The setting is a hut, Zia and Tao within, Esteban without.

Three Puzzle Pieces, Discarded: An Admittedly Slow-Moving Ending in Four Parts

~~~

Her hand traveled across the parchment, sketching thick black lines across jagged continents, through unmarked cities, over brilliant blue swaths of ocean. It grew flexible as it fell upon the southwestern edge of a particularly large continent -- the map said Sphe, but that name had vanished long ago. She knew that Spain was to the north, however, and so she reasoned that it was Africa that she and they had landed upon. She smiled slightly. None of her old friends, nor enemies, from Spain would ever have believed her if they had been here. Africa was known to be a land of unrelated tribes, and certainly could not have the massive communications web she had witnessed here. She had figured the location of another of the Cities, but no one wanted to know about the Cities anymore, not she nor Tao nor Esteban nor even poor lost Mendoza.

She looked back over the line she had drawn. How far they had gone, in so few years. This was a journey that would never happen again. The world had been staggeringly huge, and they could only have breezed past much it could offer, even with the might of the Condor behind them. And yet the thick smudging lines were always wavering, never straight. It felt not out of place to her, and even beautiful in its ugliness. Who knows from whence that beauty came?

Was it gold after all? So ugly and worthless to them now, and yet the bringer of change. The journeys would not have happened were it not for the evil men of the world, Pizarro, Tobosaku Mori, the emperors of the Ancient Kingdoms… the three children who had done so much to help them…

She knew that her good friend Esteban had seen this. Mendoza had warned Esteban that gold would forever change him. He hadn't believed this, but all the same Esteban's beautiful spirit had succumbed to gold, and she had gone to great lengths to bring him back. All had failed until by a stroke of luck Esteban's world changed, when he finally understood his father's fate. She always felt torn up when she put herself in his shoes, but she knew there was nothing she could have done.

The end they strived for in those days was what had harmed him. Before that day, Mu and Atlantis were the benefactors, but then everything changed. She realized that the Cities were not what they seemed. They weren't there for the peace and prosperity of the future. They were there so that those once in power could try to relive the past. The Emperor of Hiva acted in good faith, but he didn't want progress -- he wanted to become the world's ward once again. In heart, he was nothing more than a Spaniard, a Spaniard who knew how to order people around, even after his death.

She hugged herself to fight the sudden chill, and slumped to her knees as though in prayer. How she had enjoyed the presence of the once young boy she'd journeyed with. He had also been the antithesis of the Spaniard, and it would only have been a matter of time before he became the antithesis of the ancient civilizations. But that had come at a price. She was the one to point it out, after all! How could they fall in love, build a future together, continue the legacy which they wished only to fight against? Would they follow their heads or (shudder) their hearts, the hearts that had been manipulated to conquer the world?

But Esteban, as she reminded herself, had a beautiful spirit. He understood perfectly. And still he was the great protector, at least as far as she was concerned. No one else could guess that clumsy Esteban could protect anyone, but somehow he did.

No, it was not Esteban she was worried about. Tao, the last of the Hiva, came more readily to mind.

~~~

With a flourish he slammed the new book shut, and he dropped it onto a piece of cloth with equal reverence. Before wrapping it in the same way he once wrapped the Golden Jar, he took another book from his robe and compared the two. The first was only slightly worn, made out of crude paper and written in fine ink; the other was more elaborately bound, with thicker faded writing. Both were written in his own language; while he spoke Spanish nowadays he always wrote in the language of the Hiva people. He may not have been a linguist like Zia, but he understood the power of language -- it kept him from insanity during his brief time in chains.

Even more than that, his language had given him insight into the "gods" of this world. Were there gods? Most definitely. The rain god of the Amazons, the destructive god of Zia's temple, the great god Solaris, the gods of the Olmecs and the Urubu and… even he had been a god once. It was a tribute to their power that, as a god, he could frighten men twice his own size; others could level mountains, bring corruption, and prolong hope. And yet the gods were no more than words in the air or ink on paper. Incredible!

