Fanfiction:Zipp Dementia Chrono Break 7
Chrono Break
By Zipp Dementia
Note: again, the lyrics in this part are taken from an OCremix song, found here: http://djpretzel.web.aplus.net/songs/Chrono_Trigger_The_Place_We_Knew_OC_ReMix.mp3
After leaving the hill, Sariah asked a lot of questions about Crono’s health after his fall, but eventually Crono sated his anxieties, and the two rode in silence. Crono felt pleased by the way events had played out, but also unsatisfied. He was certain that after his embarrassment of the mayor’s son, no further rebellion would be attempted. He had fallen from his horse on purpose, to test the boy, to see how far he was willing to go, betting that his will would give out, showing the people just how weak their potential rabble rouser was. Crono had accomplished his mission, but the reward was bitter sweet. All he had left to him was to return to the castle and the drudgery of his every day life. That Nadia would be there with him was some source of comfort, but not enough.
Crono and Sariah were passing through the western gates of Truce when Crono stopped his horse and cocked his head, listening. A low gong seemed to echoe through the air, the sound of a far distant memory. He looked at Sariah. if the captain had heard anything, he hadn’t reacted. Crono turned his horse towards the sound, towards the north. “I need to make a stop. Alone.”
Sariah gave him a concerned look. “Do you think that wise, my lord? After all, after the incident tonight, I do fear for your safety.”
“I will be fine. Ride on without me, due west. In about a mile, you’ll come to a small wood. We’ll make camp there.” Crono pointed towards the west, towards a distant stand of trees that he knew well, for he had played there as a child. Then, without another word to his concerned captain, he galloped off.
The north of Truce had once been the busiest part of the town, back when Crono had lived there. But with the growth of trade and the importance of the ferry, most of the residents had moved south. There were still houses clustered along the roads, but none were occupied, and so Crono rode through a ghost town, with only the moss present to mark his passage. The sound he’d heard earlier, that of a bell, echoed in his mind, and it drove him forward towards the north end of Truce, the old festival grounds.
Presently he reached his destination, marked by an old metal archway. Though it had only been built five years ago, it was already rusting from the sea air. Cleverly woven into the metal was a pattern of roses, grey and lonely in the night. Crono hesitated under the archway. Beyond it, the festival grounds lay obscured in darkness, and the sight made him feel strange. It had been so long since he’d felt the emotion that it took him a minute to realize he was afraid. If nothing else, that made up his mind. Sitting tall in his saddle, he coaxed his reluctant steed underneath the archway.
Crono looked about him at the festival grounds. He’d been here just last year to commemorate the summer festival. Then the grounds had been packed with vendor’s stalls, the brightly coloured tents of the various merchants, and the smell of freshly grilled food wafted through the air. Entertainers had walked, danced, or cartwheeled across the cobbled stones, and the spray of the many fountains had glistened in the bright sun. He’d been with Nadia, then. The color of the summer sky had been reflected in her eyes. Now he was alone. No merchants or entertainers to spread their wares and craft. The cobbled stones were covered with the dead leaves of fall. The sun was setting, casting everything in an orange tint and bringing the stonework and marble fountains into sharp contrast with the yellow and green of the leaves.
Crono dismounted, tied his horse to a statue of a hooved deity caught in a moment of dance, and moved further on foot. Drawn in by the beauty of the setting sun, he failed to recall that the sun had already set nearly two hours ago, and that fall was long over. Yet other things caught his attention as he moved through the fair grounds. Marble benches which last summer had been in perfect condition were now cracked, some even broken into dust where they’d stood. The fountains had run dry, and the carvings of fish and water sprites that adorned them had chipped. He stopped by one, a large fountain set up near the middle of the festival grounds, and stared at the carvings. The fountain depicted a carefully constructed moment in some nameless era, where four naked nymphs exploded out of the sea, the splash frozen in time. Above them, they supported a bowl, out of which sprung a spire of flame. Stone salamanders basked in its white flare.
“The fire used to light up,” a voice said.
More curious than startled (anything seemed possible in this timeless place), Crono walked around to the other side of the fountain. A young bard was sitting on the marble lip of the fountain’s pool, plucking idly at the strings of his instrument. Crono stopped to watch him. Though the very fact of his presence in this dead world was strange, he seemed so much a part of the scene that Crono couldn’t help but think the bard belonged there.
