Disclaimer: The characters, setting, and premise of Chrono Trigger don't belong to me.
Chapter Four - - When will I be free?
There wasn't more than a second's delay between when Dalton opened his eye and when he bolted upright, whirling around in blind terror. His hair, having escaped from behind him, draped and flowed wildly around him. Absolutely everything that had happened in the caves was so fresh in his mind that even the most unremarkable sensations he'd experienced came back all at once, threatening to totally overwhelm him.
Tentatively, gently, his fingers made their way up his face, barely daring to finish their journey. He didn't relent, even though he longed to, until he'd reached the leather of his eye patch, pushing it aside very gently. There was no mirror, but he could tell once he brushed the cold smoothness of the eye in its socket that it had been no dream, and that everything that took place in the caves had been real.
He was about to pull the eye back out, but for some reason, his hands wouldn't carry out the order. He tried again, flexing his hand slightly, but nothing came of it. In confusion and terror, he watched his hand move back down to rest casually on his chest, the patch falling back into place on its own.
What... what's happening...?
It was then that he felt it, a reticent whisper growing stronger from inside of him. With it came a pulse of dread that shot straight down his spine, a black coursing secretion that forced him back inside of himself.
The guru of Reason came across him several hours later, curled up on his side, his one eye wide open, but without any sign of life within it. Dalton saw him, but it was as if he was watching the event from a very great distance, forced to observe and unable to participate.
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Dalton found himself in Belthasar's company more in the next month than he could remember ever having done in the past, even after the loss of his eye. The old guru generally rambled pointlessly, talking with a sort of childish excitement of the matters that concerned him at the moment, usually of magic or science or some such thing that Dalton had no real interest in. For all that, Belthasar and the tired Nu who always accompanied him quickly became regular fixtures around him, providing him a small amount of comfort in their nearness.
At times Melchior came as well - Dalton enjoyed those visits much less. The guru of Life rarely said more than a few solitary words at a time, and his sharp eyes almost never left Dalton's face for any long period. When he did speak, it was usually to question Dalton on how he was feeling, as had done at least once a week since the events in the cave. Though the old man never actually asked him about what took place there, it didn't matter. Dalton thought about it anyway.
When he hadn't returned from the deep darkness of the caves, two of the guards had ventured down inside to look for him. Though he didn't remember anything after retrieving the eye, the guards had found him up against the wall of the tunnel not fifty paces from its mouth, a very considerable distance from where his memories of the event had fallen off. According to their reports, he'd been unconscious and his sword was unsheathed and in his hand.
Wasting no time, the scholars and gurus had gone to the caves at once, determined to end the threats that the tunnel apparently posed to anyone, no matter their station. In no more than an hour, the tunnel had been walled up and guarded with magic, so severely blocked that many who had been there claimed that the old entrance now looked no different from any other rock wall. There was talk about digging another tunnel directly from the surface down to the same coordinates to provide a way for the scholars to study the phenomena that was still totally unclassified. It would keep any earthbound from venturing in unwittingly, and if the new tunnel descended straight down, a basket or transport apparatus could keep anyone from returning to the surface if they contracted what had been recently dubbed the terran madness.'
Thus far, the Queen had staunchly refused these requests. In her address, she spoke of the recent happenings in a much more skeptical tone than most of those in the council. The power, she claimed, had not proven in any way to be benevolent, and it ought to be closed off for good. It was likely they would be opening a Pandora's box that they couldn't possibly be prepared for.
Dalton thought of her with a strong amount of scorn, and though he couldn't say why, he also didn't care. Things were changing quickly, and all around him the great changes could be seen. Belthasar had started construction on a massive, winged device whose purpose meant little to Dalton, but he was enlisted to help the old man just the same, overseeing the builders, and he did so without complaint.
It was an unpleasant, menial task, but it was better than being constantly confined to his room in the palace. The queen had given him free leave to recover from the ordeal, encouraging him to enjoy Belthasar's tutelage while he could. He knew as well as she did that he wouldn't be returning to active duty any time soon.
Since his tasks required so little conscious thought, he soon found that he'd almost given it up altogether. His body seemed to know what to do without his involvement, so for awhile, he let it. After all, it was easier to live as a spectator - it was what he was used to. The real world was no place for him any longer, as the back of his mind always told him. It was better that he stay out of the way, just stepped aside for awhile and let things take care of themselves.
Give in,' the thoughts whispered, as black and coursing as ever they had been. Give in and rest, and let your mind go. There is no need for you to hold it so tightly...'
The thoughts disgusted and horrified him, as his hand had when it first disobeyed him. He raged against the ideas, burying himself in any activity he could find with all of his being. He found himself beside Belthasar more and more, doing his best to focus on every word the old man said, and pouring over the blueprints and designs whenever he had a spare second.
On this day, Belthasar sat in a chair comfortably in the tower of the new aeroplane dock, leaning forward and calling out instructions to the Nu, who was doing its' best to follow the old man's instructions, scratching with a disproportionately large quill over a massive sheet of parchment. Eventually Belthasar gave up and snatched the quill away, tracing over the lines himself.
The room they were in was of a new design. Metal walls hummed with power. Lights danced between the joined metal panels, flashing quietly in sequence. A great many of them weren't active - with the shortage of energy, this place could only run at partial capacity, but that didn't seem to bother Belthasar at all. He basked in the sunlight that filtered through the room's large windows, stopping every now and then to smile into it.
