Stroke by stroke, the mists parted from the ship’s bow. Hein momentarily paused his strokes, resting his oar on top of the wispy ends of his body, which he had attached to a plank of wood that ran across the boat. On the other side, Terez did the same, though she didn’t seem enthusiastic about the break. In between them sat George, leaning sideways to see what they had stopped for. Hein was in the way - albeit, leaning back with his antenna until he looked like he’d been decapitated.
“There she is. We’re almost there.”
A dock emerged from the mists, and an island came marching behind. No sandy beach awaited them, just a strip of dirt that the seas had swept clean. Behind the shore, a few structures materialised. A handful of cottages, a mound that some kind of bug or earthling called home, and a pair of towers that watched over the coast like twin sentinels. The climb from the shore to those buildings ran up a slope. One bad trip, or an attack aimed at your legs, and you’d tumble back into the seas.
George bit his lip. Not the greatest first impression, though no fault of whoever inhabited the island. It’s just that war and fighting hazed his mind, much like the mists did to the eyes. It’s all he thought about. How often did he get to escape from that mindset? Or forget about it for a while? He’d been on the run since Greenfield got sacked, and that scratched the surface of all the shenanigans that had happened since then.
Eravate has a place for everyone, someone told him once. Could’ve been Terez, or Blitzer. Maybe Hein. Maybe it was that backstabbing Empoleon. In any case, George had figured out his place. Inside a garbage dump.
As the boat approached the dock, things beyond the military popped out. Given what those things were, it made it all the more baffling to realise what he was looking at. Grasses and stalks sprouted out of the dirt, their leaves and blades blue rather than green. Mushrooms clustered on rock surfaces, emanating a glow that lit up the mists, leading the way into caves. Chittering insects, runaway ferals with no inky affliction, little berries that shone a bright blue in the grass.
George blinked, shook his head, wiped his eyes down. ‘What am I looking at? Is this still Eravate?’
His eyes glinted much like the berries did, just as Hein’s antenna came back up. The ghost echoed a devious chuckle from his stomach, like pure evil given a body. “My, my. Do you like what you see?”
The Dewott blinked. “I don’t know what I’m looking at.”
“The Isle of Swords. Did we not make that clear?”
“Yes. You never told me what to expect. Just that we were going here.”
“Oh, we did. Maybe your ears were too flat against your head to notice.”
Right on cue, George’s ears did go flat, again. No amount of fur in his ears stopped Hein’s ominous laughter, though. Those who heard it once would lie awake at night for a long time. Those who heard it a hundred times suffered the same. Only for a different reason.
“Just shut up, please…”
“Yes, what he said,” Terez added, jamming her oar into the water. The boat had lost most of its momentum. “Leave the jokes for after he’s met the Swords.”
The Dusknoir shrugged, before lifting his paddle off his body - little stains of moisture dotted his ectoplasm. “If you insist. I prefer taking the edge off situations like these, you know. Some struggle talking to those of higher stature.”
George folded his arms and looked off the boat. ‘That’s right,’ he thought to himself. ‘Meeting the Swords, huh… This is going to be bad. Feels like meeting Artanouk for the first time all over again. Shadows, mists, island, underground. What a world of difference.’
“Oh, you’re not the judge of that,” Terez said. “Let him decide for himself. Support him where it counts, don’t drive him into a corner. You can laugh about it later. Heck, if it goes bad, you can really cheer him up by introducing him to the best joke of all.”
Hein paused midway through a row. “Which is?”
Terez scoffed at him. “Your cooking.”
The Dusknoir’s eye narrowed. “That is a low blow, and you know it.”
Jokes aside, George and his two guardians made landfall. The Dewott climbed out of the boat, frowning the whole time. ‘Here’s a good one. My life,’ he spoke into a microphone, to the imaginary howling of a crowd.
Once off board, a Diggersby ran out of a cottage close to the shore. He saluted with a paw over his heart the moment he spotted Hein floating his way. “Sir! Welcome back.”
