Chapter 26
With a puff of sandy ashes and displaced air Clarus appeared on a beach, taking a few steps forward before catching himself. It was hard to control the inertia from the teleportation spell sometimes, but he was starting to get the hang of it.
Even after so many years as a mage he was truly surprised that something could still awe him so; in fact, until he'd discovered the Grima-remnant he had been using in his experiments in Ylisse he had long given up on doing much more than pretending to do 'further research'. There just wasn't any space left in anima magic for advancement, and the damned sand-rat Dark Mages were so hung up on keeping their secrets there was little work he could do there, either. But leave it to those like Robin and the Shepherds to discover not only a magically reactive ore, suffused with Grima's life energy as it had been, but a long-forgotten magic relic that allowed for instantaneous travel. True teleportation.
He gave the old ring a small smile, still marveling at its simplistic design, as a pitiful screech came from the jewelry and the scarab-like insect in place of the burned-out gem twitched a few more times before turning to ash.
It had been, he wasn't afraid to admit, a stroke of genius to use the Thanatophages as a catalyst for the spell in place of the magic gem that Robin had so foolishly squandered. Infused with Grima's purity of essence, the insect-like creatures were almost uncontaminated magical energy. He didn't even need to force them, either; as soon as he'd had the thought one of the small creatures clinging to him had crawled down his arm and right up to the ring, apparently waiting for him to remove the gem so it would fit.
And the results had been perfect, better than he'd imagined. It had totally removed the need for his previous plan of creating a catalyst from the life force of the wretched refugees, leaving him free to experiment with 'Risenification' as he was calling it. 'Creating Risen' didn't have the same scientific flare to Clarus as 'Risenification'. It rolled off the tongue.
"Risenification," Clarus muttered to himself, as if to prove the point.
Across his chest, beneath his robes, the Thanatophages that had joined him stirred at the sound of his voice. He shushed them gently, assuring the small creatures with his thoughts that everything was okay and they weren't needed yet.
Clarus almost began salivating at the thought of taking the ring apart, studying the magical matrices that made up the tiny spell circles in the gem's clasp. So small, so impossibly tiny; impossible to have been carved by human hands. That alone made him curious. What could have created such a relic? The thought, the very idea, of new magical knowledge, gave the mage more of a thrill than any success, any sexual conquest, anything. He wanted to know. He needed to know, from the bottom of his soul. It was that yearning that had led him to accepting Idallia's request in the first place, and had led his initial experiments on the ore.
Which brought his thoughts back around full circle, to the reason he was standing alone on a deserted, twilight beach.
He had to resist the urge to giggle, so giddy was Clarus at the thought of the knowledge awaiting him in the desert.
"Come to me."
Those had been Grima's orders.
Setting the boats along the way to the torch, full of repulsive, squalid, screaming refugees, had been his idea.
Watching them writhe beneath his feet like maggots on a corpse, burning their ships from underneath them, hadn't brought him pleasure. Quite the opposite, it had been a waste of resources, a waste of potential test subjects on the matter of the Thanatophages. Clarus had dearly wanted to take his time, work his way through the boats one after the other. He had wanted to study, to document, how the changes from 'person' to 'risen' occurred in different environments, under different circumstances, with different control groups. Would the effects have been faster on children, due to their smaller size? Would women be affected differently than men? Or the filthy demi-humans that had been among the refugees on the very last vessel, what would the Thanatophages done to them?
Such a waste, Clarus couldn't help but feel. Although there would be time in the future. He simply had to be patient.
Clarus had to stop for a moment, blinking down at the grey sand in confusion.
Why had he burned the ships, then?
There had been no reason to, and it had been a waste of potential test subjects… so why?
As if in response to his internal query one of the many Thanatophages on his body crawled out from beneath his sleeve, alighting on his hand. Clarus brought his appendage up to eye-level, looking curiously to the little insect-like creature as its antennae gently weaved through the air.
"Did you have me burn those ships?" he asked curiously.
No response was forthcoming, the Thanatophage scurrying around in a circle on the back of his hand before crawling into the gem clasp of the teleporting ring.
"Very well then," Clarus laughed.
The little creature's message was clear. 'Get on with it'. The master was waiting.
Clarus closed his eyes, feeling his senses expanding. It wasn't hard to focus on any sources of magical energy in Plegia; all he had to do was follow the withered, empty ley lines with his sixth sense and focus on the closest one. There. Familiar magic, like the shade that had visited him in the wasteland that had once been Valm.
Opening his eyes Clarus licked his lips, pallid stump of a tongue running over their cracked surface, tasting blood. He wasn't sure when they had become so chapped, but then again, he wasn't sure when he had last had any water. Or food. He was being sustained now wholly on Grima's magical energy.
The Thanatophages stirred again, the pricking and clawing of their feet on his skin singing a blissful agony to him. They spoke, not in words but in his mind. And at last Clarus understood.
Perfection. He realized he was close now to Grima's perfection. He had cast aside the wasteful human need to take in sustenance, and long ago had he stopped needing to sleep. Was this truly what Robin was so afraid of? What Maris' foolish warrior's pride had held him back from?
Were they all so truly afraid of this completion?
Clarus' eyes glowed red as he looked out to the dunes on the horizon, smile pulling at his cracked and bloody lips again. It was a far distance, but the Thanatophages assured him that he could make it in a single jump.
The ring on his finger flared.
The Thanatophage screamed as it was consumed, the sound like music to the mage.
And Clarus was gone from the beach.
Ever since the captain and navigator had agreed that they were passing into Ylissean waters the deck of the nameless dreadnaught had been packed. Helia had needed to ask Basilio and the Shepherds for help maintaining Robin's ordered schedule, lest there be too many refugees on deck in the case of an emergency. Ita had thrown herself into this task with great relish, whipping and cajoling the other wolves into helping her, Galle suspected just to keep their minds off of the loss of their Queen. The refugees that made the trip to the upper deck themselves were almost shades, silently watching the shadowy coastline drift by, marveling at the scraggly clumps of grass and the occasional withered tree as the soldiers and wolves escorted them.
