Seravine - Chapter Eight
Author's Note: Whew. Been awhile, hasn't it?
Cue the crickets.
Don't worry - I'm not going to waste your time with some long and fabricated story of how my beloved pet's death forced me to turn to alchohol and drown my sorrows for the last three months in everything but writing. Well, my dog did actually die fairly recently, which, needless to say, was a bit depressing, but the ungodly lateness on this beast of a chapter can be blamed squarely on me - so, by all means, do so. Make sure to leave nasty remarks in your reviews, too.
This chapter has actually been done for about two weeks now, but, given that I've been minus computer for about the last two weeks (having only gotten the actual thing back earlier today), I haven't been able to access the file and upload it, hence a longer delay than I had even hoped. But, all is well now, with the exception that I haven't been able to give this chapter a proper read-through for the inevitable grammar and spelling mistakes. My apologies in advance - if the thing is too messy to read, let me know, and I'll gladly take it down and, as soon as I have the time, read over it a bit more thoroughly.
My thanks, by the way, to those who left reviews for the last chapter. I'm afraid I'm a bit too tired at the moment to do my usual review-reply affair, but, if you manage to forgive me, feel free to leave another review for this chapter and I'll definitely give you some response come next update. I'm actually a bit leery of reviews for this chapter; it's a strange one, in all regards, probably the darkest I've written yet, and, as a result, I'm not too certain how the ToS crowd will take it. All I can ask is that you stick with me, I suppose, for the remaining chapters, as this tale is actually nearing the end and I'd hate to lose readers over my unfortunately demented ideas.
Hmm. I think that's all. Again, apologies, and I hope you enjoy the chapter, delayed as it was. I also apologize if it isn't quite up to my usual standards; now that I'm back into this writing flow sort of thing, however, I can promise the next ones will be of higher quality.
Oh, and I'm hoping to have the next update sometime soon, so look for Chapter Nine at some point in 2007.
Matt
oOo
And that was the thing about midnight; the valley was dark, so simple and plain, with only a hint of moonlight rolling across the grass and along the slopes, and even when Lloyd Irving closed his eyes, then, he could still hear the wind, could still feel the flicker of the campfire brushing against his skin. There was that one moment for the leaves, too, and the branches and the flowers, and in the corner of his eye he could just see the trees slither and shake, rippling as one in the breeze that ran down the mountain.
Maybe night watch wasn't so bad after all.
With a sigh he trundled over close to the campfire, moving to thrust his hands towards the flames, letting the fire curl itself gently around his fingers. Midnight had brought a touch of cool to the mountaintop, some strange chill that sank deep into his bones, and on a whim Lloyd pushed his hands even further forward, briefly entertaining the thought of stealing Zelos's blanket. His friends were, in all regards, sleeping quite peacefully, spread out against the grass in a misshapen circle around the campfire, their faces drawn almost bleakly in the sharp shadows flickering around the firelight.
He knew, come morning, that the lot of them would be thoroughly displeased - Raine in particular, given that her turn to take watch had long since come and gone with the onset of midnight, Lloyd having opted to not awaken her or any of the others for their shifts. He supposed pulling an all-nighter wasn't the brightest of ideas, all things considered, but on the other hand he was loathe to disturb any of his friends from their slumber, feeling such a wave of gratitude for every last one of the shadowed bundles huddled nearby, such a powerful emotion that demanded he do the job himself and give them their rare opportunity to rest in peace. He wondered, at times, if this was not some grand and spectacular waste of time, climbing the godforsaken mountain for something so - so small, so plain, some simple black thing, but then his eyes would slip closed and in one long second Lloyd would find himself fallen amidst the fire - amidst the terror and destruction in Iselia, feeling that peculiar throbbing to his veins, that power rushing along his blood and the cold fear it left in its wake.
His knees nearly gave away when a violent shiver wracked his body, the bitter chill racing along his skin, and with a curse he struggled slowly to his feet, wincing as a powerful gale tore across the campsite, the campfire flickering madly. A quick glance around and Lloyd was somewhat pleased - and somewhat envious - to see his friends still sleeping soundly, all wrapped firmly in their blankets, and, with a final small shiver, he sunk down into a sitting position, leaning back against the grass and letting his eyes roll slowly towards the heavens. Just for a few minutes, he decided, all but shoving to the side that one small voice ringing in his ears, the one explaining in only the plainest terms that it would do little good for a night watch to fall asleep on the job.
