June 02, 1778
Poplos Heights
...
— Prescott – I said. As we walked further, my doubts also increased as the length of the path we followed. And they ached at the feet of mine as well.
— What is it, Bart? – He asked. Those rocks... Inconsiderate rocks. If it wasn't for those gaiters, I, as my feet, would be done for so long by now. The woe would be abysmal. So, Prescott asked, because I spoke his name. Not in vain, but I said his name, because I had a question. I still have, but because I had been interrupted by these rocks...
Forget these rocks, and give him your question for once.
— Prescott... – For a moment, we all stopped. Me, Prescott, and Clyde. As the drizzle kept falling upon us, soft as the rains of April, I had the question ready to be told to the Highwind one. – To where exactly are we going?
— Hmmm... – Prescott remained quiet, for a second, before he pointed with his index to the hills, the ones found in front of us. – There. Right there.
Those were the Poplos Heights, known by us and the foreigners because of the Grand Dragons that surrounded their entirety. No one without a sort of weapon has ever been related to having returned alive, only a few, but that's rather questionable. Prescott didn't point right into the heights, but below then, on a passage, the only that connects our Kingdom to the other lands, and the other kingdoms of such lands. Now, I recall why we are there...
That is the exit, or opening from the side we stand, of Gizamaluke's Grotto.
As I said, that's the only way supplies and people from the lands beyond Burmecia can reach. A kind of route, the only one from there to here who seems to be crossed with security. On this side, in front of us, two unites are kept in guard, on the same way other two stands at the other side of the Grotto, awaiting to receive the trade or people to cross the border; people naturally born here, at Burmecia, and a few explorers from Alexandria, Lindblum and other lands besides ours.
All the gates inside the grotto can only be opened by a system of bells that, once rung, can open a certain passage, depending on where the unit is on guard. A similar system can be found at the entrances that lead to the Royal Palace.
Now I do know why we are here. It's a custom for each soldier, no matter the rank he carries beng the lowest of all, to be invited into a ceremony that happens on the inside of Gizamaluke's Grotto. The place is called this way because of the creature that lies within there, an aquatic being by the name of Gizamaluke, preceded by a Master for us, whom it protects, or so does seem to have been told. Either way, the one who protected us from many wars, that's it. I may sound a little harsh when I refer to Gizamaluke by 'it', but that is just the nearest pronoun I could find to differentiate 'it' from the other Gizamaluke.
Centuries ago, at the beginnings of the construction of Burmecia, still with the name of the Land/Kingdom of Lucrecia, Gizamaluke, the eldest son of Burmecia's first King, Kain, a proud warrior, said to be the one who created the first Burmecian warrior code. Nowadays, we follow a strictly revised code, still based on the manuscripts of the original author, whose oldest document containing the words and guidelines related to be his is being kept since then at the Palace.
Gizamaluke is also regarded as one of the predecessors of the Dragoon technique, alongside his mother, Frigg. The same technique was later taught to and by Cyan, the only son of Nathan, Kain's only son in blood, who founded a school where the fundamentals of Dragoon would be taught to other nobles, that used of the technique of quick and agile movements to hunt some dragons in the days of hunt.
Seeing this as an outrage, since his mother would never use the Dragoon technique to hunt dragons only for fun, besides being a privilege for only a few people, that was the start of Gizamaluke's descent.
Since he was an infant, Gizamaluke had always been fascinated with mirrors. It is said that he demanded the walls, the room, the corridor of the Palace to be polished so that he could look at himself when he came in such a place. Gizamaluke was Nathan's brother in a way, but not truly, like a brother is tied to others by blood, since Kain, the one whom he called by father found his alone and later decided to be with him.
Before, other than himself, Gizamaluke had no one to be part of. The fountain that still can be seen at the ruins of Kilde was the only place where he could look at his, and call by others. The only one with the same blood of his was Frigg, his mother, who alongside Kain helped with the foundation of the new civilization that would later become the Burmecia of now.
