Vyctori: I don't think my fic's that good, but if you want to think so, I have no problems with it. I can't tell you what you guessed wrong or right, because that would spoil the plot but I can say this: enjoy the flashback.
Psy-chan: Don't worry, there will be a lot of long chapters. Otherwise I wouldn't be able to get all my stuff in.
Eternal Outcast: Hello again!
remba1: You've outdone your self this time. And his full name is Matthew. The nickname will be explained…uh…sometime.
Vilya: Math isn't Felix; he's Felix reincarnated. What's the difference, you ask? Well…. Where's the fun in telling you now?
BTFreek: I'm using Picard as his first name and Piers as his last name. There will be more stuff later on why the senators want Picard out of office (and in the grave).
Alexditto: It's not a young life crisis, but a past life crisis.
GoldenDaydreamer: Thanks! I wasn't sure if the advice was taken as advice or nagging, so hearing from you is a bit of a relief.
End of Response Section
Wow, it's been over a week since I've updated! That means this fic has been in existence for over a month now! Cool.
The main reason for the delay is this: I couldn't decide on whose perspectives to do the chapter in. There's so much weird stuff that's so completely out of my experience that I'm not sure how the characters should respond to it.
Disclaimer: Rallalon doesn't own Golden Sun, any of its characters or items, rolling off of stuff, funny accents, early morning, impulses/tugs, constellations,dead languages.
………
"Mariner! Mariner, wake up!"
The voice was urgent but Picard took it was part of a dream. After all, no one called him that when he was awake. Not anymore at least.
"Wake up!" ordered the voice. Picard was grabbed by the shoulders and shaken roughly. This awoke an instinct as well as the mariner.
He lashed out blindly, hitting an arm. His attacker's grip loosed. He broke free, rolled to the side…
Thud!
…and abruptly realized that he had rolled right out of his hammock.
He was winded but didn't stay down for long. He rolled to his feet, this time making sure he wasn't going to fall off of or bash into something. As he did this, he pulled as much moisture out of the air as he could and hardened it. A sword of ice solidified in his hand even as he assumed Winding River, his favorite defense position.
He got his first real look at his opponent and saw… "Matthew?"
Indeed it was. He was holding himself differently, how Picard couldn't say, but some other characteristic was altered. "What are you… why are you here?"
"What's going on?" Matthew asked right back. His words sounded strange. Had the boy always had that accent? It was familiar, so maybe.
The boy also sounded shaken. Was it the sight of the ice sword? Picard released the ice in his grip, letting it go back to its gas form. No, that wasn't it; Matthew had regarded the frozen blade with complete indifference once it was clear Picard didn't mean to attack. That was strange in itself.
"What's going on?" Matthew repeated. That was when the realization hit Picard: those words weren't in English. The mariner switched languages accidentally at least once a week (after all, he knew hundreds of them), but this was the first time he had switched along with anyone else.
But what are we speaking? Picard pondered silently before saying out loud "I don't know, Matthew." Frankly, he had no idea at all.
The boy looked shocked. "Mariner," he said with dead seriousness. "It's me."
………
A light knocking at the door awoke Makrina. "Miss Zoshchenko?"
Andrew. Great. Just because she woke up easily didn't make her a morning person.
More knocking. Great. "I'm awake!" she called, not entirely sure she was telling the truth or speaking English.
"There's a problem with Mr. Gardner. If you could wake Mr. Dolgorukii and meet me outside Dr. Crade's room?" This guy was way too formal, way too early in the morning.
"Fine, sure, whatever."
Which is how she found herself standing outside Satornil's room. "Dolgorukii! Get your butt out of bed!" She punctuated this with a bang on the door.
She was answered with a snore. Normally, she wouldn't have blamed the guy for not waking up before sunrise, but if she had to, then he had to.
Fighting back images of finding him in his boxers (or even without them), she grabbed the doorknob and pushed. Stuck. She pushed harder. Still stuck. She pushed even harder nonetheless.
And the door flew open, letting her topple in, onto a chair that had been wedged against the door. Why didn't I think of doing that? she thought before catching sight of a sleeping Satornil.