Galle leaned against the railing of the nameless dreadnaught, craning to see the coastline on the lower tier of the forecastle deck much like the refugees on the main deck beneath him.
What he saw didn't fill him with hope.
A few broken trees and hardy grasses and weeds still clung to life in the dead ground, but Galle had been hoping for more. He wasn't expecting the lush grasslands and rich forests they had passed through during Robin's little cat and mouse game with Maris and Idallia, but what he saw now looked little better than the Plegian badlands he had once called home. And he knew from experience that there was no point trying to grow anything in those types of places.
And there was no movement. No life. No animals, no people, only the gentle swaying of the thin grasses in the weak breeze. Galle found it both disconcerting and disheartening.
Helia, on the other hand, was more animated than he'd ever seen her. The young Valmese lord leaned forward on the railing next to him so far that her feet almost left the deck, an unabashed smile on her face. Hers was an expression of hope, hope that Galle couldn't find it in himself to quash with his usual brand of sarcastic pessimism. Unable to resist, Galle had to scoff a little at his newfound softness. Mari would probably call it personal growth, though.
Helia cast him a sidelong glance, clearly having heard Galle's self-derision and misconstruing it. She spoke before he could explain, though, her smile becoming somewhat melancholy as she went back to gazing at the distant coast.
"I know it doesn't look like much to you," she said softly. "But you saw Valm. You saw what those monsters did to my home. Even the withered grass, the dead trees, are an improvement. You must think that very sad."
"No, I grew up in Plegia's badlands," Galle shrugged. "It just reminds me of home."
"The home you hated?" Helia asked without looking at him.
"The home I left behind," he said.
"Gods but you two are depressing," Femi groaned behind them. "Look! Grass! Actual grass! I always hated Ylissean grass, makes me sneeze, but now I'm actually happy to see it!"
Galle and Helia both looked back, the Valmese girl giggling a little as Galle sighed. Femi stood with her arms crossed and her hood thrown back, grinning expectantly at them as the wind barely managed to tousle her long black hair.
"Hello Femi, so nice of you to sneak up on us," Galle deadpanned.
The Dark Mage just shrugged, holding up one foot.
"Wasn't sneaking. Traditional Dark Mage sandals are soft-soled. Makes it easier to walk around on the sand," she explained.
"Thank you for that lesson in traditional mage footwear," Galle said, his tone fairly dripping with sarcasm.
Femi laughed, pushing past him and resting her hands on the railing now, too, to look out at the coast.
"There's the sarcastic Galle we all know and tolerate," she chuckled.
"I liked you more when Tharja was around holding your leash," Galle muttered.
"Well I like you more like this," Helia laughed. "It's nice to finally have a girl my own age to talk to."
"And that's why you're my favorite," Femi said, scooting closer to Helia and sticking her tongue out at Galle.
The Plegian tactician just rolled his eyes, brushing his hair out of his face with a frown. After so many weeks without wind or breeze he had gotten used to his hair staying in one place. Mari would probably say he looked 'shaggy', but in truth his fringe just barely now fell into his eyes. The plus side of the wind, though, was that now they were making faster progress towards the docks at Southtown, and would supposedly be there 'any minute now' according to the captain. Of course, the captain had been saying they would arrive 'any minute now' for days.
Out of the haze of sound behind them a set of footsteps approached, and Galle glanced over his shoulder to see the local soldier Victor exhaustedly shuffling towards them, seemingly weighed down more by the small clipboard in his hands than his steel armor.
"Heya Shepherds," he greeted, his gaze widening as he noticed Helia. "And, uh, good afternoon Lady Helia, ma'am."
"Good day, Victor," Helia greeted with a regal smile.
The soldier seemed dumbstruck for a moment, blinking in surprise. "You know my name?"
"Exalt Chrom spoke very highly of you," Helia explained. "I made it a point to find out who you were."
"Ah. Well. Thank you, ma'am," Victor said woodenly, his cheek darkening slightly.
"Focus, Victor; you came over here for a reason," Galle deadpanned.
"Right, the reason," the soldier said, perking up slightly. "Before she left Lady Say'ri put me in charge of… uh… 'liaising' with the wolves. I'm looking for Ita. She is the one in charge, right?"
"Yeah, I think so," Femi said. "It's kinda hard to tell. All she does is yell at the other wolves."
"To be fair, that was pretty much all Queen Nirath did as well," Helia added with a sad smile.
"She's avoiding you, isn't she?" Galle asked, a grin breaking out on his face.
Victor sagged, closing his eyes in frustration.
"Is it that obvious?"
"Well, she high-tailed it out of here pretty fast before," Galle laughed. "I guess she heard you coming. After that it's pretty easy to put two and two together."
"Great," Victor groaned. "Which way did she go?"
Galle pointed in the vague direction that Ita had headed when last he'd seen her, and Victor nodded his thanks before following after her. But before the Plegian tactician could even begin to feel any sympathy for the soldier a cry went up from the upper forecastle deck, snaring everyone's attention.
"We've spotted the docks! Prepare for disembarkation!"
The tactician had to resist the urge to laugh at Victor's anguished groan, the Valmese man throwing his hands up in the air in his frustration.
"Dammit Ita, I know you can hear me! Where in all the hells are you!? We need to talk about disembarking! Ita!"
The trio watched him stalk off shouting through the throng of suddenly very busy sailors and soldiers. There was a moment of silence as they waited for Victor's form to disappear in the press before Galle finally spoke up.
"He realizes that Ita won't do anything anyone but Robin tells her to, right?" the Plegian said.
"Sounds like someone else I know," Femi replied impishly.
"Har-har, very funny," Galle deadpanned. "Let's go see if we can't find the Khans or someone on the big important deck."
"We can't go up there, though," Femi pointed out.
True, the Shepherds and all but the most important of the refugees had been banned by the captain from the upper forecastle deck, where the ship's steering and officer cabins were, for the duration of the voyage. But now that their journey was finally at its end Galle found himself no longer caring for such social niceties.
"So? We're with her," he shrugged, jerking his chin in Helia's direction. "And she's in charge. I figure that makes us important enough."
