Well would you look at this. An actual, real-life chapter. Wow. It's been...almost a year. I don't really know why it took so long...school, work, general disinterest, a lack of creativity, and a lack of motivation were probably the major factors.
I won't say this is my best chapter yet, because I don't think it is. However, it should be pretty good, and it answers a lot of questions, directly or otherwise. It went onto the 12th page in Word, and therefore I do believe it is my longest chapter yet. I hope to be more active in the near future, as some of the old spark seems to be back, but it will remain to be seen.
On that note, I don't really have major plans for events immediately after this chapter. I'm hoping that lack of constraint will give me some wiggle room, which may be conducive to writing, but again, we'll see. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. Constructive criticism is appreciated, as always.
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Chapter Twenty Five
The tinny clinking of metal sounded overly-loud in the relative silence of night. Wincing, Eli took more care to be quiet as he crouched next to a rawst berry bush, unwrapping the chains securing Torkoal to his arm. The skin underneath was red and blistered, injured by countless burns from Torkoal's fiery body and rubbed raw by his rough shell. After setting his partner on the ground, the blacksmith pulled a few of the green, seed-covered rawst berries off of the bush to eat, and then crushed one between his fingers before rubbing the juice on his arm. He hissed as the pulp came in stinging contact with his burns, and then watched as the blisters subsided and the flesh returned to a normal, healthy color. Satisfied, he fed a few more of the berries to Torkoal, and then packed some into his pockets. Then he re-secured his partner to his arm, and moved on.
The man hadn't eaten or slept since his encounter the previous night with the black-clad soldiers. They had been pursuing him endlessly since then, swift and yet uncannily stealthy: Eli had twice made the mistake of thinking they had given up. At first, he had fought back, laying ambushes and traps when he had opportunities to do so. He aimed to incapacitate, not to kill, and succeeded in crippling a dozen or so of his pursuers. He had been expecting the rest of the men to carry their wounded brethren, thus impeding their progress, but to his astonishment and mortification the injured were cruelly left behind.
Eli had realized at noon the previous day that he would need to devote all of his remaining strength to fleeing if he wished to live. He imagined that if he could make it to a village or city, the soldiers would not follow him in for fear of revealing the existence of their organization. Therefore, he made for Wootz Town, the closest settlement he knew of.
As frail morning light began to breathe color into the world, two things happened. Eli saw Wootz Town off in the distance, perched at the edge of the thinning forest, its night-lanterns still shining forth crisply against the twilit landscape. At the same instant, there came the sound of metal scraping against wood from behind the blacksmith. He turned to find a hooded and cloaked figure clinging to the side of a tree with a pair of blades that extended claw-like from the top of his forearm. Eli recognized the weapons. They belonged to Weavile's former partner, Clave.
The soldier dropped to the snow with a muffled crunch, and then stood to his full height. The hood obscured his features in inky blackness. "You murdered Weavile," he said, very low. Incredible rage burned behind his deceptively quiet words.
"He left me little choice, Clave," Eli responded flatly, pulling his broadsword from where he had strung it across his back with a rope. There had been no time to make a conventional sheath for the weapon. "Perhaps if he had been more civil and less of a cold-blooded fiend, he would have lived. Then again," Eli added with a smile, "I suppose all Weavile are cold-blooded."
"And what makes you think you deserve anything resembling civility?" Clave's tone and stare were glacial. "Your wife and daughter were murdered and your home robbed while you lay on the floor of a tavern in a drunken stupor, and instead of facing your plight and the scorn of your hometown with what little dignity you had left, you fled in shame."
The soldier's words had a visible impact on Eli. His sword tip dropped a few inches and his face lowered to become dark and inscrutable.
"No one wanted anything to do with you," Clave continued. "Everyone hated the coward you had proven yourself to be. You drifted away from society, seeking refuge from your disgrace in your solitude. When we found you months later, half-alive in these woods, I imagined that anyone else would have slit your throat out of pity. But we didn't: we saw your worth as a blacksmith, and allowed you to work for us. We gave you a home. Fed you. Clothed you. Presented you with tasks to keep your shaking, drunkard hands busy. We saved you, Eli, gave you purpose again."
