AN: All chapter titles followed by the letters "DE," means thatthey are the Definitive Edition and will not under go any futher revision.
(AAN: Until I noticed none of that spaces in the above showed up and that sentence was all one word. sighs Also, grammer errors, minor failing in continuity (ie: for those whom have already followed this through the first time, things like Jenna's necklace, mentioning something as important, then me forgetting to ever come back to it, make sure you tell me about it in a review, or in e-mail form. Though the content in the chapters is finished, a grammer-nazi's work is never done! Thank you! -S. Katharine Kellermeyer, aka: jedigrl2001)
Through the Others' Eyes
Chapter One:
Urgency
(Prox, five years prior to Golden Sun...)
"That's it!"
Roken held up the spare end of the rope at where he stood, displaying it to his comrade, Bihnde, who stood at the wooden marker at the far Northern edge of the beach. Even though the two were a fair distance apart, the amount of spare rope in Roken's hands worried both the male Proxinians. Bihnde gathered a large amount of air into his lungs and called out as loud as he could over the roaring winds, "Are you sure you can go no farther!"
Roken looked behind him to check. He adjusted his footing, staring at the waves lapping at his heels. He made a face, staring at Gaia Falls, looming endlessly behind him. The place where life and matter ended, eternities away from their land, unchanging and unmovable. If the stories of such a time were once true, that was.
Gaia Falls was no longer as distant from their shores as it once was. The beaches spread wide, sand creeping inland, waves breeching on the snow backs, deeper with each passing week.
The two Proxinians had been assigned this task by the elder; to determine a system to test the theory of whether or not the shores were eroding. The two decided it would be best to use a stake and a piece of rope.
The stake was placed some twenty-five meters from the shore, and every month, one would stand at the stake, while the other took a length of rope to the shore. This was only the second month. And the amount of spare rope Roken held up was at least two meters, if not more.
"I can't go any farther!" Roken yelled back to Bihnde over the roaring winds. "I'm practically in the water as it is!" Bihnde felt his heart fall into his stomach with a horrible thud.
"This isn't possible," he murmured to himself, staring at the twine Roken waved over his head. He took in a deep breath, composed his thoughts. "Come on in, Roken!" He scratched his neck slowly, shaking his head. "We've done all we can do here."
Roken took out a knife, cutting the excess rope away. He threw it over his shoulders, and began to wind up the remaining rope. Bihnde held the it taut as they wound, so the wind wouldn't catch it- or Roken. Finished, the two started home.
"Should we tell Puelle?" Roken asked softly, his red eyes peering out from behind his pale blue hair. Bihnde took in a deep breath through his nose, pulling the scarf closer around his neck and face.
"Yeah..."
Melima carried the scalding pot over from the fire to the table, setting it in the center where a thick cloth had been set to protect the wood from the heat. Four chairs were at the table, though only three sets of bowls and utensils were placed before them. Melima had put them there a long while ago, though dinner would not be ready for quite sometime. Only one of the four chairs was occupied. The girl was just shy of eleven years, and her stature made her look even younger.
Karst was small for her age and always had been. Her skin, a pale shade of lavender colored rose quartz, did not yet show the markings of their clan across her eyes that would come with age, however, young scales were beginning to show on her shoulders and arms. She had a short cut mess of wild magenta hair, which matched her eyes by just a slightly darker shade.
Karst sat at the table, as she had for nearly an hour, staring at a pitcher of water. She was tense and silent, her eyes solely concentrated on the pitcher. Tiny fingertips drummed on the table, and her eyes narrowed, cheeks flushing from overexertion. Only when Melima grabbed the pitcher from the table did Karst look up.
"That's enough for one day," Melima said quietly, opening the lid to the pot and pouring a bit of the water in.
Karst leaned back into her seat and pursed her lips into a pout. "I can't do it," she grumbled softly. "I'll never be able to use Psynergy."
Melima chuckled to herself, shaking her head. They had already had this discussion twice that day, and it looked as though Karst was ready for a third. Melima stirred in the water, steam rising from the pot in wide arcs as her face grew thoughtful. She sighed. "Karst, you're still very young to be thinking about training. You can't even be accepted for training until you're at least thirteen. Even then many are not ready to begin training."
"Menardi started when she was twelve," Karst rebutted. "And she's almost an adept."
Melima smirked slightly. "Her birthday was in a week, and no one can become an adept until the Elder allows it. Besides," she continued as the soup began to settle. "Your sister is much older than you… And not every child can be trained by The Elder, just a select few."
"I hope I can get trained by the elder," Karst said hopefully.
"Even if you were trained by Menardi, you would learn more than the other children," Melima said softly. "We've been very blessed while we've lived here."
Karst rested her hands on her lap and her head on the table, sighing deeply. "I guess."
Melima finished the soup, replacing the lid on the pot and stepping away, taking off the cloth she had wrapped around her hands to keep them from burning. Pausing a moment, she looked to her daughter. "Why don't you go to the elder's and get your sister? Tell her that dinner is ready."
Karst's tiny head shot up, Magenta banges flying over his face. "Really?"
"Yes."
Karst jumped up, racing to grab her hat and sweater. She hurriedly put on all the clothing she'd need to stay warm in the cold Proxinian winter, and raced toward the door, flinging it open and darting out before Melima could ask her to be safe.
