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CHRONICLER

"There is a link now between us," the Toa intoned, holding the Matoran's gaze.

The Matoran looked back, eyes wide behind its mask. It did not move.

"...I shall be with you, in heart..."

The Matoran's eyes wandered slightly, glancing to the cliff face behind the Toa, the empty black opening with its fringe of roots and stalactites. The cave-mouth was piled with detritus, with broken branches and scraps of metal, of armor...of limbs–

"Hey."

The Toa's hand was making the sharp attention-gesture between her eyes, and the Matoran's visual focus snapped back to center involuntarily.

"Look for me in your rest-state," the Toa continued. "I will come to you then, and speak to you of the things I see underground. Remember them."

"Remember them."

"Confirmed?"

"Confirmed."

"Good."

The Toa rose from her meditation pose, up and up, and towered over the Matoran.

"Return to the Koro and await," she said, and made the dismiss-gesture, stepping toward the cave mouth. She shrugged her shoulders powerfully, and the jungle air went even more humid as she stepped forward.

The Matoran was already turning away, walking down the path beneath the twisted broad-leafed trees. He tried to turn his head, tried to look back, but could not. He was the chronicle-unit now. His duty was to return to the Koro and await. Return and await…

He stumbled on the uneven path, which was furrowed by the passage of whatever creature had moved through the Koro several nights ago. A glint of metal caught his eye as he regained his balance. Off to the side. He walked onward, barely noticing. Return and await. He was the chronicle-unit. Return and await.

The Koro spread out before him as he left the cover of the trees, and he made a beeline for his hut. Return and await.

It wasn't until he'd entered the door and sat on the rest-pallet that he registered what he had seen, off the side of the path, in the torn grass, the mangled roots...

The old Turaga's mask, or half of it.

He shivered. Teeth marks.

He awaited.

* * *

It had been a few hours. The other Matoran had come to check on him, since he had not returned to the work. Their faces looked in at the door of his hut, but they said nothing. They saw his face, and they understood. They left him alone, to await. That was his duty, and theirs was to continue repairs, to recover the masks which could be recovered, to inter the bodies properly so that they might go unto Mata.

The hut was dim, and he had assumed the meditation position for some time, waiting patiently. Patiently…

Asleep. He had fallen asleep where he sat, but now he snapped awake. The Toa’s mask hung before his eyes, and for a moment he believed he had failed, had missed the chronicle. The Toa had returned, found him in his hut, and would berate him for his error!

He flinched away from the great mask, but there was no anger in those eyes. They simply stared him down, staring…

The hut was gone. The cave was dark and damp and cool all around. The main passageway descended in ranks of volcanic rock and flowstone, flanked by mineral pillars and overhung with the ever-present stalactites. Every surface was wet with moisture: dripping from above, flowing in rivulets, pooling in the crystal hollows.

Perfect conditions.

The Toa perched spiderlike on a steep bank of flowstone and felt the water obey her command, flowing backwards to root her feet and hands against the stone. Droplets of water vaporized silently from the eye-holes of her Ruru, Mask of Night Vision, as she scanned deeper into the cave-interior and noted how it opened into a tall gallery pocked with tunnels and crevices. It wasn’t hard to pick out the right one. To the left, and a bit lower down, the delicate columns were cracked and displaced, tumbled over. The creature’s lair was there.

"Chronicle this," she whispered suddenly, and the Matoran felt himself embodied again, seated on the floor of his hut, though his other senses did not conform to this. His hands grasped blindly for tablet and carver, and he began to etch letters as a flood of information poured into him: coordinates and route, intel and initial analysis. He understood very little. The words were technical–not for him to grasp. Nevertheless, he carved them down.

The Toa was preparing. She cycled through a series of masks: Zatth, Ramau, and others he did not recognize, then back to Ruru. She was well-equipped for the task, it seemed. Once she had verified her Kanohi, she released her hold on the rock and, without warning, slipped forward and out into the open air of the gallery.