"You enslaved me, you mean." Eli's words were flowing with bitterness.
"Is that what you call our generosity?" Clave's voice was very low. "Don't feign naïveté, Eli. If it weren't for us, you would be nothing but a rotten corpse, bidden good riddance by the world long ago. And now, after all these years, you betray us. Is this how you repay your debt?" Eli remained silent. "Tell me," Clave inquired. "What is it that could make a man turn against those to which he owes his life? What made you bite the hand that feeds?"
"I owe you nothing but the edge of a sharp blade," Eli said vehemently. "If not for the years of misery you put me through, then to bring your contemptible organization to justice."
"Ah, so it is some misguided sense of righteousness that leads you to commit such foolhardy acts. Do we perhaps desire redemption from past actions?" Clave smiled.
Eli's face was stone. "I wish to cease living in guilt and fear, and to have enough courage to follow for once the path that is right."
"Why? To gain favor with a world that cast you out?" The soldier's grin evaporated. "Do you really think that your actions now will somehow erase your past and allow you to return to society with dignity?" The soldier looked into the distance at Wootz Town. "That is where you are making for, is it not? You shouldn't bother. If there is one thing this life has taught me, Eli, it is to accept things for what they are. You would do well to learn the same. You're a proven coward who has been creating weapons for years, which I can personally assure you have been used against what you would call innocent people. No amount of goodwill is going to change what you've done, or blot out who you've become."
"Whether that be the case or not, my decision is final," Eli retorted. "I will oppose you and your fellows until my last breath."
"So be it," Clave sighed. "Honestly, I wished that you would answer as such. I am not so stupid that I would kill such an important asset outright, but now that I know you will not return to us, I can seek proper revenge." The soldier threw open his cloak, holding his claw-blades at the ready. "For Weavile!"
The soldier sprinted forward, and then vaulted into a twirling jump. The maneuver was so fast that Eli had trouble following it; he had only enough time to dive out of the way, and still he felt a sudden, sharp pain as two blades raked his shoulder. He rolled as he hit the ground, and then sprang onto his feet in one smooth motion. Too slow. Clave was already next to him and slashing rapidly even as he stood, and he was forced to crouch, swinging his broadsword over his head to parry the blows.
The blade was weak, a quick forging job created from materials Eli had on hand in his home. The superior craftsmanship and metals that had gone into Clave's claw-blades began to show immediately as chips and nicks started appearing all over the broadsword. Grunting, Eli swung the weapon as hard as he could, forcing his opponent back and using the momentum to stand upright and spin away.
Clave leapt for him again almost immediately: a poor decision. Eli brought Torkoal up to bear, and shook his arm gently. The tortoise pokémon responded by venting a torrent of flame from every opening in his shell, enveloping the soldier in a wall of fire. Eli stepped back from the intense heat, watching solemnly as his opponent fell to the ground with a scream and began thrashing about, attempting to extinguish himself in the snow. The blacksmith hesitated for a moment, torn between letting the man burn in atonement for the torment he had caused and putting him out of his misery. Eli stepped forward with his blade raised, but then lowered it and took a handful of rawst berries out of his pocket. Enemy or no, he couldn't stand to see someone endure such pain.
Eli crushed the berries, and was about to administer the salve when Clave slapped his hand away. He saw through the steam and smoke rising from the man's body that his face was streaming with tears. As the last tongues of flame eating at Clave's flesh went out, the soldier spoke.
"I met Weavile as a Sneasel when I was very young," the soldier said, his voice rasping. "We shared childhood together, got into all kinds of mischief. One time, we stole ten pies from a local bakery. Ten! We made ourselves sick eating all of them. Those were good days." Clave smiled, but then a cough racked his body and he grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut. "But now he's gone, isn't he?" Eli wasn't sure if he should respond, until the soldier continued. "All we wanted back then was adventure and excitement. I thought The Devoted could provide us with those things, so I convinced Sneasel that we should join. Needless to say, it wasn't quite what we expected." Clave coughed again, and black liquid began trickling from the corner of his mouth. "Everything was wonderful at the beginning. Our responsibilities, usually stealing something, always provided a thrill. Soon, though, we were tasked with more…brutal chores. It all culminated when we were given the order to kill someone. We should have bowed out at that point."
