The admission brought the Fisherman back instantly. Disbelief and anger fighting for dominance in his chest. “You killed him? How? Why?!”
“
The same way the general killed Alisia. I tried to put an end to him bu–”
The Fisherman had heard enough. He lunged at the boy, pinning him to the ground with his forearm in his chest and drawing a long dagger across his throat.
“
Do you know who I am, boy?”
Ardin was almost despondent, weeping openly now.
“
Captain of the Old Guard. Sworn to protect the Magi and punish those who transgress their allegiance.”
“
Do it,” Ardin choked through the tears. “Do it. Please. I can't take this any more.”
“
You know what the penal–”
“
DO IT I SAID!
” He screamed at the man now, grabbing the armored forearms and pulling his face close.
“
I do
n't want to live like
this! I don't know who I am! You think I'm a murderer? You're right! I didn't murder Tertian. It couldn't be murder! He was the one that killed Alisia. He was the one that killed my family. He wanted to kill me!
“
Those men in the hospital, the boy at the Cave, those are the ones I murdered. Those are the ones you should punish me for. Not Tertian. Not for him, but for them!”
And with that he went limp on the ground. Moaning and sobbing quietly, his strength was finally spent.
Cid's brow furrowed as his conviction left him. He pulled back, staring at the boy. He didn't think he was lying, but he couldn't understand why Tertian would have tried to kill him. So he asked.
“
Because,” Ardin said quietly, voice cracking as his head rolled in the snow. “Because he wanted my power.”
“
Your
power?”
“
Charsi's power.”
And in a snap it all came together for the old Fisherman. The Hunters, the activity in the mountains these past few months. His home town on the Peninsula. This boy was Charsi's vessel, her last stab of vengeance at the world. He had never thought it truly possible, but here lay the proof. Here lay the truth of it all. Assuming the truth was what he told.
“
She gave you her inheritance.” The Fisherman took his weight off Ardin's chest and sat back in disbelief.
“
Every last cursed drop...”
“
I figured she gave it to Alisia.”
“
Yeah, that club has been growing for quite some time.”
They stayed silent for a long while. Ardin lay in the snow, staring at the stars; the Fisherman watched him, wondering if it could be true. He had heard the stories of how the Magi could pass on their gifts, their innate knowledge, but he had never seen the result. The fact that the boy had survived what had transpired in the mountains should have served as proof enough. But doubt lingered.
“
Well then lad,” he said with a sigh. “That means I'm sworn to protect you as well. And seein's how you may be the last of yer kind, I guess that makes me yer personal bodyguard.”
They camped in a small grove of trees not far from the stream in which Ardin had bathed earlier in the day. Their low fire flickered and died as Ardin slept through the remainder of the night on the cold hard ground. It was the first dreamless sleep he could remember, the release of the day before leaving his mind blissfully devoid of torment and free to rest.
The Fisherman kept watch, observing the boy as he slept. He was still uncertain of how to proceed, whether to trust him or not. He had admitted to murder, though he doubted now that it truly was. No one had taught the lad how to deal with the grief and guilt of killing. He hoped he could be of help in the process, but he couldn't be sure. Ardin was obviously wrestling with darker demons than he had imagined.
The morning came late, the winter sun reluctant to rise over the glistening crystalline landscape. Ardin awoke to the smoldering remains of their fire and the Fisherman sitting peacefully, cross-legged, watching him. He didn't bother forcing a smile. He didn't feel much like he could manage it anyways. His face felt frozen. Stiff from the ground and cold from the air, he picked himself up and stood in a ray of sunlight hoping it would warm him.
It didn't. At least not beyond the illusion of heat that the light provided. He sighed inwardly as he turned and looked at the coals that sat dead in the blackened ground. He wanted to use his power, use it to build and not destroy. He wanted to do something good. He could light the fire again. A fire to warm, not to burn. To bring life rather than take it. That would be a start. A small gesture... but a start.
