Chapter LXIV: The Madman and the Axe

Light struck Bongo's eyes unexpectedly, and he raised a hand over his brow as he stepped into the sun. Qwid grumbled as he shoved past, pulling his hat down low and trying to gain his bearings. Bongo let the Tarutaru pass, his acute vision already adjusting to the glare. Formless masses of darkness at his side quickly coalesced into his allies as he blinked the spots away, taking a quick look around to make sure everyone was with them.

Hubby was emerging from the mouth of the cave directly behind him, running a hand through his dark hair while the other rested upon the hilt of his great katana. Luma was already ahead of them, and the Mithra darted from one rock face to the next, dropping out of view one moment and popping back up the next. She appeared much like someone playing a game of hide-and-seek, only she was the only one playing. A moment later and Dantrag appeared at Bongo's side, his taut Elvaan features drawn even tighter as he surveyed the sand-swept landscape. His shaggy gray hair was matted against his head with dirt and sweat. It had not been an easy road they had traveled to reach their destination.

Standing out in front of them all, ignoring the others, were North and November. The imperious Elvaan Beastmaster looked grim as he stood with powerful arms folded over his chest. Already, he had drawn his ensorcelled club, flecks of black blood from their encounters still encrusting its metallic surface. Though he held it loosely, Bongo knew from experience that he would wield it like lightning when given reason. The white pelts lining his leather armor blew in the same wind which stirred the sands around them. November, her raven locks tied tightly behind her head as she gave a severe gaze across the landscape, clutched her black-and-white robes tightly as they were whipped about her slender frame. Neither of them appeared happy at all, but even that was a dramatic improvement over their mood some weeks before, when they had reached the summit of the Boyahda Tree.

Bongo remembered still the serenity of the Sanctuary of Zi'Tah. At the foot of the Meriphataud Mountains, the sea of trees stretched out to the edges of the Mindartian continent. It was ancient and pure, a place of solitude. Besides a few nomadic bands of Goblins, no one lived there. Even the monsters which called Zi'Tah home, from the tiny leeches which crawled along the damp, loamy ground to the massive golems, towering ten or more feet in the air yet moving lightly through the trees, left outsiders alone if not disturbed. Every blade of grass, every inch of moss, every outstretched branch and insect humming through the air seemed to be at peace. Bongo drew an inward breath at the recollection. For a Ranger, a place of such natural harmony in nature was indeed nothing less than a sanctuary.

In that forest of solitude, one landmark stood out above all others. The foundation of the woods, the heart of Zi'Tah. Some said that the entire forest was but an offshoot of it, and that the roots were all connected deep underground. Others speculated that it had grown as a result of the remarkable magic in the soil, beginning as an ordinary sapling and transforming into the monument it stood as today. Whatever the case, the Boyahda Tree was undeniably the center of Zi'Tah. Taller than the Great Star Tree of Windurst, as great in size as the city of Bastok, and as proud and strong as the walls of San d'Oria, the Boyahda Tree was unmatched in nature or buildings of man. It had been North's intention to climb to the very top, where he claimed an invincible guardian under his command stood vigil over a treasure greater than they could imagine.

And climb they had. The tree had hollows one could enter like massive gateways, and within were tunnels reaching high into the air and deep below the ground. Boyahda's interior was a mystifying collection of enormous clearings large enough to plant an entirely new forest in and tunnels so tight they had to walk single-file to make it through, while crouching so as not to scrape their heads. Whatever kept the monsters peaceful outside had no power within the tree itself, and more than once the party found themselves on the receiving end of an attack. The tree was home to a number of aggressive beasts lurking around its natural springs and lakes. Some, such as the fat, yellow crawlers which wormed their way through the tree or the steel-shelled crabs wading in crystal-clear water, North simply turned away with a glance or dismissive order. Others, like the hulking Goobbues and malevolent Morbols had no such compunctions about following the Beastmaster's orders. Those had been fearsome encounters indeed.

