Ah, you like it? That’s good to hear; but these first few chapters are not quite as good as those I wrote later, near the end of the tale, actually. Anyway, this next fourth chapter might seem a touch borning to those that know the two games, as it in essence acts as an explanation of what came before (though in a very concise manner, yet even that is enough for a lengthy chapter.) So for those that know the games, the subject of this chapter is, for the most part, known (save perhaps for the approach I use in telling it.) And for those that do not know either game… well, this contains full spoilers, so to speak. Merely a warning.
CHAPTER IV
THE MUSE OF FORGOTTEN HISTORY
Long it seemed to Serge before the man spoke again, though in truth it was only a few moments. And so he began:
“Firstly, you should know who and what I am. The annals of history record my name as Magus. A foul name, that by which my enemies call me in fear, yet not my true one. I am Janus to all that know me as a friend.”
Serge looked at him, disbelieving what he heard. It was certainly impossible. The one known as Magus had been an evil sorcerer on the mainland more than four hundred years earlier. Even in El Nido rumours of those stories were yet remembered, for a bloody war had been waged against the sorcerer by the kingdom of Guardia, till at last he and his Mystic legions were defeated by the timely stroke of a hero. There were no answers here; the man was mad. But whatever else he was, he was discerning, and saw well Serge’s reluctance to accept his words.
“Believe me Serge, I am indeed that accursed wizard that the stories tell of,” he replied, a bitter remembrance evident in the voice. “Accursed, indeed. I trust that the tales speak much evil of me, and of my armies of Mystics that I led in war against Guardia...not without some truth, I admit. But, no matter, that is even to me a long time ago. What they do not tell is that my story began long years before that,” he paused, considering his words cautiously, it seemed, “yet, perhaps we should leave that for another time; we are talking about you, not me, after all.”
So, finally. Serge’s impatience had been growing apace, and he hardly cared for who this person claimed that he was. After such words he feared all the more that this man was mad but, having seen his dark power, he humoured him.
The man Janus paused.
“Do you care if we travel while we speak?” he asked.
“Sure, whatever...” Serge muttered. He simply wanted to hear what this man had to say so he could return home, and not have to worry himself with people appearing in the night again.
They strode towards the distant forests at a steady pace. Now that his anger had cooled Serge once again felt the chill of the wind. And in its whisper he wished above all else to be home.
“You haven’t answered my question yet, Janus,” Serge noted, somewhat frustrated.
“No, I have not,” Janus replied, not caring to look over at Serge. The distant dark forests were nearing now.
“And though you may begrudge me for this, I’ll only give you a short answer now, as the whole truth is not so simple, and weaves together many more things than you alone. It would mean telling a tale spanning many ages. But to answer your question, I will give you the most simple answer possible, Serge...”
He paused, placing his words carefully.
“In truth Serge, though you have forgotten it, you were once counted one of the greatest heroes this old Earth has ever known, and perhaps shall ever know, even until its end.”
Serge stopped. Janus took a few more steps then, sensing Serge no longer at his side, turned.
“Serge, let us keep moving!”
“Fine...” Serge muttered, and continued his walking, pondering what Janus had told him. He found it ridiculous, mostly. And yet again, it seemed to bear some strange truth that he could not understand. Somehow the will of his reason was slowly beginning to yield, and the strange wisdom of his heart, which yearned to know what this man knew, grew. But the former still had the greater share of his mind.
“Janus, that’s nonsense. Me, a hero? How do you explain that?”
“By your own memory, Serge. Crono has told me that you are plagued by dreams. They are your memory struggling to be remembered. For, just as Crono and I once did long ago, you saved this Earth, perhaps time itself, from being doomed. And, in so doing, you saved someone whom I had long searched for. Someone quite dear to me.”
Serge still had not the slightest idea what Janus was talking about. Had he not been in the middle of such strange circumstances he would have dismissed the words as the ramblings of a madman, in spite of the strange feelings of excitement in his heart. But now...what could he trust in?