After a moment, the bard played a few chords and then began to sing:
Somewhere, Beyond the rain and autumn plains, the snow That litters the countryside I find a piece of you
And somewhere Beyond the frozen fields, I clearly see The end of our misery A part of the place we knew
And slowly down through the fire, burning Into this darkness I fall Your presence right here beside me, yearning Through it all
And somewhere Beyond the hills below the horizon sun A life that has just begun A life we’re meant to know
The bard ended the song abruptly. The music, which had seemed to be pouring from the instrument of its own free will, ceased with he motions of his hand. He seemed to be lost in thought, staring down at his feet. Crono cocked his head, wondering whether he should say anything, not liking being ignored. Finally he spoke. “It changed the color of the water. One of Lucca’s inventions. The fountain, I mean. I remember.”
The bard turned his head, not slowly, but with infinite deliberateness. “Do you, now? Or do you just think you remember. Maybe it actually hasn’t happened yet. Maybe it never happened. Indeed, it’s always been like this. And never like this.”
“No, I was here. I was here when it was different.”
“That’s not saying much. All you have to do is change your perception of something and it becomes different. You can live an entire life from the comfort of a throne, without ever leaving. Indeed, without ever knowing you are there. Or were there. Or will continue to be there.”
“A throne, huh? Interesting choice of words. I take it you know who I am?”
“Know you? I don’t know anyone. For to know someone else we must first know ourselves, and that is a reflection no mirror can show us.”
The bard stood suddenly and began to walk away. Crono followed automatically.
“I am the king of Gaurdia.”
Crono thought it sounded rather grand, but the bard merely shrugged.
“A modifier. Something added and without any more meaning than a name. Just a way to recognize you without seeing who you really are. What is a king, after all, except an illusion of the people?”
“A king is a leader.”
“And what is a leader?”
The bard stopped, seeming to have reached his destination, a wide paved road that curved around the fair grounds in a circular track. Without any tents blocking his view, Crono could see the full mile it described.
“A leader... someone who the people follow.”
“By choice or by force?”
“Well, by choice, of course.”
“But a king is not chosen. He is not elected, and his will is not debated. A king is born or married to his position.”
“All the more reason for the king to be a good ruler, someone who the people can follow with pride and dignity.”
“And have you been a good leader?”
The bard turned. At this distance, Crono was struck by how bright his eyes were, an almost neon green. His skin was alabaster white. His hair was bright yellow. It hurt just to look at him. Crono knew he couldn’t hold the man’s gaze for long. When the bard spoke again, it was a welcome relief, giving Crono something else to focus on.
“Run with me.”
The bard began to move at a trot down the track. Crono felt silly listening to the strange man’s request, but he began to run nonetheless. As he caught up with the bard, their pace increased.
“You followed me.” The bard spoke effortlessly, despite their running.
“You asked me to.”
“But that’s not why you followed me. You hope to make sense out of something senseless. You insist on reacting to me as if I make sense. So you try to make sense out of the world.”
The bard ran faster, and Crono kept at his side. They continued to increase their speed until the fair grounds around them turned into a blur. Crono knew they were running faster than was humanly possible, and yet Crono felt no resistance. He wasn’t tired, and his muscles, he realized, could work even harder. He pushed himself, more a thought than an effort of will, and his body turned into a blur as well, a sweeping of colors that began and ended wherever he decided to look. He was free from the normal constraints of perception.
Out of this existence, the bard again spoke, or at least it sounded like words. “This is the world as I once saw it. A constant series of choices and perceptions, never truly solid until given heart. It is my belief that this is the world as it truly is.”
At once Crono stopped running. It wasn’t a gradual slowing to a halt, it was a sudden stop, as if he’d never been running in the first place. He was back in the fairgrounds, though in a different part. Instead of the track, there was a wide plaza, and in it the middle of it, supported by two twin pillars, a large bell that Crono recognized instantly, though it was now dirty and stained with rust. It had, after all, been placed there in honor of everlasting peace, after he had saved the future from disaster. It was named, too, after Nadia. The very sight of the bell brought thoughts of her to his heart. He pained to see it in such disrepair, as if Nadia herself had been hurt by its lack of upkeep. After the vibrancy and possibilities of the world Crono had just seen, the fairgrounds seemed dead and dull.
“You can’t exist in that world.” Crono was suddenly aware of the bard standing next to him. The bard’s voice was simultaneously sad and annoyed, a tone of begrudging pity. “But of all the places you could exist, I never understood why you’d choose this.”
“But I didn’t make this place.”
“You did.” The bard walked forward, perfunctorily examining a dent in the side of Nadia’s bell. As he reached out a hand to touch the dent, Crono felt bizarrely offended, as if his personal property had been violated. “You have made this place and believe in it as much as you made and believe yourself king.”