The Matoran made a choking noise, and his heartlight beat in his throat as he fell with her, clattering the tablets away as he spread himself on the floor of his hut, desperately telling his mind that he was not there, not there–

The fine chains which wrapped the Toa's gauntlets and upper torso chimed as they suddenly unwound, beaded with droplets, and wove themselves into a web of metal and water around her, and she was hurtling through dark air, swinging and spinning, and then it was over. Her feet made the lightest of sounds as she came to rest on the cold floor before the leftmost tunnel. Crouching, she pulled a small stone from a slot in her armor and cracked it gently against the hard surface, causing it to glow blue and illuminate the area dimly.

The floor of the cave was scored with claw-marks, and he felt her confusion as she examined them but found herself unable to make a positive identification. The chains retreated partially to their position on her armor, but she kept a length ready on each arm, winding the water-soaked links into a series of loops and snares. She swung one of the chain-loops idly, and he watched the lazy arc of it, heard it whizzing in the air–

Her face was before him again: "Chronicle this."

More technical information flooded him, and he struggled to retrieve the tablet, to keep up: location of the tunnel within the cave-system, estimations of the creature’s size, potential strategies of summoning or entrapment or...

She was already moving ahead, down the tunnel. Her Kanohi had shifted to a Zatth, a Mask of Summoning, and after a few moments there was a skittering noise as a small horde of scaly Stone Rats responded to her signal, running from every crack and hole in the stone and crowding around her feet. Another pause followed, and then she stamped lightly, causing them to flee; all except one, which stood obediently before her now, fully under the influence of her newly-switched Ramau, Mask of Rahi Control. She commanded the rodent to run ahead down the center of the tunnel, following a few bio behind it.

The tunnel curved leftward, and she kept to the right wall, her eyes straining against the dark. She could feel vaguely through the Stone Rat's senses, but she'd need to switch to Night Vision again soon, or risk another lightstone. The tunnel curved downward now, and the particular echo of the small claws scraping on stone told her that the tunnel was widening, opening up into a larger–

Crunch. She stumbled as something pierced the Stone Rat's body, sharply severing her link with it. In the split second after, she had summoned Ruru and was clinging spiderlike to the damp wall of the tunnel once more, skating ahead silently. All at once, she saw the place where the tunnel broadened into a larger cavern, saw the stain where the Stone Rat had been, and the scar in the rock, and the dark, rippling shape which half-covered the tunnel exit. She stopped abruptly. He could feel her excitement. Plan changed.

She dropped from the ceiling and, in one smooth motion, freed another lightstone, wrapped it in a chain, and flung it headlong past the creature's visible torso, out into the chamber. The stone struck the floor and flared to life, blindingly bright, and she'd already switched to Ramau, now that she could see, was already dashing out into the larger space, bending her mind upon the mind of the huge slithering, rippling creature and its hundreds of tiny legs as it recoiled from the light and whipped around toward her.

Two blunt, dark eyes faced her, and two mandibles clacked below them, but she poured her mental strength into the mask, and felt the centipedal beast flinch away, its segmented flanks clicking and vibrating...

It lunged at her in one fluid movement, and she cursed. The beast was insectoid after all, and the Ramau was only fully effective against endoskeletal Rahi. An amateur mistake.

She dodged sideways and flung her arms up, letting the smooth body pass by her. The pistons in her shoulders surged, and she brought her armored gauntlets down hard against the beast's flank, fists together, felt the protochitinous plates buckle, and the centipede screeched, twisted away. A host of bladed legs sheared against her own armor, and she wondered what possible purpose such a beast could serve in Mata's world.

The flexile body whipped around again, and the creature's head was above her now, descending. She backstepped, and the mandibles snapped shut just short of her face.

"Enough of that." She grunted as a jet of solid water pounded from her outstretched arms, carrying with it the lashing, slashing links of her chains. The force of the blast flung her away from the creature and smashed it against the stone wall, partly flooding the chamber. For a moment it was all legs and joints scrabbling against the slippery stone, struggling to right itself.

She landed lightly on her feet and smiled. The noise of her chains spinning up again echoed in the space, and a whirlwind of water rose around her. She tensed and prepared to spring forward, aiming for the head–

Her foot would not move. She glanced down. Webs...Clinging, transparent webs. Almost invisible. Her foot was snared in a lattice which stretched across the floor, and her leg too. She slashed at the webbing with her chains and felt it give way, letting her step forward again, ready to deliver the final blow.