"You just want to do it because you were told you weren't allowed," Femi snorted.
"True, but also currently irrelevant," Galle admitted with a small grin, turning to Helia. "What say you, oh fearless leader?"
"We should go the forecastle deck," Helia said decisively. "Even if Khan Basilio isn't there the Captain can still give us some information."
Galle nodded and grinned a little, indicating towards the building-sized deck at their backs, still more than a hundred meters away. Sometimes it was easy for him to forget the true scale of the ship, even after spending so much time on it.
"Lead the way," he said.
As they walked down the deck, Helia leading with her head held high, Galle had to marvel at the way that the crowd parted almost unconsciously for the young noblewoman. He had to admit, he was getting to like having her around, if for no other reason than she made getting around the ship's crowded decks easier.
The more energetic refugees on deck and some of the laxer soldiers were crowding the side of the ship facing the coast, all craning and hoping to see the docks in the distance. A pointless endeavor, Galle knew; the man in the crow's nest had a spyglass, and would have passed on word of spotting the docks.
As the two Plegians followed in Helia's wake the mage looked at the coast through the crowd, making a thoughtful sound.
"Never thought I'd be this excited to get back to Ylisse," Femi commented idly.
Galle couldn't help but scoff. "Clearly you didn't live in post-Grima Saiqat. Gods above I was so happy the first time I realized I'd crossed the border out of that dust-filled hell."
"Hey, some of us are proud of our heritage," Femi defended with a pout.
"I'm plenty proud of our heritage," Galle shrugged. "I don't know about you, but I can trace my family all the way back to Khadein in the days before the Theocracy was even founded. It's what we became after Grima's Fall that I'm ashamed of."
Helia glanced back over her shoulder and smiled at the other two before Femi could argue.
"The way the two of you talk of life after the Fell Dragon, while grim, still fills me with hope."
In the face of the blonde woman's hopeful smile Galle's biting remark died on the tip of his tongue, the Plegian settling for sighing out his nose and otherwise remaining silent. Femi noticed his reaction and shot him a smirk, Galle narrowing his eyes as she gave a small laugh.
"Yeah, we'll beat that scaly jerk yet," Femi laughed, still pointedly looking at Galle.
"Oh, hey, look, stairs!" Galle said over-exaggeratedly. "Wouldn't it be fun if we climbed to the top and someone pushed me back down? Preferably so I land on my head?"
"Oh, knock it off, you," Femi snorted. "Come on, we have work to do."
Helia led them up the first flight of stairs, past the two exhausted-looking guards standing at attention. Femi followed closely, Galle moving at a more sedate pace until the dark mage turned and shouted for him to keep up. With an irritated huff Galle jogged up after them, the trio coming out onto the first tier of the forecastle deck. Sailors moved around them in a storm of activity, many showing more animation than they had during the entire voyage. There was much that needed doing if they wanted to dock safely, and Galle found himself wondering if, in fact, the sailors had been conserving energy for this very reason.
A second staircase led up to the deck proper, where the captain could usually be found bossing the helmsman and the navigators around. Helia didn't even slow, the sailors parting for her just like the refugees and soldiers as she marched right up to the stairs and ascended with the two Plegians behind her.
The ship's captain stood next to the railing with his back perfectly straight, his faded and patched naval uniform, while practically hanging off his emaciated frame, still lending him an aura of control and authority despite the fact he looked as exhausted and weak as the rest of the refugees. And older man, the close-cropped hair beneath his peaked tricorn hat was a dark grey fading steadily to white, his face like old leather from years on the sea battling the elements. Helia wasted little time, striding right over to the man and clearing her throat.
"Captain," she greeted.
"We've spotted the Ylissean Southtown Docks, young mistress," the Captain said, glancing over his shoulder at her.
"What do you estimate our time of arrival is?" Helia asked confidently.
"Another hour, perhaps two at the most," the old man shrugged.
"Plenty of time for you to get cleaned up, girl," another voice said. "You look like one of the rabble. You are supposed to be their leader, after all. You should look the part, as I do."
Galle rolled his eyes. "The only reason you're so clean, 'Khan' Idallia, is because you haven't done anything since we got on this tub."
Idallia huffed and crossed her arms as she approached them, glaring at the Plegian boy. The Captain turned to face them, stroking his thick white beard with a neutral expression on his face as Helia stepped up to the other woman.
"You believe I should?" Helia asked uncertainly.
"It would surely be a better use of your time than standing around doing nothing up here," she said, pointedly shooting a smirk at Galle.
"You would be the expert on that," he muttered, smirking back.
"Unfortunately, you already have the market cornered on sarcastic comments," Idallia shot back.
"I can see this won't end any time soon," Femi sighed. "Come on, Lady Helia, I'll help you clean up."
The Valmese girl nodded, looking to the Captain.
"By your leave, Captain?" she said.
"Aye, you'll be no help up here right now, anyway," the old man smiled. "You can use my cabin. I still have some clean water in there you can use to wash yourself and polish your armor with."
"That's very generous of you, sir," Idalia said with a very Chon'sinian bow.
"I will be with my navigators if you need me," the Captain said without looking at any of them. "There were stories of shallow reefs near Ylisse, I'd prefer we not run aground this close to our destination."
The two girls and one old man parted then, leaving Galle and Idallia standing alone near the railing. They watched the organized chaos of the deck in silence for a few moments, Galle marveling at the calm and controlled manner of the Captain as he took all of these interlopers in his space in stride. Every other ship's captain he'd ever dealt with had flat out refused to allow passengers of any sort or rank even near the important areas of the ships.
He glanced over at the lilac haired woman leaning on the railing next to him, her arms crossed and her lips pursed, and he had to smirk. Unfortunately, he couldn't help himself.
"Hag," he said with a grin.
"Brat," she shot back.
"Where's your favorite meat-shield?" Galle asked with a chuckle.
"Off on the rigging somewhere," Idallia sighed, shaking her head. "He said some nonsense about wanting to be the one who got to shout 'land ho', never mind we've been in sight of the coast for weeks. The simple fact that that man now rules a nation fills me with dread."
"He's also technically your boss," Galle added.
