[Chrono Trigger Novel - Episode 52] A Name Beyond the Ice
Backing away, Crono felt a stone catch his toe. He shifted his foot without looking down. The chain lay to his left, Marle to his right. Lucca moved toward a boulder a short distance from the block of ice. If they crowded together, a single hand could cut off their escape.
The giant raised its red hand. Light gathered beneath the palm, and Crono ducked. Fire swept the surface of the rock. Heat struck his face first, then drove at his clothes and hair. Shielding his eyes with an arm, he slipped behind a boulder. He heard Marle retreating but could not see Lucca.
When the flames cleared, he looked up. Lucca had been driven farther back and was bracing herself on one hand. Between her and Crono, Marle gathered cold. But what came next was not fire.
Both hands curled inward. Darkness swelled between them, dimming the light around it. Crono pressed farther behind the boulder. It made no difference. The black force bore down on his shoulders and chest. Before he could exhale, his stomach lurched and his knees gave way. He almost planted the point of his sword to catch himself, then drew it back. He would have to use his hands.
Marle's voice reached him from a distance. He turned and saw her sitting on the ground too. Unable to rise, she was still reaching toward him. A little later, the pressure around his chest loosened. He managed a breath and raised a hand to tell her not to spend any more strength.
The giant's face remained where it had been, looking down as though it had done nothing. Crono lifted his palms from the rock. Fine grit had lodged in the scraped skin. He opened and closed his hands a few times, then stood.
The red hand on their left descended close to the ground. Watching the curl of its fingers, he moved inward. Instead of meeting the palm head-on, he slipped past its side and cut downward. The hard outer layer cracked, opening a dark red seam.
The hand recoiled. He withdrew before attempting another cut, and the fingertips scraped past him across the ground. Behind him, Lucca's fire struck the giant's forehead. The face tilted for a moment. Then light flowed from the pale hand on their right.
The dark mark on the forehead faded. The split Crono had cut into a finger began closing too.
“The hand on the right!” Lucca shouted. “It's undoing the damage!”
The red hand rose again. Crono ran to Lucca before the flames could spread. Rather than drag her, he seized her bag and threw it behind the boulder. She followed it into cover. Fire pursued them almost to their backs, singeing the end of the rope on the ground.
Marle was on the other side. He was about to call her name when white cold covered the right-hand fingers. Ice clogged the gaps between them. The giant turned that hand toward Marle and reached. She backed away with her left arm held against her chest.
Crono ran to the right. Each sharp turn pulled at his side. Trying to shorten the distance across the space between the hands, he stepped onto a ledge and lost his footing. He crouched to keep from falling, but in that moment the red hand swung toward him.
Fire was gathering. Lucca's voice came from behind.
“Keep going!”
Her flames struck the giant's face. At the same instant, Marle deepened the ice around the pale hand. With its head rocking and its right-hand fingers unable to open, the red hand wavered between the two women. Crono reached the frozen fingers through that gap.
He took the sword in both hands, drove its edge into a joint, and leaned his weight into it. Broken ice fell down the back of his neck. He struck the same place again. The hand twisted, shaking his foothold, but Marle held the cold. On the third blow, the hard joint buckled.
The pale hand plunged below the cliff. Crono pulled his sword free and retreated onto the rock. Though the drop was short, he had to catch himself on his hands. Beside him, Marle sank to the ground. He went to support her shoulder.
“I've still got something left.”
Crono shook his head. He pressed the waterskin from his belt into her hand and stood again, moving aside so he did not block her view of the giant's face.
Fire poured from the remaining hand. No darkness followed. He moved outward, keeping clear of the flames' edge. Seeing where he was going, Lucca spread out in the opposite direction. When the red hand pursued one of them, the other could reach its flank.
Crono sent lightning at the back of the hand. Light ran across the wrist, making the immense fingers curl. Lucca concentrated her fire on the same spot. Unlike the beast in the cavern, this creature's wound did not close. The outer layer blackened and split farther.
