[Chrono Trigger Novel - Episode 3] While the Wind Crossed a Thousand Years
At first, Crono thought he was falling.
There was nothing beneath his body and no direction his toes could find. Yet the wind did not blow upward from below. It pressed against him from the front and back, from above his head and behind his shoulders, all at once. He could not tell which way he was falling. When he curled inward, his shoulders seemed to lengthen. When he reached out, his fingertips appeared to move farther away.
Light came not in lines, but in fragments.
Unknown landscapes flashed between splinters of blue. A snowbound mountain range appeared for an instant and was swallowed by a vast fire. Islands floating on a black sea overturned and vanished. He saw high walls made of iron, a city in ruins, and the silhouette of a stranger standing beneath the stars. Nothing remained long enough to grasp.
Crono tightened his hand around the pendant.
The heat of the jewel gradually faded inside his palm. That sensation alone proved that his body was still joined into one. He thought of Marle’s name and tried to call it aloud, but his voice stretched and tore apart before it became sound.
Then every light suddenly converged into a single point.
His body was thrown forward.
His back struck hard earth. The breath left his lungs, and dry leaves rained over his head. For some time, Crono could not open his eyes. He moved his fingers and toes slowly, as though checking that every part of him remained where it belonged.
The air smelled damp.
Not of roasted meat and sugar from the fair, but of rain-soaked soil, old bark, and moss. Cold droplets fell whenever the wind moved across his face.
When he opened his eyes, a gray sky showed between the branches.
The square was gone.
Tall evergreens and black rock surrounded him. Thick, wet moss covered the stone, and water could be heard running below the sloping path. A world filled moments ago with hundreds of voices had become quiet enough that even birdsong was rare.
Crono sat up.
His back and shoulders throbbed, but no bone seemed injured. The scabbard remained at his waist. If his mother had seen him wearing a sword to the festival, she would have had something to say about it, but he had intended to visit the practice ground after Lucca’s demonstration. Now that ordinary blade felt like the only thing he had brought from home.
He opened his hand.
The pendant lay there.
Its light was gone, and the jewel had turned cold once more.
The moment Crono stood, he heard stone rolling above him.
He looked up.
Three small figures stood on a boulder. They were no taller than children, but they were not human. Blue-skinned creatures with pointed ears and arms too long for their bodies wore scraps of old leather. One carried a wooden club. The other two held pieces of stone in both hands.
The creature in the middle pointed at Crono and shrieked in a language he could not understand.
The other two threw their stones.
Crono rolled. The rocks struck where he had been sitting and sprayed earth into the air. Rising onto one knee, he drew his sword. The blade glimmered faintly in the damp light.
The blue creatures were faster than he expected.
The one with the club leaped from the boulder and aimed for his head. Crono turned the blow aside with the flat of his sword, but the impact rang through his wrist. The creature was strong for its size. Behind him came the sound of another pair of feet rushing in.
He shoved the first attacker by the shoulder and turned.
A stone knife grazed the hem of his clothes. Crono drew in his arm and struck the creature’s wrist with the hilt. When the knife fell, he kicked the attacker away to gain distance. The third creature was already swinging a club from the side.
There was little room to evade.
Wet rock lay behind him and the slope dropped steeply below. Instead of pressing himself against the stone, Crono stepped into the attack. He let the club pass over his shoulder, then drove the back of his blade into the creature’s side. Its blue body crashed into its companion, and both went down.
The first attacker rose and charged again.
Crono took a short breath. He abandoned the hope that the point of his sword might frighten it away. Dropping low, he turned his body and swept the blade in a wide arc. The sword knocked the club aside, and the remaining force of the turn cut across the creature’s chest.
Blue blood sprayed through the air.
The creature stared at the wound in surprise, then fell backward.
The other two stopped moving. They looked from their fallen companion to Crono, gave sharp cries, and fled up the slope. He had no intention of following. Crono kept his sword raised until they vanished among the trees.
The forest became quiet again.
His chest moved harshly with every breath. He had fought wooden figures at festival games and driven wild animals away from the outskirts of town, but the feeling of his blade cutting something alive was different. The vibration in his palm would not quickly fade.
Crono approached the fallen creature.
Its chest did not move. Up close, small fangs showed at the corners of its mouth, and an ornament made from animal bones hung around its neck. It was no simple wild beast. It made tools and exchanged signals with others of its kind.
