The Story of Tata Chapter 23
An Old Man's Advice
By The Man
Porre. The fishing capital
of the world and the largest town on the southern
continent. A tranquil place
where people come from all over the world to experience the beauty, the wondrous
food, and the kind people.
Everyone is at home there, townsfolk and foreigners
alike. Walking down the hilly
roads, a person notices the green grass and red orchards of the distant
forest. They hear a quiet murmur
form the village and the sounds of
wildlife. They are intermingled,
these tones of life, creating a pleasant sound that soothes the
soul. In a few words, the town is beautiful, peaceful, and
calm.
But that is the Porre of 1000 AD, a place where war is but a frightful
memory in the minds of those who wish to remember
it. That was not the Epochs
destination, or rather its passengers
destination. Ironic to desire
the place of war as opposed to the
place
of
peace, Tata thought idly as his machine parted the
clouds ahead and entered the era 600 AD.
Though the war was about a year over (hed done that
on purpose, so people would recognize his age better), the scars it had left
behind still marred the world. As
the Epoch flew lower over the village of Truce, he saw an enormous graveyard
in the northern hills. Tata
did not want to count them all, for the Epoch at this speed would have been
gone before he could complete even a twentieth of
it. Thats too many
graves, he thought in astonishment and
horror. Far too
many. He knew that the Mystics
did not traditionally bury their dead, but rather purged their bodies, so
he saw no graves on the Eastern Continent where the Mystics had
reigned. Rather, the air seemed
unnaturally dusty, with many blackened particles slapping the window of the
Epoch. Tata shuddered and pushed
the Epoch faster.
This was Tatas
home. He made sure to conceal
the Epoch enough that the townsfolk wouldnt notice
it.
Heaven knows that it would probably
start a riot, Tata thought
sadly. He parked the great vehicle
a few miles out of town and put up a ward that would burn anyone who touched
it. He felt cold doing that,
but it was necessary.
His skin was completely moistened in less than a minute; coming from
a land of biting winds and blizzards, his clothing was most unfit for his
land. Undoing his cape, he surveyed
his surroundings. The Cursed
Woods lay off to the west about a mile, but the trees were all dry and putrid;
Tata could see that even from his current
standpoint. He recognized the
area, more or less. When he
had left, winter would have been coming on in a few months, so naturally
things had been dying. But not
like this. The remains of the
war lay all around in an unnatural form, twisting the land to death and
nothingness. It made Tatas
skin crawl.
Now, with his cape over one shoulder, gloves off and his sleeves rolled
up, he was still sweating profusely.
The bandana around his head was already damp, and he did not want
to tarry any longer near the Epoch.
He walked, unarmed through the land in a strait
line. He was heading to his
house, and from there, through town.
To an observer, he was just a young man with muscles more than adequate
to get him into Guardias army, if not the Knights
Square.
But anyone who looked closer would notice the
scars on his body, his firm wrists, and they would know that he was a
warrior. A
killer.
But that was not how Tata felt.
He felt weak on his legs as he trudged on his own path to his former
home. He felt like a child,
scared and helpless in a world full of horrors with no one to protect
him. But that was fine with
him. At least when he was young,
he was happy, and that was what he wanted to feel
now. He wanted to escape this
insane world with Grendel and Kane, if only for a
week. He just wanted to be able
to not worry anymore.
An hour more brought him to the front door of his
house. Oddly, no one appeared to live there; the house was dusty
and untouched since he had last been
there. Summoning a wind, Tata
swept the dust out of the house.
Inside, he saw the bowls and plates of the meal he had had the last
morning he had been there. The morning Minka
died. Looking to his right,
he saw the beds where he and Minka had slept, still with the covers kicked
back. He was so exhausted that
he simply trudged forward to them and pitched onto the mattress of the nearest
bed. His last thought before
drifting off was a memory: this had been the last bed Minka had slept
in.
Tata looked down and saw himself staring right
back. A heavy broadsword protruded from his chest, casting his
face back at him. He felt no
pain from the wound, but then he looked up into the face of the person who
held the hilt of the sword and again he saw
himself. His killer looked at
him through cold gray eyes, uncaring stones devoid of
emotion. No one could ever love
those eyes, no one could hold their own under that gaze, and Tata felt himself
tremble. He tried to scream,
but his voice was gone.
Then he leapt at his opponent, not knowing that the sword was no longer
in his chest. His opponent now
held it, wearing the face of Grendel.