The red hand descended to crush Crono. He could not wait until the last moment and rolled aside early. The palm struck the rock. A fragment hit his shoulder, sending a flash of pain across his sight. But the wrist was low now. Raising himself on one knee, he drove lightning into it again.
Lucca's fire bored into the split. Light burst from the back of the hand, and the huge shape crumpled. One by one, the fingers hooked over the rock's edge let go.
The mountaintop grew suddenly quieter. Only the face remained.
As Crono caught his breath, Marle came to him. The hand she placed on his shoulder trembled. A faint warmth seeped in, allowing the stiff arm to move a little. She touched his bleeding palm briefly, then withdrew. He tested his grip and nodded.
Lucca sent fire at the giant's forehead. This time the damage remained. Crono cast lightning beside it. With each successive strike, the huge head jerked backward. As he prepared a third attack, a different light leaked from the deep crack in its brow.
The shattered hands were rising again.
Crono stopped with his sword raised. Severed joints gathered into shapes resembling the originals, and substance filled the empty wrists. Marle hurried back, but Lucca was watching the face.
“The hands are back. The forehead hasn't healed.”
Crono looked at the broken brow. The deep marks were still there. Yet if they kept attacking only the face, the hand on the right would mend those too. He turned toward it. The place where the fragment had struck his shoulder burned as he moved.
Marle drew her last arrow. Seeing her hand move, Crono slowed until he could tell what she meant to do. She was not aiming at the face. Her eyes were on the bent joint of the pale hand, where light had begun to gather.
The arrow flew. Its head lodged between the joints, its fletching quivering. Marle's cold followed, covering the fingers. Unable to clench, the hand spread a little. Crono brought his sword down on the lowered joint. This time it split under the second blow. The light filling it spilled out.
The arrow vanished with the falling hand. Without time to look back, Crono ran toward the red one. Lucca was already holding it off with fire. The layer across its back was thinner than before. When his lightning struck, one finger broke first, then the others uncurled in succession.
The last hand sank away. Lucca staggered. Crono started toward her to catch her arm, but she pushed his shoulder first, turning him back.
“It has to be now.”
The giant's face leaned toward the rock. Light was beginning to gather in its forehead again. Crono stood before it. He had no strength for a leap. Instead, he drove the point beneath the jaw that had lowered within reach and held the hilt in both hands. When his elbows threatened to buckle, he braced one foot behind him.
Lucca's fire struck the upper crack. The face heaved, forcing the blade back. Crono yielded a step, then held. Lightning gathered at the sword's point and ran beneath the fractured surface. Two brief flashes broke off; a final long branch of light crossed the whole face.
He could push no farther. The strength went out of his hands and he fell sideways. His shoulder struck stone, but no giant hand followed. The forehead split, scattering the light inside it. The enormous eyes tilted, and the face collapsed below the cliff.
Lucca caught Crono by the belt and dragged him back. The ledge immediately before them broke away. For a while they lay tangled together, unable to move. Once the dust had passed, Marle came and knelt beside them. Before trying to heal him, she turned Crono's face to check his breathing.
He opened his eyes. Marle smiled as though she might cry. Then she eased the sword from his hand and laid it down. His fingers stayed curved from holding the hilt so long.
A clear, ringing sound came from behind them.
A vertical crack was opening in the ice that held Melchior. Crono pushed himself up. Marle drew his arm over her shoulders, and he brought his feet under him to avoid putting all his weight on her. As they approached, the ice did not fall in chunks. It crumbled into whiteness at the edges and vanished.
The old man pitched forward. Crono and Marle caught him between them. Crono had expected his body to be cold, but there was warmth in it. Melchior coughed and raised a hand. His trembling fingers caught in Crono's sleeve.
“Giga Gaia... You defeated it?”
His voice was cracked. Marle helped him drink a little water. His hands trembled around the waterskin.
“Melchior,” she said.
He lifted his face, looking at Crono, then Marle, then Lucca gathering their belongings behind them. There was no glad recognition in his eyes. He was trying to understand why these strangers knew his name.
Crono lowered the hand he had started to raise in greeting. Marle fell quiet too. Between the man they knew and the man imprisoned here lay time they had not yet shared.