A thin darkness had stretched neatly across the skies in every direction, stealing the night to a lucid black; Lloyd pushed the cold from his mind for all of a moment and allowed himself to sink further back into the grass, a rare smile touching on his lips at the thought of being in the exact same position not a few nights ago - admittedly, with company, the very same girl who was snoring uproariously somewhere to his left and generally terrorizing all small animals in the camp's immediate vicinity. That, in turn, raised the inevitable question as to just how the token assassin of the group was quite possibly the loudest in everything she did, though Lloyd had decided somewhat wisely that it was simply another thing that made Sheena herself, and, in light of such a discovery, immediately passed the question on to Zelos, who had taken the beating rather impressively.
The memory of the incident brought another small smile to his lips and Lloyd snuggled even further back into his makeshift bed, stretching a bit, admittedly enjoying himself and yet finding that there was quite simply one thing missing - a person, actually, someone he reluctantly thought of nearly every day, someone who was floating around on some great magnificent rock in the confines of space. Kratos - on a whim Lloyd turned his attention back to the skies, thinking to pass the time with a little stargazing, hoping something might be waiting for him there - though the breath withered in his throat when he realized that the black had simply cast everything to nothing, stealing the stars and the moonlight from view, plunging the horizon into a peculiar blankness that seemed carried on the wind.
That's weird.
Slowly, Lloyd sat back up, blinking once and giving his eyes a quick rub, hoping that he was merely seeing things. Feeling vaguely unsettled, he lifted himself carefully to his feet, bringing both hands to his blades; the wind was picking up, again, tearing through the trees, and in all of a second a great shadow fell across the campsite, plunging it to an inky blackness, a new wind flickering around the fire, lifting the flames and throwing strange shadows along the grass. Lloyd faltered, slightly, his body shaking in the sudden cold - and the unwavering feeling that something had just gone terribly wrong.
"Lloyd?"
Startled, he spun, dropping reflexively into his fighting stance, breathing somewhat easier and dropping his swords when he only found Colette shifting amongst her blankets, looking up at him, raising both hands to rub gently at her eyes. "It's okay," he said, somewhat shakily, almost wincing at how easily the lie came to his lips, though moving nonetheless to drop to one knee beside her. "Sorry if I woke you up."
"What's going on?" she asked, quietly, still rubbing at her eyes, a slight frown tugging at her lips. "I can't see anything," she said, with a twinge of worry to her voice, her hands still brushing not very gently below her brow.
"Nothing - Colette, what's wrong?" Lloyd moved to carefully pull her hands away, tugging gently at her wrists, a frown forming on his own lips when she pulled quickly away, turning to face away from him, her eyes still clamped tightly shut. "Don't rub at them like that, you dork," he said, lightly, cracking a small smile. "It'll just make them hurt worse."
"No, I - " Colette shivered, suddenly, slumping and seeming almost lifeless in the second that followed, and then she came alive with a start, gradually pulling herself up to rest upon her elbows as the fire writhed and rolled in the wind. "Yes," she said, all at once so quiet and calm, still refusing to face him - and then she slowly turned back towards him, her eyes snapping open in an instant and her voice rising high and piercing against the wind. "I suppose you're right."
Lloyd shrank back almost instinctively, losing his footing and falling hard against the grass, only barely suppressing the cry that tore against his throat. Her eyes - they were black, simple and dark, a haunting emptiness to match the skies, and with a dull hiss the fire snuffed out, plunging the camp into shadows, and still he could only see Colette - the glimmer to her hair and the white of her clothes and the pure darkness in her eyes and she was shifting, slowly, crawling towards him, swooping low along the ground, moving with a swaying grace that was inhuman and terrifying all at once.
Lloyd scrambled further backwards, his heart thrashing against his ribs, feeling a strange fear sinking into his veins, the words caught in his throat and tearing savagely at the breath coming in short gasps from his lungs. His swords were there, just to his right, and he wanted to latch on to them, to defend himself until the last - but it was Colette and he knew with a keen fear that he could never hurt her, could never draw blood from someone he held so close.
"Lloyd," Colette whispered, as cold as the wind across the valley, and all at once Lloyd found he could move no further, some odd - some familiar - black hand pushing him flat to the grass, clamping down on his chest. She was moving closer, still, a pleasant smile flittering across the pale lips, her eyes still dark and wrong and somehow bright in the shadows. Only when she was huddled over him did she stop, raising an ice-white finger to caress his face, the touch leaving a sensation of fire along his skin. "You shouldn't fight this," she murmured, quietly, her finger roaming along his lips, tracing the curves and stroking at his jaw.