Melima smiled to herself. Karst had always looked up to her elder sister. If someone didn't know they were sisters, they wouldn't have been able to tell. The two looked nothing like one another.
Menardi was a tall, slender young female with long, candlelight-colored hair that fell down to her waist. Her skin was a pinkish snow, the clan marks already displayed on her skin in vibrant red. The marks were like two thick claws, facing inward, stemming from her brow and crossing over her eyes. Her shoulders were just touched with the marks, but it brought her coloring to a whole. Menardi had been a fast learner, although she, too, did not discover her powers until she was a later age. And she pursued her training with an intensity that sometimes frightened even Melima.
Melima recalled a time when some of the neighboring boys had been teasing some poor young boy, throwing snow at him, calling him names. Menardi had been younger than the boys by almost two years, and smaller; small and fragile as a bird. They boys turned on her when she intervened, unchannelable rage building in her like steam in a bottle until she could do nothing but burst. Menardi came home with a bruised eye and a twisted ankle, a small cut on her arm that remained to that day. But the boys all required attention from the healers. And she never allowed them to forget it.
That incident was the reason Menardi was being trained by the elder; such great power, as well as anger, would be a boon to their people. Or their ruin. Only the elder took on students that presented such a danger. And no more than three.
Despite their rough edges, their family was content. Other females in the town complained of their children fighting, always in trouble, but Melima couldn't recall when she last heard Menardi raise her voice at Karst, nor the other way around.
Melima looked out her window to the north. Roken and Bihnde had returned. Neither of the men looked too happy, she noted with worry. Across Roken's shoulders was a massive coil of rope, save one long piece he carried in his hand.
Roken looked up at her, smiled tiredly and waved. She returned the tiny gesture, frowning slightly and returning to her soup.
"The match will be held with two students," the elder announced, his lazy red eyes slowly moving around the room. "It will be fought with staves only. The use of psynergy is forbidden. This is to be a test of strength and endurance. And perhaps of intellect," he added as an afterthought. He picked up two staves from where they hung on the wall, bringing them to the center of the sparring floor. His wrinkled face pulled up into a smile. "But who will the students be?" He glanced at the students for a long moment before his eyebrows lifted and he nodded. "Agatio."
The students around the massive boy clapped hands onto his shoulders, laughed and cheered quietly, whispered good luck. He turned back only to flash a broad grin at the girl he always stood by, Menardi. She smiled back, flushing slightly as the girls around her burst into giggles.
"And one more," the elder said softly as he tossed Agatio the pole. His eyes grew narrow, pensive.
Saturos stepped away from the ring, as though it would somehow hide him. The elder caught the movement with his eyes and smiled. "Saturos?"
The boy looked up.
"Would you care to join us?" the elder asked, still smiling.
Saturos felt his cheeks heat up. "I meant no disrespect, Elder—"
"Then come," the elder grinned, tossing him the staff. "You shall be our second participant."
Saturos made a face, starting out onto the floor. There were no quiet cheers, no wishes of good luck, and no one for him to turn back and smile at. The room was quiet, students stirring restlessly, whispering. 'Why is he here?' 'Did you hear the rumors?' 'He's that one…'
Saturos's eyes narrowed on the elder, who only smiled at him, clapping a hand on his forearm. "Good luck, my student."
"I hope so," he muttered, taking his place on the sparring floor.
Agatio stepped forward, holding out his hand to the boy. Saturos stared at it for a long moment, then cautiously took it, giving it one firm grasp before pulling away and instantly falling into offensive position.
Agatio looked over at the group of students one last time as one screamed out his name. He laughed lightly, and fell into a position, similar to Saturos's, yet entirely different.
"Are the students prepared?" the elder asked.
"Yes," Saturos murmured.
"Always," Agatio grinned.
"Then begin."
Saturos started with a hard right swing, Agatio blocking with ease. He spun to one side as Saturos jabbed out, coming around Saturos's rear and bringing the staff down on his back.
The students erupted in cheers.
Saturos hissed air out, falling forward into a roll, staying low to the ground on his knees. Agatio stayed away for a moment, slowly circling Saturos. He slowly rose, eyes on Agatio as he stepped back, shaking his head in attempt to shake off the pain. Within moments, Agatio was swinging his staff.
Saturos fell hard on his back, the wind knocked out of him. The room spun momentarily, black spots clouding his vision as he struggled to regain his breath. The stars cleared just as his opponent's pole swung down at him. Saturos gasped, raising his own pole horizontally to block the attack.
The two wooden sticks collided with a snapping noise that echoed in the spacious room for several moments, the elder boy standing above Saturos, staring down at him through bright red eyes.
"Come on, Saturos," Agatio whispered, a light grin on his lips. "Give."
"No," Saturos grunted as the end of Agatio's wooden staff edged closer to his face. Saturos's slender arms shook as Agatio pushed his weight behind the staff.
Saturos let out a sharp breath through tight lips, sweat sputtering up from his face. Agatio was nearly two years older than he, and the strongest student in the village. A hulking beast with grey-brown hair and dark teal accents against his granite skin, he was rumored tp be able to tear the arms off a grown Adept. Somehow, Saturos found it hard to believe. No one in the village had ever been seen without their arms. But staring up at the sharpened edge of a training pole, Saturos was willing to reassess his opinions.