That was when she realized that she was standing in the entrance of another cavern, one which opened on the first. She hadn't noticed it in the heat of battle. It was a larger space, and there more webs, just visible along the walls and ceiling. Bodies and masks wrapped in filmy thread. A Turaga-sized shape off to the left, next to the corpse of another centipedal Rahi, much bigger than the first, all mummified in transparent silk...

She whirled. The centipede had fled. She was just in time to catch the edge of a dark arachnoid shape before–

Stinger. Sharp, venom-tipped. Long, many-jointed limbs descended around her, and her chain sawed through one of them before the stinger drove forward, impossibly fast, right into–

The Matoran's body arched and thrashed upon the floor, and his screaming tore the air as the vision ended.

* * *

"How long has it been?"

"Twelve days, great Toa, since the last Toa came to us."

"Toa Vysa, yes. And she chose a Chronicler, I gather?"

"Yes...great Toa. She chose Uhzu, the stonemason."

"Show me to them. I must read their chronicle first."

The Matoran hesitated. Its mouth worked.

"Great Toa...the Chronicler is...is in his hut."

"Very well, show me where it is located."

"It is just here." The Matoran trudged a few steps up the central path and stopped beside one of the round structures. Toa Imjah reached the hut in two strides. The door was closed and the windows shut.

"He is inside?"

"Confirmed."

"Call him out."

"I cannot."

Imjah frowned. "Explain."

"He sealed the openings with mortar. Three days ago. We–"

"What in Mata's name?"

The Matoran winced. "Uhzu...He would not come out."

"Why would he do this?"

"He...he carved the tablets, great Toa, the...chronicle. After the first Toa arrived. He told us that she came to him in his rest-state, and told him many things. It was his duty."

"This is standard procedure..."

"He did not stop. Night and day, he carved, great Toa. Then he shut himself in, and–"

"Yes, but why?"

"He...day and night...he screamed..."

The Matoran flinched as the door splintered inward under Imjah's iron hand. Dried mortar crumbled away from the edges as it was pried open. The Toa stooped and went inside.

"By Mata..."

A mask lay in the center of the round space. The body was curled against the back wall of the hut, motionless. The Matoran peeked over the Toa's shoulder.

"Is he...?"

Imjah could still detect the faint glow of a heartlight.

"Still alive," he said. "But what is all this...?"

There were tablets everywhere, strewn about. Imjah picked up one after the other, squinting in the dimness. Most were carved on both faces, and recarved with different words, overlapping, and recarved yet again, until the round letters were illegible, and the stone was crumbling.

"Is it not the chronicle?" the Matoran asked.

"I've seen better."

Something else caught the Toa's eye now. In the dirt floor itself, there were words carved, and into the walls, same as the tablets. Words etched into the frame of the low worktable to the right. Words carved on every surface, over and over.

"We couldn't spare any more stone tablets, from the repairs," the Matoran offered sheepishly. "That was before he sealed the door."

"Well, it looks like he made do," Imjah replied, "but it's nonsense. Unreadable." He shook his head, retrieving the mask from its place on the floor. "I've heard reports of other Matoran suffering from such madness in the past," he continued, shuffling further into the space, toward the body. "It's a sad thing, but most can be made right."

"That is...good?"

"Yes, and what did Toa Vysa say when she returned from her task? Did the madness begin after she departed? I had hoped to meet her here, or on the path, since she was overdue. There was a report of a Rahi-attack, as I recall."

The Matoran stared. Its mouth worked again slowly.

"Great Toa...ah...Toa Vysa did not return."

"What?"

The mask that Imjah held was covered in etch-marks, he realized. Covered in carved words, like the tablets and the walls and the floor. The body of Uhzu itself was also covered in carved words, words scratched into his armor. The tips of his metal fingers were worn down.

"She did not return from the jungle. Only the Chronicler came back, to...to await."

A shiver went down Imjah's spine.

