Leena, is that the case?" asked a villager.
Leena's gaze fell to the ground and slowly she nodded. Like the rays of the sun that spilled over the edges of clouds that opened, a blissful smile peeked through the corners of her lip. What one could see were not the tall walls that she had raised in stubborn defiance but the emanation of her emotions from her now beaming eyes. Whilst in the passing of this twinkle she seemed to have forgotten the rest of world, the nervous silence amongst the villagers began to melt away and amongst themselves they began to talk. When some of them felt danger receded and at last lost interest of the commotion, they decided to return to their chores. Gradually the crowd dispersed and less than half of them remained to watch the episode conclude. It was at this moment Marge walked to Serge and Harle, and with wary and caution started a search for answers.
"You say Serge has something for me?" she asked.
Harle looked around, but seemed reluctant to reveal more of their story. "Wouldn't you invite us back to your home?" she asked politely.
Leena broke free of her spell of daze and then hurried over and tugged Marge by her hand. "No! Mrs. Marge!" she protested. "Let's wait till Serge returns. They might still be up to no good."
The remaining villagers made noise. Some still were unforgiving, but others had turned sympathetic. This while, a cloud drifted below the path of the sun and a dim shade soon swept over the roofs of Arni and the faces of all.
"Come on in then," said Marge under the passing of the shadow and gladly Serge followed. Leena tried to voice her dissent but found words tumble through her lips as inaudible stammers. Harle walked past and showed Leena what look she just might give to a child.
When Marge led them to the doorstep of Serge's home, she paused. Just this while the clouds overhead slowly drifted from the rays of the sun and once more the grounds of Arni glowed in its light. But in that while the world saw passing the many insignificant of moments, where each felt like the age of a lifetime. A light breeze from the sea drew a fresh scent from over the coral borders of El Nido, past the lands and valleys and soon to the next side of the world. The long grass in the fields swayed to its strength and in harmony they danced to its silent rhythm heard only by the essence of the earth. So Serge found himself lost deep in the beauty of the world, so that when he realized, his feet already was in his house. He stole a look at his home behind closed doors, but before he would be lost amidst its sweet nostalgia, he found himself interrupted.
"I'll let him introduce himself," said Harle. "He will know who he exactly is."
And the eyes of Marge settled on Serge.
"Sir," she said. "Thank you for taking care of Serge. But I still don't know your name."
Suddenly Serge became aware of his heart that pounded like the drums of thunder and each crack exploded in his ears.
"Mom," said Serge, who could resist no longer the secret that she must know.
With a mild tone of disbelief, she asked, "What?" Doubt wrinkled about her eyes.
"I am Serge."
With her hand she covered her mouth, and with the voice from her eyes she screamed her shock. For the longest of moments, she was speechless. Until at last when Serge began to feel discouraged, she uttered.
"No! But you said...!"
"Harle said that to allay your fears. I'm sorry I can't be myself."
"W-What is going on here?"
With much eagerness Serge began his account from that fateful day of the dream and until all that she already was aware of. Quickly he brought her through familiar territories and what she should have already known. The look in her soft yet questioning eyes at times was comforting, at times troubling. And when he had said enough to ascertain his identity, she made no movement more than a doubtful glance. At this he felt compelled to lead her by her hand through the climbs and descends of his whole journey between the two worlds. And so he did, slow as he could, so that she must see his path as if she walked it.
At last, by the end of the account he had won her attention and no longer, he could sense her qualms. The light from the window shimmered in her misty eyes and in them he saw the reflections of two torn and devastated by ill twists of fate. Her emotions were kept behind quivering lips until a cough of anguish broke through and then, her gaze shied from Serge in sorrow. Relief washed over him as wind drifted over the living green of grasslands; it brought an ache to his heart. Soon he, too, began to weep the tears of regret and of joy, each drop none too precious to shed. But there they stood awkwardly in the living room, the distance between them both vast as the emerald seas that divided two shores.
"Ooh," said Harle suddenly. "I have some business I must to attend to!" That said, she leapt and into thin air she faded.