Saturos's head ached, eyes nearly crossing to stare at staff. He grunted, trying to shift his weight, but Agatio only smiled, and quietly began singing a little song known in the village. "Give said the little stream," he sang through quiet lips.
"You're tone deaf," Saturos growled.
Agation flushed angrily, startling Saturos with a new push of strength.
Saturos groaned. Students cheered wildly from the sidelines for their youthful hero. Agatio, always the noble one, the gracious warrior and the humble winner. A jealous lump rose in Saturos's throat as his cheeks burned. The cheers echoed in his ears, drowning his thoughts.
The only silent spot in the room was the place where the elder stood, hands folded in his ample sleeves, eyes alert, amused, and dispassionate. They now rested on Saturos, eyebrows raised. It had only been a few moments into the battle and it already appeared Saturos would lose. The elder's chest rose in a great sigh, and he turned away.
Saturos's, mind was rushing. Agatio was hardly breaking a sweat, arms tight, and face taut. He was already wearing a triumphant grin, eyes bright for the last of the sparring match. Saturos swallowed hard. He couldn't lose. Not like this. He may not have been strong, but he was not helpless.
He would just have to out think Agatio.
Saturos contemplated his current situation carefully; he was trapped under the weight Agatio was pushing against his own pole. Agatio leaned over him, on a slight angle from the ground, their sticks crossing just above where Agatio held his pole, and right at the center of his. Saturos could simply retract his pole, but that would cause Agatio to fall on top of him, and Agatio looked too heavy for Saturos to survive such a blow. He didn't have the leg power to kick Agatio away, nor to take the boy's feet out from under him.
This match was quite unfair, Saturos noted once again. How did they expect a seventeen-year-old boy to defeat a mammoth two years his senior? Saturos tested his grip on the pole, not sure what to do other than wait for Agatio to make some sort of mistake.
And there it was.
Agatio's hands moved ever so slightly up the stick, adjusting his grip—or trying to—but Saturos was faster.
He hurriedly dropped his own staff down a little, Agatio- his weight no longer completely against Saturos- tripping forward for only a moment before catching his balance with his other foot, just as Saturos had hoped.
Saturos's foot shot out at Agatio's leg, the only one of the two on the ground and still shaky from his lack of balance. Timing the shot to his foot with a thrust upward with his pole, Saturos sent Agatio stumbling back as he slid away from his opponent across the highly glossed wooden floor. He quickly flipped onto his feet, shifting his grip on the pole as he changed his stance to meet Agatio.
Planting both feet firmly on the ground, he gave his opponent a quick glance, Agatio clearly miffed. Saturos only smirked, blowing away the loose strands of pale blue hair, shining like silver in the torch-lit room. Agatio bristled , pushing the black band across his forehead up, keeping the smokey brown hair from his face. His pointed ears twitched slightly, trying to listen for something. Though Saturos wasn't sure what, he slowed his breathing none the less and hoped he would not give Agatio whatever he was looking for.
Then Saturos heard it too: the soft sound of footfalls outside on the falling snow. He shook his head, simply dismissing the noises, but the door to the dwelling flew open, letting in a small snow flurry and two tall males. Both had deep colored markings on their faces, and wore the attire allowed only for properly trained adepts.
That could only mean one thing if they were not there as students; they were there to speak with the elder.
The elder's home had always been the place where the matches, such as these, were held. He oversaw the sessions himself and rewarded those who did well. The students of the village that were invited to the elder's home to spar felt like they were of a privileged few, or just simply awkward. Saturos never thought much on it, being within the elder's home. To be outside of the elder's home. That made him feel awkward.
He had been an orphan almost as long as he could remember. Both his parents died in the same winter, leaving him with no next-of-kin to speak for him. From the time he was four years old, he had lived with the elder, trained with the elder, and studied with the elder. He heard all the news and all the happenings in Prox and the outside world. The things he did not understand, he would discuss with the elder until he felt satisfied with his knowledge. He preferred to stay inside, reading by the fire, and practicing small acts of psynergy by lighting candles and moving objects.
The elder had once encouraged him to go outside, to play in the snow with the other children. He was still young, perhaps six or seven.
"Why?" he'd asked.
The elder had made a slight face. "Because, that is what children do," he said with a slight chuckle, gathering his books and starting toward the library. "Now, why don't you go ask to join someone's game? I'm sure they'd be glad to let you."
Saturos learned quickly that other children were most happy to let him join in their games. But only if he promised to be the Pirate Master and let them be the Adept Guardsmen. He also quickly learned that this meant he was to run away, and once captured, was preemptively sentenced to be tied up and pelted with snowballs.
He'd bit his tongue, refused to give them any reaction. He took their laughter in silence, turning his face away from them. Then the game became worse. One boy gathered a fistful of snow, a tiny black rock pushed into the middle. Red fell in a patch against the snow, three tiny puddles. He cried out. A long gash ran from the bottom of his left eye, into his hairline. And the boys still laughed.
Someone stopped them. His bonds were loosed and a child his age helped him to his feet. She gave him her scarf, pressing it hard against his skin, covering both eyes. It was as though he was blind for several moments, blinking blood and snow away from his eyes. She'd led him back to the elder's, called him to the door and help Saturos to a chair. Before he could remove the stained cloth from his eyes, she was already out the door, long blonde hair trailing behind her.