"Did you come here for a reason, or just to harass me?" Idallia snorted, glaring out of the corner of her eye.
"It's just a bonus," Galle shrugged. "I got caught in the girls' wake."
"Typical male, dragged around by the first pretty face that will give you the time of day," Idallia sighed theatrically.
Galle rolled his eyes, choosing to ignore her comment as he considered just how he had ended up in a relationship with his girlfriend in the first place.
The time passed quickly as they waited for the docks to get closer, the pair trading barbs and insults almost unconsciously as they watched their slowly approaching destination. Helia and Femi returned after long, the Valmese girl looking far more presentable in her polished red plates now. Femi had apparently helped by combing the other girl's long blonde hair, although the traditional Plegian braids Femi had done did look strangely odd in Helia's blonde hair. The young Valmese noblewoman fidgeted nervously next to Galle now, watching the docks growing closer with the rest of them. It was at that point that Basilio suddenly dropped down from the rigging above, an almost child-like grin on his face as a visibly incensed Idallia rolled her eyes.
The docks themselves were dark in the constant twilight, no torches or lamps to be seen. They were abandoned, too; no vessels, Ylissean or otherwise, were moored at wooden posts. Fortunately, the channel was deep and the unnamed dreadnaught came up close, far closer than Galle would have thought possible. A testament to the skill of the ship's sailors, he reasoned.
"Movement," Basilio rumbled softly, his one eye scanning the dock.
"Risen?" Helia asked.
Basilio was silent a moment, then shook his head.
"I see light reflecting off armor," he reported. "Risen armor is always matte black when they wear it."
"Natives, then," Galle deadpanned. "Goody. They'll be so happy to see a thousand new mouths to feed-"
Femi elbowed the tactician in the ribs to silence him, but judging from the hitch in Helia's step the damage was already done. To their surprise, though, she barely hesitated.
"Then we earn our keep," she declared, crossing the deck to the gangplank. "We work. We fight. We do whatever we have to. Mankind can no longer stand divided."
"Well said," Basilio chortled. "But the boy makes a good point."
"If anyone will take us in, it's the Ylisseans," Femi said hopefully.
"Yeah, because Plegia's probably empty by now," Galle snorted.
"Oh, I'm sure you'd hate that," Femi said sarcastically.
Basilio silenced them with a glare, both Plegians falling silent as Helia stopped at the top of the gangplank. Victor was waiting with the ship's captain, both looking at her expectantly. Galle spotted Ita not far away, the wolf woman standing before the last of the mobile members of her race with her arms crossed and a sour look on her face.
Helia took a deep breath and nodded, a determined expression on her face as she undid the buckle of her sword belt and handed the whole thing to a stunned Victor.
"We go unarmed," she declared.
"That is a very stupid idea," Idallia said.
"Yet it is my order," Helia said, a hint of steel in her tone.
Idallia huffed, crossing her arms and turning away slightly. Basilio chuckled, dropping one hand on her shoulder as he carelessly dropped his axe on the deck. Rolling her eyes, Idallia brushed his hand off and emulated Helia's actions, shoving her sheathed sword into Victor's arms.
"I want that back when I return," she said, her tone low and dangerous.
The Valmese man's eyes widened and he nodded quickly.
Galle smirked as he passed his spellbook and short sword off to another refugee soldier, who took Femi's spellbook, too.
Helia then drew herself up, projecting a, in Galle's opinion, passable aura of regal importance, before descending down the ramp. Basilio and Idallia followed, the Ylissean-born Khan still frowning. Leaving Galle and Femi to bring up the rear.
Galle found it odd how no one had pressured the young leader to take an honor guard. If they had been Ylissean or Plegians a crowd of immaculately presented soldiers would have crowded her the moment the gangplank dropped, but the Valmese had left well enough alone. Whether this was cultural or simply due to rampant exhaustion was another question entirely, though. To the Valmese's credit, though, Victor did follow them down the ramp after passing the weapons off to the captain.
The gangplank bent and wobbled under their weight, the salty, dead fish stink of a costal town heavy in the air. Looking around Galle spotted movement, the same that Basilio had. Figures hidden in buildings, lurking in shadows between them. Occasional glints of reflected light off armor and weapons, hidden within abandoned warehouses and shacks around the docks.
As their feet touched the old, decaying wooden docks Helia looked around, almost seeming surprised no one had come to meet them.
"Hello?" she called into the twilight. "We are refugees from Valm! We come seeking aid and shelter! Will someone come forth to treat with us?"
A sound, rustling and movement, hushed whispers, surrounded the refugees now. More movement, clearer this time, as some figures retreated and more came forward into the dim light. They were wretched looking villagers, barely any better than the Valmese people crammed into the hold of the dreadnaught. A small crowd of them, perhaps twenty or so, formed around the base of the gangplank, eerily silent save for the shuffling of their feet and rustling of their clothes.
"Please," Helia repeated. "We have hundreds of people, starving and sick, on this ship. All we ask for is what food you can spare. Once we have recovered we can-"
"Leave," one of the villagers said.
"There's nothing for you here," another added. "We barely have enough for ourselves!"
"Get back on your ship and go!"
Helia flinched as if struck, and with a snort Basilio stomped around her to glare down the villagers with his giant arms crossed.
"Is this how the people of Ylisse treat their guests!?" he boomed.
"No, no it's not! Stand down!" a new voice called from the buildings.
Galle and Idallia both froze, eyes widening in twin expressions of disbelief at the new voice.
A small and ragged squad of Ylissean soldiers appeared from between the buildings, marching purposely towards the crowd near the ship. The villagers began to shrink away, not from fear but rather, it seemed to Galle, from shame. The soldiers themselves didn't look much better than the villagers, but their equipment was clean, and unlike most of the Valmese refugee soldiers their armor were in complete sets still. All three of the Ylissean southern states were represented in the squad, blue tabards and tunics outlined with Ylisstol's gold, Themis' white and Jagen's purple. The man in the lead, wearing heavier armor than the rest, wore Themisian colors along with a full-face helm, obviously having once belonged to a cavalier.