When tears at last dried, Marge looked up and at Serge. Slowly she approached him. She laid a hand on the fur of his cheeks and from the tingle in her fingers he felt her pain. No longer could he bear the distance between them both, and so in longing for dear touch he held his mother in his arms.
"You've been through so much!" she said. "I knew something would happen one day, but never in this way."
"You knew?" Cold seized his mind. "H-How?"
Marge drew several breaths before she left him and walked to the window where she rested an elbow on its sill. With her thoughtful eyes she then gazed into the sky. Then, all fell quiet it was not until long moments later before she spoke.
"I've kept it for so long and I hoped there never was a need to tell you this. But I knew it was only a matter of time before I had to. Call it sixth sense. Call it fate. 'The Sea of Eden.' That was where that man Lynx told you to go, was it not? I don't know about gates and different worlds, but I do know this. If, as you say, something big is on the verge of happening, then it may have begun fourteen years ago. Do you remember?"
"The panther. I remember that... very well."
Marge nodded and drew another breath. "The villagers found you just before the next bite that would have taken you. But still you were seriously poisoned from its first. They hauled you back home but there were no doctors in our village who could save you. Not even those in Guldove. At that time, we knew of only one who might have had the skill and craft to bring you back. And so your father, Wazuki, and Leena's father, Miguel, set out to sea with you to Marbule, the village of the demi-humans, where the witch doctor lived. Your father wasted no time, spared no effort. But fate had made a sport of you three.
"It wasn't long after you left our shores before the evening sky grew dark with storm clouds. Rain fell. I recall seeing a turbulent column of water swirling into the sky. That, being early summer, was never a season of rain; and rarely in El Nido would you see storms as terrible. Yet that very evening, waves crashed wildly upon our coasts and the high tides swept in. From what I little I knew from your father, your boat was swallowed in the storm and you were all knocked out. When your father and Leena's came to, they found themselves in a place they would never have thought to enter. No creative living, not even the fearless, would have dared. We now call that place the Dead Sea."
Serge stood frozen. As if winter had come, the seasonal wind of cold crept and stirred beneath his fur. It was no chill from the fear but the stark realization of a truth kept sheltered from his knowledge for so long. Before, the chapters of his past had been thick to read. Slowly and painfully a page after another they had been revealing to him their meanings blotted in dark ink. They had been tangled amongst the insignificant, so that it had made those that mattered complex and difficult to sift. But now the pages were beginning to connect, a story was beginning to take shape. It now surfaced like the pages of a book flipped to where the central theme was revealed, the plot deepened.
That he now knew that between fourteen years ago and today he entered where few or none had been before. There must be more that he did not yet know but now was waiting for his discovery. And there must be more that he could deduce from just this alone. Already he could conclude with a good degree of confidence that surely it was not of his choice such a path had been taken. For none beyond his wildest he would have thought to set foot in the Dead Sea, and thought he had done so. By what great doing, or undoing, they would have the means into the forbidden he did not know. But he wished he did.
"Back then it was called the Sea of Eden," said Marge.
Over the deep of his mind came cruising a feeling, strange and foreboding. His brows furrowed in thought as he tried to grasp that feeling and make a firm sense of it. Soon it fleeted past and left behind in its wake a lingering trail of discomfort.
"B-Back then?" he said. "I... I don't quite remember."
Marge turned to him. "I do. I remember standing at the pier praying for your safe return. When at last I saw your boat, it was great relief. Your father returned with you well. Unfortunately, we never saw Miguel again. I knew very little from your father. I never knew what happened to Miguel at the end. I never knew what exactly happened in the Sea of Eden or what miracle it was that made you well again. I tried, Serge. He was never like that. He... was a changed man."
She paused and turned to the window once more.
"He even--" Her voice cracked.
Serge walked to her and supported her at her shoulders. "Mom, if you don't want to..."
"I'm fine, Serge," she assured. After a deep sigh, she continued, "Not long after, your father sailed out to sea and never returned. People say over-exhaustion drove him that way. I don't think so. Something must have happened in that place; that accursed place. Something must have possessed him."