The blade was now his black katana, but Grendels blocks barely
sufficed to hold off the blows dealt by Tatas bloody
scythe. Tata slashed under with
the endpoint of his weapon and Grendel blocked, but he paid for it with a
slash in the arm. Tata pulled
his weapon back to deal the deathblow to his hated foe, but then his eyes
fell upon him, and he saw Minka once again standing in front of
him. His arms slackened and
he lowered his weapon.
Then, just before he would have dropped his murdering weapon and embraced
the joy of love, Minka dove at him, transforming into Janus, his blood red
eyes staring murder at his son.
Tatas scythe weakly came up to block the blow, but Janus
own scythe came up hard and slammed the weapon out of his
grasp. Tata stared at his father
as he tried to decide to run or attack. His fists clenched and he began to close his eyes, before
noticing his right hand held something.
He looked down and saw his hand, gloved in black, holding a weapon
of the likes he had never seen before.
It was like a sword, yet not
quite. The handle curved a little
and had a trigger at the place where the handle and blade
joined. The blade was thick
and powerful, but Tata had no idea what it was, much less how to use
it.
He looked up and found himself dressed in
black. No
time! Janus dove at him, scythe
hissing through the air as it moved to cut through him like a
fruit. Tata moved his blade
to block it and the two weapons connected in a shower of
sparks. The two weapons quivered with their masters strength,
and Tata found himself pushing Glenn back, even if one step at a
time.
Glenn? Tatas fierce
gray eyes met Glenns own hazel
orbs. But Tata only pressed
down harder, forcing his friend to one
knee. Then, a voice
spoke.
What is it that you strive for, Tata?
Glenns mouth had not spoken, but it was his
voice. Then, Glenns handsome
features melted into that of Grendel.
He looked different; his hair was short and blonde, and he barely
resembled Len at all, but Tata knew it was he, the man who had murdered so
many. No one could make his
heart boil like Grendel could.
We were exiled from the afterlife because we are destined to
fight.
This time it was Grendels voice, but again, his mouth had not
budged. Grendel suddenly pushed
his arms forward, unexpectedly throwing Tata back, allowing him to get a
good look of Grendels new guise.
A long coat the color of dust and dark clothing underneath, but Tata
had no time for any more observation.
Grendel moved like a snake and struck upward with his similar
weapon. Tatas blade stopped
it dead at his waist, and momentarily, Tata struck out with his left
fist. His blow connected with
Grendels jaw. His foe
drew back and stood poised on his toes.
Whats the matter
Beowulf?
Scared? The mysterious
voice once again sounded, using Grendels
voice. Tata screamed in rage
and charged forward. Exactly
one second later, he stopped dead, a look of terror on his
face.
The man before his was no longer the blonde-haired young man with
Grendels eyes. He wore
a robe of black that did not stir as he lifted his arms to the heavens and
laughed a silent laugh. His
face was pale gray, like that of a corpse, except that this corpse was very
much alive. Not enough to be human,
though. His hair was a black
mane and his eyes were blackness upon blackness, save for the red slit that
ran vertically through the middle of each
eye.
Beowulf was the ultimate warrior of the
Light. He had faced down Grendel
countless times, and had done the same to an army that had annihilated a
continent, all by himself. Yet
here before him was the only man other than the gray-haired one Tata had
seen in his nightmares that sent fear strait into his
heart.
The former twin of Janus.
Ruling sorcerer of the Black
Arts. The destroyer of
worlds. A man whose eyes had
been designed to drain the life from those their gaze touched, and a murderer
of millions.
Kane.
Beowulf had fought Kane before.
He had gotten the better of him more than once and had managed to
seal him away in a realm no one could
reach. But that was after Kane
had stolen the godly Heartstone Gauntlets; relics than held seniority over
time itself and gave the wearer immortality and power beyond human
comprehension. Through this,
He had managed to destroy whole continents, millions of people at a
time. His powers were without
limits to everyone except Aladren and Beowulf, who finally managed to seal
him away. But it had cost them
their lives.
Now this man that made worlds crack and crumble stood before Tata,
the Heartstone Gauntlets on His forearms, laughing
silently. Tatas trembling
hands gripped the handle of his strange weapon and he
lunged. Kane lowered his head
and smiled a cold smile. Tata
growled as His eyes touched him, but he continued his
charge. His blade cut through the air towards Kanes chest,
but He parried it with his unbreakable, gauntleted
arms. Tata pulled back and dodged to the
right. He swung his blade to
his left, but the blow was parried.