They finally reached the forests. Here dark shadows reigned, shrouding the paths beneath the cover of the trees in pitch darkness. Serge did not mind the night, but this forest seemed almost menacing, but perhaps that was only his mind. Janus, for his part, seemed to have no trouble with the darkness, and his eyes even seemed to shimmer all the more in the blackness. A being of the night, Serge thought with some fearful discomfort. The palm trees creaked, swaying in the gentle wind. Shivering, Serge continued the talk.
“Janus, I’m sorry. I really can’t believe you.”
Janus sighed.
“And why not? Is it so hard to believe?”
“Well, yes, it is. I’m no hero, I know that. You said it yourself: I fainted back there!”
The dry leaves and twigs snapped and crumbled beneath their steps, the only sound heard between their breaks in speech.
“Yes, you certainly did. But, then again, you are not who you once were. You were fearless and daring, or so I have heard. A pity: you seem to have forgotten your courage with your memory. It is ever lamentable when the mighty fall into weakness.”
Serge stumbled on a root in the darkness.
“But none of this can be true!” he protested, steadying himself from falling.
“And why not?” Janus said, and his voice seemed to show a certain weariness at saying this again.
“Why? Because I’ve lived in my village for my entire life. I’ve never been away more than a few days. And that was for errands or fishing; I don’t even have a sword or bow. I can’t be the person you’re talking about. Trust me, you’ve got the wrong person.”
Janus shook his head.
“You are the one. I am not wrong. But I will concede that your answer is true...if you think of time only as you know it to be, an unchanging and ever-flowing river. But I myself have seen many ages of this planet, from the ancient times of the dragons, to the magic and majesty of Zeal, even to the far future, the very end of time. Do not believe for a moment that the world is merely as you see it. Things are seldom what they appear in passing and, as a wise man once said, there are more things to heaven and earth than even our philosophy has dreamt of.”
Serge contemplated the words. Had he caught their meaning aright?
“You’re not telling me that you’ve travelled through time, are you?”
Janus pause in his strides, the cold air sweeping through the dark trees and flourishing the long cape. He turned, and nodded solemnly, a slight air of nostalgia betrayed in his voice.
“Yes, I have. But that is not your tale. You remember things that never happened,” he paused and laughed somewhat, “yet did. The answer to that riddle is this: when all was fulfilled, when your purpose was complete, all was restored to what it had been before by powerful enchantments. Those who were involved in those great deeds had their memory sealed, so that they might continue their lives as they would have otherwise. Only one, the one who sealed them by her sorcery, retained the memory. She it is who has told me and Crono these things.”
Serge sighed, not comprehending much of was told him now.
“Uh-huh. Where are we going?”
“Not far. My camp is near...” he began walking once again, and Serge reluctantly followed.
“So, who is this person that supposedly did this to my memory?”
Even from behind where he could not see the man’s face, Serge could tell that Janus scowled.
“You mistrust me even now? No matter, you will believe soon enough. The person I speak of is one whom you rescued from an eternal torment, whom you saved from a place beyond the bounds of time. Does the Chrono Cross mean much of anything to you Serge?”
Serge nodded as some vague sights crossed his mind. As much as his mind still fought against it, his heart seemed to feel truth in Janus’ words, and it was that which kept Serge following him through the dark and foreboding woods towards what he hoped was the truth.
“Yeah, I guess it does...”
“Ah, you see. Your own mind finds truth in my words. Stop doubting my sincerity, child! The Chrono Cross was...what do I say? I was not there, and know but what I have been told. The person you saved should tell you this; she is waiting near, at my camp.”
He pointed through the dark ranks of trees. Just visible in the darkness a small light flickered, as that of a fire.
“We’re almost there. And then she will tell you herself. The last thing I will tell you is this: I am indebted to you for her rescue, because she is my sister, whom I have sworn to protect. Yet, I was unable to save her from the hell from which you rescued her.”