The elder treated Saturos's injury, a small cut whose scar persisted. It was faint now, his markings coming to full color. One wouldn't notice it unless they were looking. And Saturos always was. He learned only one thing that day. No one, save the elder and the chieftain, could he trust. Only now that he was a student, he was flung into a world where everyone knew each other. And no one knew him.
The only one outside of the elder's circle he knew was Agatio. Agatio had never been anything save kind to him, always smiling, polite, and humble. Everything Saturos saw in Agatio, he knew he should admire, but for some reason had only grown to hate.
The elder had three students at one time, and three only. Saturos was officially taken in as a student at the unheard of age of ten. Once his two senior students had moved on, two more were taken; Agatio and a girl named Menardi. It was nearly unheard of; two boys and one girl being trained by the same master. Girls were never trained under the same roof as boys, at least not before Menardi began training with them. The elder spoke of her warmly, often told Saturos of her progress. Saturos, however, had never watched her train. He'd nodded at her in passing, as he walked from the sparring area to the library, or when she looked up as he stood in the doorway, quickly retreating to his room.
"Hold."
Saturos started as the elder's voice entered his thoughts so suddenly. He looked up at Agatio, who stepped back, staff standing at his side. He raised an eyebrow to Saturos, as though to ask a question. Saturos shook his head, turning his eyes on the two who'd entered.
The taller one pulled the scarf away from his face. It was Roken and Bihnde, the two students the elder had been training when he took Saturos in. Roken and the elder whispered quietly to one another. He pulled a measure of rope off his shoulders, holding it out to the elder. The elder frowned, and motioned the two men into his library. Before entering the room, he paused. The elder turned, lifting his hand in the air and looking at the two students. After staring at them for a long while, he signaled.
A draw.The students all gasped. Even Agatio's shoulders slumped a little. He glanced at Saturos and shrugged. "Must be your day of luck," he said, managing to turn a wince into a broad smile. He nodded sharply at Saturos and tossed him his training staff.
Saturos let out a long sigh as the elder pulled the library doors shut. He started to the weapon rack, smiling inwardly. Perhaps today had not gone as badly as he'd thought.
Agatio let out a long breath, stretching his arms back.
One of the students let out a sharp laugh. "Yeah, like that wasn't nepotism at it's best," he scoffed.
Agatio shrugged. "Neither of us had even begun to fight, Sarohm. I'm sure the elder had his reason's for choosing the way he did."
Sarohm shook his head. "You'll drive me nuts! How can you be so calm about losing a fight you so clearly won?"
"I didn't," Agatio said flatly. "Therefore, it was a fair call."
"Ne-po-tism," Sarohm replied, poking Agatio hard in the shoulder to emphasize each syllable. "You should be angry."
Agatio shrugged. "Win or lose, I still have a prize waiting for me on the sidelines."
Menardi folded her arms across her chest, smiling. Her long blonde braid swung in tiny circles behind her. "That went well."
"It could have gone better..." he said softly.
"Yes," she said, pushing a loose lock behind one ear. "You could have won."
"Saturos has gotten better," he said, shaking off her compliment.
Menardi frowned a little. "He hasn't improved that much."
"Physical strength is not that one's forte," Agatio murmured, pulling a towel from a rack where they hung on the wall as the students started out of the elder's home. The two looked over to where Saturos stood, wiping his brow with a soft white cloth. Saturos was slender and silent, where as most of the Proxinian men were muscular and boisterous.
"He's too quiet," Menardi murmured suspiciously. "It's like…"
Agatio couldn't help but smile. "Like what? He's plotting something?"
She lightly punched him in the arm. "No… it's just." She paused a moment, eyeing the boy carefully as he set the weapons on the rack, straightened the swords on the next shelf. She turned back to Agatio. "We've been training together for almost three years, and he's never said more than three words to me… You think the rumors about his mother are true—?"
"He's just shy, that's all," Agatio said, dismissing her criticism. "He hardly speaks to me as it is, and you being…" He smirked. "Well, you aren't the easiest person to approach."
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked with a grin.
Agatio laughed. "Well, look at you. Any male that approaches you would either be terrified that you would break him in half, or dumb-struck by your beauty."
Menardi blushed. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Agatio."
He shrugged, reaching out for her hand. "It sounded rather nice, don't you think?"
She grinned as he pulled her close. "A little scripted, but other than that—"
"Menardi!"
The two pulled away as a tiny creature, bundled in reds and pale lavenders bounded into the elder's home, snow flurries following in her wake. Agatio pulled back, content to twine his fingers in Menardi's.
The tiny girl pulled the scarf away from her face, pushed it off her bright hair and beamed at them. "Are you done?"
"Just finished," Menardi said softly, smiling awkwardly at Agatio. "Why?"
"Mum sent me to tell you dinner was ready," she said. Karst smiled at the male by her sister and waved tinily.
Agatio reached out, his massive palm tousling Karst's hair into mess. "Hey, kid."
They all started as the doors to the library clicked open. The elder nodded at the two adepts, a strand of rope in his withered hands. They spoke for a moment more, and they started toward the door. Saturos appeared next to the elder, dressed in warms knits and furs. The elder's voice was low, whispering. A moment more, and Saturos was walking briskly toward the door.