And so he extended his hand, somehow uncertain of how to start a fire as he thought about it. It had been so easy, so fluid, so thoughtless back in the asylum. But something about putting it to the rigor of reason turned the whole process cumbersome. So he closed his eyes and imagined the coals bursting back into flames, felt the heat on his face, smelled the smoke and saw the ripples in the morning light. He massaged the air with his hand as he tried to make the sensations a reality. And then the warmth responded, churning in his chest and flowing out into his hand. It jumped into the ash, swirling around the dead coals. They caught fire, glowing slowly until tongues of flame lapped up around their blackened shells.
He opened his eyes and smiled weakly. Perhaps there was hope for him yet. He didn't know, but he wanted to believe there was.
The Fisherman watched quietly as all of this unfolded. His questions were answered the moment the fire was born; his decision was made. This boy would be his final charge, his chance to succeed where he had failed so many times before. His opportunity for redemption.
Ardin told the Fisherman everything since he had last seen him. How they had stowed away on a ship run by smugglers. How the smugglers had almost killed him and in turn the dragons off the coast had killed the smugglers. He told of Caspian's last defense of his home, his resolve to make a stand. He recounted the journey in the boat that had somehow known its own path. How Tertian had found them and housed them. How Alisia had died, and how Tertian had betrayed them. The asylum, Tristram, and the Temple of the Magi.
“
Tertian was pulling the strings all along,” he concluded.
The Fisherman just sat, pensive, staring into the fire as he pulled on his beard.
“
I never doubted the cleverness o' the Mage,” he said finally. “There were few men born to outwit him. But somehow I don't think his is the blame.”
“
How could it not be? He tried to murder me with his own hands!”
“
I know lad, I know. In the end he was held responsible for his part. But I don't think it were truly him who pulled the strings, as'n you put it. Where'd he get the knife? That's the question that plagues me yet.”
They sat staring at the fire, the low cracks and pops soothing as the morning waned. The Fisherman pulled some dried fish and bread from his sack to share. Both were tough, hard to chew. Ardin wondered how long he had been out here and how much food he had left.
“I can't believe you truly were in that hell hole for the last two months... nor how they were treatin' ya. The old Demon's reach is still too far for my likin', weak as it may be.” Cid squinted in the early light, though whether it was to peer into Ardin's soul he couldn't be sure. “I can see why you've done what you've done, whether or not I like it much. But w
hat'll you do now, lad?”
“
What can I do? I don't have a home. No friends, no family...” He kicked at an ember that had fallen from the fire and looked up at the old man.
“
I'll do whatever I have to to earn my place next to her on that dais. I want to be with her. That's all. I just want to be with her.”
“
And how d'you plan on doin' that then?”
“
I guess I have to do what's been asked of me. I have to free the people of Grandia from the Demon.” He laughed. “That sounds ridiculous...”
“
I have somethin' to start you on yer way, lad.” A smile broke free on the Fisherman's face as he reached into his pack.
“
I dug these up near where those villagers said they found you.”
And with that he produced two glowing gemstones on fine chains. Ardin said nothing. He didn't think he could manage words as his throat caught. He reached out as the Fisherman let the chains slide and gather in Ardin's outstretched palm.
“The magic wasn't so strong, but I felt it when I was close. Strong enough to know where to look.”
Ardin sat for a while staring at them, his Uriquim and Alisia's. He watched as the point of light in each grew and moved slowly about, as if suspended in water.
“
I also found a sword I imagine belongs to you too.” Ardin looked up as the Fisherman handed the sheathed blade over. “Has to be of Caspian's craftsmanship to have survived what happened to Tertian. It didn' make sense to me how you would have lost them. At least before I knew all of what you'd told me. I figured you'd been away from the mountain when everythin' had happened. Humans'd be hard pressed to survive somethin' like that.”
A quiet thank you was all Ardin could whisper before his breath was stolen. He clutched the gems and thought of Alisia. He could feel her presence grow as he did so, the weight of her very soul held firmly within his own Uriquim. His cold hands throbbed against the dark edges of the gem.