The Dusknoir raised his hand. “Morning to you as well, Mesa. I trust you’ve been well?”
“Perfectly so, in spite of everything,” the Diggersby said, whipping his ears from front to back in an arc; his eyes jolted skywards for a split second. “And you?”
Hein idled for a second, before shrugging. “Could’ve been better.”
“I see… and Terez!” Mesa said, extending a paw. “How are you?”
“Not great, not terrible,” she said, shaking the paw she’d been offered. “No invasions on the island, I hope?”
Mesa pressed his tongue into one of his cheeks, his buck teeth sticking out of his lips. “Not in the time you’ve been gone, no. Crest didn’t bother us. But that’s bound to change one of these days, given that…”
Suddenly, George found himself faced with a paw centimetres removed from his nose. “The fabled Othersider I’ve been hearing so much about!” the Diggersby said. The Dewott’s feet shifted defensively as he accepted.
“I guess. My name is George.”
“Name’s Mesa. Nice meetin’ ya!” the Diggersby chirped, half tittering in an accent that sounded foreign to his own tongue. “You’d best make your way up the summit. The Swords have been waiting on you!”
George sighed, his hand falling back beside him, and onto a scalchop. “Apparently so.”
Hein and Terez bid farewell to the coastguard, as the Diggersby called his job. They got on well enough with him, it seemed - this wasn’t their first rodeo here, after all. Then again, it had been a while since their last visit. Terez, especially. Espionage didn’t leave time for vacations.
As they made their way deeper inland, climbing up the slopes to the ‘summit’, as Mesa had referred to it as, they followed what passed for a path. The roads forked in various places with no signage to speak of, only statues of regal, goat-like creatures posing at crossroads. In some, they bore swords. In others, they looked to the horizon. Then in others, they looked embarrassed, as if they didn’t want to face the travellers - not out of superiority, but out of shame.
‘These must be the Swords, I guess? Never seen any Pokemon like this before… if they’re as big as Hein and Terez say they are, then why wouldn’t they throw statues around. Glorify themselves. Great people.’ George thought to himself, eye twitching.
‘Well, Pokemon, people… they’re one and the same now, no need to question that, George. I guess they’re not very flattering statues, though.’
Though he preferred to forget about the statues, he didn’t have much of a choice. Every major crossroad on the island had at least one, and the pedestals bore an inscription of the Pokemon carved in the stones and metals. On this blue side of the island, the name ‘COBALION’ kept popping up. Instead of multiple swords, there was but one. On this side of the island, anyway.
Speaking of the island, George found some distraction in studying what habitats they encountered. Anything to take his mind off the future was welcome, and staring at Hein’s back didn’t exactly inspire confidence. So George stared out over the fields, blue grasses stretching to the horizon, only stopping on clump-like nodes: Forests, farmlands, and little villages. Where there was nature, there were Pokemon, after all - even on this misty island. From afar, he watched as small critters played on the outskirts of their villages, parents watching from shacks and burrows, all as birds flew overhead in flocks.
Alas, he didn’t get much of a chance to study the inhabitants. For Hein led the way through bends in the road, and Terez kept George marching along in a steady rhythm.
“How are you feeling?”
“Not very good.”
“Take it easy. The Swords aren’t bad people, George. We’ll be there to make sure of that.”
Tension rose the deeper they got in, Terez’ encouragement be damned. Assurances were one thing, and in this case, they were words. Words with a meaning, sure, but that’s all. Words. You never know for sure if you can put faith into assurances. Did Terez know what the Swords would be like, with George added to the mix?
What about Hein, for that matter?
George knocked himself on the forehead, trying as best he could to hide it from Terez. ‘You’re doing it again.’ he repeated in his head. ‘What was that about not losing your cool? Just repeat the words. I’m not here. This isn’t happening. I’m not here…’
After half an hour, the blue grasses stopped, like someone had ripped each blade out past an imaginary line. Rocky terrain replaced the plains; Roads ran over dirt plateaus and clusters of stone, various metals running through the rocks like stains over a floor. Walking across the plateaus, it was remarkable how few claws had spoiled it all. Vast wealth, yet no one to harvest it.