This while the door to his home swung open and from it walked in Radius, Chief of Arni. This same while, Harle appeared between him and Serge, poised for guard and audacity.
Said Radius, "Are you the ones everybody's--" There, he stopped and scanned Serge and Harle. His intention to protect became doubt; doubt became disbelief and all soon Serge could see in his eyes were the flames of rage. "Lynx! And you imp! I cannot believe that you both are still alive? What are you doing here? Have you both now stooped so low as to terrorize innocent villagers? Step outside! I must put a stop to you. For I, too, was once a valiant member of the Acacia Dragoons."
"Lah-la-la," sang Harle with cheer and all intent to sneer. "Old geezer, I wouldn't show off like that. That is if you want to live. Do not underestimate our strength. One blow and it's off to the moon with you!"
"Silence!" roared Radius, whose voice shook the house. Already he had his walking stick wielded in his hand as he would if it were a sword. The cold, unshaken resolve in his eyes reminded Serge once more that he was an unwanted piece of the puzzle, an outcast of his villagers.
"Please stop it at once, Radius," said Marge. "You're mistaken. He's not who you think he is. He's Serge."
"What?" The rage burning in his eyes doused and to disbelief it ebbed. And as he lowered his walking stick, all that remained written between his brows was doubt.
Radius walked past Harle, who seemed annoyed by the lack of his attention. She came between him and tried to obstruct his path to Serge, but found herself rudely pushed aside. Even at her verbal protest Radius found it unnecessary to be concerned. Instead he walked up to Serge and glowered at him in the eye. Serge tried to hold fast his gaze but very soon he found it flitting across corners of his house unwittingly.
"I don't sense the same malice as Lynx," Radius concluded. "But are you really Serge? How can that be?"
Already the day began to set in the west, and the skies turn into the gold of dusk. Serge again reiterated tirelessly his journey to Radius, detail after detail. He told it with no drama but as cold and hard as he had experienced. There, for the next quarter of an hour, Radius stood patiently listening and only listening, veering through one twist in his story after another. He did not move a finger or twitch a brow. And he said no more until Serge finished what he had to say.
"I've heard of the Dragon Tear," mused Radius as he stroked his beard. "But two worlds, whose future divided ten years ago! Uncanny, but not unthinkable. And you say another me exists in this other world. That is most intriguing. But if you are Serge, then why are you still carrying this baggage around?" He fixed his cautious eyes on Harle.
"She...She helped me," said Serge. "She's on our side now."
"That's her price? I'm sure she wants more than just be on your side."
Serge cast a glance at Harle, who responded with the biting of her lips and a look of innocence. "I-I shouldn't think so."
Radius frowned. "You shouldn't? There is naught but treachery and deceit behind that mask of hers. Do not tell me that you trust her entirely."
Serge looked about. "I think I trust her."
Radius' gaze shifted between Harle's and Serge's and surely he was reading into their minds. At the end, Radius snorted and there tension slowly eased. Yet, his brows were locked in contemplation and thought as he spoke again. "Then what will you do now?"
Serge heaved a long sigh. "Honestly, I wish somebody would tell me."
"I would!" interrupted Harle. "Where else besides the--"
"I thought so," said Radius as he slowly stroked his beard. Wisdom and deep thought lined his forehead.
The rays of the evening sun streamed into the modest house whilst the sweet smell of dinner began to drift about the village. Following the beginning of the dreadful days beyond his own world, Serge had nearly forgotten what dinner at home tasted like. At a moment as tensed as this, his tummy rumbled. Yet, the basic needs for his body were no more important than the needs for his mind. If only food could satiate his hunger for the truth.
"I shall prepare dinner," said Marge. "Radius, make yourself at home. We can discuss this over meal."
"I appreciate your invitation, Marge," said Radius. "But I'm afraid I have to turn it down. I'll just finish what I mean to say. It has been three years since the dragoons in our world went missing," he said wistfully. "For those three years I have conducted my own investigations but all I have unearthed is that Lynx approached the dragoons some three years ago. How much can I do now that Porre holds sway in El Nido in this world? If anything, Lynx must have been key. Would you mind if an old man went with you? Perhaps together we can still do something to help the general and Lady Riddel in the other. Perhaps with your Porre uniform we can discover what really happened with the dragoons here."