Yes… the ancient civilizations had also had gods of their own, and that was how they had become so powerful. As they had seen in the now-lost temple hidden within… Greece, was it?… the empires of Mu and Atlantis had guided the entire world. With means of communication that could certainly never be duplicated again, they could see anything, anywhere, at any time! How was it then that they had fallen? (An Englishman had once said, in his stupidly broken Spanish, that it was because "pagans" always die. But that's a ridiculous notion at best, since he had borrowed much from said "pagans" and did not believe he would die.) Perhaps… yes, each empire, Hiva and Lemuria, was a utopia founded on opposite concepts. Perhaps the gods of commonality and exaltation made war with each other.

And his ancestor had hoped they could get along in the future… right?

No. It had taken time to come to grips with it, but it was only a wish to go home again. The leaders of Mu had never cared about Atlantis, and never would, no matter what was good for the people of both nations. And even he had been influenced by this. It had taken time to see it. Pain, essential to life, and yet always covered up in the perfect Hiva life he'd always dreamed about.

He reopened the newer book and scrawled in a little passage -- as well as he could, anyway. Some phrases never translated. "Yes, it was revealed in one of the Cities… Zia and Esteban refused to bring back my true love, threatened to doom me to a life of emptiness. Was I wrong to attack them, to try to steal the keys that could one day enlighten the world and give me a future in the world of Hiva? It was only a noble goal. It only made it more painful when I realized it. Esteban and Zia had fallen, but I did not open the city that promised me my dreams. I fell sobbing, pleaded for the return of my ancestors even as I understood that they would never come back… well, scratch that. They would never come back through wishing for the past. I cannot return to my home. I burned my tree house to symbolize the return to my own people, but now it means that I can only look back -- and go forward."

He closed the book, thinking. "Perhaps my ancestor knew this, somewhere in his heart. Perhaps that was why he gave the keys to those without personal stake in this world. Perhaps in a moment of madness the Emperor saved his kingdom from infamy."

At last a gap was bridged. Finally, after so much isolation, he could guess at what Esteban was feeling when both the people he cared for and the ideas he had coveted had been so carelessly blown away. How could the conquerors continue to devour?

~~~

He was not crying about the death of the Condor. Tao had told him that it was "microscopic degradation of the solfoils" that weakened the Great Condor, but it could also be assumed that the Condor had finally grown too old to continue. He'd visited the creature's grave -- it towered, forever an inoperable statue, staring across the ocean. Of course he had been sad; he had lost experience he could never bring forth again, being one with a master of the sky.

He wiped his dry eyes and watched the golden being a little longer. Then he left.

Well, that was a cost of refusing to bring in the new civilization when he was able. He didn't think too much about it. He really didn't think too much about anything, because that was what Zia and Tao were there for, silly. He took his mind away from death and thought about the hot sun. This was what his friends were used to. It made him beam with pride as he thought back to the times they'd visited colder places -- Hokkaido was the first. Tao had been deathly ill, Zia nearly so, and Esteban was the hero that day.

But he wasn't really a hero. He was just there. Hence the mistaken notion of providence… there's no such thing as destiny, just concordant reaction, he realized. For years the trio had foraged on, convinced that they were destined to open the Cities, when in truth the trio was simply there, following a path of least resistance. Quite a difference between seeking something and being forced into seeking it.

That was why he didn't cry now, thinking back over the deaths of almost everyone who had ever been close to him, the old Father Rodriguez, the High Priest, the Condor, and yes, even Mendoza. (Mendoza had never been proven dead, but he had yet to return, either.) It wasn't because of a stony heart, or because it was broken to pieces, or because of lunacy or even enormous self-control -- he'd wept before, even in the presence of powerful warriors. No, he did not cry because it didn't feel right to him. He didn't have to be a victim, forever crying, just like he didn't have to be a hero, always fighting for progress and justice. He could be sad or heroic, but only as his heart told him.

That was also why he didn't feel terrible about the way it had all turned out. It was a wonderful myth that the Cities had been bringing forth, an experience not unlike soaring through the skies. It could have transformed the world, had they continued. But why was it happening? If it happened, would it truly have been because innocent children had decreed it? When had they really followed their own star, and when had they simply gone through the motions?

He paused. When _had_ they followed their own star, and when _had_ they gone through the motions? What had they done that was right or wrong at all? He stopped thinking about it, and thought about where they would go next. None of them had a place to stay, but each of them had obligations to fulfill. No one could tell another why, and it wasn't necessary. Each person had their own purpose. He and Tao would travel north, to Spain, to what would have been Esteban's home had Mendoza seen value only in his medallion. Zia would travel west, to the new continent.

He wasn't really sure how he felt about that.