Crossing over bridges and hugging walls, the trio ascended further up. The distance between them and the shore grew, both skywards and inlands. From above, the signs of civilization didn’t take long to spot- housing carved into rocks here and there, stones arranged into small homes, even a square with a handful of market stalls near the shore. Houses were built in clusters, either on a plateau’s edge or at the bottom of a steep cliff, no more than a hundred Pokemon residing in each. Some who burrowed, others who farmed, and others who performed whatever functions were demanded of them.
Most peculiar about the clusters was not their distance, however. Each settlement had its own unique feature: a perfect circle of rocks laid in the shadow of one, a variety of trenches marked the environment around the other, a third had what appeared to be a temple, and so on. Some were for battle, others were for religion or commerce. And though the clusters stood apart, the roads connected them with no obstacles. You could walk from one to the other, no issue. George’s eyes followed the roads for a while.
If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
‘Come to think of it, all the villages around the blue grass weren’t much different. Small, with one little feature that none of the others had… I’m guessing that’s on purpose. Like building five different Greenfields instead of one. Or hey, even a big city. What’s the point of it, though? Why not just build one place?’
George glanced back at the villages just as the path took a steep turn upwards. At the foot of their ascent, the statue of a bulky beast with curved horns cast its gaze down upon them, like a knight at the gates of a keep. His statues bore a different name: ‘TERRAKION’.
‘At least it’s not overcrowded here… got some room to breathe at least.’
At first, the road Hein had guided them to looked no different than the rest. It led to another plateau full of dirt, with a handful of Pokemon living on it. But as the climb continued, any and all signs of ordinary life vanished. More statues popped up. The cliffs and flats grew wild, like a moat of greenery around a fort. For ten metres straight, nothing but vines, ivy and rocks sturdy enough to break someone’s claws flanked the steps. If this were natural, the existence of the steps at all was a miracle.
But miracles didn’t exist. George had figured that out long ago - it had a reason, much like everything else on this island. Mists crept around as he neared the summit; if he squinted his eyes, it wasn’t so difficult to forget he wasn’t alone. Hein floated on, his bulk a smudge in the mist. The yellow bands on his arms and torso lit up into a yellow glow, a lantern in the darkness.
“We’re close. Prepare yourselves.”
The Dusknoir’s warning made George gulp; nothing to worry about, and yet here he was. Without a word exchanged, the ‘Swords’ awaited his arrival, without any heads up from the two who had escorted him into their hands. They couldn’t have been sitting atop the mountain for weeks.
‘I swear, I heard everything they said over the past few weeks…’
All the laws of nature might’ve been pointing against their meeting - in George’s mind, anyway - yet here it was. As the steps flattened out, George found himself in front. The Dusknoir now hovered alongside him to the left, and Terez walked to his right. He idled for a while, before Hein looked at him head on, then shooed him ahead with a wave of his right hand.
‘Ugh, here goes…’
Frowning, George stepped ahead of his mentors, and waited for the mists to disperse. The summit became silent beyond the howling of the wind.
‘Come on, show yourselves already. You're making this difficult for no reason…’
Half a minute of bated breaths passed, before a shadow crept up ahead. Muffled footsteps broke the silence, the shadow condensing into a dignified shape. Just before it broke through, it stopped. A second, far bulkier shadow emerged on its right. A third, far more casual shadow popped up on the left.
George slowly clenched his fists. ‘Show yourselves…’
The mind could be fickle when left waiting. You’d wonder how long the suspense would last, and why most of all. In most cases, the wait being over something banal did wonders, but George had no such luck since he came to Eravate. Only a mind reader would find peace when waiting on the important to happen, let alone the life changing.
George’s life had a habit of changing on a dime. Much like the mists departing shed light on the shadows, he’d see just what fate had in store for him now. The first shadow would be the one to tell him: A blue, straight horned stag with a proud head.
“Welcome. What a curious day, isn’t it? The day we meet at last.”