He turned to Serge, still walking.
“And for that, I thank you.”
Serge did not respond. He couldn’t. He didn’t know what was going on, and regretted following this man, for now his questions had been replaced with answers that had spawned even more questions.
“We are here,” Janus said, breaking into Serge’s thoughts.
He looked up, the firelight glowing in his eyes. There was the maiden who had crossed his dreams, and had seemed near dead in them. Yet here she was very much alive.
Even as the others, her clothing was not becoming of the climate. Long robes of faded crimson covered her, held fast at the waist and wrists by circlets of embroidered leather. Her face was soft and fair (and most certainly beautiful), with two eyes gleaming blue as a midday sky. Her golden hair fell back unrestrained far past her shoulders. And, although slight in both height and strength, her eyes seemed to betray a power that ran deep. Standing from the fire she turned and greeted them with a gentle smile.
“Serge! At last. I was nearly ready to swear that Janus had misplaced you.”
She laughed lightly at this, but Serge himself could not reply, no less find it amusing. In a mysterious was he knew this girl. She had haunted his dream, and her face was strangely familiar. Yet he new nothing else about her, not even her name.
She sighed, slight disappointment crossing her face, and shook her head.
“Yes, I suppose you don’t remember me. I had thought, and hoped, that you might. But my enchantment was far too heavy on you.”
Serge was beginning to quite disconcerted, for this girl certainly seemed to know him, and spoke to him in a tone of friendship. Yet he did not know her, save out of a dream.
“Not even my name?” she said in surprise, disappointment crossing her features for a second time.
“Then there will be much to tell,” she muttered. “Well, perhaps it will help. I am, or was, Schala, Princess of Zeal. But you knew me by the by-name ‘Kid’.”
It did help. The mingling of her face and name stirred memories in Serge that had lain hidden. In his mind he saw people and places, memories of far off times, return to him as if he had only just experienced them.
“Ah, you remember!” she exclaimed, the joy returning to her face.
Serge shook his head, not wanting to be too eager and still more than a little confused.
“No, not quite. I remember things that happened, I think. Maybe not. But whatever they are, they don’t mean much to me.”
“Yes, I understand,” the girl called Schala replied. “And they truly did happen. But now that you remember that much, I may tell you their story, and then you may understand.”
She paused for a brief space, circled around the fire once, then began to speak again.
“Your story begins as mine does, in ancient Zeal...do not speak now, allow me to tell me your tale, and question me later,” she added, seeing the questions rise in him.
“As I was saying, it begins in Zeal of old. A land of myth now, which I trust you have heard of in some guise or another. Yet it did exist, at one time, near to twelve millennia ago. My mother was the last queen of that kingdom; I was called Schala, and was her eldest child. For long ages had Zeal grown in power and glory, and ever its people desired more of knowledge and strength. Alas, in this lust they overstepped their wisdom, and in the time of my youth they, in their infinite folly, attempted to drink of the power of the demon called Lavos.”
“Lavos?” Serge asked. The name held a meaning of tantamount importance, and he overlooked her request to allow her to speak in silence. As it was she was not angered, but nodded understandingly, then shook her head as with a foul memory.
“Yes, Lavos,” she muttered. “A vile and ancient enemy, who fell many ages ago from the darkness outside this Earth. From which corner of the unending universe, who can say? But this is for certain: for long he slept in the heart of the earth, devouring it from inside, so that he might one day rise from slumber as sovereign tyrant of this world.”
Serge nodded and understood. All this he remembered or, rather, returned to him as she spoke of it.
“But, as fate, or maybe destiny, would have it, all was not as this demon had intended. A band of young vagabonds, who by chance had fallen into the future, saw the ruin that it held. Thus came the first thread of discord in the strategy of the Demon for these few, having come to such terrible knowledge, vowed that they would undo the dreadful future, or give their lives in the quest. Chief of these was a peasant child who called himself Crono.”