Menardi squinted as the door closed shut behind the boy. "He didn't even look at us—"
"Menardi," Agatio admonished with a laugh. "Let it go."
"What do you suppose that was all about?" she whispered as the elder smiled tiredly at them, and closed the library doors again.
Agatio shrugged. "Not an idea… It might be nothing."
Menardi made a face. "Do you think so?" When he raised an eyebrow, she sighed. "I don't know. I just…" She shook her head.
"I think you worry too much," Agatio said softly.
Menardi sighed frustratedly. "No, it's like the way you feel before lightning strikes. How your body feels too small."
"I think you're tired," Agatio said with a smile.
"Menardi, can we go now?" Karst asked, shuffling back and forth irritably. "I'm hungry."
Menardi sighed. "Agat—"
"Menardi," he said flatly, taking her by the shoulders. "Go home. Get some food. Get some rest. Everything will look better in the morning. It always does."
She stared at him for a long moment, shut her eyes and stopped her thoughts. "Maybe you're right," she sighed, running one hand through her hair. "Maybe I'm just tired."
"Maybe," Agatio shrugged, rubbing her arms. He leaned forward, giving her a quick kiss. He smiled at her. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Menardi smiled back. "Alright," she muttered, allowing him to walk her to the door.
He held it open for her, waited as Karst trotted out. He closed it and walked out, surprised as snowflakes buffeted his face. He let out a slight laugh. "Looks like we're in for a storm."
"Looks like it," Menardi echoed softly.
"Northern Winds speed you home," he said with a smile, kissing her on the cheek lightly, and hurried away.
"Did he say what this was about?" Puelle asked as he hurried along, Saturos at his side.
"Yes, Sir," he replied, casting a quick glance at the chieftain. "He... well... perhaps it would be best to let him explain."
Puelle nodded, a few, vibrant red locks falling into his eyes. "Yes," he sighed.
The two soon reached the Elder's home, greeted by the warm air as they began removing their winter clothing. The Library doors clicked open, and the elder appeared. He smiled tiredly at them, entering the sparring room.
Placing one hand on his chest and the other over his heart, he bowed to the Chieftain in a sign of the highest respect. Puelle returned the gesture, Saturos taking his cloak as he was handed it.
"Puelle," the elder murmured softly. "How do the North Winds treat you?"
"A good year for both myself and Prox," Puelle smiled. "Either the Gods are quite happy, or they have decided to turn a blind eye to my sins." The two laughed, though it seemed tight, forced. The air was thick, even more so than the storm. A long moment hung in the air, until finally Puelle spoke.
He cleared his throat. "Saturos has informed me that you have a matter of supreme urgency to discuss with me," Puelle said as Saturos finished hanging their things on the small hooks lined on the wall.
The Elder nodded toward Saturos, smiling fondly, though the tension did not leave his face. "Saturos seems to have conveyed my thoughts exactly… Did he tell you anymore?"
Puelle shook his head as he brushed snow from his hair. "No, Elder, he said it would be best for you to explain."
The Elder smiled again at Saturos. "Very good, Saturos," he said, his wrinkles revealing even wrinkles upon them as he smiled. "You are wise to not speak of that you are uncertain of."
Saturos nodded. "Thank you, Master," he said softly.
The Elder and Puelle began to walk toward the room the Elder had come from, talking quietly about trivial matters, as they would until they reached the room and were able to discuss in private. Saturos bowed his head a moment in quiet pondering, then turned and began toward the stairway leading down to the lower level and his room.
"Saturos?"
The young Adept turned at the sound of his master's voice, quickly bowing his head in respect.
The elder laughed softly. "No need for formalities here, Saturos. Puelle knows you are practically kin. Raise your head."
Saturos did as he was asked, silver hair brushing against his shoulders. "Master?"
The Elder paused a moment, staring at the boy. He motioned with a casual hand to Saturos. "Come, child. I would like for you to hear this as well."
Saturos ran one hand through his hair in an attempt to tame it. He had not yet reached the age of manhood, and therefore was not yet worthy to wear the band that the adepts wore around their heads, keeping the hair up in a respectable fashion.
Most of the Proxinian males reached manhood when they reached their twentieth year of age. Manhood meant they'd mastered their element of fire as Adepts to a level the elder saw fit. There had only been three Adepts in Prox's history that had come of age before the given age. The Elder was one of them. Another was a woman from nearly two millennia ago, and the third, a male from even further in the past. Saturos was not so vain as to even dream of achieving such an honor. Doing his best to learn and master that which the elder taught him was enough for him as it was.
With the Elder as his guardian, sometimes he worried about learning too much.
The Elder shut the door after they all had entered the room. The elder's library was a small room, just large enough to fit a handful of people. Flames burned brightly in the fireplace on the far side of the room, opposite the wall covered in books. Volume upon volume of literature was keep in proper order on that wall, and scrolls were neatly rolled and placed in several of the chests lined against the wall. Saturos had been privilege to be allowed to read many of the books, however, there were a few that were not open to his reading pleasure.
"One day," the elder would tell Saturos, "you will be allowed to read all of these books, but today is not that day." These books were kept on the highest shelf, locked inside a lattice-work cabinet of deep cherry-wood. Saturos found his eyes wandering to the shelf, standing awkwardly to the side as Puelle took a seat.