The stag’s words fell on George’s deaf ears. ‘Sure it is…’
“I hope you’ve been well. It couldn’t have been an easy journey, even with Hein and Terez helping you on the way. Isn’t that right?” the stag said. George recognised him now: His face resembled ‘COBALION’ too much. What an odd name. George shook his head.
‘The statue had more charisma, honestly.’
Cobalion’s gaze went to those behind the Dewott back. Presumably, they nodded much like he did, perhaps deeper and dignified, however. George didn’t say anything, much to the stag’s surprise.
“Not interested in talking?”
“Give ‘im time, Cobal,” the bulky stag to the right said. ‘TERRAKION’ being the statue George matched his face to. “What, you think everyone’s gonna be all chatty to strangers? Ain’t good advice in general, let alone now!”
“That doesn’t mean he shouldn’t say anything,” Cobalion countered. “Any strong partnership is born out of communication. Teamwork! And we’re going to have to build a good partnership, remember?”
An easygoing laughter came from the final of the trio; the green stag on the left who remained anonymous. For now. “I think he’s just tired. Put yourself into his body. He’s come a long way, all the way from the city of a thousand lights, in fact. Imagine travelling all that distance while having the Corrupted on your tail.”
Cobalion sighed. “Fair enough. How shall we do this, then?” he said, turning around. “Terak? Viriz?”
George scowled behind his back. ‘Should’ve figured this out ahead of time… would save me from having to see your rear, ugh.’
“Why not introduce ourselves like normal, and tell him what this is all about, eh?” Terrakion answered, winking at Cobalion. “C’mon, you’re the leader! You’ve done this before.”
“Right! Right…” Cobalion half growled, before facing George again with a stern glint in his eye. “Apologies for the rough start. Let’s begin this properly. I, Cobalion, and my partners, Terrakion and Virizion, are the Swords of Justice. Protectors of Eravate, and guardians of all Pokemon. It is our duty to protect Eravate from those that seek to harm it, to save the weak, and stand up for all the good in Pokemon…”
In a long and drawn out speech, Cobalion laid out just who he and his fellow Swords were, leaving not a single stone unturned, lest there be filth under there. Afterwards, he explained what was known about the current state of the world, and the darkness infesting it. Aside from tidbits about said darkness, it was nothing George hadn’t either heard from Hein and Terez, or guessed on his own.
Afterwards came a diatribe about George’s role in casting away the darkness. During the first part of the speech, The Dewott in question was mostly bored. Here though, his mood soured in all the wrong ways. Cobalion mentioned ‘The Othersider’ again, a term George had been happy to pretend didn’t belong to him. But when it got to the details, the conversation struck many uncanny chords. Othersider George wasn’t special as a Pokemon, but had a purpose. The Azure Flute dangling around his neck was mentioned, which made him clutch it reflexively.
‘I’m talking to Artanouk all over again. I don’t want to hear this. Any of this.’
“And that is where you come into our world,” Cobalion said, indifferent to George’s souring face. He’d given the speech for a good long while by now, neither Terrakion or Virizion, nor Hein or Terez cutting him off. “You have the soul. You have the Azure Flute. You have the mind and thoughts capable of achieving great things. And our duty now is to make sure you are ready.”
“Uh huh,” George answered, ears flicking flat against his head. ‘Took you long enough to finish. It’s the damn training all over again, isn’t it? Like with the Alliance?’
“I, Virizion, Terrakion will be key in this. Hein and Terez will be there to assist you, of course, as will the others on the island. You must be prepared at all costs.”
The Dewott folded his arms, leaning heavily on one foot. “And what are those costs?”
“Rigorous training, my friend.” Cobalion bared all his teeth at George in a smirk. The kind of smirk you never wanted to see. No one liked seeing the high and mighty all smug.
“And what does that training involve?”
“Sparring,” Terrakion said.
“Balance,” Virizion added. “Mastering the Azure Flute, too! There’s much more you have to learn.”