Clave clutched a hand to his chest, obviously in pain. His breathing bubbled wetly. "Let me give this to you," Eli pressed, offering the rawst berry salve once more.
The soldier shook his head. "With the state I'm in, it won't amount to anything," he said with finality. Another coughing fit splattered his face and the snow with black flecks. He groaned. "Weavile evolved just after we carried out the assassination. He was still covered in blood, and kept trying to scrub it off, shivering and moaning the whole time." Clave's body involuntarily shuddered, in spite of his injuries. "He fell ill, and remained locked in a room for a week. When he came out, he was…different. He didn't laugh anymore, and hardly spoke at all. We were given more orders: he carried them out with silent ruthlessness. The adventuresome companion I had once known was gone." Clave's expression managed to portray even more anguish than before. "And now he's dead!" he cried. "My partner, companion, and only friend is dead! I myself am on death's doorstep! I have nothing left! Eli, look and see what this world has done to me, the same world you would ask for forgiveness!" Clave's voice gave out as he went into another bout of coughing. When he continued, he was barely whispering. "No, that's wrong. I have done this to myself. To Weavile, as well. Eli, I honestly envy your desire for redemption, and would share that desire, if it were any more than an illusion. I am beyond hope for such a thing now."
"Perhaps you can attain some level of peace in knowing that you addressed your ways before the end," Eli suggested. "That is at least worth something."
"The end? Oh no, Eli, you misunderstand. This is not the end for me." The soldier closed his eyes, and brought what was left of one of his hands to his chest. Something in his grasp glowed red.
Eli brandished his broadsword, sensing danger. Suddenly, the lower half of the blade was shorn from the rest of the weapon and went sailing into the boughs of a nearby tree. The blacksmith stood in dumfounded astonishment: one of Clave's arms was extended, the claw-blade strapped to it still ringing from the impact. He hadn't even seen the soldier move.
"I said before that life has taught me to accept things for what they are," Clave declared. "By my own hand, I have shaped my fate. As a result, all has been stripped from me. I have nothing left to my name. I am nothing, just as darkness is nothing. In that regard, the man known as "Clave" has also been stripped away, leaving only darkness behind. This I understand, and this I accept: I have become darkness itself."
The man lifted high the arm he had been clutching to his chest. Red light pooled on the surrounding snow like blood, cast by a large crimson orb he held in his grasp. Black liquid began to pour from the object, giving off an inky smoke as it made contact with the ground. Horrified, Eli watched as a figure formed out of the liquid, and then rose from the earth, pitch-black droplets falling from its body. It was Weavile.
"I'm sorry, but I need your Fear," the man who was once Clave said to the apparition. It turned to him with unseeing eyes, and gave a silent hiss. The man reached out to touch the figure, and then was enveloped in a murky cloud of smoke as it returned to liquid form and instantly gushed over his body, enveloping his skin.
Eli started to run, his mouth dry with terror. This was beyond his expertise.
***
Something tickled Latias' face, and she woke up sneezing. The sun had not yet risen, and the surrounding landscape appeared as an inky silhouette; however, the soft white light emanating from the dragon's feathers was enough to see what had roused her from slumber. Her eyes grew wide, and she floated upward, staring at the ground.
"Ren, wake up," she hissed into the boy's mind. He groaned, and then slowly got to his feet, his eyes still closed.
"What is it?" Ren asked.
"Did we fall asleep in a patch of grass?"
Ren opened his eyes just enough to see, and found himself standing at the exact center of a perfect circle of plants. "I don't remember," he replied. Something told him in his half-awake state that this situation was rather peculiar, but he wasn't sure why.
"Perhaps because it's winter, and the grass would have had to be growing under a foot of snow before we arrived," Latias offered.