Lloyd could do little but watch with a growing horror as she pulled closer, placing a frozen hand atop his chest, fingertips making great circles around his heart. "Stop," he mumbled, finding only a scant warmth left in his lips, straining against her hold and hoping and pleading that someone - anyone - might wake up, might stop this nightmare, might put the stars back in the skies and tell him it was little more than some odd dream.
"It's taken so long, hasn't it? I'm quite pleased." Colette's roving fingers paused, for a moment, and her eyes flitted towards his, that same blessed smile twisting into a feral grin. Slowly, she inched closer, her head bending towards his, her lips moving so quietly, so softly, though Lloyd heard every word amidst the shadows and the wind. "You have it, don't you? Oh, I hope so!"
She was moving closer, still, her breath coming in delicate moans against his cheek, lips pale and white in the thin darkness. Lloyd could only watch in a silent horror as her mouth came to rest on his neck, lips touching gently at the skin, the sensation so cold and black and - and still he could feel a raging warmth spreading from the spot, a very wrong tingling racing through his veins, even as a blush settled across his cheeks. "Stop," he whispered, again, shaking, trying his hardest to ignore the dull shadows to her eyes, to ignore the disgust for himself he could already feel forming in the darkest corners of his mind.
"Oh, Lloyd," Colette said, lightly, lifting her head for just the moment, "do you really want me to?" Without pausing for an answer she dipped her head again, kissing along the line of his jaw, her hands playing at the collar of his shirt, trailing a few white fingers across his throat. "Simply say the word," she murmured, that queer smile touching against her lips, that black fire flickering quietly in her eyes.
This isn't Colette, Lloyd thought, somewhat frantically, struggling in vain as the girl's roaming lips neared his own. She was moving closer, fingertips creeping up to encircle his face - and in that instant Lloyd felt the word ripping forth painfully from his throat, echoing throughout the valley, somewhat muffled and yet still completely clear in the darkness.
"Stop!"
He collapsed with a sigh as Colette sunk slowly back, her hands falling to his waist, a delicate sigh escaping from her lips. "No? Perhaps later, then." With the same dangerous smile she tugged gently at the pouch tucked into his belt, arching a single eyebrow. "Two days, my friend. Bring it along, won't you? We'll be waiting." Moving with that same unnatural grace, Colette settled lightly back onto her legs, looking for all of a moment the same girl he had known so long ago as a child. "Do not disappoint me, Lloyd," she said, at last, and with great shiver her eyes flashed blue and white, the pallor fading from her skin, and in the same instant that Lloyd felt the bonds holding him to the earth shatter, she fell, curving backwards with a sob and collapsing to the grass, unmoving.
In a matter of seconds Lloyd was up again on his feet, swords at hand, a burning rage rolling through his veins, entirely torn between tending to Colette and searching for any sign of the bastard that had put her through such a nightmare. His ears only barely caught the sound of a echoing laughter in the distance, carried on the rippling leaves, and then already he was running, darting along the path, heading up one of the mountain's many hills at an enraged speed and glancing desperately around the trail for some sign - any sign - of movement. The laughter was there, still, whirling away on the wind, and Lloyd kept running, climbing, slipping a bit on the slick path, fire in his lungs and sweat sneaking down into his eyes.
"Where are you!" he roared, the words fading to nothing, and then again - low laughter to the side, coming from a plateau just above him, and then he again he was running, jamming his swords into their places at his waist, climbing the rocky surface without a second thought, the sharp stones biting into his hands and jabbing at his knees. Lloyd could scarce notice, entirely pushing the pain and the cold away, forcing his muscles to keep moving, to reach the top - and in an instant his hand had slipped, grasping only empty air, and the sweat was burning his eyes and he was falling backwards, his heart ramming against his ribs, plunging rapidly into the wind and the darkness.
The ground was looming closer and he landed with a cry, striking his back with a sickening crack along the grass, and then he was rolling, tumbling, almost bouncing along the path, a sensation of blinding pain rocking along his skin, the air torn from his lungs and a seeping coldness latching onto his bones. Time seemed to all but stop - he was being nearly thrown down the path, crying aloud every time he struck one of the great rocks jutting from the hill, the world spinning and dark and strangely quiet, save for his own harsh breathing.