From the shadowy woods surrounding the fire the figure of the Crono stepped.
Serge for his part eyed with suspicion.
“So it’s you again, is it?” Serge asked.
“Yes,” Crono replied, “and a more welcome meeting this time, I hope. My apologies for my tactlessness; the years have been too hard on me.”
But Schala interrupted the words.
“Crono, this is my speech now. You can make amends later if you wish, but first I will tell him what he must know.”
She returned her gaze to Serge, shaking her head.
“Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. Crono, drawing to his side many of the greatest of the warriors of this world that he met upon his travels, determined to put an end to this menace. By magic and craft they travelled through time, attempting through the ages to find some means of destroying Lavos. At last they found their way to glorious Zeal, eleven thousand years in the past. There I was crown princess, but the darkness had already fallen on my people, and their doom was but a day away. They awakened Lavos, in a foolish and vain attempt to gain immortality, and were destroyed. To my shame my mother was the chief of these, for her mind was corrupted by Lavos. As I have said, into the midst of this time of impending doom came Crono and the others that were with him. A fine confusion of crossed times it was, for my brother was there as well, twice over,” she nodded at Janus. “One was the child prince that was my younger brother in Zeal; the other come from the future, even as Crono, and in the guise of a prophet. An unlucky chance, maybe, for this elder future of my brother held bitter enmity against Crono.”
Janus stepped forward.
“But you do not tell all, sister: I desired my vengeance on that creature Lavos for, in arising, he not only ruined all that I had called home, but winged me into the future, to six-hundred years after the birth of Christ, by the common reckoning; that is more than four hundred years ago now. There I was raised by the Mystics upon the eastward isle of Medina. By their ill-teaching I learned the arts of sigaldry and enchantment, and became the Sorcerer that legend still speaks so darkly of. Yet I detested the ways into which I was brought, and bore no love to those who had raised me. But at needs I served them and, in due time, came to command them. I increased my power tenfold, and more, so that none might stand before me and live, and ever endeavoured to discover some way to destroy that evil creature that had wrought this wicked life upon me. And then fate’s hand took me again, and cast me to the time of Zeal, even at the very hour of her ruin...”
“Silence!” Schala cried suddenly. “You wish to tell the story, Janus? But you don’t know it all. So let me finish. But as it is, my brother speaks truly. And even as I told you a moment ago, he was the bitter enemy of Crono. But greater than their feud was the desire of both to destroy the evil of Lavos. Yet no strength, not that of Crono, nor even of my brother, could avail against that ancient power. Both failed, and in the ruin and loss that befell Crono perished, so that the others of his company could flee.”
Serge’s gaze darted to Crono. He seemed very much alive to his eyes. Yet whenever were ghosts what they appeared?
Schala smiled.
“No, Serge, he is neither phantom nor spectre. His heart beats life-blood through his veins, for he was fortunate to have faithful companions. It is a long tale, and does not concern us now, but so much I will say: it was by virtue of a Time Egg of ancient Zeal that he was resurrected. But my tale wanders. For Crono was not alone in suffering when that disaster befell. All of Zeal perished, falling from its hallowed place amongst the clouds into the sea, laying waste the lands beneath. Due punishment, perhaps, for its sins of arrogance and unholy ambition. And as for me...”
She paused, and with a profound sigh she looked to the earth, as if recalling a dark memory, for her brows furrowed as though in pain.
“Truthful, I cannot even now understand these things. In time Crono stood at his last battle with Lavos, and slew him. In doing so the evil future was banished, condemned to the Tesseract, where things no longer fated to happen lie. Yet I had already fallen out of the line of fate, for I, too, had stood at the ruin of Zeal. I knelt upon the floor of the Ocean Palace as it crumbled about me. And however it might be, whether by chance or the craft of Lavos, I fell into that abysmal Tesseract, wherein there is neither order nor meaning. But life there was, even there. For the dark shadow of Lavos, condemned to the selfsame prison, happened upon me. Whatever my strength, it was the stronger, and bending my soul to its will it became mightier than aught else, man or demon. And in so doing, we had the means by which to escape our prison, and destroy all the worlds in our wrath.”