"I mind that you do," said Harle curtly. "The geezer's obviously using you!"
"I take that as a 'no' from you, Serge?" asked Radius.
"No, of course not!" said Serge quickly. "You are more than welcome! But--"
Radius raised a hand. "I understand. Yes, it's a detour. But an old man who will not see many more years is now begging you for a favor."
"Beggars cannot be choosers," quipped Harle. "You go where we choose to go."
"Harle!" said Serge. "Say nothing ill, Chief. We need all the help we can get."
"That settles it then. We leave for Termina at dawn tomorrow. We shall meet up at the village entrance."
"But that old geezer will only get in our way!" Harle protested.
Radius snorted and squinted at Harle, and while he fixed his gaze on her, he said to Serge, "Once more I urge you to reconsider. The imp's presence might one day prove to be your downfall."
"Coming from one who returns with his friend dead," said Harle with a conceited smile, "whose presence will, I wonder?"
The sun would not have burned redder than her words on Radius' face. Rude was the look he wore and ruder the shock he surely must have felt. Serge could do nothing as Radius walked out of his house without a word more.
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While Marge prepared dinner, Serge spent alone a quiet moment in his room lit only by the pale of moonlight. He sat before a tabletop mirror and within the looking glass he saw for the first time what he really was--his soul encaged within the body of Lynx, a body tall and fearsome. But it was the body of another; the flesh and blood given to him by his parents had been stripped bare from him without due consent. And this hideous husk carries with it the smeared name now invariably associated with enmity. For its previous owner had used its two hands to undertake terrible deeds and stain themselves with the enduring scars of evil. Now, it would take toil to cleanse a blemished past.
Outside his window, the twin waning moons together had risen tall amongst the shimmering stars, proud even before a clouded sky. The central continent fell soon into the calm of the night, and life about Arni settled for the day. With a mild smile, Serge left the unsightly shell wandering behind in the world of silver, wherein the converse of reality was surely false imagery. No doubt, he thought to himself, that it had all been made easier by the people who believed in him. Having shed the negative reflections, he walked to his wardrobe, gathered and packed a set of casual wear fit for a seventeen-year-old.
He left his hut and strode to Radius'. On his way there he saw standing at the pier a thin silhouette of Radius. Dark against the sky, the figure looked deep in thought and from it there came a feeling of sadness carried on the hollow silence. The winds seemed to moan with a hymn of sorrow drawn from memories too old and painful to recollect. Serge paused in his steps and mulled over the possibility of approaching the pier, but at last he thought it prudent to leave his chief and his thoughts to himself. So he walked into the house of the chief and approached the Statue of Fate, where it stood in a corner of the modest interior. There, he knelt and rested a hand on the welcoming hand of the Goddess, as earnestly as he did his heart in Her. Just as he shut his eyes and was about to speak in mind to the statue, he heard the voice of Harle.
"Do you really believe in the Goddess of Fate?" she said, thick with an accent.
Serge opened his eyes, stood from his knees and surprised that even she had come.
"It's my faith. I pray for my father's return. Don't you pray?"
"Faith? Pray? Those two seem like fire and water. Hardly they come together, don't they? If you faith, why pray? If you pray, you obviously have no faith. I don't pray because I have faith to make things happen."
"Including those that are impossible?"
"You just answered your own question, Monsieur Lynx. How can the impossible happen? I know what can be achieved and I strive to achieve it."
"Easier said," said Serge. "Do you believe you have so much control over life?"
"Ooh-la-la!" She hopped back, as if in fear of him. Rather, she wore a smile on her face. "Ask yourself first: does the Goddess of Fate ever give you the control you wanted? Have you ever prayed but never seen it answered? And after knowing that answer, still you would leave your life in the hands of the Goddess of Fate?"
Serge fell silent.