Finally, they had reached the peak, the highest point of Boyahda scalable by normal means. A tunnel overgrown with branches stretching up far into the darkness revealed the tree actually went quite a bit further up. However, after North had curtly commanded a few roaming giant spiders out of their way, they reached a clearing as peaceful and serene as any part of Zi'Tah. The ground was soft and moist beneath Bongo's boots, irrigated by the eternally flowing springs which ran through the entirety of the tree. Two waterfalls poured out from the walls, forming small pools along the sides of which delicate and elegant flowers blossomed. The cavern was crisscrossed with branches and vines stemming from the innumerable growths of vegetation which had formed within the tree itself. In the middle of the scene, a group of green-carapaced damselflies darted back and forth languidly, tilting their heads and blinking multi-faceted red eyes at the newcomers, but then returning to their lazy drifting. It was a scene of utmost tranquility.

Torn apart moments later by North's rage.

Apparently, the cavern was supposed to be home to a dragon North had set to guard his treasure, a weapon of magnificent power. When arrival revealed neither wyrm nor weapon, the Beastmaster was quite inconsolable. He would listen to no one, not even November, as he ruthlessly tore through the tree. His club was a blur as he drove the monsters of Boyahda out before him, snarling like an animal himself as he unleashed his fury on the denizens of the tree. Bongo and the others kept a safe distance as North shouted continually at the air, a cacophony of howls and hisses meeting his cries. For hours, the Elvaan from Onzozo rampaged through the tree. The scenario concluded in one of the more bizarre scenes Bongo had ever borne witness to.

They found him some time later, furs wet with Boyahda spring water, club at his side. His expression was intent as he stared down at a rabbit, one of the many wild hares that fed on the plentiful plant life thriving within the tree. The creature, no higher than the ankle-deep water North was standing in, had his rapt attention. North gesticulated at it wildly, to which it shook its whiskers and stomped repeatedly on the ground. Whatever language the Beastmaster spoke in, it was none Bongo recognized, but each time he said something the rabbit responded with more gestures and excited hopping. The entire group, save November, shared worried glances with one another as North held his extended conference with the rabbit.

Finally, he turned away, the hare bounding off as well. North walked back towards the others, still seething, but cooled enough to converse in a normal tongue.

"That rabbit's name is Unut, he says he is the leader of the hares here." The Beastmaster was breathing hard from his exertions, and veins throbbed in his chest and arms beneath the fur-lined armor covering his stocky frame. "The dragon left," he spat out with contempt, "and took his treasure with him."

"He betrayed you?" November accused, shocked.

North shook his head. "Called away, Unut said. But," his eyes narrowed, and his lips curled back to reveal teeth clenched to the point of breaking, "he says that before the dragon left, someone snuck in and took my weapon. Someone. Took. My. Weapon." The self-proclaimed monarch of the Labyrinth of Onzozo spat the words out with venom dripping from each syllable.

"What do we do now?" Dantrag asked. North and November both turned to look at him, appearing surprised and angry that he was still here. North gave him a withering stare, then turned back to November.

"Unut gave me a general direction to follow," he was already preparing to leave, "we head back west and pick up the trail." Casting a cursory glance at the others, he imperiously snapped his fingers as he started walking away. "Follow," he commanded. After Hubby talked Bongo into lowering the arrow he had pointed at the back of North's head, they all reluctantly obeyed.

So west they had traveled. Back through the Sanctuary of Zi'Tah and the Meriphataud Mountains, into the Sauromugue Champaign and stealthily past the fringes of demon-ruled Jeuno into the majestic beauty of Rolanberry Fields. As days turned to weeks, they continued trekking ever westward, North stopping only to catch a fleeting few hours sleep or question groups of wandering beasts. The same monsters would catch up to them by North's command as they traveled, bringing them food and drink so they would not have to stop and forage. They crossed the windy hills of Batallia Downs, and then slowed to a crawl through Jugner Forest. The Orcs were out in force, practically littering the deep woods with their presence. They would spend hours silent and still as columns of Orc soldiers formed and marched out to points unknown. The cause of their formation was a mystery, but they all could guess. The Orcs were working with the demons.