“Willpower,” Cobalion said. “Do you have what it takes to be the leader Eravate needs? Do you have the fortitude to go through hell and back?” He tilted his head back, awaiting an answer. Again, the words sounded rehearsed, as if George had wound up in a theatre play. All this fake enthusiasm and speeches of glory and hardship… Artanouk put up a good front too. The end result of that fell from a hole in the sky.
George looked up to the heavens. Sure, Eravate had hit rock bottom. Sure, perhaps he had a role to play: If Hein and Terez had been lying the whole time about… everything, then maybe how clever they’d been would distract from how pissed he’d be about it. He thought back on the training in Drasal. It had been all over the place. He’d be getting drilled directly by the bosses this time. And the Swords were not nobodies.
But there comes a point in everyone’s life. That one moment where you realise what path you’d been walking down, and how horribly lost you’d gotten. George hadn’t chosen anything for himself in a long, long time. Had he ever? Back in the foster’s home? In school? With the Alliance? With Hein and Terez?
He did make a choice. Once. And who he chose was likely dead. Or enslaved.
“Well, George?”
Cobalion’s question made the hair on George’s neck stand up straight. Then he tapped a hoof on the dirt, with just a hint of contempt in his eyes. A look that told George however he felt wasn’t important. This question had one valid answer, and he could either get it right, or flunk the test.
“No.”
An audible snicker came from somewhere up the summit. Virizion, in all likelihood - Terez wouldn’t find it funny. Terrakion had a baffled look on his face; Cobalion tilted his head. “Excuse me?” the blue Sword asked. His ears weren’t all there anymore, apparently.
“I don’t have what it takes,” George said. His feet shifted in the grass, blocking Cobalion’s access to his chest with an arm. Fake smiles turned to sneers. Stares became glares.
“My friend, that’s nonsense and you know it. You wouldn’t have made it this far if you weren’t ready, would you?” the blue goat said. ‘Sword’ made him sound noble. George clenched his teeth in his closed mouth.
“Then why ask the question?”
“To test you. Don’t misunderstand us now, George, you-”
“Oh, I understand just fine,” George said, raising his voice to the border of a shout. “It’s all a test. I need to say the right things, do exactly as you wish, suck up whatever you throw at me. Artanouk, Cobalion, what’s the difference?”
Suddenly, the optimism was drained out of Cobalion’s head, leaving a scowl in its wake. “...Excuse me?! Young man, is this a joke?”
“Does it look like I’m joking?” George said. His fingers reached his scalchops, his toes trembled on the ground, and his tail kicked up a storm.
“George? What are you doing?” spoke a voice behind his back. Terez, Hein, it could’ve been either. It didn’t matter. By the time the words reached George’s ears, whatever came after was drowned out by Cobalion stomping his way, teeth bared and seeing red.
“You son of a… Who do you think you are, showing me attitude?! We’re putting our lives on the line here for you! We waited years for you to get here, YEARS!”
“Cobal?” Terrakion leapt next to him, inches away from George. “This isn’t-”
“QUIET! I’m NOT going down like this! I’M NOT!” Cobalion roared, saliva spattering onto George’s face.
The Dewott didn’t so much as flinch. Oh, the blue Sword had power over him. All the power in the world. One kick to the chest, and god knows what would become of him. One stab with those horns; or god forbid, a ‘cut of the Sword’.
Staring that fate in the eye, George only felt evermore frustrated.
‘I’m not listening to him. I’m not. Listening. To this scumbag.’ He bared his own teeth at Cobalion, even as Terrakion and Virizion now yanked their comrade back. Psychic energy flowed beside him, as did a dark presence manifest on the other. ‘Why are you joining in? You don’t need to. It’s over already,’ he thought to himself, fingers gripping onto a scalchop as he turned to the dark. Hein’s ectoplasm was a prettier sight.
“Cobal?! Cobal! Stop! You’re only making it worse-”
“Eravate is going to DIE if he doesn’t work with us! That selfish, arrogant little-”
For a moment, George felt a stab of pain in his heart. Pain turned to anger in the blink of an eye. Shock before the realisation, as if he’d really been stabbed in the heart. Cobalion had power, but this? George couldn’t take it. He couldn’t. He just couldn’t. After months of running for his life, blindly following others, now he was selfish? Just because he stood up for himself?