He rolled to a stop, at last, near the camp, near the again-flickering fire, a terrible cough ripping from his lips and spraying the grass with a frightening amount of blood. The crimson was rolling down into his eyes and he could hardly see anything at all and he could hardly move and everything was so odd, so dark, so - so cold, so ungodly cold, and everything was so broken and empty. Dazed, he tried to move, to at least sit up - and another cry fell from his lips as a sharp pain sunk into his leg, cutting like ice into the muscle, pulling a dry sob from his throat and forcing him to collapse back onto his side.
The pain was spreading, flowing out along his body, and already he was fading, slipping into the darkness; sleep seemed so welcome, then, some precious escape, but still he forced his eyes open and so slowly turned his head, breath coming still in quick gasps, eyes falling to the fire, the flames which were dancing almost merrily in their place. Forcing his eyes to focus, he looked at last toward his leg, almost dreading to see the damage - and he gave something of a strangled sob when he saw the flesh impaled upon his own sword, the blade jammed into one side and emerging red-rimmed from the other. He needed help and he was alone and he could just barely see Colette to his side and she still wasn't moving and he could still hardly breathe and - everyone was gone.
His friends were missing, their blankets all but shredded, and the fire was still burning and a black weight pressing against his throat, and he was crying, trying to breathe, his lungs shaking with the effort. Colette was quiet and motionless and everybody was gone and he was alone, somehow, and the stars were back in the skies, and he wondered, brokenly, how everything had gone wrong, how he had lost everything and everyone and how he was so damn cold, laying next to the fire, unable to feel even the shimmering smoke curling around his skin.
Somehow, he was alone.
oOo
Blood.
It was everywhere, really, here, there, left and right, up and down - and he was standing alone on the field, daggers clutched in his hands, wondering how every man against the horizon was carved to pieces the moment he closed his eyes. He was shaking, a bit, still reeling from the fire racing along his veins, touched by the dead wind rolling across the grass, the same grass painted red and the same wind carrying the sound of silence to his ears.
What was it that they called him? The Demon General?
Yes. Perhaps that was accurate. Perhaps he was a bit of a demon, after all - for what else could he be? Few others stepped to the battlefield alone, yes, and far fewer stepped from it alive - perhaps there was something unnatural, then, to the way he was alone, untouched, unscarred, and yet bathed in the blood of every shadow on that field except his own.
He moved, slowly, staggering off into the grass, his limbs deadened, the red-rimmed fingers dropping his daggers to the earth. The sky was swimming, the horizon swirling and twirling against his eyes, and he lost his balance, then, collapsing onto the dirt, landing with a thud that seemed to be swallowed much too quickly into the silence. It was getting hard to remember, now, what had brought him here - he had been forgetting things, recently, things he knew he shouldn't forget, things like his past and things like how he had come across that peculiar black jewel kept forever close by his side.
That jewel - it was a strange one, he knew. He remembered only that it had saved him, so long ago, had brought him from the brink of death, had given him strength and warmth and the necessary power to strike out against the world. He brought it, on a whim, out of its pouch, holding it up with tired fingers against the sunset, marveling at the way it shone against the fading sun.
Except he blinked, then, and screamed, dropping the jewel to the grass, scrambling backward and collapsing again on shaky legs, staring at his hands in horror. They were black, now, entirely a shade of midnight, seeming almost shapeless and vague in the withering light - but the fingertips were shifting, then, forming into great claws, powerful talons befitting a devil of the highest ranks in hell. He was shaking, again, blinking his eyes so quickly, hoping it was just an illusion - and then his hands were back to normal and again bathed in blood and he sank to the grass, breathing quickly, finding his face much too close to that jewel but finding himself much too tired to move.
Something was happening, he knew. Something was going to happen and he supposed he should have been afraid - but the fear was fading, falling away, and he was relaxing, then, finding the memories rolling back into his mind. The jewel would protect him. It always had, of course, and he never had doubted it, until now, when there was so muchblack bloodpainted around him, when the jewel was flickering in the sunlight and a black hand settling close to his heart.
And then suddenly he was screaming, quaking in the grass,feeling his body shift and reshape and tear, and there was blackness all around and blackness in the way the last taste of sunlight reflectedagainst thered-stained grass.
Blood.
It was everywhere, really.
oOo
Pain.
"Are you awake, then?"
What?
"Come, now. Open your eyes."
Are they...gone?
"Lloyd?"
Alone...
"Come, come. Open your eyes."
Lloyd did so, slowly, his eyes reeling in protest from the light weaving and dancing around his face. Everything hurt - everything was painful and he could hardly even move his body and it was really much too bright. There was someone there, some man lurking overhead; he looked vaguely familiar, maybe, and somehow completely different in the light's flowing color. "Where am I?" Lloyd asked, gradually, his throat dry and lips magnificently cracked.