He wiped the blood from his sword on the wet grass.
He did not say he was sorry. Nor could he pretend to feel nothing. It took him some time to return the blade to its sheath.
Metal rang in the distance.
This was not a bell from the fair. Three beats came at regular intervals, a pause, then two more. It sounded like a warning or a signal.
Crono descended the slope.
The path wound between the rocks. Tree roots held the wet earth together, and here and there remained steps that human hands appeared to have shaped long ago. Their edges, however, were worn and broken. Weeds grew too thickly for this to be a road in common use.
Farther down, he saw two soldiers.
Both wore iron helmets and coats of mail. Strips of black cloth had been tied beneath their spearheads. One leaned against a boulder to catch his breath while the other wrapped a wound on his arm.
Crono watched them from behind a tree.
Their armor resembled the soldier mannequin at the historical exhibition, but this armor bore real blood and dirt. Their faces held the fatigue of men who had not properly slept in days.
“A patrol from the Fiendlord’s army, this deep in the canyon,” said the soldier binding his wound.
“Our forces were pulled away to search for the queen.”
“Now that she’s been found, they should return.”
“That is the strangest part. They say she appeared alone, nowhere near the place she disappeared.”
The other soldier checked their surroundings and lowered his voice.
“She came back alive. That is enough. If dark rumors reach the royal family at a time like this, we are finished.”
The Fiendlord’s army.
The queen.
Crono repeated the words in his mind. They belonged in one of the historical plays at the fair. Guardia’s war against the Fiendlord had taken place long ago. He could not remember the exact year, but he knew that the Millennial Fair celebrated the kingdom’s thousandth year.
He looked at the pendant in his hand.
If Lucca’s machine had not simply misjudged distance, then Crono had crossed something other than space.
After the soldiers departed, he continued down the opposite path.
Beyond the canyon, a village appeared over a low hill. Roofs were covered in straw or blackened planks, and sharpened stakes lined the fences around the houses. The fields outside had been trampled in places. Instead of festival banners, warning bells and torch stands had been erected along every approach.
A sign at the entrance bore the name “Truce.”
The shape of the letters was old, but he could read them.
It was the same name as the town he knew.
Crono entered the lane. People glanced sideways at his strange clothes and red hair, but no one spoke to him. Travelers and refugees were probably no unusual sight in wartime. In front of one house, a woman mended a torn military coat. At the smithy, a young man heated the broken head of a spear.
Warm air and the smell of drink met him when he opened the inn door.
Soldiers, merchants, and several travelers had gathered inside. A shield engraved with the crest of the kingdom hung over the hearth. Beneath it, an old notice offered a reward for finding the missing queen. Someone had later written “RETURNED” in red along one side of the paper.
“I don’t know that face.”
The innkeeper set a wooden cup before Crono.
“Did you come from the north?”
Crono shook his head.
“The south, then? Almost no one crosses Zenan Bridge these days.”
When Crono did not answer, the man asked no more. He filled the cup with water and pushed it toward him.
“Keep your money. From your face, I’d say the canyon gave you trouble.”
Crono drank it in one draught. The water was cold and tasted faintly of iron, but it eased the dryness in his throat.
Two soldiers at a nearby table were talking loudly.
“With the queen returned, His Majesty can turn his attention back to the war.”
“The commander still doesn’t believe it. He says the search parties were recalled too quickly.”
“The queen is inside the castle. Who else is there to find?”
The other soldier put down his cup.
“My cousin works at the castle. He says the queen was dressed strangely. She behaved as though she had forgotten court etiquette.”
“You would judge the manners of a woman who has just escaped her abductors?”
“That is not what I mean…”
The soldier lowered his voice, but Crono had heard enough.
Strange clothes and unfamiliar behavior pointed to one person. There was every chance they were speaking of Marle.
Crono rose as though there were nothing more to hear.
The innkeeper told him how to reach the castle. The road passed through the forest to the northwest. He warned Crono to leave before sunset, however, as beasts belonging to the Fiendlord might be hiding there.
Crono bowed his thanks and stepped outside.
The road north of the village entered the forest. Though it was daytime, the trees grew so densely that the interior remained dark. Wet leaves crushed beneath his boots, and somewhere in the distance a crow called. Signs of resting soldiers lay everywhere: a dead fire, broken arrows, strips of bandage tied around the trees.