All the while Kane smiled.
But Tata already seemed to know how to use his unique weapon, and
Kanes tactics were surprisingly
weak. Tata spun and sliced
vertically from ground to Kanes
head. Kanes guard flailed
to the side slightly and that was all Tata
needed. Spinning again to his
left, he swung his blade high. His
eyes caught sight of Kane unaware that the blade was inches from his
neck. There was a sickening
sound as Tata felt his sword being slightly
resisted. Then the blade was
free and the sound of something heavy hitting earth emitted in Tatas
ears.
Tata realized he had his eyes tightly
shut. Upon opening them, he
saw Kanes body lying front first on the ground, his unnaturally colored
head a few feet away.
Wait. Tata looked closer
and he saw the hair was different.
Violet, long, but not as long as his former
opponents. The skin was not
gray, but tan, and Tata had a sickening feeling about who it
was. Now he was looming over
the head, but the head somehow had been moved so it looked up into Tatas
eyes.
Him. He was staring at his own head.
It was then that Tata woke up.
His eyes simply opened suddenly, and he was not surprised to find
that it had all been a
what?
What was it? A dream
or a premonition? A vision or
a memory? He could not tell,
for already the memories of the dream were fading
away. He sat up and put his
head in his hands, trying to call the images back, but to no
avail.
Abruptly, he heard a squall from upstairs and immediately following
it, a small, winged, yellow creature flew down the staircase and into the
room. It circled around the
room about five times, crying all the time, before flying right back up the
stairs again. Tata stared in
bewilderment, somehow recognizing the creature, yet not
quite
Tata made a decision, stood up and went up the stairs
himself. He froze suddenly as
there was a crashing of glass and a chilling
silence. Tata managed to make
the final steps up to his room. It was evening now, and since his room had no windows,
it was dark, but not so dark that Tata could not check out his
surroundings. He saw that his
bed was gone and remembered that it was
downstairs. He also saw the
limp body of the small, yellow creature lying on the floor in a mess of broken
glass shards. Tata walked over
and squatted to check the creatures
pulse. There was
none. Then he noticed something:
the glass shards did not appear to be glass at all, but a black,
crystalline that did not reflect the faint light in the
room. All at once Tata remembered
his fourteenth birthday, and his pet Naga-Ette Bromide which he had named
after his best friend, and the cryptic black orb, left at his door by a
nobody. In the center of the
mess, however, Tata saw something ovular and
smooth. Unlike its broken chamber,
however, the object was off-white and
smooth. Tata knew what it was,
though he had never seen one before.
Within in its small, compact dimensions, this egg-like object held
more power than even Beowulf possessed.
A creation of Geden, or as he was known in this life, Gaspar, one
that could alter time forever.
The Chrono Trigger.
Tata slowly reached for the object and carefully plucked it from the
floor. He held the small object
in his fingertips, examining it, prodding it, feeling its
power. Tata knew that in his
hands, he had the power to create time to his wishes, his
desires. In fact, he knew right
then how he would use it. With
it, he could bring back everyone who had died because of him, everyone who
had suffered because of his battles with
Grendel. He
could
Tata saw Minka before him, smiling
gaily. Her hair flowed freely
in the soothing currents of the wind, and she looked at him and smiled even
further. Tata blinked and found
himself staring at the Chrono Trigger. He knew that the only way to reverse everything that had
happened was to go back and kill Len before he had done any
damage. And through this, so
would Tata die as well. He realized
as held the egg-shaped object that if he decided to use this thing, he would
never see his father before he died and conversely, his father would never
be able to make his peace with his son.
He also realized, that no matter what he did to change the past, he
would never get to see Minka alive again.
It was one of those times when the world seemed to be one sick
joke. Nothing could make things
the way they were, and Tata knew that in his death he would only leave behind
misery. And for all his strength
and supernatural abilities, there was nothing he could do to save these people
whom he cared for. For all his
incurable rage, Tata thrust his the fist that held the Chrono Trigger up
in the air and howled a miserable, crushed cry of hatred and
despair. Nothing could change
this.
Nothing.
Tata found himself trudging down the stairs to the front
door. As he opened it, he stuffed
the Chrono Trigger into his belt pouch.