She paused, and Serge thought through these things for a time. Yes, they were most certainly true, or at the least had been told to him at one time before. At last Schala spoke again.
“And so we come to the true beginning of your tale. For all hope was not lost. Another tale began itself, when you were in your youth afflicted by the venomed bite of an accursed panther.”
The story of that Serge knew all too well, for it had been many years before, when he had been only a young child. It had been a dire wound, and his father had sailed to the far island of Guldove to find healing for his son. But it had been too potent a venom, and only the skill of the physicians of Marbule, the great Demi-human island to the southeast, could hope to save your life. On that voyage his father Wazuki sailed with his friend Miguel, Leena’s father, by his side. Schala, it appeared, saw that he remembered so much, and continued.
“But fate was against them: sailing into a great storm that arose suddenly, their course went awry.”
To which she added:
“The story of that day is the beginning of your high adventure, Serge. And now I will tell you of that tale.”
Some evil darkness rested upon that day, beneath the shadows that clouded his memory. And even as he thought this, she continued:
“As I have said, both your father and his friend, bearing you, were caught amidst a great storm. They weathered it, for they were master sailors. But, in saving themselves from sinking, they by chance were cast ashore in the Dead Sea.”
The Dead Sea. It was an evil name, and even darker to his memory. He nodded for her to continue. Though the memories caused him some grief he took
joy in their returning to his mind, as one long absent who returns home.
“Here they found the great secret that is the El Nido Islands: the citadel called Chronopolis, the ‘city of time’ in the tongue of the old Greeks. And apt name, too, for it was a city of the future, taken to the past, and built upon machinery that shall not be discovered for many hundred years yet. That is in itself a long tale that I will not attempt now. But what is of importance is this: they entered the city, dark and without light, for the storm had caused difficulty amongst its machinery. Empty though it appeared, a will was yet awake; and this was the will of the Frozen Flame. The Flame was an artifact of great power, and holds the essence of the demon Lavos. In Chronopolis it had long been guarded and studied. By its mystic means, it healed you, for what reason, I cannot fathom. It was by nature evil, and the end-fruits of such things are not often good, or at least the good is tempered with evil. And so it was here: it sought to ensnare the minds of the other two, your father and his friend. One, your father, slipped narrowly from its grasp. Miguel his friend did not. And at the very moment as your father broke from the gates of the city, the guiding will of the city, the computer called FATE, awakened again.”
Computer? It was an odd word foreign to him, and thought it over. It was complex machinery of some sort, he decided.
“This was fortunate chance,” she continued, “in some ways, for in the long years since its making this computer had been corrupted by the lingering will of Lavos, the very same that brooded with me in the Tesseract. But fortune scarcely remains good for long, and it turns quickly. The Flame was evil, and so it ever sought evil to do. In time it destroyed your father. You lived, however, for destiny called you to other things. Of that I will speak in a moment, but first of the storm: it was not a mere chance, nor even a true storm of this world. It was born of my power which I possessed in the Tesseract, and the last corner of my soul that did not yet do the will of the demon. Ere the last of me was corrupted, I looked from that timelessness upon the world and, seeing you, knew that here was one that could free me, if given the chance. But you were near death! I tried at saving you, but my darkening will turned against me and only did part of what I intended: it cast the boat in which you were ashore in the Dead Sea. And one last thing I did: I spirited away the last of myself, incorrupt, and hid it upon the earth so that it could be free from the demon and aid you. And so was born the child after named Kid.”
She paused a moment, and then spoke again.