"Ah!" she said. "The disappointment that comes with it. All made up by your perception, by your hope, and by your own mind. First, you pray and you wait passively for it to happen, which never does. Then, when it comes to looking for someone to shoulder the blame of failure, you see only that divine figure that is always perfect, always so pure. It is so hopelessly inculcated into you that you do not blame the Goddess but instead resign yourself to what you call fate. For what? You've been by Kid's side for long. I'm a little surprised you learnt nothing!"
"You make it sound sinful. Is it wrong in hoping? Doesn't it give us the strength?"
"To do what?"
"To live. To move on."
Harle slouched. "What do you see, I ask you?" she asked as she pointed to the bronze glimmering in the yellow of candlelight.
"I see the Goddess of Fate," replied Serge.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," she wagged her finger. "I see a statue." Then, she lifted the statue of bronze make and with ounces of enthusiasm examined the every inch of it. And with a wistful tone, she ended, "A statue that is less of everything. Powerless. Lifeless. Useless."
Her lack of respect handling it came to Serge as a surprise, and even as an insult on his belief. So, Serge snatched it from her and carefully he returned it to its rightful place.
"Please show the Goddess some respect," he said sternly.
Harle raised her eyebrows and smirked, and little one could tell if she was offended. Then, she turned and hopped to the door. "What must I say to make you understand? Faith in yourself gives you control of your life. But faith in a statue binds you to it. Then again, it's not a deal so great, not at all worth fighting over it. You are the ones who choose to be shackled.
"Come on! It's dinner time!"
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When dinner ended and Serge retreated into solace at Arni's pier, Radius had already retreated. There, instead, the silver and the red moons were served on the wavy platters of the sea. When calm was in order the night sky was a communal gathering of celestial phenomena, a simple, poetic beauty that would touch a sensible heart. This night, however, troubling clouds brewing from the northern skies had spread across the heavens and left the glitters of the many worlds above shrouded behind uncertainty. And in this first night of his, Serge mulled over the fragility of a society--group of individuals--each of whom chose to depend on and accept another to live and to progress. He had never learnt to appreciate acceptance, not even immediately after he stumbled into the other world. In all his honest opinions, he took this simple rule of society completely for granted. Only today he understood its true meaning.
Then again, his journey thus far had given new meanings to many things in his life--his past, his present, and his future.
The many hours slipped past like did the many thoughts in his mind, while he stood rooted to the wooden pier. A chill wind swept across the plains of the central continent. It lifted his heavy cape and grimly reminded him of the weight he had on his shoulders. It tickled the fur in his cheeks though he did not seek to relieve that discomfort.
"Serge?"
Marge's voice started Serge and tore him from his thoughts.
Serge turned and saw his mother walking towards him.
"Mom? Still awake?"
She smiled uneasily as she took her place beside him. She spoke no words, but in her silence he could sense sadness.
"What's wrong?"
She hesitated for a moment. Then, after a long breath, she spoke. "I dreamt about your father, Serge. I woke and thought I'd spend a quiet moment here. When I saw you, I thought... But how silly can I get? He's gone for fourteen years."
"Mom..."
"Not even the passing of time can change that. But sometimes I wish that burden would leave, and then we can start afresh."
Serge laid a hand each over her shoulders and held her close to him.
"If Dad does return, will you be mad?"
"I have every right to!" she said resolutely. Then, with a softer, shakier voice, she admitted, "But I don't suppose I will. He might have suffered more than we did. But I'm glad I still have you. What will happen if you left me too?"
Serge did not try to answer, "It was all my fault. If only I had listened and stayed home. Then, maybe I wouldn't have been bitten by the panther. Dad needn't have risked his life in the storm to save me. And so many other things, so many possibilities that had followed would have happened so differently. And more importantly, Dad will still be around with us. If only I had one more chance fourteen years ago..."
What if. The eternal question of all who sought a second chance, so that the irreversible may be undone and that life and death became a result of choice and not of chance. It was such a tempting hope that kept the question burning; that kept the dreamers dreaming. Yet, there in that wishful thinking lay hidden the fundamental question unanswered: who would know if that new world of possibilities be better than the original? In accordance with the natural balance of the world, when one takes some, one must lose some. How would anyone know if what he took outweighed what he lost?