"On the road to recovery, I hope. Here - drink."
Water was pressed against his lips and Lloyd simply complied, letting the liquid trail down his throat, feeling only marginally refreshed but suitably awake now to blink his eyes a bit and let his gaze wander around the room. He was in a cabin, a plain wooden room, one with only the sparsest furnishings but an absolutely interesting amount of books.
Books?
The Storyteller.
"Where are my friends?" Lloyd asked, immediately, the words rough and unsteady but flowing all the same. There was a small hope, there, in the back of his mind, that maybe they were here, somehow, resting in just the next room, with Colette, too, and everyone would be fine and everyone would be okay -
"You came with only the Chosen, did you not?"
Lloyd's eyes slipped shut again and the great burden, lifted for only a moment, came crashing back down onto his shoulders, seeming to almost push him further back into the bed. That crushing loss he had felt for only those few seconds after his fall came tumbling back full-force, settling into the back of his mind, bringing unbidden tears to his eyes and a gnawing frustration to the way his hands clutched tightly to the bed sheets. "No," he said, quietly, all but withdrawing into himself, feeling remarkably alone once again despite the other man's presence.
"I am sorry," the Storyteller began, and Lloyd cracked his eyes open to see the man sink back into a nearby chair, exhaustion written plainly in the lines of his face. "But I found you two and no one else."
Lloyd nodded, briefly, letting his eyes trail down to his own body, finding instead a great swath of bandages that all but chained him to the bed. "I can't move," he said, somewhat helplessly, struggling a bit and gasping when a sharp pain cut into his limbs. With a sigh of frustration he sunk back into his pillow; now was not the time to be laying about completely injured, not when Sheena and Raine and Zelos and everyone could be in danger, not when Colette - "How is she?" he asked, immediately, feeling almost guilty for not thinking of it sooner, even as the piercing memory of her black eyes rose to mind.
"The Chosen has yet to awaken," the older man said, still slumping a bit in his chair, a wistful expression crossing his face. "She suffered no injuries, thankfully, though she seems to be in a deep sleep nonetheless." He turned, then, to Lloyd, with an admonishing expression of eerie similarity that of Raine's. "You must not move for a few more hours - my magic isn't quite as strong as it used to be, and it will take some time before you are healed."
Lloyd said nothing, simply shifting a bit against his pillow, almost hesitant to ask the next question that sprung to his lips. "My leg?" There was that peculiar sensation of blood, of pain and tears, of how cleanly the sword had sunk into his skin, and for a second he felt somewhat nauseous, fighting in vain against the image of seeing his own blood trailing down the blade's edge.
"It will heal completely, in time. I'm afraid you must not put much effort on it for at least a few weeks, lest it be permanently damaged."
"But I can't do that!" Lloyd said, much louder than he had intended, though the Storyteller didn't look surprised in the least. "My friends are in danger," he went on, quite plainly, not bothering to hide the worry underlining his words. "I have to help them! I only have two days or something bad might happen to them." He knew he sounded weak, perhaps, but, all things considered, he decided he didn't really give a damn, at least not the point where he would bother to blink away the tears of frustration rolling down his cheeks.
The Storyteller moved, slowly, to lift a small bag from the floor, arching an eyebrow and shaking it gently. "Plenty of time, then, to tell me where you managed to find this." With a quick touch to the drawstrings he dumped the bag's contents onto his palm - and in the moment the jewel came to light the buzzing began, the chaotic rumblings echoing in Lloyd's mind, the same vague words he could only just catch through the roaring static.
"You - you know what it is?"
The older man merely shrugged, twisting and tumbling the jewel through his fingers, letting it catch the white light and frowning as the gem seemed to grow only darker. "I should certainly hope so. It has not been seen for many years." Eventually, he slid the thing back into its bag, and, setting it aside, turned back to Lloyd, with a look of intent curiosity. "Please, tell me your story. To my knowledge, Seravine has not surfaced since the Great Kharlan War."
Lloyd blinked. "Seravine?" he asked, rolling the word along his tongue, before giving a small shrug. "Funny name." And a moment later he began his story, from the beginning, from finding the jewel in the depths of Gaoracchia forest to where it had brought him now, pausing only a moment during the memory of the fires in Iselia to turn his head and shake away the image of the destruction.