The elder walked to the cabinet, pulling a chain out from under his clothing. A key swung from the bottom as he reached up, shoving it into the lock and twisting. He grunted, fingers swiping the books' spines. He sighed. "Saturos, would you help me, please?"
Saturos nodded hurriedly, rushing to pull out the books. There were only four. Three were in languages he didn't understand. The last book was intype he recognized, words embossed in high polished bronze,vibrant against the reddragon skin cover; "The Golden Sun."
"Yes, well," the elder said, clearing his throat loudly, and motioning with his hands. "I'll be taking those."
"Of course," Saturos said softly, handing him the books.
"Thank you," the elder said, smiling tiredly as he shuffled toward his desk. He dropped the books with a thud in front of him. Pushing the first three away, and picking up the one Saturos had been eyeing. He took in a deep breath, his large cheeks drooping as his cheery mood evaporated.
After several moments, he looked up. "You know of the task we assigned to two males, Bihnde and Roken?" the Elder began.
Puelle nodded, the carrot-colored hair falling in his eyes. "Yes, the matter of Gaia Falls," he said. "The receding shores. I remember." Puelle sighed, lacing his fingers together and placing his elbows on his knees. "Our records call it a sea, but even in my youth, I saw it as no more than a lake. Now it is hardly the length of a river..."
The Elder nodded slowly at this. "I remember how the Falls as well. You couldn't always see where they ended… it seems more… recent."
"Well," Puelle said lightly. "I doubt the water is simply disappearing."
The Elder sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Puelle… I'm afraid that might be the case entirely."
The chieftain sat up, eyes narrow. He searched the elder's face for a time, before murmuring, "What do you mean?"
The Elder took in a deep breath through his nose, holding it for a long while before letting it out again. "Puelle," he began softly. "Our land is wasting away."
Puelle stared at the elder, then glanced at Saturos, who's face had gone pale. He looked back to the elder. "I… I'm not sure I understand, Elder. I-is our land… are the shores… eroding away?"
The Elder sighed, smoothing his robe out over his knees. "I suppose this might be easier to grasp if we perhaps call it erosion for the time being." He looked up. "But I've never seen the powers of nature work quite this quickly."
Puelle leaned forward, resting his head on his fingers. "What do you mean, by that? "Nature working so quickly?""
The Elder reluctantly reached down to the side of his chair, pulling up a segment of rope. "Do you remember where we put the stake?"
Puelle nodded. "Yes, twenty-five meters exactly from the shore, three months ago." Puelle waited for the Elder to continue, but the only reply that came was the quiet popping of the fire. The chieftain gave a slight chuckle, struggling to smile. "Elder, I'm sorry, but I don't see how all this fits together... I-I'm not sure what you're trying to tell me..."
The Elder looked up at Puelle, his eyes small. "Chieftain," he began. "Of the original twenty and five meters of rope we used to measure, there is now only twenty-two and one-half."
Puelle frowned. "What?"
"This is the rope they couldn't use," the Elder murmured. "Two and one-half meters."
He handed the rope to Puelle, who had gone a sickly pale. The chieftain looked at the rope for a good long time, turning it over in his hands repeatedly, entirely silent.
Puelle looked up, swallowed hard. "What does this mean, Elder?" he inquired softly.
The Elder sighed slowly, unsure of how to respond. "Puelle," he whispered, rubbing his hands together. "The water is not disappearing. This is not as simple a matter as erosion and nature..."
"What is it then?" Saturos asked, entering the conversation.
The elder sighed, opening the cover of the book before him. "You have read the texts of Weyard's history, have you not, Puelle?" the Elder asked softly.
The chieftain nodded. "Naturally."
The elder looked up. "Then you know of the Golden Age."
"The what?" Saturos asked again.
The elder smiled slightly, flipping through pages as he continued. "At one time, Alchemy in its purest form was loose upon the entire world. Every civilization reached a magnificent pinnacle, trailing on the edges of what could almost be called a Utopian society."
"The Golden Age," Puelle murmured softly.
The elder nodded. "Alchemy was at the center of all. Adepts were not an uncommon sight. It was almost more odd to see someone with no command over the elements. And the Ancient's power was so great, that every living Adept at this time combined would be naught when compared to just one of them."
Saturos's eyes were wide. He quickly glanced at Puelle. "Is this truth?"
"Yes," Puelle murmured aloud. "I believe it is the same as I'd read, but it didn't last, this Golden Age."
"Why not?" Saturos asked. "If things were perfect, what would have ended it?"
The elder sighed. "As I told you, the power of Alchemy flowed through almost everyone. Many of the strongest were pure of heart… but many of them were not. Many who touch power can never turn away from it. People began to fight, wars broke out, entire cities were destroyed, the greatest temples burned. Some civilizations completely disappeared."
"Lemuria," Puelle murmured.
"Yes," the elder said softly. "Lemuria is suspected to be one of those."
"What happened?" Saturos asked.
"Four of the Sages of that time decided that Alchemy was far too dangerous for the people of Weyard to handle," the elder explained softly, opening to an ornate painting in the book. He shoved it toward Saturos who examined it quietly. "They went to the places where certain forms of alchemy were strongest and rebuilt shrines there. Using the shrines, they tapped into the elements and sealed away their energy into gems. They called these gems Stars."