"You people should be ashamed," the helmed man said, his voice carrying despite the helm. "The last Exalt's edict was that no refugees be turned away, no matter their circumstances, and it still stands! Return to your homes. Find the mayor, have him meet us at my command post. Now!"
The villagers began to disperse, some casting weak glares at the small group of refugees, most just staring at the ground as they left. Galle couldn't help but notice there were still dozens of eyes watching them from the shadows.
The Ylissean soldiers formed up, some stumbling a little as they formed a barely passable line for an honor guard. Clearly the Valmese didn't have the monopoly on exhausted and inexperienced soldiers.
"Apologies," the helmed man said. "It's been… rough all around lately."
Basilio snorted again, his eye narrowing in suspicion as he stepped aside for Helia.
"No, no apologies are necessary," Helia said, coming forward with her best smile. "Given the bad blood between our nations I was expecting such a reception."
"Our Exalt says we don't have the time or resources left to waste fighting between ourselves, and I agree with her," the helmed man said, seeming to perk up as he remembered something. "Ah, but speaking of horrible manners here I am still wearing my helm. Please forgive me."
He reached up, Galle and Idallia both holding their breath now. Long, thin lilac hair fell down out of the helm around a face of strong, patrician features. His eyes were lined, and he was thin to the point his cheeks were far sharper than they remembered, but his skin was still smooth and pink beneath his rugged stubble and his eyes had none of the red tainted glow from before.
"My name is Maris, formerly of Themis, Captain of the Exalt's Reclamation army."
Before Helia could respond Idallia snarled, stomping forward. Maris reeled back in surprise, his eyes widening further as he recognized the woman advancing on him with murder in her eyes.
"Sister?" he asked, his voice shaking. "Idallia, is that you? How can-"
Any other words from the bigger man were cut off when Idallia's fist flashed out and broke his nose.
Robin slowly turned along with Arya, marveling at the cave the Shepherds now found themselves in. The walls were smooth, jutting stalagmites and stalactites filling corners and appearing randomly throughout. It looked as if a few had been cleared from the ground to provide more space, opening pathways deeper into what appeared to be a natural cave system behind them. It was cool, but not dark. Ambient light came from crystal formations growing from walls and stalagmites, giving off a cool blue glow that seemed to make the entire scene appear as if they were under water. The persistent gentle dripping sound in the background further added to this.
"Gotoh. As in… the Great Sage? Advisor to King Marth?"
Chrom's awed whisper brought Arya's attention back to the tableau before them, but Robin wasn't overly surprised. Very little would continue to surprise him these days. She clearly didn't recognize the name 'Gotoh', although the Hero King Marth the entire world knew well. But Gotoh had been ancient even by manakete standards when the Hero King had walked the earth; there was no way this old man could be him.
Xane scoffed behind the sage, throwing his hands up in the air indignantly.
"Oh sure, everyone remembers you but no one ever talks of the brave infiltrator that saved the Altean Knights time and again!" the red-haired man bemoaned.
"Now is not the time, Xane," Gotoh warned.
The younger man scoffed, crossing his arms and glaring petulantly for a moment before sighing. The old man gave Xane a warning look for a moment before turning back to the Shepherds.
"And yes, Awakener, I am what remains of the Great Sage," he explained.
And suddenly the old man's identity made sense to Robin. Clearly, the others didn't understand, though. At the tactician's side Arya looked up questioningly, and Robin just shrugged, indicating she watch.
"What… 'remains'?" Chrom repeated slowly. "I don't understand."
"Chrom," Robin piped up. "You've met Naga. Naga's phantom, her spirit. Gotoh was also a Divine Dragon. Connect the dots."
"Oh. Oh!" Chrom said, eyes lighting up before his face darkened into a frown. "Could you have said that less condescendingly?"
"Probably," Robin shrugged with a grin.
"I like him," Xane said to Gotoh. "The Fell Blood. He has spunk. I like that."
"Thanks, Xane," Robin said with a roguish grin.
"Easy to see where Galle picked it up from," Arya muttered beside Robin.
"Is he right?" Chrom asked, turning back to Gotoh. "Are you Gotoh's spirit?"
The old man had been smiling wistfully as he watched the Shepherds speaking amongst themselves, but drew himself up again as focus returned to him.
"Even without my physical form, I am still Gotoh," the old man explained. "Just as Naga was still herself after being released from her mortal form. But this is not important. I know why you have come. To seek aid against the Fell Dragon, yes?"
"Actually, we came because someone called to Robin," Chrom said.
"That was I, Awakener," Gotoh said.
"Well… what about Nagi?" Robin asked, brow furrowing slightly.
"Nagi is… gone, now," Gotoh said sadly. "We few are all that remain. We acted too late to stop Grima's advance, and for that we pay with our race's extinction."
"Wait, you mean you are all that's left of the manaketes period?" Robin asked, eyes widening.
"Aside from the young halfblood, yes," Gotoh nodded.
"Wow, that's… honestly not what we were hoping to find," Robin admitted.
The tactician reeled from the news, swaying a little on his feet. Arya was at his side in an instant, the smaller girl steadying him with both hands on one of his shoulders.
"Then why did you call to Robin?" Chrom asked.
Gotoh chuckled, his eyes crinkling as he smiled a little.
"Just because we are all that remains of the manaketes does not mean we are helpless," the old man explained. "And it does not mean we have no aid to offer you. Assuming, of course, you intend to stop the Fell Dragon?"
"I suppose you can't just teleport us home?" Tharja drolled, speaking for the first time since they had arrived below ground.
"I am afraid not," Gotoh laughed.
"We will do it because it is our duty," Chrom said solemnly. "We cannot turn away from this world's suffering and just hide in our own. That's not what Shepherds do."
"Alright, enough preaching," Tharja snapped.
"It was a good question," Robin interjected. "I was just waiting for a better time to ask it."
"We cannot abandon these people!" Owain half-shouted.
As he spoke the blonde man took a few desperate steps towards Chrom, the yearning, puppy-like expression on his face causing the Exalt to grin and drop a hand on his nephew's shoulder.
"We won't," Chrom told the younger man.