~~~

The cool night and warm day intersected on this spot, at this time, to the three children who took rest here. Esteban was a boyish lad, older than he looked, tossing his medallion casually from hand to hand as he sat against a thatch-roof hut. He was joined by Zia, a carefree girl with a blank-mask expression, and Tao, a riveted boy with too much time on his hands and a parrot on his shoulder.

"Good morning, Esteban," said Tao with great cheer.

"Good morning!" Esteban replied happily. He seemed tired, but for some reason his energy was at its peak. "Are we ready to set off?"

"Yes," Zia emphatically nodded. "We will part ways here. You will travel to the north, I to the west." She smiled. "I will never forget what happened when we were traveling."

Esteban blinked.

"Even the terrible parts," Zia laughed.

Esteban and Tao grinned at this, but still didn't have much to say.

Finally, Tao did say something. "Zia, are you sure you want to leave us?"

She nodded. "I cannot stay with you, as much as I would like to. I will never return to Spain, and that is your destination."

"But if you traveled with us part of the way --"

"I would get further and further from the only other place I could call home. It will be a long voyage, even here."

Esteban started. "Zia --"

"Esteban," she said as she turned to him, "I do not leave on bad terms, as I did before. I will always remember what you did."

"It's not that…"

She looked again at this suddenly scrawny, shy little boy, looking down, his eyes pinched open. Sympathy flooded her features, but she merely pulled out a piece of parchment with one hand while gently laying her other hand on his shoulder.

"Please don't worry about me. Here. I have here a map for you." She gave what she had been working on to Esteban. "This is the world, and that is our journey."

He swallowed and took it. Their hands touched briefly, but nothing happened. Esteban pulled open the map and began to scan it, his features brightening as he did so. Zia had finally drawn a symbolic map, and what a map it was…

"That's amazing! Zia, did you ever hear the story of Magellan?"

"…no…"

"He traveled around the world, Zia! He saw wonders untold, but he never got as close to them as we did! All isn't lost after all, do you understand? Something good came from this after all!"

"Yes. I feel the same…" gulped Zia.

Esteban smiled, then quickly grabbed his medallion from off his neck and offered it to a shocked Zia.

"Esteban, what are you doing? I can't possibly --"

"It's all right. You knew more about it than any other."

"But I don't want this!"

"I don't want you to wear it! I just want you to keep it someplace safe, where another can take it!"

"But why?" asked a perplexed Tao.

"So what if the Hiva Emperor had a less than noble purpose with these medallions? Perhaps my father was right… there is hope for the future -- in innocent hands!"

"You can't mean…" Zia started. "You are saying that the medallions should go to others?"

"That is exactly what I'm saying."

"Ahh," Tao nodded, "so you will take over the role of the Hiva Emperor? That's a significant burden to bear."

Esteban slumped. "You're right… Zia, I'm sorry I even mentioned it."

"Don't be silly, Esteban."

"Wha?"

"The medallions are a symbol of a terrible past. Nothing we can do can change that. The chances are good that they could cause more harm to the world if they were ever used." She placed the other around her neck, beside the first one. "But if we never keep them with us, how will we ever know what to do when another person seeks to consume and expand? If the Cities can never be opened, what will people do instead? The City, dark as it is, is the zenith of a lost civilization. If nothing else, they'll be needed for their example."

Esteban said nothing. Nor did Tao, though he gripped both tomes, the old and the new, more tightly.

"I suppose I must leave now," said Zia.

Silence. Zia smiled.

"Esteban, Tao… take care of yourselves."

She departed, the only sound coming from the sound of two medallions, clicking against each other. Esteban and Tao turned towards the north; no one realized, at that strangely happy moment, that Barcelona would be a starting point. Three puzzle pieces, unable to truly fit together, had nonetheless found a home in the same box. Now it was time to fit everything together -- and Esteban, as always, would be the first to try.

P.S. For those of you who have seen The Motorcycle Diaries, don't Guevara and Granado seem like Esteban and Tao, somewhat? You can see one of the reasons why I ended it the way I did. Esteban changing as radically as Che would be an interesting thing to consider.