When Kain's wife, Lucrecia, unfortunately passed away, and Bulumecia was the name given to the land they stood from there until now, Frigg stood to comfort the King and the sudden demise of the wife. Frigg never had a sort of relationship with Kain, besides the two being related to the events prior to the foundation. They remained together since then; more than to relieve the pain of his loss, Frigg stood with Kain, because that's what he would do if it was her, since he already did the same before, with her, and Gizamaluke.
To make Frigg proud of his, Gizamaluke became a Knight. He would often train with his mother, who taught his the principles of what would today become the same Dragoon techniques learned by Lenneth, and others who since childhood wanted to become such Knights. When Gizamaluk saw Kain, the foster father of his, with Frigg, his mother, succeeding the days, as they developed more than a mutual need of finding a way to end the aching of both. Mother and father, Frigg was not Lucrecia, but soon she developed the same feelings, and same way to feel elation.
Succeeding the days, all Gizamaluk wanted was to see Frigg happy, as much as Lucrecia was when along Kain. However, her uneasiness went far more than Kain's situation, which seemed to had been brought to a fair conclusion in days, unlike her concerns about the usage in vain of the Dragoon taught for the ones who used of such power for mere entertainment, which never had been brought to a desired end.
About the end... Well, came the day Frigg succumbed into the way of all flesh. She would later die after fighting against a horde of dragons into their nest, just for the sake of her people; the sake of being a Dragoon Knight, the true essence, not being recognized as such, being lowered into a sport, instead of a task a Knight carries on. He demanded Frigg and her legacy to be considered this way, but such efforts seemed to have gone away from his, and had no effect on the many others.
Seeing this, that was Gizamaluke's last straw, or so he deemed it to be. From later on, he became an unpleasant person. His appearance, once of a noble, now resembled the inner state of his disordered soul and thoughts in conflict. No mirrors were left in his room, only shards, as he only drank the glass full of water with both eyes closed, because he didn't accept what he had become, or what the water told him of himself. Which self? Who was he?
What would Gizamaluke do without the mother? It was Frigg who raised his away from herself, to define what Gizamaluke would become. It was Frigg who defined what a Dragoon is, not those who missed its meaning, and pretended to see the work of a Dragoon as a mere way to waste time.
She even gave her body to the grave for the sake of them, and for the sake of the meaning of a Dragoon... at least, Kain, and his son Nathan, knew for what Frigg fought for, and the reason why, for Gizamaluke's relief. A brief relief, thought Nathan, who also lost a mother, was willing to carry on the Dragoon technique further and show to others its real purpose, a thing his son, Cyan, would do later when grown up, but Gizamaluke wasn't there to see such an act. Never was.
Frigg was no mere person to Gizamaluke. It was his mother, and only. The only living part of his that shared of same blood. Mother wasn't there no more, so why he bothered to live with his father? Gizamaluk had a family, but because of his routine, never was there to raise his son. Instead, his wife was.
On Gizamaluk's life, there was always another who had gave a step beyond before his. Another to raise of his children, another to be given orders, another to be proud of, another to be given happiness of, another to be filled in by joy, another to love his mother, another to be accepted by mother... Always someone copying what he wished his to do.
It was then that Gizamaluk took a harsh decision: to abandon his family, his people, for the sake of what he became, and for the sake of those who become his.
— ...So this is the place where the crybaby rests? – Clyde asked, but in a way he already gave us an answer. His answer, and only, implied on the way of his. I looked at him, with a look that gave him another answer, because I wouldn't with my bare fist.
— Please, Clyde. Have more respect for Master Gizamaluke. – I trembled a bit. It's kind of strange to describe, but I tremble, feel powerless when someone shouts at me.
The same happens when I shout at someone. I didn't shout, neither Clyde did, but I feel in the same way as if he, or me, indeed increased the voice. For some reason, I was about to punch his face, but the tremble didn't want to. It's like my body is saying 'no', 'don't do it', and it's right. The tremble still remains, but soon will vanish for good, and return once again.