Before anyone else could speak further Xane appeared between the two men, draping his arms over their shoulders with a huge, toothy grin on his face.
"Well, this is touching," the red-haired man said. "I'm touched. And motivated. And a little hungry."
"Xane…" Gotoh said, his tone one of warning.
"What? You may be dead, but the rest of us still have to eat!" Xane laughed, turning to put his face uncomfortably close to Owain's. "Hope you guys like mushrooms, 'cause that's all that grows down here."
Gotoh sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before turning to Chrom again.
"I would extend to you and yours what little we have in the way of hospitality, Awakener," the Great Sage said. "However, the… Risen will have to remain outside."
"Deal," Robin said before Chrom could answer.
The Exalt turned a weak glare on him, and the tactician shrugged. Chrom gave a long sigh, shaking his head before addressing Gotoh again.
"We would be honored to take you up on your offer, Great Sage."
"I will bring the others inside with Fae, then," Gotoh nodded. "Xane will watch over the Risen until you are ready to depart."
"Wait, Xane will do no such-" was as far as the red-haired man got before he disappeared.
The teleportation spell was similar to the one that had been in his ring, Robin was curious to note. A brief flash and the once-manakete was gone, Owain sighing in relief as his personal space once more became free.
"Please, make yourselves comfortable," Gotoh said with another kindly smile. "Once more, I welcome you to our home."
Opening his eyes slowly as the teleportation spell wore off, Clarus glanced around as he waited for his vision to clear. Even through closed eyelids the flash of the spell could still be disorienting. He made a mental note to ask Robin about how he overcame it next time they met.
If he could stop the younger man trying to kill him for just five minutes, anyway.
Really, they would get along so much better if Robin would relax a little. Clarus knew what it was like to be high-strung, remembered his days as a teacher in Ylisstol…
What he couldn't remember was how long ago that was now.
A day? A lifetime?
One of the Thanatophages crawled across his shoulder and around his neck, the little creature's passage a gentle caress against his pallid flesh.
Of course, his past life was unimportant.
With these thoughts passing idly through his head the mage turned slowly around to survey the place that the Thanatophages had brought him. A ruin of some sort, still intact. It was the first whole building he had seen since coming to this forsaken world. Walls and ceiling of stone, scattered torches casting light across the dank, cold space. Empty cells in a central room, bars facing outwards, walkways between the cells. All still in surprisingly good shape.
Clarus took a few curious steps before he noticed the dozens of Risen watching him from the shadows. Their glowing red eyes, so much like his own now, watched his progress intently. In the center of the cross-shaped gap between the cells a figure rose from where it had been kneeling, Clarus curious how he had missed it the first time.
"And just what are you?" a woman's voice asked.
The Thanatophages chirped inside his head, writing excitedly across his flesh.
"Are you the master?" Clarus asked, ignoring them.
"I may very well be yours, worm," the woman sneered.
She turned to face him, her hood drawn low over her face and obscuring her eyes. The ends of her shoulder length brown hair peeked out of the hood, her skin pale and blotched. She wore a tight black jacket with stylized silver pauldrons, obviously meant for riding, and thigh-high boots beneath a short skirt. On her cheeks were carved two stylized Grimleal eyes, the wounds glowing a pale red in the darkness.
"You are not Grimleal. They know better than to interrupt me," she went on. "Who are you? Why do you come bearing Master's gift? Why do I not know you?"
Clarus smirked unbidden. She spoke like the more curious students he used to get back in Ylisstol, all questions. And now that he had heard her speak some more he could tell that she was, in fact, still quite young.
"I called him here, sister," a new, male voice called out.
The girl turned as another figure entered the space, a heavy wooden door swinging closed behind him.
"Daraen," the girl hissed, obviously not pleased.
"So you are the master?" Clarus asked, tilting his head curiously.
"The master in indisposed," the new figure, Daraen the girl had named him, said. "I sensed your presence, and felt you could be of use."
As he spoke he stepped into the light, Clarus barking out a laugh. He was barely older than a teenager, messy brown hair streaked with black and eyes glowing the same malignant red as Clarus and the Risen's. He had the same stylized eyes carved into his cheeks as the girl, too. But most amusing was he was wearing an exact copy of Robin's coat.
"You do not decide that-" the girl started, before Daraen cut her off.
"Valm is purged, but we lost Simia," he said plainly, the Risen around them shifting uneasily at the revelation. "We have an 'open position', as it were. Why not fill it with him in the interim, Morgan? It makes sense."
"Morgan…?" Clarus repeated to himself curiously.
Now that he looked closely, what he could see of the girl's face did bear a passing resemblance to Chon'sin's Ylissean ambassador… it would stand to reason that this world would have equivalents of people in his own, making him wonder what had become of himself in this different timeline.
The girl clicked her tongue, turning away from Daraen and crossing her arms.
"I don't like it when you make decisions like this without consulting Master first," she said, almost petulantly.
Daraen grinned, exposing long white fangs as he stepped around the girl and strode up to Clarus excitedly.
"So? Would you like to help us? I'm sure if you did the Master would feel obliged to reward you. Maybe even make you one of his Chosen."
"Daraen, I don't like this," Morgan repeated, being ignored.
"You're the one that called to me?" Clarus asked, narrowing his eyes. "The one that promised to teach me?"
"Yes," Daraen said, his grin growing wider. "What do you want to know?"
Clarus' face split in an answering grin.
"I already told you. I want to know everything."
Robin lay awake on his cloak in the darkness some hours later, the persistent throbbing in his hand keeping him from any meaningful rest for the fifth 'night' in a row. The Shepherds had chosen to rest in one of the darker side caverns, many of them simply laying out their packs and falling asleep on the hard stone without so much as a word of complaint. Chrom chief among them. Robin could usually sleep almost anywhere, too; except for ships at sea, but that was for different reasons.
With a soft sigh the tactician sat up, fighting the now-familiar wave of vertigo and nausea as he did so. With no small amount of effort he rose and donned his coat, careful not to wake Arya sleeping on her own pack next to him, before he shambled out of the small side cave and into the dim light of the main cavern. He pulled the hood of his coat up over his thinning white hair as an afterthought.