“Schala told us,” Marle said. “That you were here.”
Melchior's hand closed around her arm.
“Where is she?”
Before they could answer, the ground rumbled. At first Crono thought it was the impact of the giant's falling body. But the shaking did not stop. Far away, iron groaned under tension. The chain at the edge of the rock was slowly changing its angle.
Melchior turned his head.
“We must get down. The mountain won't hold.”
He tried to stand on his own and his knees folded. Crono caught him, but they swayed together. Lucca came to take the old man's other arm across her shoulders. Marle uncoiled the rope, cut away the scorched end, and fashioned a loop from the remainder to support him.
Crono picked up his sword and sheathed it. His sore palms made him fumble twice at his belt before Marle tied the knot for him. As Lucca gathered the map, he looked below. The broad rock where they had rested was still in place.
On the way back, Crono did not run ahead. He stepped onto the chain first and showed Melchior where to put his feet. The old man was not merely hanging from the rope. He moved despite his shaking knees and raised a hand himself when he needed to stop. Lucca supported him from behind while Marle passed the rope around a link and paid it out a little at a time.
Before the last person was off the chain, the rock across from them began to sink. Crono pulled on Lucca's bag strap. As her hands reached solid ground, a link flipped over behind her. Cloud surged from beneath the mountain and swept across their faces.
They moved to the next path. Whenever the rock shook, Melchior stopped and lowered himself. He leaned on them less as they went, but still could not move quickly. Even on level ground, Crono had to support one side. When Lucca tried to unfold the map and stumbled, Crono pointed at the corner of a low boulder. The mark they had made while resting was still there.
When Marle fell behind, the other three stopped. When Crono bent to catch his breath, Melchior braced a hand against the rock beside him and waited in turn. Each time, iron split somewhere in the distance. No one counted the sounds.
At the slope where they had first climbed onto the mountain, the clouds below cleared. The long chain leading to the Beast's Nest came into view. Its incline was gentler than it had been on the ascent. The mountain was descending. The slackening middle of the chain swayed in the wind.
Crono glanced at Melchior. The old man's lips were dry and cracked, but he did not ask for more water. He put his hand on the iron.
“Where should I put my foot?”
Crono pointed to the broad link below.
On the descent, he could not turn to look up. The pull of the rope and the sound of feet told him there were still three people behind him. When the wind rose, he pressed against the iron and waited. When a hand slipped, he caught the rough patch just below. He saw red marks left on the wet metal but could not wipe them away.
Someone called as they neared the cave mouth. The man with the spear and other villagers stood on the rock. Seeing the four of them descending, they brought more rope from inside. As Melchior stepped off the last link, two people caught his arms.
Crono stayed at the entrance until both Marle and Lucca were inside. Lucca tumbled onto the ground and motioned him back. A terrible sound came from behind. The breaking of the iron was briefer than he had expected. Then an immeasurable weight dragged the air outside the cavern down with it.
When he turned, the chain was gone.
The mountain tilted beneath the clouds. The ground shook, and the distant sea rose. A villager seized Crono's clothes and pulled him inside. White dust and wind surged through the mouth of the cave. He covered his face with an arm and stepped over the last ledge.
On the way back into Algetty, people called Melchior's name. Whoever saw him first passed the word to the next chamber; someone below the ladder called farther inside. Crono listened to the name traveling downward as he leaned against a wall. His legs were trembling too much to take the ladder at once.
Marle stood beside him. Her quiver was empty, her bow dusted white with powdered stone. Lucca held the borrowed rope coiled in both hands. It was shorter now, frayed in several places.
The woman who had given them beds came up. Lucca offered the rope and started to speak, but the woman shook her head.
“That can wait. Get yourselves down first.”
Crono looked below. The elder was clearing more space by the fire. With the villagers' help, Melchior sat there and accepted a warm bowl. Crono could see his trembling hands wrapped around it.
He set his foot on the first rung. This time there was no need to hurry. Below him, beside the fire, sat the man whose name everyone was calling.
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