"You have come a long way, my friend," the Storyteller said, quietly, wearing an expression of instinctive thoughtfulness. "It was quite lucky I found you this morning, for that matter. You certainly seem to have been through quite an ordeal last night."
"Yeah," Lloyd said, his mind very much elsewhere. "Looks like it." He was growing frustrated, again, at this waiting, at knowing his friends might be in danger, but before he could voice his complaints the other man's voice snapped into hearing.
"Allow me, then, to tell you what I know. I'm afraid it is very little, but what I have learned may be of use to you."
Lloyd simply nodded, shifting a bit and settling further back against the pillow, knowing he had little other choice for the time being. "I'm listening."
"I know of only one other man to have ever carried it," the Storyteller began, his eyes wandering somewhere far off and away, seeming almost to sink into his thoughts. "Someone who has been dead for many years, most thankfully." There was a certain darkness to the smile that played across his lips.
Lloyd arched an eyebrow. "That wasn't very nice," he said, lightly, pausing a moment and almost flinching as the word hypocrite rose suddenly to the front of his mind.
The other man gave a small shrug. "I am glad, regardless, for if he were alive I fear our problems would be far worse than they currently are." He paused, briefly, furrowing his brow, before turning back to Lloyd. "I believe you've encountered him, once, though not directly."
"Who?"
"Richard Nebilim."
A stunned silence enveloped the room. And then came the memories - of the Shadow Temple, of Abyssion, of Presea and her darkness and of the fight, the nightmare, the battle that went so long and so quickly and brought only the same bloodshed and pain in the end. There was something else, too, some brief important sort of thing, something Lloyd knew he should realize, something he knew he should have latched on to, but the feeling fell away as quickly as it came and he turned back to the Story Teller, the words already settling onto his lips.
"The Demon General," he said, softly, the words coming smoothly and suddenly, such that he hardly knew he was speaking.
"Yes," the Story Teller agreed, something youthful coming across his face as his eyes grew far and away. "A tragic tale in every sense of the phrase. Let's see - how does it begin?" He paused, a moment, stroking at his chin, and then continued with a burst of enthusiasm. "Ah, yes, I recall now! He was a thief, if I remember correctly, a young lad who made a living on the market streets. I do not pretend to know his history, or as to how he was forced to live such a life, mind you, though there seem good indications that he had some conflict with his father at one point or the other."
This sounds familiar, Lloyd thought, briefly, narrowing his eyes and digging back into his mind, though only some strange fog came tumbling into his grasp. "Go on."
"Yes, certainly. It was in one of his thieveries that he came across Seravine, I believe, and, upon eventually being caught, was forced to flee to the forests, where the jewel gradually twisted him into a monster befitting of its black curse." The Story Teller slowed a moment, his eyes falling to Lloyd's, and, with a frown, stood and began to pace to and fro across the room, his footsteps echoing gently against the plain wooden surface. "What do you know of his death?" he asked, finally, coming to a heavy stop.
"Curse?" The word had rung strong and true against his thoughts, snapping him to attention, and Lloyd turned to the older man with something akin to worry. "What do you mean?"
The Story Teller frowned, turning his head to the side, glancing out the window for all of a moment before running a weathered hand along the back of his skull. "Later," he said at last, nodding. "I will tell you what I know in a moment. First, answer my question - what do you know of his death?"
Lloyd tried vainly to shrug, struggling a short moment against his bandages. "Not much. Abyssion told us he was killed by a legendary swordsman, I think. With twelve legendary weapons, however that works."
The Story Teller gave a brief chuckle. "And you believe the word of someone who tricked you into bringing him the necessary instruments for the invocation?"
Damn. "I hadn't thought about that," Lloyd said, truthfully, wondering why the possibility had never once come to mind. "I guess it makes sense he would lie. Something tells me a legendary swordsman wouldn't have much use for a chakram," he continued, lightly, his mind flittering back a moment to Colette and then immediately returning as a fresh twinge of guilt ran rampant across his gut.
"Quite true. It is unfortunate I did not know of your quest to collect the items, for I would have done my utmost to stop you. If you are curious, the twelve weapons are unique artifacts held by only the wickedest warriors in history, each with sufficient power to allow - what was his name? Abyssion? - to call the soul of Nebilim into his body." He paused, again, another dark smile leaping to his lips. "I suspect you're curious as to how I learned all of this."
Lloyd nodded. "Yeah."