Gotoh was nowhere to be seen, and Xane was still 'topside' with what had apparently been a very incensed Deadlord. Fae, however, glanced up as Robin shuffled into the space, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. The dragon-woman sat cross-legged on the flat surface of one of the low-cut stalagmites, her seated glare at eye-level with the tactician.
Robin held his hands up in the universal sign for peace, smirking a little in the shadows of his coat's hood.
"Just stretching my legs," he muttered, trusting the manakete's enhanced hearing to carry his words.
Fae snorted, her frown not abating.
"Your spawn spoke very eloquently in your defense, but I still don't trust any of you."
"One, she's not my spawn," Robin chuckled, bracing his good hand against the cavern wall to keep his balance. "Two, I seem to recall us being friends in my own world."
"As we were here once, too," Fae shot back. "Then I watched you eat half my kin."
Robin paused at that, a shadow passing over his face.
"I'm sorry," he said at length.
"For what?" Fae asked. "You're not him, right? Why do you insist on taking responsibility for the Fell Dragon's actions?"
Robin gave an awkward chuckle, lifting his hand to run it through his hair but thinking better of it and letting the appendage drop again with a shake of his head.
"Force of habit," he shrugged.
Fae continued to eye him for a moment before she breathed a shallow sigh, her face softening slightly.
"Yes, you were always like that," she muttered, almost inaudibly. "Go. Stretch your legs. I… will be here if you need me. Don't touch anything."
Robin nodded, a small smile rising to his dry lips. Feeling a little lighter now that he knew Fae wasn't about to transform and eat him Robin let his feet carry him randomly through the tunnels, following the faint glow of the bioluminescent fungi that lit the space. It was quiet, soothing, and before Robin knew it he had wandered far from the small cave the Shepherds had claimed and into another cavernous space.
With a hushed gasp Robin looked around, marveling at the space.
Pillars of blue crystal, some as tall as a man while others were the size of buildings, filled the space. The weak light was reflected off their glossy surfaces almost like chunks of ice, lighting the chamber and momentarily blinding Robin.
"Magnificent, isn't it?"
The tactician jumped, resisting the urge to yelp in case the sound echoed and woke the others. He cast a glare to the side of the entry tunnel where Tharja was standing, marveling at the strange crystals much as he had been a moment ago.
"Never figured you as a geology fan," Robin said, moving a little closer to his old friend.
The Dark Mage matriarch shook her head. "Not the crystals. Look inside them."
Robin quirked his brow but did as he was told, hobbling towards the nearest pillar of crystal. He was startled to realize that resting within was a thick, heavy lance, easily as tall as he was. The head of the weapon was the length of his forearm, and the blade was as wide as both his hands side by side.
"Gradivus," another voice said.
Robin and Tharja both spun as Gotoh faded into existence behind them, the old man's face wearing a kindly smile.
"One of the three great holy relics of Archanea, wielded by the Emperor Hardin during the time of King Marth's reign. Mercurius and Parthia are here, too."
"Wow," Robin breathed.
He stepped forward again, enraptured by the sight of the ancient lance, and gently placed a hand against the surface of the crystal. Rather than being cold he found the strange stone to be oddly warm, almost body temperature.
"Wait, does that mean…" Robin said, eyes widening as he looked back over the room.
Gotoh gave a good-natured chuckle, smirking a little as he strode slowly through the room, the mage and the tactician moving to follow.
"Yes, Fell Blood," the Great Sage said. "Each of these crystals houses a relic. This is something of a museum, protected by the strongest magic the last of the manaketes could muster."
"This is… incredible," Tharja muttered from Robin's side.
Robin smirked as he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Despite how aloof she acted usually Tharja was still a mage, still a scholar, and clearly she was just as excited as he was at the thought of what could be lurking in this cave.
"Not all are weapons, mind you," Gotoh went on. "There is artwork as old as human civilizations, sculptures and paintings. Ancient spellbooks with magic that has long since been lost to mankind. Historical texts, poetry and-"
Both men paused as Tharja gave a strangled gasp, darting towards one of the crystals. Resting within was a plain-looking old spellbook with a stylized silver skull emblazoned on it, but even Robin's eyes widened as he read the flowing, archaic script on the cover.
"Imhullu," Tharja breathed, resting her hands on the crystal. "The Demon Wind. The… original Dark Magic. From before Grima. This… I didn't think it actually existed."
"I assure you, it does," Gotoh said, a sour look crossing his face. "Even though the Darksphere is lost, rendering its field of invincibility inert, Imhullu yet remains."
"This could… change everything!" Tharja said, spinning back to them and becoming more animated. "This could totally change our very understanding of the nature of Dark Magic! Master Gotoh, you must let me study it!"
Gotoh was silent a moment as both humans turned to look at him, before the ancient sage sighed and closed his eyes.
"No," he said softly.
"No?" Tharja repeated, confused. "But… I… think of the possibilities!"
"All I think of when I see that tome is the damage it caused," Gotoh said slowly, his gaze suddenly weary. "It may predate Grima's taint, but Imhullu is just as wicked, just as coercive. I cannot allow another to fall to its darkness."
"I was born in the darkness!" Tharja hissed, baring her teeth. "I am no paltry novice! I am the matriarch of an entire generation of Dark Mages! No one knows more, has more control and mastery over the art than me! I am not afraid!"
"And what would you do with the knowledge once you gained it?" Gotoh asked.
This brought Tharja up short, the woman opening her mouth to respond before closing it again and drawing back. She appeared to be debating how best to respond to the Great Sage; to use the same biting, haughty tone she spoke to most everyone with, or to be openly honest.
"I wish to know," she said softly, clearly deciding on honesty. "Understand. Were it too dangerous, I would take the knowledge to my grave with me. But… if it could help even a little to create a new breed of Dark Mage, one free of Grima's yoke, I would gladly bear the burden."
"And if you could not bear the burden?" Gotoh asked solemnly. "If the magic drove you mad, as it did my poor student Gharnef all those millennia ago?"
"Then I trust Robin to strike me down," Tharja said without hesitation.