A bare-chested sleeping Satornil. He was propped up against the headboard of the bed and was snoring lightly in a sitting position. Not a bad sight except for one thing: His shoulders… Two years ago, she might've thought he had dumped glue over himself then had laid down in a pile of small bluish rocks. This wasn't two years ago.
Unconsciously, she flexed her own shoulders against the inside of her long-sleeved T-shirt.
Is that…real? she thought. And felt a tug. Nothing physical, she was sure, just an impulse to touch it. Just a childish little feeling.
Then came another tug, enough to make her step forward and let out a small gasp. Not a loud one; that might've wakened him. The entire point of being in here is to wake him up! she berated herself. Silently.
She found that one step had taken her a lot farther than she had realized. So close that she noticed Satornil's brow tighten and that he looked a little blue. Was it that cold in there? This place must be drafty; the slight breeze, carrying the smell of the sea in though the window, seemed to be almost whispering.
"Sat–
–uros," she called out in a whisper. He sprang off of the boulder from where he had been stargazing. He would deny it, but she knew that was what the sentimental warrior had been doing. He always thinks he has to act so tough.
"What is it?" he asked quietly, his ears jerking in a way that threatened to make her laugh, trying to pick out the sounds of any threat.
"Nothing," she answered looking up at him in Luna's light. At the blockhead's confused look, she added, "I don't need an emergency to talk to you."
"Then what do you want to talk about?" he asked, ears still swiveling in all directions.
Instead of bringing up the topic she had in mind, she decided to stall. "Is that Megaera?" she baited, pointing intentionally at the wrong constellation.
"That," he corrected, taking her hand and pointing it at the right group of stars, "is Magaera. That," his hand guided hers back to the original constellation, "is Iris. Goddess of rainbows, guide of souls."
He realized at that point how close he was to her and hurriedly released his grip. His ears twitched again, this time conveying embarrassment.
Despite herself, she laughed. He gave her a quizzical look, and the twitching started coming from annoyance. While the twitch originated from an instinct to be intimidating, there was only one thing it was when he did it: funny.
The more she laughed, the more annoyed he became. The more annoyed he became, the more his ears twitched. The more his ears twitched, the more she laughed.
Finally, she stifled her laughter enough reach up and hold the humorous hearing appendages still. "Stop it." His ears went completely still. Not from her command, but from shock.
Saturos was so tall that in order to reach, she had had to stand close. Really close. As in, if she got any closer, she'd be standing on his feet. And with her hands over his ears, it was an easy thing to him to misinterpret what she had said. Especially with her pulling down slightly.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he put his arms around her. And then…
"Excuse me for breaking up this romantic little moment," said a million voices as one, "but there's somewhere else you two should be right now."
Makrina found herself staring directly into Satornil's eyes. Directly, as in their noses were about a centimeter apart. The pair broke apart, Makrina stepping backwards and Satornil losing his balance to topple back onto the bed.
One of the little monsters, a brown one, landed lightly beside him. "Come on! Get a shirt on, Prox boy."
"I'll, uh, be outside," Markrina said uncomfortably and headed out of the room as fast as possible. Where she found Piers.
"Have you seen Echo?"
………
"So, what's wrong with him?" Jen demanded. She, Crade, and Andrew were standing outside the room Matthew had collapsed in the previous night. He had been moved to a bed, but had apparently returned there. And they were supposed to stay out until Picard came back.
"He's, uh, well, I, um, I'm not exactly sure," Andrew admitted.
"Then why won't you let us see him?!" This guy was thoroughly getting on her nerves.
"There's no reason now that Echo's here," Picard answered coming around the corner with the before-mentioned Djinni riding on his shoulder. Satornil and Makrina followed in what was obviously an awkward silence.
"Why do we need Echo?" Crade inquired.
"He… ah," Picard stopped to consider his answer for a moment. "Well, he's speaking a dead language for one. You'll need Echo to translate."
Yeah…. Right, of course he is. "And what's the two?" Jen asked to Picard's back as the guy opened the door.
He didn't turn around. "He… You wouldn't believe me if I told you." And with that, the group, minus Andrew who went off…somewhere, went in.