Then he stepped out outside and slammed the door hard enough to rattle
the hinges. Looking around,
he saw few people about the streets, and heard even fewer
voices. The air was cooler than
when he had first arrived, but his skin was already getting
damp. Dust swirls blew across
the town on a slow wind, scraping across the people who walked the desolate
citys streets. No one
seemed to care, though. None
of the dirty, scraggly people in the town seemed to care about
anything.
Tata sighed at the sight of it all, but he hid any emotion that had
been on his face behind a mask he had perfectly crafted many millennia before
and walked in the direction of the
café. Not much crossed
his mind as his feet moved in the same dead beat of those around
him. He just kept saying silently,
Nothing.
Nothing.
Then he saw the café and his heart
sank. His favorite eating spot as a boy was nothing but a pile
of debris, strewn with chairs and empty food
sacs. But the object that caught his eyes was an overturned
bed that lacked sheets or even a
mattress. Atop it sat a man
Tata knew to be one of the people who had worked
there. Apparently, the chef
had finally made it into the kitchens of Guardia, but the man, who sat on
the skeleton that had obviously been his bed, head in his hands, had apparently
lived there. Now his home was
gone.
Feeling an emotion that Tata could only remember as being compassion,
he walked closer to the large mess of
wood. As he approached, his
foot bumped a chair hard enough to send it tumbling a short distance to the
ground. At the sudden sound,
the man who had sat so placidly sprung to his
feet. His eyes whipped around to Tata and he quickly snatched
up a stick of wood that could have split a mans skull
open. Tata wore no
weapon.
Get away! he shouted in a voice that was laced with despair
and insanity. The man was frail,
little more than skin and bones, but his eyes burned with a fierce
glow. Tata recognized the man;
he had talked more than a few conversations with him when he had lived in
the town, but he stopped when he saw that glow, for he had seen it many times
before. Tata had been in battles
where a man, alone and surrounded, would scream at his attackers as he swung
whatever weapon he still held to keep them at
bay. Of all the times he had
seen this display of total fear, all those people had that glow in their
eyes.
Get away! the frail man shouted again, taking a pace toward
Tata and swinging his stick in weak
arcs. I wont let
you take
anything!
Its
my
house! Get
away!
Tata knew that he looked older, but his hair had not changed and even
he knew it was an extremely recognizable
feature. But the man he once
knew did not recognize him in the
slightest. Teeth bared, snarling
like an animal, he suddenly moved forward with a horizontal
swing. Tata jumped back, stumbling away from the pile of
rubble. All he could do is stare
in open horror as the man howled a scream that couldnt be human, and
then, spotted a dog that was passing by and gave chase to
it.
Tata stared for only a moment longer, then turned and quickly walked
away to a distance where he was sure the man wouldnt chase
him. Then he stopped; as he
stared off into empty space, he remembered that he didnt have to
walk. The ability to teleport was a simple trick for him, so
why should he walk?
Tata looked back at the demolished café and saw the poor, starving,
demented man lying face down on a pile of wood, shoulders shaking with silent
sobs. Tata stared at the scene
of wretched misery and felt
empty.
He searched and searched, but could not find pity, hate, or even love
for the forlorn fellow. Tata
stared then down at his feet and took a step
forward. He looked up and realized
that he was facing the Cursed Woods. Minkas house.
He took another step forward, and then another and another until he
was walking away from the town.
Away from the misery, the pain, and the anguish, to a place where
he would find more suffering than this town
held.
Some
trade, he
thought. Still, he continued on his path.
It was late afternoon by the time he finally saw Minkas house
on the horizon, barely visible in the shade of the forbidding Cursed
Woods. Tata had covered well over a hundred miles, running and
walking in irregular intervals, and his legs were on the verge of giving
out under the strain. Tata barely
felt the pain; rather, he was simply aware of it, like hearing a far-off
cry from somewhere else. Tata
stood for a minute on the grassy hill and saw the dark shadow looming within
the trees of the forest. Then
he began to walk. He was surprised
that there was anything left of it, after the fire he
set. He had originally burned
it as a way of putting the past behind him, but like the house, there was
still a fragment of the past that still lingered in his
mind. Beautiful spring days
on the plains of the Porre, when he and Minka would discard their boots and
run through the grass as free as the animals filled his
mind. Each blade would tickle
their feet as they ran, and the dew from the morning would eventually cause
them to slip and fall happily into each others arms, with hardly a
care of any bruises they may sustain.