Dalton wondered angrily how the man could be so content. They were already behind schedule on construction by almost three weeks. The dead-line was self-imposed, but Dalton resented that they did not adhere to it.
As they worked, Dalton noticed little by little that the Guru of Reason divided his gaze between the parchment and Dalton himself. He was very discreet, and in fact it took Dalton some time to discover that he was being watched at all. When he did, it was a nagging sensation rather than any kind of awareness. Some part of him simply knew, and he did not question it overmuch.
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Each day, the power that sustained the floating kingdom was growing more and more faint. Even with the full power of the elements being channeled day and night in Kajar, it was not enough. The feel of magic, which floated in and over all things above the clouds like the air itself, was now only an oily shadow of its former self.
The magical kingdom of Zeal was weakening. Who knew how long it would be until there was nothing left to sustain it, until the very continent fell back down to the earth?
Queen Zeal sat alone on her throne, gazing out across the sky-scape below her. The palace of Zeal was perched on the peak of the mystic mountain, on the very edge of the continent, and from here she could look down onto the flowing ocean of clouds, soft and white and serene in their own indifference.
Any more, she spent a great deal of time here, staring off into the nothingness. Morning was coming, rising gently over the untouched peace of the world. The matinal light was unmistakably beautiful, but it had been a very long time since she had found hope in it.
Whether she was here, or cradling Janus, or reading to Schala out of one of the leather bound, gilded books the girl was so fond of, or conferencing with Melchior or Gaspar, or lecturing to the council, the impending doom around her was impossible to forget. On occasion, she ventured into the sun palace and stared at the golden stone, watching the flicker of perpetual sunset mar its brilliantly smooth surface. How would they survive, when that power was finally gone? How would her people survive, when the strain of drawing magic directly from the elements drove her mad or killed her? Would Schala be able to lead them? How could she wish was a terrible fate onto her beloved daughter?
A throbbing headache pounded behind her temples already. Maybe she should go to Melchior for something before she tried to channel more magic this morning. She would be no good to anyone if she wore herself out completely.
Rising from the throne, she walked through the eternally quiet halls of the palace, seeking out the chambers of the guru of Life. He wasn't there, but that was really no surprise. Melchior was never in one place for very long, driven as he was to solve all of the problems of the world.
His chambers weren't locked, so she pushed the door open and milled about in the doorway for a moment. Inside, a great deal of plants sat opulently in heavy pots of bronze and gold and porcelain, covering window ledges and the floor. Several were suspended from the ceiling by golden chains, covered in white or yellow blossoms the size of her fist.
What wasn't a mass of green and growing things was cluttered with curious bits of metal or the hammers of master craftsmen, mingled with charts and designs for weapons and other devices that she didn't recognize. Vials and bottles filled with white powders, shimmering and opaque liquids, laudanum, oily salves, and all manner of other tinctures were organized neatly on several bookshelves on the periphery of the room.
Walking past his high oaken desk delicately on the way to the shelves, she noticed one curious item. It was a book with a dark green cover, inscribed with golden patterns. Melchior was a well-educated man, obviously enough, but books were more something she associated with the guru of Reason. Fingering its binding curiously, the queen turned it over in her hands, upsetting the quill and page of notes that were sitting beside it.
The Fire in the World, and the Magical Implications of the Creatures Dwelling There, she read aloud, feeling silly. Melchior couldn't seriously believe in any of this nonsense, written by scattered old scholars ages ago, when Zeal was little more than a crude collection of villages. It was nothing more than ancient, unfounded myth, and she was more than a little surprised that the book was in as good a condition as it was.
Though she had every intention of letting the book fall back on the table, she couldn't quite make herself do so. Without knowing why, she lifted the book and wrapped it in her shawl. Melchior wouldn't mind if she borrowed it, needing a new story to amuse Schala before she put the girl down to bed at night. What would be better than this book of old jargon? Perhaps that was why Melchior had found it anyway, as a gift to the princess. She and the old man were very close anyway - it certainly wouldn't be an unheard of notion.
Satisfied with her explanation, she went on her way, quite forgetting what it was she had come there for in the first place. She pushed open the door and set off down the hallway briskly, determined to read over the story when she got back to the throne room. It wouldn't do for her to be unfamiliar with it when she read it to her daughter.
So absorbed was she in her thoughts that she didn't even notice the figure by her side for a moment. When Dalton spoke to her, she started.
I hope I didn't startle you, he said in a dazed, slightly out of place voice, his one eye watching her abstractedly. When she replied haltingly that he hadn't, a very subtle change seemed to come over him. All at once his eye fixed on her shawl where the book was wrapped, and he stood a bit straighter. I'm glad, then. His voice was smoother sounding, and vaguely upsetting.
With an almost smug smile, he turned at once and went on his way, leaving her with a slightly disdainful, It was good to see you so well, your Highness. She stared for awhile at his retreating back, saying nothing.
When the oddness of his behavior had passed, she went on her way again. There was no use speculating over Dalton's behavior, so she didn't try. Instead, she rested the weight of the book in one hand and glanced again out over the swirling clouds as she passed, her mind very far away.
Ollen70: More should be coming soon. Thanks for reading, and reviews are always very appreciated.