"You're right, that doesn't make sense," Ren said groggily. Then he realized what was so odd, and came fully awake. "This grew overnight," he realized aloud.
"In a perfect circle, as well," Latias added.
The pair stared down at the circle of grass. It grew imperceptibly slowly up at them. Ren finally stooped down, pulled off a gauntlet, and ran a hand through the lush green blades.
"Well, it's definitely real grass," he said, plucking a piece and rolling it between his fingers. "I've never seen or heard of anything like this."
"It may have something to do with your new ability," Latias mused, regarding Ren's gently glowing eyes with her own. He looked up at her.
"So my ability is to grow grass? Exciting," he said, without feeling particularly excited.
Latias nodded noncommittally: she appeared lost in thought. Suddenly she asked, "Ren, how does your arm feel?"
The boy looked at the shoulder which had been struck by the throwing knife. "Fine," he answered. "It doesn't hurt, at least."
"Take off the bandage."
Ren gave the dragon a puzzled look, but pulled off the strip of cloth just the same. The skin underneath displayed a conspicuous lack of injury. There wasn't so much as a scar.
"What…"
"That's it!" Latias exclaimed. "Ren, your ability must promote healing. Growth. Regeneration in general. How else do you explain your arm healing and the grass growing so quickly? Also, your eyes started glowing just after you were injured the other night. The ability must have manifested in response to that."
"That all sounds reasonable," Ren replied. "It seems to affect a limited area, as well," he added, noting the size of the green patch he was kneeling in. It was about the size of his room at home, he thought before he could catch himself.
He had decided the previous night that accompanying Latias and their friends in the search for the Chronicles was more important than the promise of a warm bed, food, and the love of his parents, but that didn't mean he didn't feel homesick. If anything, he felt worse now that he had made up his mind: until that point, the thought that he could return home if he so desired was at least some comfort.
Latias sensed his thoughts. "Since we'll be nearby when we visit Griffith, it would most likely be acceptable to check in on your parents as long as we remain invisible. We can't interact with them, but you can at least assure yourself that everything is in order."
"Can we really!?" Ren's entire being radiated excitement. Latios stirred nearby, and he clapped a hand to his mouth. "I'd like that," he thought to Latias, regaining some of his composure. "I'd like that a lot."
Latias smiled. "I would, too." She grew silent for a moment, then, "what is it like, to have a home? To have a family?"
At first, Ren didn't know what to say. He had always lived with his father, mother, and brother in the same house. Their existence seemed a given, a fact of life. He had never seriously considered what it would be like without his family or a place to call home. He realized abruptly that he was the only one within the group to have such a background. For all intents and purposes, Latias, Latios, Kairn, and Houndoom were orphans.
Latias watched him expectantly, waiting for an answer. "It's difficult to describe," he began at last. "I suppose we're something like a family," he said, motioning to indicate the group. "We live together, work together, eat together, sleep together…families are basically like that."
"So you are friends with your family?" Latias asked.
"Well, yes," Ren responded. "But our relationship is a bit different from friendship. Even if we didn't get along with each other, we'd still be related. We'd still be a family. Does that make sense?"
"I think so," Latias answered. "Do you feel differently about your family than your friends?"
"You shouldn't ask me such hard questions so early in the morning," Ren moaned, and rubbed a hand across his face. He thought for a long time before speaking again. "It's a similar feeling, but…deeper. More basic. Because no matter what, we'll always share a connection that can't be broken. In the end, your family will always be your family. It does make you feel somewhat differently towards them than other people, but I'm not sure how to describe it."
"I believe I know what you mean," Latias ventured. "When I remembered my father yesterday, I somehow knew it was him. I didn't recognize him, but I knew who he was. That's why I asked. So he's my family, then. According to the Chronicles, though, if an Eon Dragon hatches only once every thousand years, that memory must be just as old. I don't think members of our race live that long, which means…" She hesitated. "Ren?"
"Yes?"
"Is there a way for friends to become family? What I mean is, when all of this is over, would it be possible for me to…join yours?"