"It was not your fault! How could you have known? Even if you did not leave home that day, there's no telling if your father... Serge, you should understand everything is preordained."
"I know," was what he said, though he knew it was not what he felt. If he had just once wish at any power that could grant, still he would wish for the past to change, for his father to return and let chance decide the world of possibilities and what he would lose thereafter. But even that surely must remain a dream of all the dreamers of the world, a dream that could never be realized by any of them. At this, Serge exhaled like a soft sigh, and his mother wrapped in her hands his own.
The winds grew strong and his cape began to beat. The gentle hymns of the waves in turn began to ebb into dissonance. A storm seemed looming.
"You are worried. About that man and what he said?"
"You are, too, aren't you, mom?"
"Which parent wouldn't? But it doesn't mean you should sit around and wait for things to happen. The world is calling you. Even if you do not wish to face it, it will come right at you. Now is the time you have to believe in yourself. Just keep your head up and do your best."
"And I thought I was supposed to console you," Serge said with a smile.
"It's the best that I can do now. I may not look it, but I am old, Serge. If it were a few years back I might still venture with you to the other world, if you do not find that a chilling thought, that is."
"Of course it isn't!"
"Seriously? Then I might consider."
Serge pondered for a moment.
"I was pulling your leg," she chuckled. "But I hope you have closer friends to help you through. Radius is hardly wrong; you must be wary of Harle. You said it yourself, that she once worked for that Lynx beast. If I could choose who to go with you, it would be Leena. Don't blame her for what she did, Serge! She's still young. She doesn't understand the difference between the cover and the story within. She understands you the best unless, of course, you have someone I don't already know about..."
"This Leena's a friend."
"This Leena?"
"I've met another Leena who looks the same as this one. But in terms of poise and character, she's different. Gentler. More sensible."
"Have you... fallen for her?"
"N-No! I have in mind someone else but she's from the other world."
Marge kept silent even though she seemed like she had something to say. Then, when she finally got to say it, it did not seem to Serge as if she had spoken her thoughts. "I hope she can take care of you, Serge. I hope you can bring her back someday so that we can all have dinner together."
"I will," he added quickly. "I will never leave you in this world alone!"
Marge fiddled with something at the back of her neck and soon she pulled from beneath her blouse a pendant that she had worn faithfully for as long as Serge knew. Under the pale moons there came a sparkle of light from its silver plating. It was of a design simple, the shape of a cross, its four spokes equal in length. It was of no price more than the least expensive of household items. But the heart and thought poured into the gift were far greater than the lack of them in gold treasures of the nobles. So priceless and dear it was that his mother had it rest on her breasts since it became hers. Yet, the long, dreadful years had not scarred its face or roughened its edges.
"It's your..." stammered Serge. His feline eyes began to mist.
"Yes, it's the pendant your father gave to me before we had you. Now, I want you to have it. I hope it gives you the support in the times when you need it most."
She placed the pendant in Serge's paw and tightly she shut it. The warmth in his hand instantly thawed his heart.
"But you just said everything was preordained," he said with a voice getting hoarse, for a lump had gathered in his throat.
"It is; you will achieve your goal. But this... This will make your path there easier," she said with a smile.
Gratefully, Serge hung the pendant over his neck and tucked it under his uniform. So mother and son stood at the bridge quietly looking out into the seas, like they had once done everyday in vigil for his father's return. After fourteen painful years, they arrived here hand-in-hand, after a long arduous fight. But before him now was the battle of his life that he had to undertake. With her distant support he would forge ahead, so that at the end of it, the riddles of his past would be unveiled, and the path to his future would lay unblemished.
The winds slowly began to die as the heavy clouds rolled hastily southwards. Whilst rain fell from the faraway skies, soft of light flashed within that mist and haze, until in the early hours of the day the mass of it all fell off the rim of the world. A breeze of sweet scent drifted from the seas to Serge, and with it carried forlorn memories fresh as glittering dew on leaves. Night began to fade away and trees and life began to wake from deep dreams. A new dawn had come with the rising of the red sun.