CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Guardia

The huge cargo ship was not at all like the Guardian faerie back in his timeline. Bulky and made of steel, it rocked side to side and rarely up and down. The hall creaked and moaned as it moved against the waves, no comfort at all for the swordsman. Though it was a large ship, which normally gave him space to move about in, he couldn't leave his cramped hiding crate that didn't help his stomach in the slightest. The steel barge absorbed the cool water, making the cargo hold a large freezer. To say Crono was miserable was an understatement. He thought of Janus at that moment and considered himself the luckier of the two.

Crono had no idea how long he's been on the ship but he could guess at least a day had passed. He hoped with the time given to him he could begin planning on how to help the Guardia army without raising too much suspicion. However, the seasickness had taken him whole and it took all of his concentration not to hurl all over himself. The cold only added to his distraction as he rubbed his arms and legs to keep his circulation flowing in his body. Crono figured he would do what he always done. Improvise.

The swordsman guessed another half day passed before he felt the barge slowed and he expected to be free very shortly. However, the barge stopped abruptly, slamming the crate against the wall and spilling its contents, Crono, onto the floor and out in front of two startled Guardian sailors.

"What the? A stowaway?"

"More like a Zealian rat."

The second comment had Crono raising an eyebrow. It was true enough he could cast spells—what was left in reserves after Spekkio's demise—but his outward appearance didn't show any hint that he was a wizard. Indeed, he wore exotic clothes and wore a couple of unique swords but he neither wore a cloak nor wielded a staff or wand. So why call me a Zealian rat? Crono thought as he scratched his thick mop of hair. Then it came to him.

Both sailors, neither soldiers obviously, pounced upon the swordsman, missing him in a split second as he tucked and rolled to the side. Crono knew he had to get off the ship now, before anyone else saw him and his outlandish colored hair. Though not a costumed blue or light brown of most Zealians, some wizards the swordsman saw that practiced lightning like he, had bright red or brilliant yellow color hair. Normally the effects one got when playing with electric magic. Up the stairs he flew, skipping three stairs at a time, hoping luck would finally be on his side.

Shouts reverberated from behind and below the deck but it didn't slow Crono's flight a bit. The sailors got above deck seemed far too busy to notice a stranger running out from the haul, grabbing some rope and swinging off the ship. By the time the two sailors got above deck, not a sign of the strange stowaway was found.

Fleeing into the thin woods, Crono was grateful that lady luck was indeed with him. The rope was tied down and they were docked. If they weren't, Crono shivered at the thought of plunging feet first into the frigid ocean water. But now Crono knew he had a difficult problem. If he was to slip into Guardia without suspicion, he would have to do something with his hair.

The night was a pleasant, crisp feeling with just a touch of a winter's breeze. Being such a season the swordsman was not too surprised in seeing a farming village that was lit up by each building but all signs of crops were long ago harvested for the winter. A loud cheer erupted from one of the larger buildings, probably a tavern, which drew on the swordsman's curiosity. Indeed, he felt his foot move a step but he quickly paused. How he wanted to be in the company of others, enjoying a good meal and resting someplace out of the cold. But his hair would just make him a marked man, regardless on how unjustified the prejudice was.

The swordsman sighed and backed pedaled into the woods. With a regretful sigh, Crono grabbed tightly onto one of his thick locks. The more he moves forward with this new adventure, the more he felt life wasn't fair. Lately, he has been losing everything in his life. His friends, his timeline, his magic and now he was going to lose a piece of his identity didn't sit well with him. Taking one of his katanas in hand, Crono sliced through—though very difficultly—the first patch of wild hair.

With each strand falling to the ground, Crono blinked his tears away, believing this was the only way to have the Guardians trust him without prejudice. But still… the thick volume, punk look was his trademark along with his unique weapon of choice. As the last strand fell, Crono choked back the rest of his tears and scowled, very deeply. Such a feature was foreign to the swordsman and his cheeks and chin began to ache after a short while. Still… this was one more reason he wanted to utterly destroy Noah.

Taking some dirt on the ground, Crono finished up his little disguise by darkening his hair color. It wasn't a permanent solution but before he could get to a bigger town, it was all he could do. Using his fingers as a crude comb, Crono felt a bit better as his hair remained in small spikes. After burying his hair, both to hide it and to bury a part of himself; the swordsman returned and slowly entered the tavern.