Warm, sunny summer evenings when Minka and he would sit on the southern
peninsula, basking in the impossibly beautiful yet fading sunlight, listening
to the gentle sound of the waves dashing the shores with its cool
wetness. He remembered the touch of her face as it caressed his,
her soft lips, her hair that smell more pure than the ripest flower, and
the way her head always rested so easily on his
shoulders. The memories filled
his senses so vividly he thought he might drown in them
forever. They covered him like
a blanket of warmth, an ocean seeping in his every pore, holding him gently
with the sounds of the world filtered to
nothingness. It had been so beautiful
Tata looked up and saw the impression his face had left in the dry
ground. His nose dripped a few
drops of blood where his left cheek had
been. Twisting around on his
hip, he looked back on his fallen form and saw that the rock had rolled out
of its current resting spot and rolled down to his left leg, as if to curse
the one who had dislodged it.
Sitting up, Tata grabbed the rabbit-sized rock and stood up with it
in his hands. With care, he
put the rock back where it had rested
beforehand.
The house, or rather the woods were no more than a few yards
away. He could clearly see its
charred shape through the few trees that shielded it from the world as he
neared it. None of the trees
around it had been more than singed; Tata knew that the Cursed Woods
wouldnt burn from anything short of a massive
firestorm. Tata approached the
house warily as memories of that doomed home flashed like lightning in his
mind. He quickly shut the visions
out in one swift stroke at the sound of someone
sneezing. It hadnt been him, that he was
sure. More over, it had come from inside the blackened
walls. Tata knew that if he
readied any sort of magic, if that was Grendel hiding within those walls,
he would be detected as easily as a bonfire burning in a field at
night. Moving on his toes, Tata crept silently around the side
of the wall the sneeze had come from.
Placing one of his hands to steady himself on the wall, he slowly
leaned forward to peer in through a window
nearby. Tata stopped then and
silently uttered a curse just before the wall gave out and he pitched forward
through the wall onto the ground.
Tata used his momentum to roll to his feet and ready a healthy blast
of magic.
However
Well, hello, said the dark-skinned man who sat peacefully
against the wall Tata had just came
though. Lookin for
a place to rest? Cant
promise you much in the way of beds, but it is quiet.
Tata looked at the man through quizzical
eyes. He looked to be in his
sixties at least, yet a certain look in his eyes made him realize that the
man couldnt be older than forty.
Still, he was a weathered man, with rough skin and wrinkles to match,
bags under his eyes and graying hair that gave him the look of a
traveler. His wrinkled clothing
said the same thing. He held
a flask in his left hand while his right rested on a burlap bag.
Tata knew that Grendel could
weave disguises as easily as stand on his feet, but something about how the
man smiled, how laid-back and warm it was convinced Tata to release the flows
of magic.
The man chuckled.
You always make an entrance like
that?
Tatas face didnt
budge. Only when I feel
a life is being endangered.
He replied sternly.
The man smiled again.
I can tell you like to
fight. You hate killin,
but
He repositioned himself on his bottom with a
grunt. Forgive me,
warrior. Would you like to take
a load off here for a while? I
swear that I will not attack you.
Believe me, the last thing a tired bum like me wants is a fight with
someone so heavily built as you.
It was true; the man, even in his clothes, looked as frail as the
raving madman from the
café.
Appearances mean little. He said
gruffly. What are you
doing here anyhow?
The man chuckled wryly.
Dont even need my name,
eh? I suppose you have a good
reason for being here too?
Tata replied. This
is where my soul died.
The wrinkled man whistled softly, but his mood didnt seem to
change. Did it die in
the fire that took this place?
Yes.
Tata stared at the man. He
couldnt believe how casual the frail, wrinkled man was, even despite
what Tata had just told him.
Again, what are you doing here?
The small man shrugged.
Just thought it was so quiet and peaceful that I should spend
a little time enjoyin it.
Unless you would object to that?
I can tell that this place is sacred to
you.
Tata lowered his head, knowing that this man probably wouldnt
leave even if he told him to.
No, I dont
mind. Then Tata raised
his head, his mouth becoming slightly dry as he spoke the words he almost
never spoke. May I stay
a while?
The man smiled his kind, casual
smile. I
see. Now youre the one
asking to stay. He laughed
abruptly and smiled a toothy smile.
Course you may.