Matthew was sitting in a chair with a black book in his hand, leafing through various pages, obviously trying to find something or other. One of the creatures that had terrified him before, a red one, was sitting on his head, shedding a pulsing light over the entire room.
That's not too weird. Her idea of strange was significantly changed from what it had been less than a day before.
Then he looked up. His gaze swept over the four of them, recognition appearing only for Picard. There was something else missing from his hazel eyes. It was the look that made him look like he was constantly daydreaming or always up for a bit of fun. In its place was a haunted look of one who had seen too much, too soon, too early in life. A look that said he was plagued by memories of events that shouldn't have happened, that nothing could make him forget.
He gently closed the book and set it down lightly, as if he expected the bound papers would unleash some fury it they were handled roughly. He then stood up, a little unsteady like they were back on the boat. He stood strangely, too; he didn't slouch or shift from side to side, his normal behavior when he was uneasy, as he was then. He favored his left leg and kept his right a little bit behind it.
Everyone eyed him and he eyed them right back. Finally, Crade broke the silence: "Matthew?"
The other gave a bitter laugh and studied his hand. "Yi'ta, Kraden," he replied. "Yi'ta." Echo happily zoomed around his head before swelling to cat size and landing in his arms.
Jen was as taken aback by how the syllables were spoken as much as she was by the strange words. His voice hadn't really changed, but a strange accent, similar to that of Picard, had altered it slightly. A touch of confidence had taken root where there had been little and entered into his tone.
That confidence shone through as he held the Djinni without complaint or fear. In fact, he seemed to be taking comfort in the beast! He tapped the brown creature lightly on its head, reminding it of its duty.
"'Partly, Kraden. Partly,'" the Djinni said in a thousand voices. Jen would never get used to hearing that.
Kraden? The word sounded familiar, but she couldn't remember where she had heard it.
Crade considered this reply for a moment before taking a guess that made absolutely no sense to Jen. "Felix?" The man was eerily calm.
The other grinned slightly and muttered softly to his Djinni who said: "'Yep. I just have no idea how and why I'm here. Mariner over here does though.'" He immediately sat down and went back to looking through the black book again.
Mariner? Apparently that meant Picard, on account that he started explaining.
"I think that this has something to do with Matthew's contact with the Sol Blade yesterday. It's possible that the sword had been effected by the Tomegathericon in a way that…transferred the memories of its pervious owner into Matthew. The memories might've over-whelmed his mind."
"'It's a theory I disagree with'," Echo repeated. "I feel like me.'"
Finally someone's making sence. Jen didn't believe a thing about the memories, but there might've been a…a chemical change in his brain that stopped him from speaking English. Or some other unlikely yet possible scenario.
"'Fine, not physically and I'm a little disoriented, but I feel like how I always do when I'm disoriented. Only I'm not bleeding all over the place.'"
"Physically?" Satornil asked.
"Bleeding?" Makrina said at the same moment.
"These are just Felix's memories speaking. The shear amount of information Matthew received has left him in a confused state," Picard explained. More likely he was really chemically unbalanced. "He's just confused," he stressed.
Jen seriously hoped that that was the case(the confused stuff, not the memory stuff; she didn't believe in that). Matthew seemed to have a different idea and before long he and Picard were arguing back and forth, each trying to explain what exactly the situation was to the other. Expressions and guestures changed as the pair spoke what seemed to be random syllables. It made Jen feel like she was watching a bad Japanese monster movie before it was dubbed in English.
She, Crade, Satornil and Makrina stood by the doorway, each feeling rather forgotten until a familiar Lemurian popped up behind them. Andrew told Picard something in what Jen thought to be yet another language, interrupting the bizarre argument.
After Matthew had said something else to him, Picard quickly excused himself and left.
What in the world was that about? Jen thought, confused to say the least.
………
The rising sun glittered off the fountain in New Lemuria as it peeked through the clouds. The water shone in the early morn Once called Old Lemuria, the area had been drained of water in the last hundred thousand years.
New because it had happened in the last hundred thousand years. It just showed how little changed in Lemuria. The most original thing that ever happened was the game the children played by the fountain. New things, strange things seemed to occur there nearly regularly. Years and years ago, when Oliver had been a boy of eighty he had met a man he had never seen before there. Tossing coins into the fountain and failing to hit the center, he had been more than surprised when the stranger completed the feat with his back turned.