He had enough. Of Cobalion, of Eravate, everything. Couldn’t even have the slightest bit of happiness without it being yanked away. Have a building collapse on top. Have it die.
Tears welled up in his eyes as he took one scalchop, then flung it as hard as he could at Cobalion’s face. The seashell spun as he threw, the pointy end sticking out his way as it thunked against one of the blue Sword’s horns. It instantly caught eyes. From Terez, to Virizion, and the now enraged Cobalion.
“George-”
“YOU!!!” The blue Sword broke loose from Virizion’s grasp. Before he could get back to George, Hein suddenly threw his bulk in between him and his target.
“Stop.”
“OUT THE WAY!”
“No. We need to talk.”
But George was already storming off, tears streaming down his face. “Hey!” Terrakion called out first.
“George? George!” Terez said. A psychic impulse tried to burrow into the Dewott’s mind; he shook it off, countering with his own psychic strength. Strong enough to make Terez take the hint at the very least, for she backed away. “Please…”
He didn’t look back, nor say anything back. He’d been hurt too much today already. If God let him, he’d never return. No need to speak with the cursed, no need to climb up those steps, whose length and steepness asserted themselves even on the way down. Halfway down, he wiped his eyes dry, clearing his nose all the while.
‘Go to hell… all of you, just go to hell…’
Down the steps, and off the road. George had no way off the island; he wasn’t that good of a swimmer, instincts only got you so far. Otters thrive in the water, until monsters come looking for dinner. He didn’t trust the mists either. Levitating across, like a real psychic would? Who did he think he was, Moses?
No. He was staying here. Somewhere here. Away from the Swords. Away from everyone. Could he hide forever? No. Was that an excuse to back down? Hell no. If that was enough to back down, he’d long have been buried six feet under, or have his bones turned into toothpicks. Eravate kicked him while he was down; why stay asleep? You can only pretend you’re living a nightmare for so long.
George trotted over the rocky plains with heavy footfalls. Halfway across the first, he grabbed his remaining scalchop, and tossed it aside. Why, he didn’t know. It just felt relieving to do, like having a cry after a test you knew you’d failed. No shame in admitting defeat. As long as you didn’t give up, right? George had a life to live. It wasn’t much of a life, being on the run from the Swords and what the Alliance had turned into, but at least he still lived.
‘Welcome to the new you, George. This is your life now… sitting on this island. Hiding.’
At the edge of the plateau, a cliff overlooked a short hop down onto a road. George sat down at its edge, leaned arms on his skirt, then dropped his head into his hands. A tear slid out of his eye.
‘Why does this keep happening to you, George? Everyone wants to control you. And the only people that don’t die. Like Blitzer… He’s still alive. Sure, Hein. I believe that.’ He shook his head. ‘I know you don’t want me thinking that. You want me to believe he’s in the right hands. You want something to be optimistic about. Me too. But it’s never like that.’
He groaned, legs kicking; dirt crunched behind him. No need to pay it attention, the whipping was bound to come soon enough. ‘They’re all disappointed in me, aren’t they. Running off despite everything. They had high hopes. Sorry to be a let down, as usual.’
He grabbed the unfinished Azure Flute with one hand, and held it before his eyes for a second. ‘Here’s me. This is all I am. A flute boy. Play an unfinished flute and save the world, George. It’ll work, George. No it won’t. It only plays me like a fiddle… Bossing me around. No one besides me wants me to make my own decisions. Have to fight to get the chance. And that’s if they don’t want me dead. Who doesn’t want me dead, at this point?’
“Yo!”
All the fur on his back went upright as a male voice called out to him. It sounded lazy, yet gruff. The kind of voice you’d associate with the stereotypical drunk. George whipped his head around, and froze.
A Garchomp was looking right at him.
“Didn’t expect to find you here, of all places!”