"Twelve days, you said, since Toa Vysa came here?"

"Confirmed."

"And three since he sealed himself in?"

"Yes."

Imjah's heartlight was beating fast. He rolled the body of Uhzu over and placed the mask bluntly onto the face. A moment passed, and then the heartlight began to beat stronger, stronger. Another moment, and the lungs kicked in, and the chest expanded. Servos whirred in the frame. The eyes fluttered, still dim. Imjah shook the Matoran.

"Wake up. Wake up!" The eyes glowed and focused. He made the attention-gesture, and they responded.

"Relay your chronicle," he commanded. "Relay your chronicle!"

"Chronicle," the dry voice rasped. "Chronicle this."

"Yes, your chronicle. Your–"

"CHRONICLE THIS CHRONICLE THIS CHRONICLE THIS–"

The words began pouring out of the dry throat at full volume, and the body twitched, arms flailing, fingers grasping, grinding at Imjah's face, and then, when Imjah swatted them away, at any surface they could reach. Grinding and clawing and carving words, words, words.

Iron bands sprang from Imjah's armor and wrapped themselves around the Matoran's limbs, restraining him. The head shook to and fro, still frothing words, but silently now, out of breath, until another iron band curled up and stilled its movement. Imjah sat back on his heels. Perhaps it was simply madness, or a malfunction, after all. Perhaps...

"There is a link now between us," Imjah intoned, centering himself and focusing his mind in order to interface with the Matoran's memory. "I shall be with y–"

"Hello?" the Matoran said abruptly, and Imjah froze mid-sentence. The voice had changed slightly, and the eyes had lost focus. "Are you there?" it continued. "Please..."

"I'm...I'm here. Who–"

"It hurts. It hurts. I'm here, please!"

"Stop! Listen to me–"

"It's dark, and my eyes...my eyes are gone, I think, and I can't get free. My arms and legs, them too..."

"Where are you?"

"The chronicle-unit's failed, I fear. I've been trying, trying to reach out, but the venom...it's affected my focus. Couldn't keep the pain out of the link. I think I may have broken its mind. Is anyone there?"

Imjah focused harder, trying to calm his thudding heartlight.

"Ah! Get away! GET AWAY! I know you're there! Curse you, I'll tear your webs. No more stingers! I'll cleave you in half you...ah! No more! You've eaten...You've eaten so much. Stop, or there won't be anything left! GET AWAY! ARE YOU THERE? PLEASE! CHRONICLE THIS CHRONICLE THIS CHRONICLE THIS CHRONICLE–"

Imjah yanked the mask from the Matoran's face, and the voice cut off. The body fell to the ground.

A long moment passed, and Imjah's mind raced. Had it been a remnant of the previous link, or real-time communication, or something else? He picked up one of the nearby tablets absentmindedly, then looked sideways, out the door. The Matoran was still standing there, eyes wide.

"Quickly, where did Vysa go?" he said.

"North, great Toa, up the path, into the high jungle. There are caves there." The Matoran pointed.

Imjah's shoulders gouged the doorway as he emerged from the hut. He stood a moment in the street, hesitating, towering over the Matoran. It occurred to him that the Koro had fallen eerily quiet, and he realized that the rest of the villagers had gathered, in the street and between the huts. All of their eyes were on him, unblinking.

"North, you said?"

The Matoran nodded, pointing up the central path once more. The crowd parted abruptly to make a lane for him, as if at a signal. Imjah stepped forward, but then stopped.

"I will...I will require," he stammered, then started again: "Protocol requires a new Chronicler be selected, to...to record my descent."

The villagers stared at him. The only noises came from the jungle, on all sides. He looked at them, and the villagers looked back, eyes wide behind their masks. They did not move.

He was still holding one of the Chronicler's tablets, he realized. It felt very small and fragile in his iron grip, but somehow also very heavy. The mad words stared up at him out of the stone. Chronicle this pain chronicle this hurt chronicle this dark chronicle this eaten chronicle this help...

Gently, he set the tablet down on the ground.

The eyes of the Matoran did not leave the Toa as he made his way silently up the path, out of the village, into the jungle.

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