"So quiet one, where'd ye said yer from again?" a burly man cheerily said with more than a touch of cider in his system and slapping a very sober swordsman on the shoulder.

Most of the little village was packed into the tavern and though Crono raised a few eyebrows, most of the folks accepted the traveler with open arms. Though a few were in jest, saying he should take a bath, which he too quickly shook his head, he soon realized half the folks continued to do manual labor during the cold season and needed a bath themselves. In a very short time, the self-pity for the hair cut had gone.

"That's right! Ye don't talk so we'll ne'er know!" the burly man laughed and some fellows, his obvious pals, roared along side him.

In the hour he spent in the tavern, he learned more than he hoped. Guardia Castle was only a three day walk over Zenan Bridge to the north and with the lack of good fighters; Crono would easily be drafted if he could prove his worth. Also, though these kind people were at war and their families were likely dying, nothing seemed to stop this small community from enjoying life. If all of Guardia in this timeline was so hopeful, Crono would indeed feel more at ease. He grinned.

"Well lookie here. Da kid's smilin'," The burly man laughed, slapping Crono on the shoulder again.

Crono grinned all the wider and returned the kind slap, throwing a couple coins to buy him more cider. The burly man grinned and tipped his now full mug to his new friend. Crono couldn't help but compare the man to an adventurer he once knew as Toma. He was carefree, full of life, and sometimes too full of cider. Throwing a few more coins on the table, Crono got a room, hoping tomorrow, his journey might get easier, and maybe a bit more fun.

It was distant, barely audible with the morning sounds but the hint of it on the wind had the swordsman's eyes fluttering open. The sound was that of a bell… he thought. The first rays of sunlight filtered through his window, catching him directly into the slits of his eyes. How badly he wanted to cover his head with the warm blanket, blocking out the light and the soft whispers of the bell. But Crono knew he didn't wake up from a bad dream, he woke up to one.

Stretching the weariness away, arching his back like a feline, the swordsman dropped an arm, ready for the day. The morning was cold, so Crono crawled out of his bed fully clothed. With the exception of grabbing his katanas that rested on the side of his bed, the rest of his time getting ready was fixing up his hair and even that didn't take long. What kept his time in his room was sulking. He did feel lighter without all his hair but still…

Slapping his face with both his hands, Crono smiled, putting the image of himself out of his mind. With a grin, he left his room and skipped down the stairs, quite shocked at what greeted him.

"Well… 'ello lad. Slept well?" a very familiar looking burly man addressed the swordsman.

All Crono could do was shake his head with a smirk on his face. Crono knew the man was still drinking with his friends before he went to sleep and here he was, not a touch of a hang over, greeting him first thing in the morning.

That is assuming if the bear of a man even slept, thought Crono. But why does he look more awake than I do?

"Come, sit a spell," the burly man waved with his mug. Crono was at first surprised by the flinch the innkeeper made from his customer's comments. But the swordsman soon realized that mentioning the word "spell" may not sit well with the magicless Guardians and could be taboo. Crono put the useful information away and took a seat by the friendly gentleman.

"Yer goin' to da castle, right?" the man asked with a grin, which only widened after the surprised reaction he got from the young swordsman.

"I knew it! Tryin' to be useful to da crown, I see. But boy, yer swords are flimsy and though ye might make guard, ye'll never make knight."

Crono simply smirked at that and rapped the table for breakfast. The swordsman gave him props, he was a pretty good observer but he couldn't even begin to guess the strength within the young swordsman's spirit. With a war with two great nations, Crono figured the kingdom would take any human they could get and with his experience, he was bound to earn some points with the royals and become a knight. He was losing his magic, he felt it day by day, and he knew he had to get stronger and perhaps also learn more of this new world.

"Since yer headin' fer da castle, perhaps I'll guide ye," the burly man smiled and once Crono turned to him with a hopeful look he added, "If ye buy me a round of apple juice."

The swordsman couldn't contain his laughter and once his breakfast was before him, Crono easily dropped more coin for his new friend. Immediately as the gold hit the counter it vanished, replaced with a new full tankard of apple juice. The burly man laughed and raised the cup.