"What then?" Saturos asked, eyes still on the book. "Did they destroy them?"
The elder smiled. "They tried, but it is impossible to destroy pure alchemy."
"Then what?"
The elder stood, beginning to walk in small circles before the fireplace. "They took the Stars and sealed them in one of the few temples untouched by the wars, cradled on the most sanctified peak in Weyard; a place called Sol Sanctum."
"The town was rebuilt near the shrine, wasn't it?" Puelle pondered aloud. "Vale, I think it was."
The Elder turned, nodding slowly. "Yes. The Valeans are meant to be the guardians of the mountain and the temple."
"But if Alchemy has already been sealed, why would the gems matter?" Saturos asked.
The elder shook his head. "You must understand, Saturos. With just one of those gems, A single being could rule all of Weyard."
Saturos's eyes narrowed. "From a little bauble?"
"Not so little," the elder murmured. "About the size of one's fist, or a small child's ball."
"And these could help you rule the world?" Saturos asked, almost daring the elder to answer in the affirmative."
"It isn't the gems, Saturos," the elder said flatly, "but what one does with the gems." He began pacing again. "The Sages sealed away the Elemental Stars hoping that Alchemy would be forgetten, never to be released again..." He walked to his desk, pulling the book from Saturos and flipping through pages again. "However," he murmured. "They left a way for Alchemy to be freed..." He looked up at Puelle. "When mankind was ready for it."
He turned the book to face the chieftain, Saturos leaning in toward the book as well. Four small pictures were drawn on the yellowing parchment: four tiny towers, one blue, one green, one purple, one—the design oddly familiar—red.
"Isn't that..." Saturos began, staring at the red tower. "Isn't that Mars Lighthouse?"
The Elder smiled. "Yes, Saturos. They are all lighthouses, one for each element." He moved his finger to the blue tower. "Mercury, the water lighthouse." His finger reached the green tower next. "Venus, the earth lighthouse." Then the purple tower. "The Jupiter Lighthouse, the lighthouse of wind. Then, of course," he said as he touched the red tower. "The Mars Lighthouse."
"The lighthouse of fire," Puelle finished.
The Elder nodded toward him. "Correct. The Elemental Stars are meant to be used to light these four lighthouses and release all four elements back to Weyard."
Puelle twined his fingers together, making a face. "Elder, I don't want to seem... inquisitive, but I'm not sure I understand the relevance of all this."
The Elder started back toward his seat, closing the book and tucking it under his arm. "No, I don't suppose many understand the importance of the lighthouses, even those that live so close to them. After all, the Ancients left us with only a handful of knowledge pertaining to the restoration of Alchemy."
He took his seat again. "Allow me to explain. The Sages sealed away Alchemy for what, they believed, was the good of Weyard. But there were many things they didn't understand."
"Like what?" Saturos asked softly.
The Elder paused, looking at the ground for a moment, then back at the two. "Our world thrives off of Alchemy. It is, in a sense, its life source, it's sustenance. And now, over the course of all these years, the lack of alchemy is physically showing."
Puelle leaned forward. "Meaning?"
The elder sighed. "Our world is... well it is... because there is no better term for it… dying."
"Dying?" Saturos murmured. "All because Alchemy is sealed away?"
The elder nodded.
Puelle shook his head. "But... what does this have to do with Gaia Falls?"
"The world around us works the same way our bodies do," the Elder said softly. "It needs to be nourished. Where we have food, the world had Alchemy. When you take food from the body of a man, the body will find a way to survive on its own. It will feed off our own muscles, our bones, eventually eating away all of itself until there is nothing left." The Elder paused. "We've taken away the world's life source, so to speak. All these years that Alchemy has been locked away, it has been starved of the elements. It has begun to eat away at itself to satisfy its needs." He stared for a long while at Puelle, breathing deeply as he chose his words carefully. "My Lord, Weyard is dying, and to stop herself from dying, she is slowly eating our shores away. She will continue to eat until there is nothing left, and by and by, she will kill us all."
Puelle let out a soft breath, the breath a man gives after taking a heavy blow. The wind was gone from his chest, and his mouth was too dry to speak. He licked his lips, struggled to swallow. "Are… are you certain?"
"More certain than I have ever been," the elder murmured.
Puelle shut his eyes, resting his chin on his hands. Silence passed in slow circles through the room as he thought. Finally, he stirred. "How long do you think we have?"
The Elder eyed the ground again. "At the current rate, six to seven years. However, the longer Weyard is starved, the faster the process will become. Taking that in mind, I would be tampering with fate to even guess at the chance of five years."
Puelle felt the blow again, this time, no longer able to think, let alone speak or breathe. He swallowed hard, looking up at the elder. "Five years?"
"At the most."
He sighed, running his hands through his long red hair. He sniffed lightly, composing himself. "Elder, do you know how many people reside in Prox?"
"I'm certain I do not—"
"Or in the surrounding provinces?" Puelle continued, his voice rising. "I-I'm not certain of what you're trying to tell me. Do you want me to send messengers to the rest of the Northern Villages? Tell them they need to leave before they fall into oblivion? And once we do? Then what? The only port to the South is here, and seven out of ten months it is frozen over! We have only one boat, and no trees in Prox would be strong enough to build anything more than fishing boats! Do you know how many fishing boats it would take to get all our people out of the north?"