If we were alone, maybe I would, but Prescott was there, and so the others, like Clyde. What would they think of me after this happened? Isn't that the reason why we don't kill each other? Why am I thinking of such matters, in a moment like this?
Now, hear what your body says...
Each tremble... slowly dissipating, like the ripples in a water puddle... Don't follow Clyde. Just. Don't. That's what he wants, and always does. To let someone follow his and keep following, to drain all forces of yours to his eyes, to give attention to his, and only his.
Geez... I feel like an unlikely hero in such moments. Some mouths may sound different from another, as a mirror may show a distorted side of ours, so does the legend surrounding Gizamaluke and his fall.
He thought his strength alone would suffice over his victories and failures. Not only he thought for himself, but for others as well. That's what Frigg would do if in his place, and what Gizamaluke would do if on her same place, the place he wished once to stand.
Sigurd rang the bell, and so the entrance of the Grotto allowed us to be in. Now, as we found ourselves, guided by the Prince and its tutor into the depths of the Grotto, that became blue by each step taken by ours, until we reached a room so dark that only the green of the mushrooms glowing inside could be seem, as the aquamarine of the clear pool of water, and its placid surface, from where it emerged beneath us.
It was there... Master Gizamaluke.
A giant being, higher than the height of two of us on a vertical position, lower than the ceiling covered by stalactites, cold as the indigo skin, emitting of a characteristic fishy scent, a shrunken-like armor in the chest with a tone of amarantite, a pair of keels on the ridge and below the end of its large tail, a pair of horns in the reptile head of his, both pointy as the tip of each flippers, alike the wings of a dragon, thought Gizamaluke seems to be able to stand in thin air without the need of those.
It is already before us, before the ground we stand, as the water that once covered the body falls like the dew of the morning flowing into the leafs. From there, Gizamaluke watches us, as we can hear a few grunts of his. Legend say his eyes, once said to be green when alive, like many verdelites belonging to us, glow into a red belonging to zircon gems.
The air of the Grotto, the air our lungs breath carries on of such inexplicable intimidation. Perhaps it's fear, a transient fear we all share since birth. It's a kind of common fear, the fear of trying to understand the new, the unexpected who is seen as danger, naturally.
— So this is the Master Gizamaluke. – said Clyde, looking keenly at the Master. It did nothing but look, and grunt softly.
— Yes, it is. – Sigurd said, looking at the being standing up in the air as well – Gizamaluke is loyal to us, Burmecians, and those we protect. Merchants, travelers, foreigners who decided to stay at Burmecia, who agreed to not harm any of us in the process.
— So he is as loyal as he once was? – I asked, looking at Gizamaluke, trying to find a bit of the previous Gizamaluke. That one kid who I refuse to believe is dead and gave birth to this… abomination.
Sigurd said he is loyal to us, as Gizamaluke was concerned about others as well. So concerned that he abandoned his people, and were left on his own. They say Gizamaluk fled, until he came to this grotto we now stand, and so does he, on that form.
— Nothing comes from nothing, and anything is in constant search for nothing, but it will never reach such a desired goal, no matter the path taken. Had you ever heard of the mass conservation principle? – Prescott said, to which I and Clyde looked at each of our faces, then we redirected our look at Highwind.
The faces said to him a kind of no. Not a single 'no', as if we didn't want to know, but a 'no' like the one you can see, spot in the face of children everywhere. We have children, and so they have their questions; none of their questions are dumb, but instead, mostly the ones given to us to answer are interesting enough to keep us talking to his, until they are satisfied enough.
We, like our children, expressed such 'no', and a need to be satisfied by his answer. So did Prescott, on the way he found to fulfill the empty of our both doubts. Sigurd expressed nothing of sort, but the Prince was in the same doubts as we, still looking at that being.