Finally, days after they had entered, they emerged into the La Thiene Plateau. From there, the trail of North's weapon grew hot. He immediately steered them south, past the verdant hills and granite peaks rising on San d'Oria's southern border. They continued walking day after day until the air turned hot and the grass gave way to sand. Valkurm Dunes came into sight, and the ever-darkening sky was practically pitch-black overhead. The Dunes were firmly in the realm of Dynamis. Nightmarish creatures roamed the beaches, monsters Bongo could not feel with his connection to nature. He knew the reason easily enough. These monsters were not part of any world he was attuned to. North scowled at the sight of them as they kept a careful distance. He made no secret his disgust at their existance. Ever onward they pressed, until at last they came to the Gustav Tunnel.

"How can you be sure?" Bongo demanded as they entered the sprawling series of caves. "There wasn't anything in the Dunes you could talk to."

"Because I can feel it," North growled, not turning back to face Bongo. "It came through here less than a day ago."

Thus the final leg on their long journey began. Gustav Tunnel was one of only two ways by land to reach Zepwell Island, and by far the least preferable. In contrast to Bastok's largely pacified land route, Gustav was controlled by a Goblin horde famous for its fearsome territorialism. They made no exceptions for seven weary adventurers. The last hours of their trek were marked by intense moments of stealth where they may have been discovered at any moment, and then times when they were, and had to battle through Goblins or other creatures to survive. Oftentimes the creatures ended up fighting on their side, but some monsters continued attacking even after North tried taming them.

Now, they finally emerged into the light of day, all the more shocking by its presence than its brilliance.

"No Dynamis here," Luma called out ahead of them, scouring the clear blue sky to try and find some hint of darkness. "Sunshine! Ha! Feels nice, doesn't it?"

"It does . . . " Bongo murmered, stepping out into it before bending over to catch his breath. His tanned jerkin was stained in Goblin blood, along with the remains of several other murderous beasts and, in some places, his own. Dantrag, his armor no less covered, sheathed his twin axes with relief.

"Look," Hubby pointed towards the horizon, back the way they had just came. Bongo turned towards where the Samurai gestured.

The far distant sky was dark as night, a shroud reaching out over the land and erasing any trace of light. Tendrils of darkness snaked out from the central growth, pushing out ever onwards, expanding and consuming, seeking to extinguish the day and bring about eternal eve. The small company all turned to see the phenomenon. It was far away now, so much so that one could imagine, or even hope, that it was just a trick of the light fading on the horizon, but they all knew better. The areas blighted by Dynamis the most were already robbed of daylight, and its influence was slowly but surely spreading throughout Vana'diel.

Bongo turned away. He had no desire at the moment to pursue such thoughts. He only took a deep breath of the fresh air, closing his eyes and letting the warmth of undiluted sunlight wash over him. He felt foolish for having ever taken it for granted. After a deep, cleansing breath, the Ranger focused his keen eyes on the Elvaan Beastmaster in the distance. North was focused like a beacon, and for the first time in over a month, Bongo saw a smile on his lips.

"It's close," North said with restrained exultation. "It's in the Valley of Sorrows. There's no way out except back this way."

Bongo approached the Beastmaster, shielding his eyes against the sand swirling in the powerful northern wind. "Boxed in," he fingered the shaft of his bow, wrapping his hand around the grip. "So we wait for our thief to come out, and get the drop on him."

North shook his head. "You're thinking like a rational person. He isn't. Follow me."

The Beastmaster focused his unique energy into a concentrated sphere, which coalesced into the form of his insufferable beetle, Panzer Galahad. Bongo had gotten used to the Elvaan summoning the beast from nowhere, but had grown to dislike the creature even more in the weeks of their association. He wasn't even sure where the thing's face was, yet it always seemed to be looking down on him. Being condescended to by a beetle was not one of the things the archer easily tolerated.

"I hate that thing," Dantrag said at his side, giving voice to Bongo's thoughts. The gray-haired Warrior had drawn his twin axes. One was a wooden-handled weapon with a silver blade, the other a monstrous, jagged-edged axe wrapped thick in animal hides and cloth. There was another story altogether behind the Orc-forged implement and how it came to be in Dantrag's possession, but Bongo had no time to reminisce. North was already on the move.

"Hurry along," November commanded them. The air shifted around the Summoner as she began gathering her power. North and November were both seemingly certain this would end in conflict.