"Allow me to put it this way," the man began, seeming to weigh his words most carefully. "I have spoken with this same legendary swordsman who did the deed so long ago." He fell silent for a minute before turning with a wry grin. "And no, I'm not that old. Rather, the one I spoke with has remarkable longevity, such to bring the tale in our current days."
"Wow," Lloyd said, simply, bringing it all in, eying the other man with an enhanced respect. He was tempted, all at once, to ask this legendary warrior's name, but at the same moment the question sprung to his lips, the Story Teller returned to his chair with a wince, his own question breaking the silence.
"Tell me then, Lloyd. What do you plan to do?"
Lloyd tried and failed again to shrug. "I really don't know how I'm going to do it, but I have to save my friends. They're everything to me." He turned his face aside for the moment, trying to stem the damnable tears that came to his eyes. "Some bastard took them," he went on, tasting blood on his tongue as he nearly choked on the words, feeling all at once submerged and gloriously above the rage that swept across his bandaged body, an anger that was new and almost frightening in its strength.
"You realize, yes, that they could be scattered anywhere across our world?"
"Yeah," Lloyd said, softly, now, his anger deflated, leaving the guilt and the helplessness to crawl back in. "I wasn't strong enough," he said, almost quietly, feeling the need to explain, perhaps misreading the look that flashed across the older man's face. He shifted, in the thick silence, letting his eyes wander to the pouch sitting so plainly on the floor. "What has it done to me?" he asked, suddenly, the words almost falling from his mouth, wishing against all odds that he had never found the damn thing that stormy night in Gaoracchia. It was the same question he had posed not moments before, and, if the tiredness that came to the other man's eyes was any indication, not one his host was looking to answer.
"Only what you have allowed it," the Story Teller said, pensively, leaning back further into his chair with a look of brooding. "I wish I could say there was some simple way to be rid of the thing, but Seravine is not of this world. Its origins have been forever a mystery, to my mind, and the only other man to have wielded it..." he trailed off, momentarily, turning his eyes away. "Well, I'd imagine you can guess."
"Will I - " Lloyd fell silent, for a second, trying and failing to squash the sinking feeling that had begun to rain down against his stomach. "Will I become like him?" he asked, at last, almost dreading the answer, and knowing, still, that the question had to be asked.
"I do not know," the older man said, with apparent honesty. "Perhaps you are strong. Perhaps you have nothing to fear. Perhaps - "
"Perhaps it's too late," Lloyd said, softly, the words sinking gently into the silence.
"Perhaps it is too late," the Story Teller agreed, nodding. He came closer, then, scooting his chair to rest near the bed, looking Lloyd straight in the eyes. "I do not know who - or what - has taken your friends. I do not know where they may lie now, or even if they are still alive. I'm afraid I don't even know enough about Seravine to tell you with all honesty what may happen." A bitter smile touched upon his lips. "And yet you came here in search of my guidance. Sit a moment, then, and listen, and I will tell you what I do know, what I can tell after hearing your story."
There was a strange fire in the depths of the man's eyes.
"It has begun. You may have been safe, at one point in time, but Seravine has begun to wrap itself around you, has begun to work its curse within your blood. Only you, however, can decide what happens - whether you lose yourself to the darkness, or whether you fight until some way of destroying the thing is found. This, I fear, will be your greatest battle." The strength that had so previously affected his voice quavered, gently, before fading. "You fight not for the world, now, Lloyd. You fight for yourself."
It was so strange - there was darkness, there, in that very room, somehow flittering in and out against the light pouring in through the window; Lloyd could almost see it, now, somewhere in the shadows, somewhere in the scant black beneath the older man's eyes, or perhaps somewhere in the depths of his own mind. Everything seemed so much grander now, so much more precious - but everything had changed and suddenly this frightening black gem was shaping him, slowly, giving him its power, lending some dark strength that he didn't want and couldn't refuse.
It was all so confusing. He longed for a time where it had been so much simpler - back in the schoolhouse, perhaps, with just Genis and Colette, carrying buckets of water and wondering why Professor Raine always called on him for the answers he never bothered to know. He liked to think it really wasn't so much to ask, in the end, for just some opportunity to start over in his life, to maybe make a few more right choices and never step a foot in the damned Gaoracchia Forest ever again.
But then some old picture came to mind - a memory he had, tucked back into his thoughts, of his friends, his companions, standing in some nameless field and sharing a wide smile. Perhaps this was worth it - if he could make their lives better, perhaps this pain and this darkness wasn't so dangerous after all.
"Lloyd?"