My home is yours.
Tata sat down about a foot away from the man and leaned back against
the hard, cold walls. He could
feel the eyes of the dark man on him, but they didnt
probe. They simply tried to
see him for himself, nothing more or
less. Tata looked back at the
man, and then at the leather water
pouch.
Thirsty? the man asked, reading Tatas eyes as a
person would read a book.
Thank you. Tata said as the pouch was handed to
him. He drank slowly, savoring every drop of that cool substance
that gives life to all things.
So then, the wrinkled man said as he took a drink from
his own flask. What happened
here?
Tata put the water pouch down and
sighed. A
fire. You knew that though,
right?
The man chuckled slightly in his
ease. No, I mean, what
really happened
here? Fires dont kill
souls, man. Only three things
do that: love, tragedy, and despair.
Which were you?
Tata lightly kicked a nearby pebble with the toe of his
boot. You need to know
that?
The wrinkled man nodded.
I like to know where I sleep every
night. Come on, whats
the problem?
Tata turned and stared at the
man. You really dont
want to know. Believe
me.
Yknow, they say to spread your knowledge cause
its a way of achievin
immortality. The man
replied.
Tata gave a bitter laugh at that and looked back at the forlorn
house. Ive already
got that, and it sure as blood is not all its polished up to
be.
The wrinkled man chuckled at that, which annoyed
Tata. You always this cheerful? he
asked.
I try to be. He said and took another swig of his
drink. Laughter is the secret to
love.
Tata kicked another stone.
Yeah, thats what I used to
think.
Ah. Said the man with a note of
satisfaction. So this
is about a woman, huh?
Tata sighed and leaned his head back against the
wall. Damn. You
just arent going to let this go.
Fine, he said and took a drink from his water
bottle. Ill tell
you. The house were sitting
in so casually used to be the house of a girl I
knew. Her name was Minka Soresta
and she was a Mystic. Actually,
her father was a human, her mother a Mystic, so no one could really tell
she was partially non-human unless they noticed her elongated
ears. But that is enough for anyone in this age, isnt
it?
The old man shrugged and sipped his
drink. Tell me
somethin, warrior; when you first knew met this here Minka, were you
uncomfortable cause of them ears of hers?
Tata opened his mouth immediately to say something noble about his
unconditional love for Minka, but then stopped
himself. Yes, he had, at
first. The day they had met,
he had gotten mad at her for bumping into him, but mostly because of her
ears, which marked her as a Mystic.
He may have been only six years old, but still, he had immediately
judged her on her bloody ears.
Yes.
The man motioned with his hand for Tata to
continue.
There was this group of boys,
too. Dip, Jake, Clem, and Len;
total bastards, all of them. They
picked on me constantly, probably because they didnt have the capacity
for much else. On the times
when I was able to beat them enough to make them leave me alone, they would
pick on my friends, most often on Minka.
They used to laugh at her ears, pluck at them, and casually hit her
whenever they felt like it. And
that was when they were in a good mood.
It was when they saw her on days that werent going their way
that they used to follow her, hounding her, cursing her in loud, angry
voices. If she ignored them on those days she would have to face
their beatings. She would come
to me on some days when she was nearby with bruises and cuts all over her
body, just begging me for someone to help her.
The old man nodded, his complexion a little less cheerful than
before. So you did
somethin, huh?
Tata nodded grimly.
One day, Minka, Len and his pals, and I all happened to go to
the café at the same time.
I was the last one to arrive, but I was just in time to see them
half-dragging her out the back door of the
restaurant. She had said something
that had made them mad as a hornets nest, because when I got out to
where they had gone, they were laying into her
hard. I really thought they
were going to kill her, and so I acted
accordingly. Len was the only
one who got away.
Tata took a long drink from his drink while the old man pondered
that. That boy got back
at you, didnt he?
Tata grimaced, his eyes burning with
hate. Len knew I could
kill him. I had nearly done
it too. The son of a whore
didnt even have the guts, the decency to exact his revenge on me
alone. Tata shook his
head as though he couldnt believe he was telling the
truth. He killed
her. He said simply, in
a voice he himself could barely hear.
Tata nodded shakily.
Hes still out there,
too. I havent killed him
yet, and in the time between his murder on the woman I loved, he has killed
many others. With each death,
he is laughing at me, taunting me to try killing
him. Nothing would please him
more than one great showdown with me, one more fight that will give him the
chance to spill my blood.