“
Many a strange thing's been happenin' of late, lad. I can sense it in the air, taste it like a storm. If you want your place on that dais, I'm guessin' that now is the time to act on what the Bein' asked of ya. Though Grandia is the last place I would ever want to go. It may be a massive continent, but I trust not a speck o' sand that's on it.”
“
If that's what it takes...”
“Then that's where we'll go.” The Fisherman sighed. “And where'll you want to start
?”
Ardin put the chains over his head and tucked the gems beneath his shirt.
“
I was hoping you'd have an idea where to go.” He smiled faintly, causing the large man to grin
and wink in turn.
“
Aye, I may have a clue. But I won't have any idea as to what we'll do when we get there.”
Ardin sighed. “I have a feeling I will
.”
S
EVEN
W
INTERS IN THE NORTH WERE VICIOUS, CRUEL THINGS THAT ROLLED IN FROM DARK SWELLS OF WEATHER AND LONG OUTSTAYED THEIR WELCOME
.
This winter had been particularly mild to start, however. The snow had yet to break through the foothills to the plains below the Northern Range. Colonel Gredge hated winter, which only served to sour his mood further.
Elandir sat in the early darkness. Her citizens huddled indoors against the dry cold and bitter frost. Children sat in warm windows watching, hopeful for any sign of snow. Commerce carried on as usual in the streets. The great circular city's tall, slanted walls looked like a black mountain whose top half had been cut clean off. And while the city itself seemed at peace, her leadership was not. Gredge envied the ignorance of the people as a gift. He could feel his gut twisting at the thought of what was to come.
“
Gentlemen,” he opened the meeting in the Mayor's office in the North Tower. There were about twenty officers in the room. All were standing around having hushed conversations amongst themselves while they waited. “We are facing two very real threats.”
They quieted down and turned their attention to the colonel.
“
The first is that we are leaderless, and unless we find a civilian to make Mayor temporarily in lieu of an election or, God forbid, Pompidus' return, we will lose the trust of the people.”
The South Tower, home to Elandir's military command, was now housing the city's Mayor, Pompidus Merodach, as he recuperated under their protection. He was weak, frail, and had hardly spoken in the past few months. It didn't seem to matter how well he healed physically, his mind refused to follow suit. His leg had been left nearly useless. His spirits were equally shattered by his nearly lethal encounter with the Shadow King. He didn't seem to be certain that surviving had been the best turn of events. And in all honesty, many of the military brass were facing the same uncertainty.
“Isn't it up to the Council to appoint an interim Mayor, sir?”
“It is, but their infighting has all but paralyzed them.” Gredge sighed inwardly. “We need to appoint one ourselves if we're to maintain any semblance of proper governance.”
“
We tried that,” a dark and brooding voice spoke confidently into the room. “Why hasn't Merodach been reinstated?”
“Merodach will be restored to his position when he is fit to take it. If he is ever fit to take it.” Gredge wasn't certain how the fat Mayor had been faring recently. “As for our... 'first attempt' at picking a Mayor, it was a mistake, yes. Premature if nothing else.”
“
We gave him one intelligence briefing and he practically laid down arms on the spot.”
To be fair to the failed Mayor, the military was on edge as well. No one had staked an authoritarian claim in the vacuum left by the two former generals. With the City's Council vying internally for power, and the lack of executive presence, little had been done to rectify the situation. It was turning into a royal mess, and the military was proving as fragmented and disorganized as the rest. Gredge would step into that gap if he could, but he didn't have enough support. Thankfully his rivals were on equally uncertain ground.
As much as Gredge hated to admit it, Merodach had been the one holding everything together with his tight, pudgy fists.
“
We can't trust civilians to handle this situation well.” The deep, brooding voice came from
Colonel Rast, one of Gredge's would-be rivals. He administered the Southern Tower now, and maintained the Eastern Battalion. He would have made his move to take power sooner, but Gredge still controlled Elandir. The City Guard was loyal to him, and he had the greater depth of experience. “We must show those who would attempt to take advantage of us what the cost of such treachery is; not sit around balking at our vacuum in pointless leadership positions.”