"Da name's Thomas, lad," the bear of a man said, taking a long swig.

"I'm Crono."

"Good to meet you, Crono," Thomas said, taking another drink of his apple juice. Once it registered to his head, a spray of juice drenched the poor tavern owner.

"Ye can talk!"

Crono, never losing his smirk, just raised his own cup. Thomas quickly returned that smile with a large grin. Tapping their tankards together, they felt they were truly in the best of company.

"In the forest, sleeping meadows, I hear my soul a singing. In the mountains, dipping hollows, my love will be a bringing. In the ocean, swimming fellows, the water's not worth a sipping. In the plains, churchin' hellos, for now the bell's a ringing. In the tundra, snow follows, for the chill is nipping. Oh, in the city, at the gallows, here I am a fetching. In your heart, come the morrow…"

"You have officially annoyed me. Cease and desist," a tall, well physically fit woman commanded.

The singer of the tune grinned a perfectly, pearly white grin at his associate. How she hated him. Out of the other seven Ring, why did fate have to be so cruel as to stick her with Fife the Bard. Just looking at him, smug with his costumed grin, always disgusted her.

The man wasn't tall at all but his thin frame made him appear such. But other than the lack of nourishment, he was as "perfect" as they came. His hair was a beautiful golden color that cascade down his shoulders like a waterfall that bounced anytime he moved, without a strand out of place. His skin was bronzed but she knew it wasn't because he worked all day long in the sun (it was winter for crying out loud!) but somehow, he sunbathed regularly…. when… she never knew.

As Fife noticed the lady staring at him he made a pose, far too dynamic for what he dressed in. Wearing a bright blue and violet coat, any other man would look silly but he somehow he pulled it off. On top of his perfect hair say a plum hat, with his trademark Roc feather sticking out of the ribbon. On his back he strapped his lute but she knew he never traveled without at least five musical instruments. And with his exotic charm, he had bedded many women in his short lifetime but she simply rolled her eyes at him. He thought her a challenge.

"Ah, my darling Juliana, you wound me to the quick. Don't you know the song was written for you?" Fife said, feinting hurt by touching his heart. His face soon became serious as he raised his chin some and to the left as a tip from a rapier rested against his throat.

"And pray tell, how many women have you lured in with that line?" Juliana passively asked.

Though Fife acted quite flamboyant, he took anything the pirate said seriously. If he answered, he knew she would be quick to maim or even kill, friend or foe alike. If he lied, she most likely would kill him but if he honestly told her about the multiple ladies he had by that one line alone, she would easily carve up his face without a thought. However, not just her hard-to-get affection attracted him but the fact that she was dangerous gave him a thrill he simply couldn't ignore.

Juliana was indeed well toned and her skin was as close to bronze as Fife's own but seemed faded. She did spend time, lots of it, under the sun on her great ship, which happened to be docked for the winter. Always the pirate, she kept her dark brown hair short, keeping it out of her face during combat. But what was ever exotic about her—to Fife's eyes at least—were the several scars, brutal as they were, all along her face. No, it wasn't the scars themselves Fife figured, but the way she carried them proudly that attracted him.

"We've been here for awhile now. Where are these two rogues?" Fife asked in earnest, ignoring her question (and consequences) altogether.

"We're to guard Enhasa. King Noah said nothing about having to eliminate the wandering rogues," she answered passively.

They stayed in that pose for what seemed like eternity, pirate rapier to bard's throat. Fife normally would be confident that any other member of the Ring wouldn't kill another but Juliana was far unpredictable. Many more moments passed between the two. Finally, as quickly as it appeared, the rapier vanished. Fife sighed, only to get knocked down by a hard right hook.

"For your well being, best we guard in opposite directions," the pirate gently stated and walked off.

She hit me! Me! the bard thought, watching the woman leave as his eyes were glued to her backside. What a woman!

Night soon fell and Crono and Thomas truly enjoyed one another's company. The burly man, Crono noticed, was a wanderer and an adventurer and soon the swordsman had no doubts he had to be a descendant to Toma in this timeline. And as Thomas recounted many personal adventures, Crono listened intensely. Thomas was a great story teller and enjoyed reciting his adventures while Crono was happy to remain silent and listening to his stories, hoping to get something more out of them than entertainment. As they settled down for the night, Thomas bit into a thick piece of venison.