He got stronger, didnt he? asked the old
man.
Tata looked at him quizzically.
What is with you? Are
you always this perceptive, or do you already know this
story?
Quite unexpectedly, the man gave a small
chuckle. Pardon me, Tata,
but in fact, I do somewhat know this
tale. My name is Edgar
McCree. I was there the day
you slew those boys in the defense of the woman you
loved.
Tata tried to recall the name.
I
dont remember you.
The man smiled.
Thats okay Tata, not many people
do. I was sitting smack in that
café, watching the whole scene.
I was pretty damn racist at that time, and even insulted you a
bit. I was one of the prosecuting
witnesses at the trial for those boys
deaths.
Tata nodded as the grim memories of the trial played back into his
mind. You lost
weight.
The man and Tata chuckled crazily; it was the sort of crazy laugh
that came from men who knew that they only laughed because the alternative
was worse. Tata was the first
to stop laughing, and the other man followed
suit. Im deeply
sorry about Mr. Ericson, Tata. He
shouldnt have died like he did.
Tata wanted to start yelling at him, to blame Jacobs death on
him, but he just didnt have the
heart.
It
wasnt your
fault. That blame goes to
Len. Then Tata looked
at Edgar, trying to pull his mind off of the
memories. Tata could now remember
the man from before; he had been heavy-set, reasonably wealthy in
appearance. The man that now
sat beside him was frail, wearing tatters, and making a home out of a corner
of wall, yet he seemed to vibrate with
energy. You have changed,
though, Edgar.
Id
like to hear how that
happened.
Edgar smiled and Tata made a small smile
back. Fair
enough. Well, I guess you
couldve called it all an
accident. He took a small
drink of water. The trial
had helped me pretty well financially.
Ebens was a dirty lawyer, ysee, and used bribes to get my story
out in the way he wanted it. But
one day, I was robbed in my sleep.
I was a heavy sleeper then, too.
Anyway, I woke up to find my house mostly bare, and whatever was left
was in ruins. Everythin
was gone; my money, my family heirlooms, even my
clothes. But my heart was not
truly broken until I found my wife, lying naked in the living room with her
throat destroyed. She must have
tried to stop whoever it was, but
he cut himself short with another
drink. When he was done, he
continued.
I never found out who had done this horrible
thing. But all I could do was
bury my wife and try to start anew.
I traveled around, playing music on the streets mostly, and occasionally
in bars. It kept me fed and
reasonably clean, but mostly it helped me forget where I was comin
from. The music soundin
from my instruments, the applause of the people who cared enough to listen
all helped me forget about my sadness and
self-pity. All I had to do was
play that ol ocarina of mine, and I could sometimes even forget I really
existed at all.
Edgar smiled and took another drink while Tata looked at him with
an unreadable expression.
You never looked for the killer? he
asked.
Edgar nodded a little with the grin still on his face and gave a small
shrug. One more death
wasnt going to help
anythin. Its one
of those things you probably know somethin
about. Killin is destructive,
plain and simple. You kill someone
and a little hair of your soul goes into
it. I had already lost my wife,
and I sure as hell didnt need to lose my soul as
well. In a way, her death made
me realize how precious life was, how quickly it can end, and what my life
was all about. I honored her
death and moved on, and when you get down to it, thats just all you
can do.
Tata looked around at the ruined
house. He had tried to put Minka
behind him, but he had succumbed to Grendels mocking
laughter. You found good
in the worst of events. I admire
that.
Edgar nodded a little nod of
thanks. So did this here
boy burn this place down to kill er, then?
No. Tata answered softly.
Edgar hesitated.
You
?
Tata didnt answer.
Visions of that nightmare lingered in his head like an awful
headache. He could still see,
on a wall that had not burned all the way through, dried bloodstains that
still spoke of the hideous murder the house had
beheld.
Did you ever see it comin,
Tata? Edgar asked
quietly.
Yes. Tata
answered just as softly. Shifting
in his sitting position, Tata felt something pressing against his
back. He leaned forward and
grabbed at the object behind him.
His hand found something smooth and rounded, and upon presenting it
in front of his face, he saw that it was the Chrono
Trigger.
That your lunch there,
Tata? Edgar laughed, obviously
trying to lighten the mood.
Tata kept his eyes on the egg-shaped object and he turned it on his
fingers. If every lunch
were like this, he said.