"I already, know, Puelle. Evacuation is out of the question."
"Then what do you suggest?" Puelle asked, motioning frantically with his hands. "That we stay here until we fall off the edge of the world!"
The elder sighed. "Chieftain, I must ask you to remain calm. Everything I have told you up to this point has a purpose."
Puelle took in a deep breath, nodding slowly. "Alright… I… I apologize, I just—"
"Is there anyway to stop it?"
Puelle turned to look at Saturos. The boy's face was tight and wan, eyes narrowed. Puelle couldn't help but smile at the young boy's concern.
The Elder turned to Saturos. "There is one—and only one—way… We would have to light the Elemental Lighthouses."
Saturos nodded. "Alright, then that's what we'll do."
"It isn't as simple as that," the elder said softly, smiling at the young man's enthusiasm. "We need the Elemental Stars."
Puelle stood, nodding emphatically and beginning to pace. "Then we must act immediately. We'll contact the Valean Elders and tell them all that you've told us. They'll understand that we need the Elemental Stars and allow us access to the sanctum and—"
"Are you so certain they will?" the elder asked softly. "Tasks such as these are easily laid out, and yet difficult to execute."
Saturos nodded at Puelle. "It's a lot for anyone to take in, let alone believe."
"They will already know," Puelle said softly. When the boy looked at him, he quickly continued. "Don't take offense, Saturos, but these men study the scrolls of past times daily. I'm certain they will be very familiar with all we've just discussed." Puelle looked to the Elder, nodding at him. "I believe that they will understand our predicament and allow us to have the Elemental Stars."
The elder sighed. "I suppose it would be best that we contact them."
"And we'll simply hand it off to the next trade cog that comes here," Puelle said, the plan developing. "There is one due to arrive tomorrow, which means we'll have a reply in at least one month."
"We'll just have to hope summer lasts," the elder murmured, standing to escort Puelle out. "I'll write immediately, then have Saturos run the letter by your home."
"Then it is a plan."
The two began speaking quietly, starting out the room, elder's hand on Puelle's shoulder. Saturos collapsed into the great chair where Puelle had been sitting. His head spun with thoughts of Alchemy and stars. Puelle had said that if they could contact Vale, then all could be repaired. But what if they couldn't? What if the note never reached the Valean Elders? What if Weyard was dying faster than the elder believed? Then what?
Saturos slept, but it was a tortured, restless sleep, nightmares of falling off the world into a vast sea of darkness. He awoke in the morning in the same chair he'd dozed off in. He stood, examining himself in a looking glass hanging on the wall behind him. He looked sickly pale and darkened circles had appeared under his eyes.
"Are you alright?"
Saturos turned, seeing the elder in the doorway. He ran a hand through his hair. "I… didn't sleep well."
The elder smiled sadly. "I can imagine. Agatio and Menardi will be arriving soon to continue training. Will you join us today?" When Saturos hesitated, the elder quickly added, "for once, will you train with children your own age?"
Saturos's face twisted as he searched for words. "I… don't feel well. I needrest… I wouldn't want to give any sickness that might already be in me."
The elder sighed, face fallen. "Saturos..."
Saturos's body tense. "Master, we've had this discussion before."
The elder slowly shook his head. "I havea lesson to prepare." He started out of the room, pausing in the doorway. "Should you change your mind, Saturos--"
"I won't," Saturos murmured softly.
The elder pursed his lips. "Alright... rest well, child."
Saturos nodded,collapsing into the chair again, rubbing his eyes and yawning.
"Oh, and Saturos?"
He lazily opened his eyes.
The elder smiled. "Will you at leastput away those books for me?"
Saturos nodded slowly, standing again with a groan. The elder left for the sparring room, leaving Saturos alone in the library. Saturos began to gather the books that had been piled on the floor, putting them away on their rightful shelves. He slid the last book into place, turning to see four books still on the elder's desk.
Saturos paused. The dragon skin book, lying shut at the center of the desk. Saturos looked around cautiously; the elder was in the other room, and Menardi and Agatio weren't yet there. He glanced into the adjoining room, edging carefully toward the desk. He gathered the four books, leaving the final book atop the pile. He started toward the cabinet. Starting at the bottom of the pile, he began returning the books to their place, stopping with the final book. The dragon skin felt cool and riversmooth under Saturos's fingers. He stared at the book for a long moment. Slowly, hereached up, closing the cabinet until the lock clicked shut.
The front door opened, wind howling inward as the rooms filled with young laughter. The elder's voice joined them. Saturos turned the corner, book under one arm as he hurried to the stairs.
"Saturos?"
He paused, the book hidden behind his back. "Yes?"
The elder smiled at him. "Have you done what I asked?"
Saturos nodded slowly. "All the books back in their proper place."
The elder returned the nod, his attention alreadyback to Menardi and Agatio.
Saturos rushed down the stairs into the tiny room, an old cellar, turned into a room when he'd first arrived. The elder had since built extra rooms in his home, and offered them to Saturos, but he preferred to stay downstairs in his own, private nest.
He threw the book down on his bed. Reaching into the chest at the end of his bed and pulling out a few extra candles, he lit them, placing them around the room until it was bright enough for him to see the print on the pages. Pulling up a crate, he opened the book and began to read.