Dropping the juicy food, the burly man jumped to his feet, drawing a broad sword… at least Crono thought that what it was. The blade was not glittering in the moonlight as one would expect from steel but it couldn't have been made by such metal. It was jet black. Admiring the weapon had to wait as Crono drew his bladed katana, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

As both scanned the immediate area around them, neither noticed the tremor from below. An instant before either could react, two large pinchers exploded from the ground, nicking Crono's shin but the other successfully captured Thomas. Two large centipede type monsters appeared over the swordsman as the one shook the poor adventurer Thomas.

Snapping down with great speed like that of a snake, the creature came down on its prey, expected to grab it in the next moment. Speed and stealth was these creatures' most powerful weapons and nothing was faster than these beasts. Not until Crono shown up to this world.

It wasn't dumb luck that the huge centipede missed the swordsman but the fact that the very moment his shin felt something prick him, he naturally leapt away with his near superhuman speed. The creature was fast but it still seemed slow to Crono's eyes and more importantly, they were predictable. At the last possible second, Crono hopped, as the beast slammed its pinchers into the ground.

The swordsman came down on its head and lightly ran up its arched back. With his light feet as if the creature felt just a breeze along its back, Crono leapt into the air, leaving countless afterimages with the incredible speed he was going. A heartbeat later, Thomas was freed and the creature cried out as a thin blade entered its spine. The swordsman's actions took place in three seconds.

Soon both creatures snapped back up, neither seeming even dazed. Staring from his katana to the creature that was still alive and back to the blade, Crono shook his head, as if this blade betrayed him. The first monster came down and Crono soon crutched, preparing for another spring. However, Thomas moved between the two, broad sword in hand. With a mighty roar, the burly man swung his blade, severing the creature in half, length wise.

Crono's jaw went slack but quickly he regained his poise. His wizard sight was failing each day but he did notice a split second resistance to the sword from a few inches from the beast, as if an invisible shield was absorbing the blow. But that huge, black, mysterious blade cut through the shield as if it was a soap bubble. That bubble popped.

Crono then knew it wasn't his skills that failed but the fact his sword wasn't designed for such battles. But a mischievous smile crept to his face. Perhaps the creatures would be none too well off against magic. Forgetting where he was for a brief moment, he raised his hand to strike the second centipede down with a stroke of lightning. But Thomas was soon in front of him again, lopping the head off the beast in one fell swoop.

"Dat foot work and technique… very impressive lad," Thomas turned with a grin, which Crono quickly returned.

"But…" Crono paused and looked at his perfectly balanced, razor sharp yet worthless weapon.

"Ah, don't be frettin'. Ye just got to get yerself the right knight blade yet," Thomas said, emphasizing his point by slipping his black sword into the earth.

"What is that blade made of?"

Thomas's eyebrow rose at that question and soon he tilted his head. It wasn't so much that Crono spoke that baffled him but the question itself. To Crono, he soon realized that the weapon or more like the alloy was common knowledge. In an attempt to deflect the rising suspicion the swordsman shrugged. Still, Thomas eyed him warily.

"Ye gots yerself a mystery abouts ye. Lots o' secrets I'm guessin'," Thomas broke the stare and looked away. "But who am I to snoop where me nose does no belong? Ye did good by me," Thomas then return to look at the swordsman with his usual sparkle in his eyes and smile on his face. "And that all that matters. What be the blade made of? Why, it's made up o' fine, compressed, metal onyx. Metal onyx, 'tis rare but more in abundance here, which o' course is good fer us. 'Tis the best weapon ta take on magic users."

That was it! Crono thought.

With a large grin, the swordsman nodded firmly to his friend. This metal onyx could cut through magic, probably like the properties of the Red Rock and Masamune and that must have been the reason Demir sent him to Guardia. Not only to improve his skills as a swordsman who was losing his magic (and thank heaven he didn't use his precious magic on a simple beast and ruin the trust from his new friend) but he was here to claim a weapon that could actually harm Noah. No longer caring for sleep, Crono ran off with a new spring in his step. He would become a knight, gain a knightly metal onyx sword, and then defeat Noah. It was as simple as that.