“And at that moment, I was lost. My soul became enslaved to the Lavos, and but one hope remained to me: the ancient Chrono Cross. And so your story truly began. FATE was wroth with you. Most incredibly furious, for a twofold reason: it knew that you might be the sword of its unmaking and, upon being healed by the Flame, that artifact would allow none near it, save you, while you lived. It sent its most dire servant, an incarnation of its own being known to all as Lynx, to kill you. This was ten years ago. And it should have succeeded, if not for the meddling of another: me. At that time I saved you or, rather, I will save you, for I have not done so yet: it is ordained that from the future I will journey back one last time, and save you from the clutches of that Lynx. And as needs be, the flow of time was sundered, split into two dimensions: one where you live by my hand, and one where you died by Lynx’s, as was your true destiny.”
“Why?” Serge asked suddenly. But he knew the answer even as she spoke.
“For in each world there was but one half of the Chrono Cross. To forge it, you needed both. I gave you this chance. But what of FATE and Lynx you may ask? You destroyed them, in time. The deeds of FATE were vile and deep, and were in accordance with the will of the Demon. For this creature Lavos was cunning indeed, and perhaps even foresaw that Crono would destroy him. Chronopolis the Mighty was at first founded in the far future. But knowing that they would guard the Flame, the instrument by which he could return to this world in power, Lavos drew it near to himself, twelve millennia in the past. Thereupon FATE became a servant to the demon’s will, and worked to assure the return of its master. It guided the fortunes of your people for countless years, until you destroyed it and its servant Lynx, and ended its reign of tyranny. Your battlefields were manifold: east and west, north and south, even upon the height of an ancient citadel called Terra Tower. Ah, but I speak ahead of myself. All this could not have been had you not been free to cross between the split worlds. I called to you, and pulled you from your dimension where you lived, into the other where you had perished. There you met Kid, my hidden self, and it was together that much of your adventure was accomplished. Certainly I did not know my true heritage then. Lacking a mother, Kid had been raised by the great scientist Lady Ashtear, a near friend of Crono’s, and one of the heroes who defeated Lavos.”
She paused here as Serge remembered suddenly that which had become somewhat apparent to him the night before: the dream that had plagued him.
“Ah, your dreams? Is that not it?” she asked, seeing his contemplation. “I had guessed it would be so. You were often foresighted in those days, and could glimpse ahead at what was to come. That abhorrent vision was among those that plagued you, and it appears did so even now, long after its fruition, as a memory rather than premonition.”
She did not say more on that matter, but Serge at once remembered the full truth of the dream. It had been the darkest hour of his life, when he and Kid had come upon the creature Lynx in the Throne Room of the Dragons. Not all the dark sorcery that it held at its command could victor against the two, and so it had turned to the most vile of deceits: by use of an ancient relic, there in the very chamber of the Dragon kings, it had taken the souls of itself and Serge, and placed each into the bodily form of the other. With such evil guile it had turned on Kid. But being in Serge’s form, and Serge being himself caught in a body wholly unlike his own, Kid had not seen it until it was done. So had Lynx struck Kid through with her own dagger, wounding her nearly to death, while in the guise of Serge.
After a moment of silence Schala continued in her tale-telling:
“And yet, for all that you did, it was but a means to an end. At length you learned of my near-eternal torment in the Tesseract and determined it was your fate to end it. Crossing the dimensions you reforged two splinters of the ancient dragon relic the dragon tear, and in so doing remade the Chrono Cross, as some have called it.
Again, he remembered. But now he could finish part of the story himself.
“And with it I travelled to the Tesseract?”
Schala nodded.
“Yes, by use of the Time Egg of the Master of Reason, Lord Balthasar.” She paused for a moment, then said: “Lord Balthasar, perhaps the most cunning of men to ever live in this world. In antiquity he was one of the three chief counsellors of my mother, queen of Zeal. He was caught in the ruin, but as a few others, did not die; rather, even as my brother was, he was winged to the future or this world.”