"I'll never give in," he said, at once, a new determination coming to mind, narrowing his eyes at the bag sitting so innocently by the chair. "It's a part of me, now," he said, softly, working through his thoughts, feeling a refreshing strength in the words that slipped free from his mouth. "I've been around it too long. But that doesn't matter - so long as my friends are safe, I'll carry this to my grave." Slowly, Lloyd's eyes slipped close, his words echoing past the falling sun coming with a weak fervor through the window. "I'll never give in."
"You have only one option, then," the Story Teller murmured. There was reluctance, there, some faint twinge to the man's voice, and, for a moment, a new silence fell lightly across the room.
Lloyd opened his eyes.
"I'm listening."
oOo
She was sleeping, so quietly, hardly moving at all, and Lloyd took her hand in his, relieved to feel the warmth, nearly collapsing back into his chair and wondering just how many times he would have to see her like this. She had been through so much trial, so much torture, and, even now, she was smiling, her breath coming in light and gentle whispers across her lips, looking for all the world like the angel she had never truly wanted to be. He wondered if she would remember - remember that pain not so long ago, remember feeling that one moment where some curious hand had taken hold of her body, remember that it was completely his fault and blame him like he knew she wouldn't.
He wondered, mostly, if she would ever wake up again.
The gem was sitting at his belt and the words were still running through his mind - You have only one option - and he wasn't sure if he could actually do this, could actually go through with the idea, could actually give in to the forces he had been fighting so valiantly for so long. And then their faces would slip to mind and he knew he didn't have much of a choice, really, and, all things considered, maybe he was okay with that, as it saved him a lot of time from thinking it over. Everyone needs me. Sheena, Raine - hell, even Zelos, I guess.
Slowly, a hand slipped to his belt, the fingers unfurling the bag's clasp, and after a moment he brought the jewel - Seravine? - to light, almost staggering as that damnable static again crushed against his mind. There were voices now, and he could almost hear the words; it was a woman, some poor soul Lloyd knew he should recognize, but still it wasn't clear and still all sounds slipped away save for the screams scattered amongst the noise. The jewel was throbbing, too, scintillating at his fingers, and it was with a sigh that Lloyd stood on unstable legs, closing his fingers tightly around the gem. No turning back now.
You have only one option, then.
All at once the room was shifting, changing, some obsidian smoke whirling and twirling around his feet, and he could feel new life to his veins, new strength to his blood, and again some dark hand settling so much closer to his heart. He would keep fighting - it was his only chance, his only hope, but there was this new idea, too, that no matter what happened, no matter what was laying just before the horizon, it was his friends that truly mattered. So long as they were safe, Lloyd knew without a doubt that he would be just fine, never mind this calling darkness or the sense curling in his stomach that the end to this nightmare was drawing near.
Listen carefully, Lloyd. If you wish it, Seravine can take you where you need to go.
And still the darkness was curling, rolling around his limbs, the gem pulsing wildly in his hand, and he turned back to Colette for one last look, glad and depressed all at once for having to leave her - except she was awake, watching him, her eyes blue and round, and her skin was so pale and one small tear was slipping from her eye.
She was - the word came slowly and all at once - beautiful. He had known that, had always known that, but for whatever reason it came to him full force, then, watching a pearl-like tear roll down from her eye, wanting to move closer and brush it away and yet knowing that doing so would only make it that much harder to say goodbye. Perhaps, at some other time, maybe when this mess was entirely over and tucked away into the past, he could simply sit down and talk with her, could simply wrap her in a hug and think back to everything they had been through together.
Lloyd had come to realize, eventually, just what the wrenching feeling he felt every time he watched her cry truly was; there was a name to it, he was sure, something he probably wasn't ready for, not when everything was so confusing and when he might even be feeling the same way for someone else too. But it was there, regardless, and he knew it would have to be taken care of - perhaps when everything was over, when everything was said and done, when he could put his life back on track and take care of the matters that were truly important in the grand scheme of things.
"Are you coming back?" she asked, so softly, though the words came sharp and piercing through the static's roar.
But I must warn you...
Lloyd turned his head to the side, closing his eyes, knowing he couldn't lie. He didn't want to - but no, it had to be done, it had to be said, lest he let this black wrap around him and leave her question to the chill of the empty room. He looked at her, then, sliding his eyes open just a fraction, feeling something like his old smile slip back onto his face - the one he could barely remember, the one that made him who he truly was, and the one that had to tell her he might never see her again.
"I don't know."
You may not survive.
She was crying, now, the tears coming freely, and, in one long second, he was gone.