“But I didn’t make myself king. It was passed down to me by Nadia’s father.”
“Oh, you certainly had help creating that reality, I’ll give you that. An imperfect example on my part. But this place? This was entirely of your own making. It has never existed before this moment, as I said earlier, and yet now that we’re here it has existed forever, waiting.”
Crono looked around him. The sun’s glow held no warmth. The wind had lost all strength, barely disturbing the piles of dead leaves amidst the rubble of statues and walls long gone. Nadia’s bell creaked ominously as it hung. more grime formed before his eyes on the lip of the bell. He felt a chill run down his back. The bard seemed to notice.
“Do you not like this outcome? But this is the path you’ve created. Why are you not prepared to walk down it? Would you like to choose another?”
“I’m not sure what I did to make this place. I don’t understand how it came to be.”
“Do you not? No, I guess you wouldn’t. You won’t ever understand, either. As long as this place exists, you can’t.”
“But yes, I’d like to make another.”
The bard shook his head. “A predetermined response to the question, I’m afraid. You can’t really make another path, simply because you don’t. This is the future you end up making for yourself. Though I do wish you’d put in some benches.”
The bard walked around Nadia’s bell, still examining it, leaning close to peer at its dulled surface, rubbing a bit of dirt off the bell and mashing it between his long fingers. Crono protested. “But this isn’t where I want to be.”
“Whether or not you like it isn’t really up to you, either.”
“So then this is fate?”
“Fate and free will are illusions, both. We created fate so that we didn’t have to take responsibility for our actions. And we created free will in order to make us feel like we had some power over our lives.”
“But there has to be one or the other. Either we make our own decisions, or they are premade for us. They can’t both be illusions.”
The bard circled the bell as he spoke. “Why not? Why can’t things just happen as they happen, with no explanation for the why? Questions were among human’s greatest and most useless inventions. It keeps you stuck in one reality, without acknowledging that more than one can exist at a single time. You’ve built your own prisons, and locked your own doors. But you’re not satisfied. You have to line your prison walls with as many things as possible. You bring in other people, other creatures... you even invent new objects to fill your tiny space until you’re convinced that you’re indeed living in reality because you can no longer see your own prison from all the clutter.”
Crono felt an extreme confusion. It went beyond the problem of deciphering the bard’s words. It was an issue of even being able to process them. He felt very tired, very helpless, and slightly ill.
The bard came around the bell again and peered behind him at Crono. “You know that there’s no fate, because otherwise you would rest easy in the knowledge. But you know that there’s no choice, either, or else you wouldn’t be here.”
Crono cocked his head and crossed his arms, a posture he often assumed when he didn’t understand something. “I’m ready to be done with this. I want to leave this place.”
“You will, soon.”
The bard cocked his head and crossed his arms, imitating Crono. Suddenly Crono was angry. Angry at the bard for wasting his time, angry because he did not understand what the bard was saying, angry because the people of Truce had forced his hand, angry for having to lead people, angry because he did not want a uncertain future, though it could exist as nothing else.
The bard laughed at him and began to fondle Nadia’s bell. There was no other word for it. His hands caressed the bell’s curves. Where his fingers touched, the bell seemed to quiver and regain some of its original golden sheen. The bard giggled like a girl and kissed the kiss.
Crono’s sword was in his hand and he rushed forward. Through his blind rage, he didn’t see whether he struck the bard or not. He heard an unearthly screech of metal on metal and a loud crack. His arm ached from the impact. When he opened his eyes, the bard was gone, and his blade was embedded in the bell. Around the wound he’d made, red liquid bubbled and dripped.
Suddenly. the bell cracked unevenly down the middle with a final low gong that ended in another high banshee’s screech as the metal scraped against itself before falling apart, split into two.
Crono’s stomache lurched at the sound, and in the same movement he opened his eyes and sat up. It was night. Embers burned low in the fire pit in front of him. The trees above him whispered gentle things in the wind. After a moment he was able to put together these images, and he realized that he was in the grove. The captain wasn’t there, and, though he had no true memory of the act, he recalled that Sariah had gone to collect more wood for the fire.
So had it been a dream, then? Or was this another illusion? Already the memories were fading, leaving him with the same sort of unease that he’d felt more and more lately. More than anything, the unease, so familiar by now, convinced him that he’d indeed come back to his senses. Yet one image stayed with him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw again the cracked and bleeding bell. More confusing to him than the meaning of the image were the tears that came of their own will, rolling down his cheeks as he remembered the bell’s conclusive note.
From: Fanfiction