[Chrono Trigger Novel - Episode 53] Steady Hands
Melchior made room as Crono stepped off the ladder. The mountain the four of them had clung to was gone beneath the sea, yet here beside the fire there was space enough for them to sit. Crono sank into it and opened his hands. Black grit lay in the creases of his palms.
The woman brought warm water. When Marle reached for the bowl, she gently pressed her back down by the elbow.
“I'll change the water. You just wash.”
Lucca set down her bag. She uncoiled the rope she had carried all the way back, and ash sifted from its scorched end. The elder took it, ran a hand along what remained, and hung it beside the other ropes. Lucca began explaining the length they had cut away.
“Did it hold all four of you?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Then it did its work.”
Her hands relaxed in her lap.
They removed the small fragment from Crono's shoulder by firelight. Marle held his sleeve while he clenched his teeth. She made no attempt to wring out more magic. As they cleaned and bound the wound, the old man's questions came at intervals: where they had come from, how they knew Schala, why they had climbed the Mountain of Woe.
Marle told him about their release at the palace and the Prophet coming after them. When she described Schala closing the time portal on his orders, Melchior's hands went still.
“She was trying to get you out, then.”
“I think he would have killed us if we'd stayed.”
Melchior said nothing. A log split in the fire. He waited for the crackling to subside before asking, “You found another way back?”
Lucca nodded. At the mention of Belthasar's ship, he looked straight at her. She took the folded operating notes from her bag. Copied instructions and her own smaller additions crowded the same sheet. The old man read them for some time.
“He still leaves things out.”
His nail touched a blank corner of the paper.
“Assumes anyone who knows the subject will understand. Put him beside you and ask, though, and he'll explain it all.”
A smile touched Lucca's mouth, then faded. She could not ask Belthasar anything. Melchior noticed her expression and lowered the sheet.
“Where did you find him?”
“A long way from here. In time, too.”
This time she did not evade the question. She described the ruined dome, the records left inside it, the Nu that had continued working in its master's place. She did not know how much Melchior remembered of Belthasar's life, and she did not turn those records into conversations with a living man. Familiar working habits made him look up more often than unfamiliar names. When she finished, he carefully folded the paper with both hands and gave it back.
“Keep that safe.”
Crono looked at the short sword beside his knee. Only now did it seem strange that he had rescued its maker with a weapon made by those same hands. He offered Melchior the sword in its scabbard.
The old man drew it a little way, examined the blade, then turned the bottom of the hilt toward the light.
“One of mine.”
He looked at Crono, who nodded.
“You gave it to me.”
Melchior did not immediately ask when. He sheathed the blade and returned it hilt first.
“Does it fit your hand?”
Crono nodded again. Only then did the old man smile.
“I'm glad.”
After that, no one pressed for a longer story. Melchior put his bowl down and closed his eyes. Villagers who had come to hear of their return spoke quietly, then drifted away. As Marle lay down beside him, Crono pushed some of his folded cloth beneath her head. She pushed half of it back. Neither argued further.
He remembered no dreams that night.
When he opened his eyes, different people sat by the fire. The man who had been stacking wood was fitting shoes onto a child. From an inner cave came the rasp of a blade being sharpened. Crono listened for a while before sitting up. Lucca was peering into her bag, her glasses perched on top of her head.
“What are you looking for?”
“My glasses.”
He pointed to his own head. She reached up, found them, and slid them down over her eyes.
“Don't tell anyone.”
“Too late,” Marle said from under her blanket.
Crono was still smiling when the woman handed him a bowl. Yesterday, chewing had seemed hardly worth the effort. Today there was not enough food. He held out the empty bowl a little, and she gave him another ladleful without asking.
After breakfast, Marle changed his dressings. Warmth flowed steadily from hands that had recovered their strength. Unlike on the mountain, where she had hurried to stop the bleeding, she could work carefully, finishing one place before moving to the next. With treatment and rest, the stiffness that had lingered in his back and side finally eased. The marks had not all vanished from his skin, but he could turn and draw a full breath without anything catching. Only protective cloth remained over the newer wounds on his hand and shoulder.
Marle examined her own arm as well. She unwound the bandage she had worn for so long, bent her elbow a few times, and left the fresh roll untouched. While Crono carried away the water bowl, she fetched her bow and strung it.
“Don't let it go without an arrow.”