Chickens would be revered as gods.
Edgar chuckled at that and Tata found himself laughing lightly
too. Seriously though,
Edgar asked. What is
it?
Tata could feel sheer power within the small
object. He could almost hear it vibrating with
energy. Everyone who knows
about it calls it the Chrono Trigger.
A man of infinite wisdom, who lives in a place where time has no meaning,
made it. It contains more power
than any living thing has ever beheld, and it has the power to alter
time.
Edgar smiled and said, Hot
stuff. Then; You
tryin to save that girl of yours with that,
right?
Tata nodded slowly.
Yeah. He
turned his head to look at the older
man. She was all I
had. She died and I lost all
my sense of wrong and right. I
mean, what am I supposed to do? I
was only fourteen
Tata looked away from Edgars gaze and
looked around at what was left of Minkas
house. Maybe I deserved
it, somehow. Maybe I did something
and my punishment was all of this
He lost his voice and it became
quiet.
A silence now spoke a low speech as Tatas words echoed on the
broken-down walls of the burned house, a speech of fairy tales mixed in with
reality telling of events that were real and events that never would
be. Each man knew the question that the small, egg-shaped
device held the answer to, and what going through with the deed may mean
to the entire world, all for one mans dream to come true
again.
Edgar silenced the speaker first.
Hard to imagine how many things you could change in one single
moment. Hell only knows, you
could save more than just her. You
could utterly rewrite history as we know
it. This girl Minka comes back
to life and you two ride off into the sunset together and so
forth. Maybe you build a family
and you never have to fight again.
Maybe Jacob comes back too, maybe others that Len
killed. Maybe I never lose my
wife and we never even have this
conversation. But all it boils
down to is you and this choice you have before
you. You can rewrite history
to your own likin. You bein once just a character in a story have been
given a quill and a fresh piece of paper to write
on. This choice you have before
you, Tata, is one that can infinitely benefit you, and in that it makes it
a choice of an immature man. But
it is also a very noble choice, Tata, because all the people that may come
back will live lives that together will most likely be greater than any one
man could live alone. From this
choice, Tata, life will flourish.
Tata looked at the man, nodded a little and smiled a lonely, sad
grin. I forgot to tell
you. If this plan works, I
die.
Edgar smiled and patted Tata on the
shoulder. Then that will
be your saving grace.
Tata left after that, his problem
resolved. Walking on the dusty
road with the light of the afternoon fading away to the quiet, serene darkness
of night, he pondered the skinny old mans
advice. Nothing more could be
said about it, yet Tata did feel like there was more to it that just one
persons choice. The words
were beyond him, though, and slowly his mind gave way to other
thoughts.
The struggle between Grendel and Beowulf had lasted many
millennia. No one knew precisely
how long, not even the combatants
themselves. Probably a sign
of how meaningless their eternal fight
was. They had outlived their
purpose, like some incredible obsolete machine, and now simply fought for
their own purposes and their never-ending hatred for one
another.
A sign of outright selfishness and immaturity if anyone ever saw
it,
Tata thought to himself. He
did know of Beowulfs doom to always fight and thought of how cold and
indifferent a being would have to be to condemn a soul to that kind of endless
agony. When a person dies
and is given the choice to reincarnate or to go to the afterlife, many will
choose to reincarnate. It is
only when they have achieved a level of
enlightenment, I guess we should
say, do they enter their afterlife.
It is when they know what is right and how to love and to live without
love, and to cherish life
Tata realized that he was speaking aloud and let the words
die. Edgar McCree had undergone
that change in one lifetime. Was
Beowulf ready for the afterlife?
Was Janus? Was
Minka? The people who had died
in this lifetime fighting Grendel?
Who thought life was worth living, and who sought death as their
savior? Tata looked at the distant
town of Porre, his hometown, and thought of the people of that dried up,
broken town. How could anyone
live in that kind of misery? How
did they find the courage each day to rise and walk
again?
Life, Tata said to himself, coincidentally as a merchant
was passing by, riding tall on his cart.
Hope, always goes on.
The merchant heard the small passage and turned to
Tata. Their eyes met, Tatas suddenly strong and hopeful,
his old and happy, and the old merchant
nodded. Tata smiled, turned,
and broke into a run. His cry of joy echoed over the land; carried by the wind
it reached the farthest corners of the earth and rattled it with the force
of a hurricane.
.
End of Chapter 23
.