Crono walked while distinguishing human footprints from those of beasts.
Tracks resembling the creatures from the canyon disappeared into the brush, but this time nothing followed him. Instead, a round-bodied animal leaped from behind a thicket. Encased in a shell as hard as armor, it rolled itself into a wheel and came at him.
Crono stepped aside and waited for it to strike a tree. His first attack glanced from its shell. Rather than put more strength behind the blade, he waited for the animal to unfold. When its short legs emerged, he struck as though driving the sword point into the earth. The creature shrieked and fled.
After that, the forest allowed him passage.
A high stone wall appeared between the trees.
Guardia Castle.
Its basic shape was the same as the castle Crono knew, but it was rougher and newer than the fortress a thousand years later. The stones of its walls were still pale, and every tower flew banners of war. Palisades and sandbags had been piled before the gate, where armored soldiers inspected each arriving person in turn.
When Crono came near, two spears crossed to block him.
“Halt.”
The soldier on the left studied his clothing.
“What unit are you with?”
Crono considered showing them the pendant, then stopped. If it belonged to the royal family, it might only make him more suspicious. He lowered his hand and pointed inside the castle.
“You’re here to see the queen?” the soldier said with a scoff. “That makes three today. The moment word spread that Her Majesty had returned, every sort of person began claiming an acquaintance.”
The other guard looked more closely at Crono’s face.
“Wait.”
He pushed down his companion’s arm.
“A message said to admit a red-haired young man.”
“From whom?”
“The queen herself.”
The soldiers’ manner changed.
“Is your name Crono?”
He nodded.
They looked at each other, then withdrew their spears. Confusion mingled with the suspicion on their faces. They did not seem to know what to make of a queen waiting by name for a strange youth.
“Go inside. His Majesty also wishes to meet the young man who helped the queen.”
The gate opened.
Within, the sounds of soldiers marching and weapons striking one another never ceased. The wounded sat along the walls, while attendants carried water and bandages. The smell of war had penetrated the castle itself.
As Crono reached the central stairs, a man in royal dress descended toward him. He had a long, narrow face and a beard groomed with excessive care. At the sight of Crono, he briefly stopped.
“Are you the young man of whom Her Majesty spoke?”
His voice was courteous, but his eyes did not smile.
“A curious bond indeed. The queen asked for you before the knights who rescued her.”
Crono did not answer.
The man pointed to the tower on the right.
“She is in the chamber above. His Majesty commanded that the weary queen be allowed to rest, but I imagine she will receive you.”
As he passed, a faint perfume clung to his clothes. It was cloyingly sweet, as though intended to cover the smells of blood and iron inside the castle.
Crono climbed the stairs.
The tower was quieter than the lower floors. Light from narrow windows fell in broken lengths across the spiral staircase. Maids and guards stood on every level, though their numbers diminished as he approached the queen’s chamber.
A young maid waited at the top of the final stairs.
“Are you Master Crono?”
She smiled as she opened the door.
“Her Majesty has been waiting for you.”
A fire burned inside the room.
A high bed, heavy curtains, and silver candlesticks met his eyes. Beside the window hung a gown embroidered with the kingdom’s crest. The person standing in the center of the chamber was not wearing it.
A red vest over white clothes. Golden hair.
Marle was looking out the window.
At the sound of the closing door, she turned, and the tension left her face all at once.
“Crono.”
She called his name in the voice of the girl he had met at the fair, not that of a noblewoman or a queen.
Marle crossed the room in a few steps. She began to offer her hand, then stopped. Her eyes went to Crono’s fingers, as though she had realized the pendant was missing.
When he brought out the jewel, she smiled with relief.
“You came for me.”
Crono looked at her, not at the pendant.
Marle understood.
“I don’t know either,” she said quietly.
“But this isn’t the place we left.”
Beyond the window, the long note of a war horn sounded.
Marle looked over her shoulder toward the walls and forest.
“Everyone calls me their queen.”
She tried to laugh, but this time the laugh would not come.
“And they say this is the year 600 in the Guardia calendar.”
The pendant lay cold in Crono’s hand.
The festival they had left behind celebrated a thousand years.
Outside the window, the wind crossed those thousand years as if they were nothing, and pulled hard at the banners of the younger castle.
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