— Don't know? Very well… This principle, a theory I've learned from a friend of mine, who studies at the library of Daguerreo, the finest ever seen by now, states that any materia, like the objects you can touch, feel, share of a certain amount of warmth, does exist, and it will ever exist. In short, materia can't be destroyed, but adapted, converted into something new. Nothing in this world we live can be destroyed, but turned into something else, like a mountain can become crumbles of sand, or a deceased tree as a rotten corpse become one day part of the same soil such living beings had been raised together.
— Yes, we are dealing with the physical aspect of it. – Clyde said, after he, like me, showed a face of 'we understood, somehow' – People change for no reason at all...
— Who said that Gizamaluke changed? – Asked Sigurd, now interrupting us after he stood in silence. A brief silence, until Prescott came with this principle. – If Prescott is right, or half-right, then this Gizamaluke is nothing to be compared to the knight Gizamaluke once was. Well, this Gizamaluke we see, but what about the soul, Prescott?
— Yes, the soul... – Prescott briefly paused, thinking of an argument that contradicts what Sigurd asked him. So he came up with an explanation. – I told you about the material side of the matter, and how does materia we can see with our eyes can be transformed into another that has no resemblance to the original format of such. But the soul can't be considered as a physical object, can it?
— So, if the conservation principle doesn't apply to objects we can't see and interact with, then the soul remains the same, doesn't? – the Prince asked. Maybe he understood far more than us.
— ...Does that thing have a soul!? – Clyde asked. It was as if he was surprised by our questions being the same, so he came up with his own. – Does a soul ever exist for him? Please. Gizamaluke is merely a slave of ours, I say. The reason why Gizamaluke protects us is because it needs someone to protect, or so it does believe to be like 'he'. Gizamaluke is dead, and this thing that now stands beyond the grave of another who deserved to be dead? Wasn't that the only way the child would be with mother once again?
No one refuted Clyde. He was kind of right. Not fully, but sort of. The legend about Gizamaluke ends on this way: After finding this grotto to rest, Gizamaluk came up into this same place, this same room that once was only a cave, and the entrance led to a pool of water, and only. When Gizamaluk saw this water, the clearest water ever seen, clearer than any mirror or other water belonging to somewhere else.
Even when a tear just fell in there, the vision he had of himself on the surface of the water remained still, with the ripples surrounding the expression of his face.
Was he happy? Sad? Upset? Worried? Nobody knows. Not even Gizamaluke knew what he felt. Days passed, and he felt no hunger and no thirst, not even fatigue, as he only watched his being reflected at the water. He tried to hold with its arms the water that soaked his arms and always found a way to come back to the same pool below his.
Then, came the day Nathan, followed by a few soldiers of his, came to find Gizamaluke and bring him back home, but he refused to be at home. His image at home has already been damaged, and distorted by ripples, dirtied by the crumbles of rocks flowing into the river. There would be no Frigg at home, but there, on that water, that vision of his...
Seeing the image of his mother, Gizamaluke jumped in the water, and drowned as his body went underwater, until it emerged, as he was already dead, with a smile upon his face, and on the surface of the same water that became his grave. Well, his body may be the one that drowned in the pool, his body is the one thing that is dead, but the soul, the legacy of his...
Master Gizamaluke stood before us, and so we stood. Gizamaluke looked at us, before it came back to the place it belonged, since his death. The soul of Gizamaluke may be inside that body, or so that's what I understood of Prescott's words.
As we left the grotto, we were the last soldiers to do this kind of 'ceremony', to contemplate the one who protected us... who needed protection as well. Now that Gizamaluke flows into the water, quietly as the grunts he emitted in our conversation, quiet as the agony of his.
Yes, I may had been the one who saw it, but those eyes... they looked at us, pleading more than security. They were pleading for death. Gizamaluk may had died; well, the body of his may had been the one who drowned and were buried, but the soul, that same soul that once inhabited another body, the human body of his, like ours, no longer ours... and the cell of it is the monster he became, or thought to be.
Still is unknown to where souls go. But that souls remain the same, that may be true, for us and everything else. Master Gizamaluke; a slave of ours, and himself. Or maybe the himself he once was, and never was.
...