“Knowing of the power of the Chrono Cross, he played his skill and wisdom against that of Lavos. At times he let Lavos’ will lie, at others openly contested it, and through this all guided your destiny. Certainly you did your deeds by your own will and merit, but it was Balthasar whose will guided your fortunes as his sword by which to destroy Lavos for eternity. How such knowledge came to him, I still do not know. But he was wise beyond the measure of most mortals, and to him the mysteries of the universe were a joy to unravel and learn. His final deed was to give you the greatest treasure that he had in his keeping, a Time Egg of Zeal. Three there were in the ancient world, forged in secret many years ago in Zeal by the Lord Gaspar, the Master of Time. He, too, was stranded in a foreign age when Lavos destroyed Zeal. And he still resides in that place into which he fell: the far End of Time, from where all history is laid bare before him, and he welcomes all those who become lost traversing the manifold roads of time. With this Time Egg you were able to pass through all dimensions, coming to the darkness between them, to the Tesseract itself.”
Till then Serge had been listening quietly and patiently, his memory becoming more plain and clear with each passing word. Now he smiled. He remembered it all now, least to greatest.
“Yes, that’s right. And, travelling to the Tesseract, I used the Chrono Cross to break the bond between you and Lavos. The Chrono Cross. Some called it the seventh element. It crossed through all boundaries...”
“And reunited Schala with the one you knew as Kid,” Schala finished. “Now they are the same once again. Schala is Kid and Kid is Schala, and we are free. But, as is so often the case with such stories, things could not remain as they were. My magic was always powerful, even in Zeal as a young girl, but was even more so in that place. And so, though it pained me for I knew that you would remember naught of me, I sealed your memory, and returned you to your home.”
Janus laughed mockingly.
“And you were too weak to remember all that you had done.”
Schala cast him a mysterious glance.
“My power at that time was more potent than it is now. More powerful than even you can understand, my mighty brother. For all you know, you yourself could have stood by Serge’s side, and have forgotten it.”
He scowled at this, and retreated into the shadows with a turn of his cloak. But he muttered darkly to himself, as if wondering if there was not some strange truth in her words.
But whatever thoughts came to the wizard, they went unheard, and Schala continued speaking to Serge:
“All was for the best, I assume: You were returned to Leena, and I descended to the other dimension, where you had first found the vagabond Kid. But my heart would allow me scarce a moment of peace, and I needed thank you a last time. Moreover, I began to think ill of what I had done, and could not bear to have you remember nothing of me. It was a plan of many months, but with the aid of my brother and the third Time Egg, I was able to cross the dimensions. Yet the time egg works not as we will, but as fate does. And so I found myself on the shores of Guardia in the east. And who should I meet there but Crono, a fugitive in his own kingdom. Then I knew that this quest of mine to find you was fate intervening once again. Greater things were at hand, things that I could not help but have a part in. I promised to aid him in whatever way I could in restoring him his rightful title. For he did attempt to save my land once, and nearly died in that attempt. This is the least I can do for him.
Serge looked as Janus, tall and quiet as a shadow.
“And him? He’s doing this too?”
Schala looked to her brother with a grim smile.
“Janus cares for few, and cares little about this. But he listens to me, and will help me, if I embark upon this. He wouldn’t wish me going without him, at any rate.”
Janus replied darkly from his shadows:
“That is not why. How little even you know of my ways, my dear sister. I have a debt to Crono, for without him I would have been unsuccessful in defeating Lavos as I had vowed. For this reason I aid him, and for the friendship that now lies between us.”
Schala laughed.
“You have friends? I seem to remember you once saying that friends are the allies of the weak. That the mighty have servants, and no peers. Are you saying that you were wrong?”
“Perhaps I was mistaken, yes. But if nothing else I see war on the horizon, and never did I hide or flee from battle.”
Crono shook his head, speaking up from his long silence.
“I did not say that, Janus. War is only my counsel of despair, and I will not embark upon it but at last need.”