"We'll be right behind you, girl," Dantrag sounded quite exasperated with the whole ordeal, "we're just as eager as you are to be done with this and away from you."

The Summoner glanced askance at Dantrag as he spoke. "Why North felt he had to suffer you fools is beyond me . . . " she murmured, quite loud enough to be heard. Gathering her robes about her, she marched off through the shifting sands of Teriggan.

Bongo took a steadying breath. Never in his life had he been in the company of a pair so incessently infuriating. November barely spoke to them save to reiterate commands given by North, and commands were all he ever gave. He knew as little about the duo now as he had when they first met in Onzozo. The only thing he could be sure of was that North could indeed converse with the beasts as he claimed, so he could be held to the promise of utilizing them to find any of their friends that might still be alive.

And then there was the other promise they had elicited. He looked back at Hubby. The Samurai was shouldering his immense great katana, walking beside Qwid in muted conversation. After all was said and done, North had promised to use the animals to get a message across the sea to Jinxie, letting her know her husband was alive. Bongo knew the Hume had gone through more than one sleepless night worrying about his wife and child, whom he risked his life for to safeguard passage to Al Zahbi. He bore his anguish internally, never once letting it affect him in battle. Dantrag may have convinced him to live, but it had been that moment when Hubby appeared when Bongo truly began believing there was hope.

Then there was Luma. The Mithra was humming a Tshayan tune as she strode with a smile after North. They had learned perhaps just as little about her in the time since they had begun travelling together as they had either the Beastmaster or the Summoner. She was, however, much easier to get along with. Despite her constantly elated mood, the woman fought like a force of nature. Even in the heat of battle, she laughed and called out to the others with her thick Tshayan accent to enjoy themselves. She turned as Bongo looked at her, and flashed him a fanged grin, then resumed her carefree stroll. The Ranger definitely had no idea what to make of her.

"Haltaru," Qwid said, the Red Mage throwing out his arms. Hubby stopped beside him, and the others turned to look. Sniffing the air deeply, the Tarutaru's face scrunched into a glare of concentration. "There's something powerful lurking nearby." His tone was dark. "The air is growing thick with magic."

"Our friends stopped," Luma called out to them, gesturing towards the mouth of a rocky tunnel North and November had disappeared into. Bongo turned, peering through the sand being blown through the air to focus in on the Elvaan and Hume woman. He could make out both of them, stopped midway through the cave. North appeared angry.

"Let's go," Bongo felt the mood shifting dramatically. North and November were right, he knew. There was going to be a fight, and soon.

They found North with his fists clenched in fury. He said nothing, but anger was barely held in check on his reddening face. A vein throbbed in his neck as he ground his teeth. November had turned away, shaking her head in sorrow.

The tunnel which connected Cape Teriggan to the Valley of Sorrows was littered with the bodies of mutilated beasts. Parts of a manticore were strewn about the cavern walls. Dead raptors lay on the ground, savage wounds crawling with flies. A cockatrice was slumped over a rock, its head some feet away. The stone walls were wet with rabbit blood, their tiny, mangled forms scattered about like garbage. There were even a pair of Goblins huddled against the cave wall, both hacked practically in two. North's anger was enough to practically heat the air as he surveyed the carnage.

North snorted, muscles throbbing as his hands formed a vise around his club. Galahad quivered by his side, obviously affected by its masters' rage.

"The fool can't control it," the Elvaan glowered, his face twisting into a frightening, murderous visage. "We put an end to this, now."

Stepping through the gory remains, North emerged through the other side of the tunnel, and they followed him into the low circle of sand known as the Valley of Sorrows.

Instantly, Bongo was taken aback by what he felt. His bond with nature and the creatures of Vana'diel assaulted his mind. It took him several moments to process completely the sheer scope of what he was sensing. He knew what they were right away from travelers' tales and Bard songs, but had never seen one, or felt its majestic, ancient presence, in person. It was breathtaking.

Not far off, he could make them out. Like hills that moved, covered in vegetation which had grown over shells thicker than ship hulls. Hundreds of years old, some even thousands, Bongo could feel their quiet, controlled might like a vast lake in the middle of a desert. In all of Vana'diel, there existed no greater group of Adamantoise than the one which made the Valley of Sorrows its home. The ancient tortoises craned up necks which reached twice as high as any man, the peaks of their mighty shells cresting nearly twice that again. Birds had settled down on their shells, living on the grass and moss which had taken hold and birthed tiny ecosystems on the tremendous turtles.