And he hadn't found out that he was the king or even what his name was until two years later. Two years that were spent fishing and exploring underwater caves and anything else that was any fun. King Piers had thought the knowledge would change Oliver's view of him from big brother into mighty ruler, his friendly attitude into respect, jokes into seriousness, openness into uneasiness.
It had.
Still, a smile threatened to creep across Lord Oliver Crest's face as he looked out his second-story window to see one child add a particularly difficult movement to the growing list of actions that her friends would repeat. The girl had already gotten four of them out.
Only two to go, he thought proudly.
Only two! Maybe something had changed. As a child, there had been no one even remotely close to his age. And the one closest in appearance had been farthest away in years.
Even though he was Lemurian, the Lemurian aging process was a strange thing to him at times. That a father could out-live a son, that grandmother out-live granddaughter. That life should correspond with the strength of Psynergy, Psynergy that was tied so closely with life force.
He held back a sigh. There was no point in thinking of such things. He should be going instead; he had told Picard's boy that he would be there immediately. After quick climb down the stairs and an internal debate about the need to take a jacket, he was out the door and on his way.
"Daddy! Where're you going?"
The girl he had been watching perviously ran up to him and practically flung herself into his arms. "I won! I won this time, Daddy!"
Laughing, he lifted her up and spung her around once. "I'm proud of you, Melana," he told her and her smile practically split her face in two.
Back on the ground, she dizzily looked up at him, hold his hand tightly. "Where are we going?"
Oliver wasn't sure if he should laugh or sigh at the transition from "you" to "we" although taking her along might actually be a good idea. He hated involving her in politics, but the more complete the façade was the better. "We're going to go visit Mommy."
"Really?" his daughter asked, fiddling with the red ribbon tied about her wrist. "Can I bring some flowers?"
"Of course."
Soon enough, they arrived at their destination. Oliver looked around, seeing only stone, grass and a few growing flowers. Picard hadn't arrived yet, making them the only two people there.
After all, few Lemurians habitually visited graveyards.
"Mommy!" Melana cried out, dashing back to where the members of the Crest House were buried. "Look, I brought flowers! And I brought Daddy, too!"
Oliver found that a sad smile had somehow gotten itself onto his face. Absentmindedly stroking the red cord that wrapped around his wrist twice, he joined his daughter and bowed his head. Until his cord and Melana's ribbon fell off of their respective wrists, his wife's spirit would remain. Afterwards, she would be free to have a new life.
He planned on keeping his cord as long as he could.
"Hello, Oliver. I din't expect to see you here this early in the morning."
The lord was startled but refused to let it affect his voice. "Greetings, milord. I didn't hear your approch," he said with a bow.
Their manner of greeting was completely planned. All of Lemuria knew Oliver had lost his wife a short while(in Lemurian terms) back; Oliver visited regularly. All of Lemuria also knew that its ruler's friends and immediately family were deceased; King Piers visiting the graveyard was not at all uncommon. It may have been a slightly morbid meeting place, but it was a very good slightly morbid meeting place.
Melana stood and curtsied as best she knew how. "Good day, magesty." Oliver beamed inwardly.
"Good day, Lady Crest," Picard replied, receiving a smile that only a very proud child could produce. "And what brings you here this fine morning?" This too was customary; it was well-known that Picard had developed somewhat of a soft spot in regards to children.
"Me and Daddy are visiting Mommy," she replied, only remembering to add "milord" several moments too late.
"Is that so? I'm going to visit my mother as well."
"Really? Milord." Oliver surpressed a wince; she was getting better at it… just not as quickly as he might have hoped.
"Indeed I am and…" He cocked his head to the side, as if listening to something. This too was planned. "I believe Shade and Spring would like to engage in a game of hide-and-find with you."
The child grinned broadly. "And I would like to play with them too, milord." Yes! She remembered!
Once the pair was certain that even Melana was out of ear shot, the real conversation began:
"What do the senators think of the situation, Oliver?" Picard asked. He lowered himself to the ground and sat cross legged. He motioned for the other to join him.