The man who had been sharpening a blade came over. Marle slowly eased the string forward. He looked from her empty quiver to the bow.
“I don't know whether ours will suit it. Want to try a few?”
His arrows varied more in thickness than the ones she was used to. Their heads were stone and bone. Marle balanced them on a finger, checking where the weight lay. When she had chosen six, he pointed to an old bundle of straw at the back of the cave.
The first arrow struck low. The second went left. Instead of simply drawing harder, she shifted her feet. The third found the center, and the man gave a small nod.
“I'll need to use them at closer range.”
“With that bow, you will.”
She pulled out all three arrows, checked the heads, and returned them to her quiver. She showed him the bent metal arrow Lucca had been keeping. When she offered to leave it for whatever material he could salvage, he accepted the head. He did not pretend it was a great gift, and she did not act as though she had acquired some marvelous new weapon. Being able to shoot when she needed to was enough.
Meanwhile, Crono took a water jar from someone coming down from the upper level. A child was stuck halfway down the ladder, a round wooden piece clutched in one hand.
“Drop it.”
Crono held out his free hand. The child hesitated, then let the piece fall. Crono caught it, flicked it once onto the back of his hand, and caught it again. The child hurried down the remaining rungs.
“How did you do that?”
This time Crono showed him slowly. The wooden piece made half a turn between his fingers. When the child tried and dropped it, Crono stopped it rolling with the top of his foot. By the time Marle emerged with her quiver, the boy was on his third attempt.
“I can't even do that,” she said.
“Practice.”
“I was talking to him.”
The child laughed. Crono laughed too and picked up the water jar. His steps were sure as he climbed back the way he had come.
Melchior was sitting opposite the elder. When Crono returned, he motioned him over. In front of the old man was a simple drawing made with the charred end of a stick: a large circle above a smaller one, with a line between them.
“How much do you know about Lavos?”
Lucca started to unfold her paper as she sat, then stopped. She looked first at Marle and Crono. Crono placed a finger beneath the larger circle.
“It's underground.”
“And it came from the sky,” Marle added. “A very long time ago. We saw it fall.”
Melchior looked from one to the other. He did not keep repeating his astonishment. He rubbed out part of his line with his palm, then drew a broader ring around the lower circle.
“We are drawing up its power. At first, we thought we needed only enough for our purposes.”
“Could you measure how much you were drawing?” Lucca asked.
“We could measure what passed through the machine. Our mistake was believing that told us enough.”
He pointed to the lower circle. Crono remembered the red sky they had seen in Arris Dome. Beyond the machine was a power that could leave no one alive to read a gauge.
“The Queen ordered a palace built beneath the sea. Closer to the source, where she could draw more. She intends to have Schala operate the Mammon Machine.”
“What if Schala refuses?”
Melchior considered Marle's question for a moment.
“For now, the Queen needs her.”
Boots were being knocked clean somewhere above. Someone hurried down the ladder and jumped the last few rungs. Before the elder could turn, the man spoke.
“Lady Schala is here.”
Melchior rose. Crono turned as well.
Schala was lowering her hood. Snow on her shoulders melted in the warmth of the cave. Janus followed, looking around before drawing close to her skirts. The two people Crono remembered beneath lofty ceilings and on shining floors now stood in a low cavern. The villagers hastily made way, and Schala stopped.
“Please, there's no need. Stay where you are.”
She saw Melchior and came through the people toward him. Before speaking, she took his hand. He laid his other hand over hers. While they greeted each other, Crono noticed how little she had brought beneath her cloak. No baggage for a journey. No attendants.
Schala turned to the others. She looked at Marle, then Crono, then Lucca, whom she had not met like this before. Marle briefly introduced her.
“You came back,” Schala said.
“We found our own way this time.”
Schala nodded. She was glad to see them, but she had not come only to say so. Before Melchior could ask, she spoke.
“The Ocean Palace is finished.”
The ordinary sounds of the cave fell silent, one after another. Melchior tightened his hold on her hand.
“What are you planning, coming all this way?”
Schala did not lower her eyes to choose an answer.
“I won't go back and operate the machine.”
Janus looked up at his sister. Marle released the strap of her quiver. Crono looked down at the two circles drawn in front of Melchior. The old man's hand had been moving between them only moments ago. Schala had already made her choice and come down to them.
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