Legends of Ninjago: Book 3: The Four Fangs

Chapter 11: Mist and Memories

Every breath felt like an icicle being shoved down his throat or nose. Every heavy step exasperated the searing pain flaming through his veins, making him want to beg for rest. The Serpentine were moving, though, so he could not stop.
    "How much farther?" Someone up ahead bellowed.
    "We're almos-s-st there," another replied.
    Lloyd didn't take comfort in that fact. Despite the opportunity to rest, getting where they were going would not provide relief or warmth. It never did. This was the third location they had trudged along to in their search for the missing Fang Blade, and if it was anything like the last two, he would be left standing in the cold for hours more. That was why it was so important that they find this blade. The sooner they found it, the sooner he could warm up in the tunnels the Constrictai had been digging, and finally get a decent meal. Speaking of which, his stomach began to grumble just then, angrily demanding to know why it hadn't been fed in so long. Lloyd swallowed back his hunger and reached down for a clump of snow. At the very least, he was never thirsty.
    The Serpentine had split up in order to find the blade as quickly as possible. Lloyd had been saddled with a group of Venomari and Fangpyres. Pythor had gone with another group. He began to miss that strange, purple reptile more and more each day; the only snake who was ever kind to him.
    It was daytime, which made the cold bite back a little less, and there was a break in the clouds overhead. Blue sky splashed across the grey expanse like paint on a wall. It was so bright compared to this dark winter, and made him squint just trying to look at it.
    The imagery of the bright blue made him think of water, which in turn, reminded him of his old friends. Okay, well... "friends" was putting it nicely. He and Ann had never been friends. In fact, he was pretty sure she hated him. They all did. Those ninja. They all thought he was some sort of... abomination. They didn't understand like Pythor did. How could they? They were these perfect little goody-two-shoeses—they never had to go through what he'd gone through. They were just a bunch of self-righteous bullies, that's what they were, and as soon as they had all of the Fang Blades, they would all pay. Then would know what pain truly felt like.
    He took another bite of snow, feeling his fingers freeze.