At that moment, Kairn yawned loudly, stood up, and stretched. Noticing that the two were awake, he strode over, saying "you always seem to be up while the rest of us are asleep. It's as though we're in some story in which you two are main characters, and you're being given the chance to hold private conversations while the rest of us minor characters are out of the way."
"That's ridiculous," Ren said while Latias mumbled something about sure knowing story structure for someone who couldn't read well. "Did you hit your head last night?"
"Not that I know of," Kairn answered, pressing against his forehead experimentally with his fingertips.
"Actually, I suppose this will all be part of the Eon Chronicles someday, when I get a chance to write it down," Ren said. "And don't think so little of yourself, Kairn. You're playing a major role in all of this, too."
"You think so? Well, make sure you put me in a good light when you write about me. Refresh my memory: how many dark creatures did I slay the other night? I think it was around ten thousand."
"I seem to recall around ten total," Ren replied snidely. "In any case, when I do write our edition of the Chronicles, I'll try to be as accurate as possible."
"Before you get to that," Latias jumped in, "we still need to find the editions that have already been written. To that end, our next stop is Griffith's, and the sooner we get there, the better. Now someone wake up Latios and Houndoom so we can be on our way."
***
Later that day, the group of friends stood in silent mortification before the crumbled remains of what had once been Griffith's home. One side of the structure was completely reduced to rubble, and the other half looked as though it might collapse at any moment.
"Griffith!" Latias shouted, broadcasting her thoughts as loud as she could. Before anyone could react, she flew up to the devastated building and disappeared inside the part that still stood.
"Wait, Latias!" Ren ran after her, followed closely by the others. "It's not safe!"
A wall gave way, and the roof above groaned before partially collapsing into the space below. Latias flew out again from the other side of the house, her original entrance blocked. She was crying. "Griffith!" she shouted again. "Griffith!"
"Is he still inside?" Latios asked anxiously. "Maybe he made it out safe. I don't sense him nearby."
"That might mean he's dead!" Latias cried. "I didn't see him, but I couldn't check every room—"
And then there was Gengar, hanging in the air before all of them. He flashed his wicked smile as they all jumped in fright simultaneously: Latias just barely resisted blasting him with a ray of sunlight. Still smiling, the apparition reached into his mouth, and pulled out an envelope that was somehow perfectly dry.
"What's this?" Ren asked, stepping forward and accepting the folded paper from the ghostly pokémon. "To Ren, Kairn, Latias, Latios, and Houndoom. From Griffith," he added, and then exchanged glances with the group. He opened the letter.
"I have instructed Gengar to give you this letter upon your return," the neat, bold writing began. "I realized that it was unwise for me to stay here after the Murkrow spotted us together, if they were indeed under the influence of our enemy. Therefore, after informing your parents of your situation, we all moved to a secret location far from here, where we should be safe." At this point, Latias appeared extremely relieved. "I have hidden the Chronicles in a location that only Gengar knows, along with a few supplies and your finished saddles. He will lead you there. Instructions on how to use the saddles are included at the end of this letter. Ren, your parents also wished to say a few things to you, so I allowed them to dictate. The next segment of this letter will be their words."
Ren read the next part to himself.
Dear Ren,
Where to begin. We are proud, excited, and afraid all at once. Proud to call you our son, excited to see how you've grown in undertaking this task, and afraid for your safety. We are still trying to come to grips with what you've gotten yourself into!
Griffith tells us that you have made some good new friends: please take care of each other, and please don't take any unnecessary risks. We want you to come home after all of this is over. Remember what we've taught you over the years, and you should do fine. Also, don't worry about us. We are in good health, and Griffith is taking good care of us. He seems very knowledgeable.
We want you to remember that we love you, and will always be thinking of you, even if we won't be able to be with you in the days ahead. Our best wishes and hopes go with you, Ren.
The boy folded up the letter and put it in his pack as Gengar began to lead the group away from Griffith's ruined home. He walked silently as a mixture of emotions welled up inside him.
"Are you alright?" Latias asked, floating alongside him.