Janus paced toward Crono, not hiding disdain at these words.
“You never were a peacemonger: That is naive, and you know it to be so. War is inevitable, and to shirk from it is cowardice. But you are not a coward. Why then fear war, when your cause is just?”
“Why, Janus? Because I bear the responsibility of my people; if war begins, many of them will die, and no bravery will change that end. You know this. Don’t play a fool, and try to bait me to anger with your words. But perhaps you were not unwise in what you said before: willingly or unwillingly, war may be the only course that arises.”
He turned once more to Schala and Serge.
“And in guard of this I have summoned you from your peace, Serge. I am in a precarious crisis, now. If my hope is cheated and war is kindled, then your help will be much appreciated, for your power few would care to trifle with. Though, contrary to what you may think, I did not wish to disturb your life so. Indeed, I would not have thought to seek you out had it not been for Schala.”
Serge looked to her, and she smiled with some apparent guilt.
“Yes. My sincerest apologies for that. It seemed to be a fine idea at the time, as I had intended to find you from the first. But I had hardly understood what an effort it would take to take you away from your village. I should have gone myself, but that cannot be undone now. Now here I present before you a choice, Serge. Do whatever your heart tells you, none of us will fault you for whichever choice you make.”
“I might.” Janus said, but said no more as Schala cast him a silencing glare.
“Do not mind Janus’ idiocy. These are your choices: you may return to your village, to the one you love, and never need trouble yourself any more with us. Your past will remain with you as a memory, one that you now shall never forget. Your dreams will no longer haunt you, and you may live your life in peace, content with the knowledge of what you have done for the world and for me...”
Schala paused, giving him a chance to consider this.
“Yet I also propose this to you: that you may join us in our quest. I give you no guarantee of anything, neither life nor happiness, for we may well be journeying into a hopeless war. You will be in mortal peril if this is your choice, and be separated from your beloved for a time. But in this you will have the chance to be once again a part of great deeds, a chance that many wish for but few receive. This is why we have come to you, for your aid in our quest would be much welcomed, for you are of similar power to us, and a near peer in might. We go, with or without you. And I will not council you either way...the choice is wholly yours. Let your heart be your guide in this matter...”
Serge looked around at the gathered group: Crono, the steadfast hero that had preceded him in the struggle against the Demon; Janus, the sorcerer of old who had stood by Crono’s side. Yet what were these two to him but names from tales? Never before this day had he met them, and the stories of their deeds he knew only as the beginning to his own. Yet the third was Kid, one whom he had trusted once with his life in battle. And this he still did, no matter what might befall. She would not lead him willingly astray.
Janus frowned gravely at him, his dark eyes commanding him to make a response, and both Crono and Schala eagerly anticipated his reply.
But he could give none, for his heart was divided in two, and the choice that was set before him was not light. Indeed it weighed on the scales of his heart his love for his home against his old hero’s will. As it was, neither had the mastery. He could not now make such a difficult choice.
“Give me some time,” he stammered. “I can’t decide yet. I have to return home and think about it.”
“The choice should be clear!” Janus said with a sigh and scowl. “Why should you wish to cower in this forsaken corner of the world when great deeds and war are at hand in another?”
“Janus!” Schala rebuked him. “The choice is his alone. Not you, nor Crono, and not even I should attempt to sway him either way. We must give him his time, or forego his aid.”
She turned to Serge
“Go, but make haste! For we may not wait here for long. We are being hunted by Porre, and must soon leave these isles.”
Serge nodded.
“All right. Come to me tomorrow evening, and I’ll have an answer for you.”
He looked across at them once more and, turning, swept off at a sprint into the dark forest, his footfalls leading him towards home.
At the last he heard Janus murmur to the others in the darkness:
“You give him time, but that is the one thing we lack now. We must move swiftly and quietly, and...” Serge heard him pause, and barely heard his last reply:
“Eternal curses! I think I’ve lost my sickle.”