They were awesome to behold. Every member of their party stopped to admire the Adamantoise herd as they slowly shuffled through the Valley of Sorrows.

Everyone but North.

His eyes were focused in the middle of the pack. There was a man standing amongst the Adamantoise, appearing almost a shade with the sun at his back, meeting North's gaze with a crazed and burning stare.

The man's skin and hair were stained red. His garment was a sick mockery of North's, half-skinned animal pelts draped over his massive torso bloodied and dirtied in contrast to the Elvaan's snowy white. His eyes peered out from beneath the severed head of a tiger, roughly crafted into a fanged helmet. The man twitched, and a blood-stained smile curled his lips as he met North's eyes with an insane fervor.

"It's mine now, North," he shouted as the Adamantoise herd shifted around him. "I am the master! Me!"

His voice was high-pitched, almost a squeal. As he spoke, he swung his arm forward, displaying an axe like a trophy. Qwid gasped at the sight of it, and Luma immediately drew her weapon with a hiss. Bongo could feel it, too. The weapon the other man held, gleaming in the light, was emanating malevolent force powerful enough to feel even from the distance between them. It was silver and black, curved wickedly for cleaving. He held it in one hand, and Bongo noticed that even though his arm was soaked in blood, the hand which held the axe was clean and dry.

"We meet again," North said with contempt, "but you will find quickly I am still your master."

"I am the master!" the man shrieked, swinging the axe wildly. "I am! I am! I am!"

"I wasn't talking to you, Keftenk," the Beastmaster spat out acidly, "I was talking to Guttler."

Bongo and Dantrag shared a confused look, quickly scanning the valley for anyone else present.

Then they heard its voice.

"Guttler . . . " it was low and guttural, deep as a canyon and fearsome as an Elder Wyrm. There was a terrible thirst in the voice, an unrestrained craving borne of greed and gluttony. "Guttler . . . want . . . blood. Give . . Guttler . . .blood! More blood!"

The axe was speaking. Guttler, which Bongo could only assume was the treasure North was after, was an axe with a mind, and evidently hungers and desires all its own. The man North identified as Keftenk howled like an animal, swinging the axe at nothing. "It will drink your blood, North! Then you'll see! I am the master! I! Am! The! Master!"

North stepped forward, his rage focused into an eerie calm. Galahad and November came to his side, and the others took cue.

"You've already snapped," North growled, raising his killer club. "You're a rabid beast that needs to be put down."

Keftenk screamed in rage, and a flash of red enveloped him like an aura. He brought the axe down, and Bongo shouted a curse as the ground shook beneath him. The Adamantoise called out in surprise as the Valley of Sorrows quivered beneath the power of Guttler's strike. The sand around the group sprayed up like a wave, and they quickly brought up their arms to shield themselves from the onslaught. Bongo had never felt such terrible power.

North stood where he had been, a cold grimace etched in his features.

"Enough showing off," he said, looking at the axe. "Time to come home."

Keftenk brought the axe forward. His arms shook with anticipation as a smile split his face. A dull, ruddy glow was rising off of his bloodied flesh. Bongo heard Dantrag gasp at his side, and suddenly Qwid was standing in front of him, weaving protective wards as fast as he could speak the incantations.

The Adamantoise, ancient beyond knowing, powerful beyond words, began turning around. Not having taken the time to count them beforehand, Bongo was suddenly keenly aware that there were at least a dozen of the monstrous turtles roaming the sands. And now, a dozen sets of reptillian eyes focusing in on the group of seven gathered at the entrance to the Valley.

North stood his ground as Keftenk let Guttler fall forward. The blade stopped leveled directly at the Beastmaster's heart. The glow enveloping Keftenk reached out across the Adamantoise herd, and like a moving wall, they began to advance, slowly, implacably.

Keftenk howled insanely as the pack closed in on North, and Guttler's malevolent growl was heard again.

"Guttler . . . will drink . . . your . . . blood."