"Yes, I think I am," Ren replied. "My parents say they're doing well, and they wish us the best of luck." He smiled.
Latias smiled back, and placed a paw on his shoulder. "You'll have to introduce me to them when all this is over. They sound like good people."
Ren nodded. "They are. Oh, and about your earlier question," he added, remembering back to their conversation that morning. "There's something called adoption, in which a family brings in an outside individual as one of their own. I don't know if it works for pokémon, but we could figure something out. I think that would make you my sister, which is strange to consider."
"That is odd," Latias agreed, "but I'd be willing to try it." She paused for a moment, staring at the backs of the rest of the group, who were walking in front. "What about them? Do you think they'd want to be adopted?"
Ren nearly tripped. "I…I could ask, I suppose," he stammered. "I don't know what my parents would say about having that many extra mouths to feed, though. We're not exactly wealthy."
"We'll probably be able to take care of ourselves for the most part," Latias said. "Although I don't know: between Latios and Kairn, the entire region may be out of food by the time we find the Chronicles." They both laughed.
"What are you two up to back there?" Kairn asked from up ahead.
Ren explained the conversation they had been having. "And we were wondering if you might want to join my family, as well."
Kairn stopped walking. "A place to live?" he said quietly. "A warm bed and food every day?" He remembered back to the start of winter, to time spent wandering the streets and seeing all of the candlelit windows lining each one. He would often try to imagine what it must be like inside in order to keep his mind off of how cold the weather was becoming. "Yes," he answered simply and resolutely.
The group walked quietly for a moment. "Well, if you all are going to do this, I don't see why I wouldn't join you," Latios reasoned.
"It's settled then," Latias said, grinning widely. "Pending your parents' approval, of course," she added hastily to Ren.
"I think they'll be fine with it," he responded. "They may take a little coaxing, but I don't think they'd refuse."
Latias nodded, still grinning. "I don't know why, but I'm excited about this. Brothers." She giggled at how foreign the word sounded when referring to her friends.
The group pressed on for a good amount of time after that, until Gengar finally halted. He pulled a large key out of his mouth, causing the others to wonder what else he kept in there. Then he cleared away a patch of snow with a blast of murky energy, revealing a door made of orange metal.
"That looks like the metal that Eli's house was plated with," Latios noted. "Interesting."
Genger turned his key in the lock with a click, and then pulled the door open amidst a long groan from the hinges. He disappeared inside the dark space underneath for a minute or two, and then came back carrying a large sack.
Within the sack was a smaller one filled with dry rations and some honey from Ren's parents, along with Griffith's editions of the Eon Chronicles and what appeared to be two heaps of leather strips. These turned out to be the saddles: they boasted no obvious seats, but each had a pair of curious metal plates worked into their intricate design.
Ren consulted the letter from Griffith, which stated that the plates could hold onto he and Kairn's armor without the use of buckles or knots. All they had to do was place the metal armor on their legs against the plates, and they would be stuck fast. Ren held one of the plates to his leg experimentally: it jumped the remaining distance with a clang and refused to be pried off. Referring back to the letter, Ren learned that he had to twist his leg in just such a way in order to be released: he held the plate tight in his hands and executed the movement, and the plate fell away.
"Well that's certainly different," Latias said. "I wonder how they work."
"Must be some form of magic," Latios suggested. "Anyway, let's put them on and get moving. I don't want to stay around here longer than necessary."
It took the entire group to puzzle out how the complex saddles fit over their respective wearers. Finally, Kairn tightened one last buckle around Latios' neck, and then stepped back. The devices were extremely light, and designed in such a way as to not hamper movement. They were simple, yet elegant: both of the dragons approved.
"It looks good on you," Latios told Latias.
"You too," she laughed.
Ren and Kairn climbed up onto the dragons' backs, their leg armor clicking into place. Everyone rendered him or herself invisible, with Houndoom adopting his shadow form to wrap unobtrusively around Kairn. "Shall we?" Ren asked while taking hold of one of the straps around Latias' neck.
"Let's," the dragon replied, and surged off towards the signal of the closest Eon Chronicles.
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