"Hey, don't drag me into this," Robin scoffed. "I'm curious, sure, but I'm already coming apart at the seams. I don't need the extra strain of more dark magic."
Tharja cast him a glance before stepping up, face to face with the venerable sage, and looking him in the eye.
"I wish to study Imhullu, to help my students, and perhaps to help Robin," she said clearly. "Please, Master Sage, allow me this boon."
Gotoh held her gaze, the moment stretching out, his face unreadable before he finally frowned. Behind them the crystal flashed, Imhullu suddenly exposed to the air atop a small plinth where the crystal once stood.
All at once Robin was almost overwhelmed by the tome's malignant aura, a feeling of cold dread climbing up his spine and clutching at his heart as he gazed at the book. Ancient voices long forgotten whispered at the edges of his consciousness, and in his weakened state Robin almost heeded them. He unconsciously leaned forward, only coming back to himself when Gotoh placed a warm hand on his shoulder.
"You may not remove the tome from these caves," Gotoh said gravely, dropping his hand. "You may not remove the tome from this room. You may not cast the spell in these caves. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes!" Tharja said, already turning to snatch up the book.
She instantly dropped to the ground, crossing her legs and leaning over the pages as she cradled the tome in her lap. As she poured over the first few pages she held up a hand, a small magical fire appearing above delicate fingertips to aid her reading.
Robin snickered and shook his head, Gotoh sharing a conspiratorial smile with him.
"So much changes, yet so much remains the same," the sage sighed. "You do not wish to read it, too?"
"I'll get the main points from Tharja later," Robin shrugged. "She reads faster than me, I don't need the headache I'd get trying to keep up. But you'll forgive me for being curious as to why you have all this… stuff down here."
Gotoh chuckled, stroking his beard.
"Yes, I was getting to that before the Lady Mage became distracted," he said, before growing somber again. "We waited too long. By the time the manaketes came together and reached a consensus to act, Grima had already become too powerful for us to stop. Dragons from as far as Tellius faced him down in Regna Ferox, a gathering of our kind which has not been seen since we became tied to human form and dragonstone. Beings once worshipped as gods, powerless before Grima's wrath. We were slaughtered. Humbled, the last of us retreated here with what relics we could. We took to collecting many more, in the hopes that we could at least leave some reminder of the world that was, and in the hopes of keeping such powerful weapons from Grima's grasp."
Robin nodded, digesting this information as they strolled through the rows of crystal.
"If what you say is true, then you have an armory here that could give us the edge against him," the tactician said hopefully.
Gotoh gave a small, genuine laugh. "Child, I have already decided to give what we can. Imhullu is a special case, as are a few other items, but aside from those everything here is at your disposal."
"So, you believe us, then," Robin stated.
"I did from the moment I reached out to you," Gotoh said, smiling kindly. "It was the others I wished to convince. I would ask you take Xane and Fae with you when you leave."
"I won't say no to more help, but… why?" Robin asked slowly.
"They are the last of us," Gotoh said, his smile turning sad. "They deserve a more glorious death than slowly fading away in these dark caverns."
Robin nodded, silent for a moment before he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. A slow, steady gait, more of a shuffle than actual walking. From behind some of the larger crystal formations a small, hunched figure emerged, clad in a tattered and patched red robe pulled low over its face.
"Ah, visitors," the figure said, his voice slow and breathy. "Smells like humans in here now. It's been quite some time since anyone alive has come to view our collection, eh Gotoh?"
"Yes, old friend," Gotoh said with another small smile. "Yet I fear they will not be staying long."
"Ah, pity," the robed figure sighed. "We do so rarely get visitors these days. You are quiet, visitor! Where are you! Speak!"
Somewhat taken aback Robin looked to Gotoh for explanation, only to find the Sage had disappeared.
"Yes, he does that," the robed figure scoffed. "Thinks it makes him mysterious. All it does is make him annoying! Now, where are you?"
"I'm right in front of you," Robin said.
"Ho! It speaks!" the robed figure chuckled.
Narrowing his eyes, Robin knelt down to get an actual look at the robed manakete. An impossibly ancient face hid in the darkened recess of the robe's hood. If Gotoh had been the picture of someone who had aged well, were he still technically alive, then this newcomer was the exact opposite. Deep, crag-like lines covered his clean-shaven face, his skin the color of old leather. A pointed chin beneath an equally pointed nose, most of his teeth missing when he smiled. What stood out, though, was the milky whiteness of his eyes. The old manakete was blind.
"So, does the strange creature have a name?" the old manakete asked.
"I'm waiting for him to give it," Robin quipped before he could stop himself.
The manakete scoffed before chuckling, swaying side to side with a wide, gap-filled smile.
"Bah, kids these days, no respect… Fine! I am Bantu! Last of the Flame Dragons, guardian of the Divine Dragon and now the curator of this forgotten tomb."
Robin almost fell over. "Wait. If he's The Gotoh, does that make you…"
"The Bantu? Perhaps," the old manakete said, shrugging his hunched shoulders. "It was once a fairly common name among my kind. Now! Answer me this, creature! What are you?"
Robin smirked. Clearly the old manakete had lost his senses as well as part of his mind to age.
"I'm Robin, tactician of Ylisse. And I'm a human. You know, one of those younger races that roamed around, fighting and killing each other for the last ten thousand years?"
Bantu snorted. "Nice try, Fell Blood, but I know a human when I smell one. And you are most assuredly not human."
In the distance Robin heard Tharja drop the ancient tome she was reading in her shock, but Robin just sighed out his nose.
"So I guess I can't hide it anymore," he muttered with a shrug. "Is it that obvious?"
"Yes," Bantu said. "To me, anyway. And I'm blind! Gotoh, too, probably, but that ornery old shade has plans within plans within plans, so I'm not surprised he didn't say anything. So, 'Robin', I know your name, but not what you are. What are you?"
The tactician shrugged and grinned beneath his own hood.
"If you know what to call it, I'm open to suggestions."
AN: This chapter was an absolute slog. I don't know why I had so much trouble with it. But I did. I also put this up to my patrons and then totally forgot about it for, like, two extra days. Whoops.
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