Oliver sat down, trying to keep his clean robes from touching the dirt. He could always Restore them if they became dirty, but that wasn't the point. He considered the question for a moment before replying, "Many think you brought them here on purpose, despite what you say. Most think it would be best for them to remain here; it would cause too much of a commotion to do otherwise."
"It has already caused one. Five people are missing and, unlike the people of Lemuria, their families will notice quickly."
Oliver had to agree with him on that. Lady Hydros had gone off again, possibly weeks ago; they had just noticed and only because she hadn't been at the Senate House to greet the return of the king. "Of course, it would all die down in less than a hundred years," he pointed out.
Picard came very close to glaring at him, something he had never done before. "So you too suggest they stay here for the remainder of their lives? I make one mistake and five people receive a life-sentence for it?"
"I don't know, Picard! I really don't. There are reprecussions I can't even being to speculate about."
"You and I both." The four words seemed to hold a meaning Oliver had yet to grasp. Was something else going wrong?
"But, Picard, answer me this: why did you bring them?"
"I told you, Oliver. I didn't do it on purpose."
"You can't expect anyone to believe that," Oliver declared, standing up. "You sailed all the way back here before noticing they were aboard? And when you did, you didn't just take them back to the mainland? Had they seen your Psynergy or the Djinn? There's something you're keeping from us."
"Oliver." Picard stood and looked at him paciently.
Looking into that calm gaze, he felt like a child. A very small child trying to act like an adult. And like how Oliver himself had not told Melana all of what was going on, Picard was not telling him. There was a reason for this, one that only the with-holder of the information knew, but a good reason none the less. He found he couldn't hold that gaze, but neither could he look away. While he was stuck at this impasse, King Piers began to speak:
"Trust me, Oliver. And I'll trust you. The over-all situation is this: Lemuria remains primitive in ways of technology and has barely the population of a small town while the rest of the world continues to advance in varying degrees. Lemuria is fairly peaceful despite all the politics; the outside world bickers and wars. Lemuria retains Psynergy, little though it is; the rest of the world has forgotten it for the most part, regarding it as fantasy. When no more Psynergy remains, the world will die.
"Momentarily, we have the means, if not very good ones, to establish a connection to two countries. This will only happen, however, if the foreigners are returned and not kept hostage. We would have to rejoin soon anyway; sooner or later Lemuria will be found and when that happens we may be so technologically behind that our situation is nearly hopeless. At the moment, we have much to offer in ways of healing; we will not as their science continues to advance and our Psynergy wanes.
"My conclusion: something needs to be done and soon. Lemuria cannot continue to look down at the rest of the world; instead she must join it. Do you understand, Oliver?"
"Yes, milord," he whispered.
"None of that, Oliver," King Piers said jokingly, the spell his gaze had cast immediately broken. "I need someone who doesn't 'milord' my ear off."
He nodded numbly.
"I need to be getting back to our 'guests' now; can you plan something out?"
"Certainly."
It was King Piers' turn to nod and he did so before he walked away as if nothing had happened.
………
"So what do you actually look like?" Crade asked Matthew.
Jen could've screamed in annoyance; it was bad enough that Math was convinced he was someone else, but to have the old man encouraging it!
The small group, a crowd in the tiny room, was spread out over the three chairs and little table. Matthew was still fingering the black book, even if he wasn't looking though it.
"'I'm a Valeman by birth, Proxan by adoption, Laliveran by marriage, and an old guy who has had a limp since he was eighteen. An age I see this body hasn't reached yet.'" After a moment, he added, inspecting a scrawny arm, "'Plus, I'm not this wimpy.'"
"You're thin 'cause you don't like competitive sports and practically live on the computer," Jen reminded.
Even after Echo translated, Matthew stared at her blankly. "Com-pewter?"
Matthew had officially gone insane. Not that he hadn't been before.
"Did you say…Prox?" Satornil inquired hesitantly.
Even before Echo told him anything, Matthew's attention was sharply focused on his Russian friend. Math sprang up and in two fast steps closed in on Satornil enough to grab him by the shoulder.
"Saturos."