*    *    *

    Zane's history with dreams was an odd one. Back in Sakana Village, it had been simple: the same dream every night, for as long as he could remember. He was standing in the empty room, he could feel someone watching him from behind, he would turn around, but before seeing who it was, the dream would end. There was one exception to this, and that was right before he had left to join Wu. He had heard a strange voice call out to him, after the dream. A man's deep voice had said, "Trust Wu." He couldn't recognise the owner, nor could he even begin to guess where it had come form, but it had not felt like a dream. It had felt like someone whispering into his ear.
    Then, while at the monastery, things changed further. At first, his dream remained the same, and then, little by little, small fragments of other things began to leak through. It had happened so gradually, he'd barely even noticed. Until the night that they had been ambushed in the woods and the boys slept together in the medical room. It hadn't been fragments anymore, it was like actually stepping into someone else's dream, and what was more: his dream had changed completely.
    It was so long ago now, some of the finer details had blurred, but he distinctly remembered traveling in a blizzard and being followed and needing to get away. Swords were swung. Axes thrown. Spears lunged. Then there had been a fall. Unfortunately for Zane, however, it would be the only time he ever saw that dream. Afterwards, his nights were filled, yet again, with the empty room. Until recently.
    The dream about the Green Ninja had truly felt like it had come from out of nowhere, and there was not a single way he could rationally explain it. It had simply appeared. Like lightning. Of course, after that dream, the team had discovered the old bunker. While he had been there, Zane had felt a hint of familiarity with the main room and assumed that it must have been the home of his father at some point in time, but little did he know how correct he was.
    After staying up late with Keaton, his mind still trying to process the events of the day, he finally went to sleep, expecting the same song and dance. However, when the dream began, everything was noticeably different. The room wasn't hazy or empty anymore, it was exactly the same room he had found out in those woods. The papers strewn across the floor, the furniture in disarray, and there was someone still behind him, waiting for him to turn around. Now more than ever he was convinced that the man in his dreams was his father, which only made it more aggravating when the dream would end before he could turn and see his face.
    On the third night at the Becket household, Zane woke up prematurely. He looked over at his comrades, asleep in the guest bed, while he was stretched out on the couch with a blanket, next to the dying fireplace. Beyond the windows, snow was falling in the dark, and he could feel the slight sting of cold seeping through the glass.
    He didn't want to go back to sleep. He didn't want to be teased with the dream again. So he reached for a pair of pants and tiptoed out of the room, delicately closing the door behind him. The darkness of the house didn't really bother him much. Darkness and ice were quite often a pair, like light and fire.
    The decorative lights from outside cast snowflake-shaped shadows down the walls in the living room, and he stopped to watch them. Then his eyes caught the sliding glass door nearby and he hesitantly unlocked it. The cold air was so refreshing compared to the dry warmth of the fireplace, and he took two steps outside, barefoot, letting the snow send chills through his skin. He had just enough light to make out his surroundings, and he looked up straight into he sky, watching the fluffy snowflakes fall onto his face. One breath through his nose, and a puff of fog appeared.
    For all the grief that winter gave him with his powers, it was also his favourite time of year.
    He felt his bracelet jostle on his wrist and looked down at it. One of his only belongings and yet it, too, offered no hints or clues. No one he'd ever shown it to was familiar with the design, nor could they explain the strange way it softly glowed in the night. In fact, there were times when Zane would stare into the marble pendant and swear he could see swirling storm clouds inside. But he simply shrugged it off as a trick of the light.
    Yes, the bracelet was a dead-end. What he really needed to focus on was that bunker. He'd only managed to get a minute-or-so inside, and the missed opportunity was still eating at him. He hadn't even seen the falcon since that adventure. Had he blown it? Would he ever have another chance to go back there? There had to be more clues about where his father went—there had to be—and judging by the messy state of things, the last time anyone was there, there had been some sort of dramatic episode. Had it been a break-in? Had they been in a hurry to leave? Was his father in danger? Did he need help? Zane felt as though he would go silently mad the longer he didn't know.
    A second question: how had the two of them become separated? Wu had said that when he had met them, all that time ago, they had seemed happy. It was this account that staved off his fear of abandonment, but just barely. Alternatively, Zane had been found in Sakana after blizzard, so perhaps they had lost each other during the storm? He remembered that dream where he had been chased through the snow and shuddered. Could... could that have been a memory? Or at least, a distorted, dream-like memory? Had they been chased away? But by whom? That long ago, before the war with Garmadon and Skulkins, the only threat would be common people. An organisation of some sort? A gang or mafia? But why come after them specifically?
    Zane took a breath as his thoughts dove another layer deeper.
    His father was an inventor (presumably), and the falcon had to be one of his inventions, which was a incredible feat. That much complex circuitry, the ability to fly and appear lifelike, plus not running out of power? That was technology unlike anything he'd ever seen from the leading tech companies, even Borg Industries. There was a plausible chance that someone was after that tech, and it might explain why his father had moved them out into the middle of the woods in the first place. It all certainly seemed to add up. But what good did speculation do him? Until he found out the truth, there'd be no way to know for sure. Besides, the idea of a dangerous gang being after him did not put Zane's spirit at ease.
    The snow started coming down harder and the wind had picked up, tousling his short blonde hair and leaving frozen flakes stuck to the tips. It was getting harder and harder to make out the mountains beyond the town as the clouds and fog gradually consumed them. Like the night was closing in.
    Then a thought came to him. What if, at some point, the team didn't need him anymore? What if, sometime soon, Ninjago would be at peace? What would he do then? Would he be free then to look for his father? If the Serpentine were stopped, and all was well, then the only person left to protect... would be Dr. Julien.
    He glanced up at the bedroom windows visible from the back porch. His friends wouldn't understand. They might even feel like Zane was betraying them. Leaving them for a selfish, personal goal. But it wouldn't be forever. He would come back. Probably. He just needed to find his father.
    The wind was blowing harder now, so Zane stepped back inside, wiping his feet as he went.