CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Where were they taking you?” Pers asked
Kirin.
“To the Purple Mountains if we are to
believe what they were saying among themselves,” the elf replied and shuddered
at the memory.
“Do not believe all you hear,” growled
Mulac.
“Brrr…!” Beth shivered. Was it her
imagination or was the mist growing as cold as it was clinging? A cloud seemed to be forming around them that
seemed separate from the main body of mist. She shrugged. It must be her imagination.
Even so, the clothes she wore, snug enough until now, no longer seemed to offer
the same protection.
“Run! Run for your lives!” shouted Pers
suddenly, “The mist, it means us harm!”
The alarm in his voice brooked no argument, but the same question on all
their lips begged an answer.
“Why?” Mick demanded.
“By Ri, he’s right!” yelled Mulac, inwardly
taking himself to task. Why hadn’t he seen it himself? But there was no time to worry about that
now. “Run, all of you!” He grabbed Beth’s hand and ran through a break in the
swirling cloud.
Although the possessive manner in which the
Nu-gen assumed charge of Beth irked Mick no end, his better instincts warned
him to follow close behind. The elves
did the same. Ricci, castigating himself for not recognizing Dark Magic when it
was being literally shoved in his face, brought up the rear, although no
lhastily for that. He tried to think of
a warding spell against the mist, failed miserably, and concentrated instead
upon keeping the fleeing shadows ahead in view. The elves and Mulac were not
his concern. They must fend for
themselves. But the Master would never forgive him if he lost the
motherworlders yet again.
Pers overtook Mulac and led the way,
twisting and turning through the mist while the cloud chased after them like a
huge white ball. Yes, chased. They all felt it. The
faster they ran, the more furiously it licked at their heels. Mulac was
content, for now, to let Pers take the lead. The elf, at least, seemed to have
some sense of direction where he, Mulac, had none. Ricci found time to ask
himself how the elf had become aware of the danger they were in before he did
but promptly cast the question to the back of his mind for future reference;
this was definitely not the time. The ‘thing’
was plainly targeting them. More to the point, it was gaining on them. Everyone
sensed it. Irina held on tightly to Kirin’s hand. Mick, panting managed if only
just to keep pace with Mulac. Beth, glad of Mulac’s hand in hers, struggled to
keep up. All were almost glad to be running as it left them less time to feel
afraid.
As he ran, Mulac heard a shrill humming in
his head that grew steadily worse. Eventually, he let go of Beth and raised
both hands to his ears. He began to fall
behind the others. By now, the pain in his head was so excruciating he could hardly
see what little the mist permitted. Beth barely registered the fact that Mick
had slipped a hand in hers and taken the Nu-gen’s place. It seemed natural
enough, and she was frightened. She
simply assumed that Mulac was close by.
The mist began to thin. Was it his
imagination, Mick wondered, or was the air getting warmer too? It was still
cold, certainly, but less bitingly so than before. He shook his head. A faint
humming noise in his ears had been a source of irritation for some time
although not so much the noise itself as the sound it made. It resembled a
familiar tune played badly; try as he might, though, he could not place it.
If slightly less chilled to the marrow, the
exhausted fugitives felt no safer for that and kept on running. Soon, the mist cleared completely. Even so,
the sun radiated only a muddy light and little enough heat penetrated a flurry
of tawny clouds. They reached a small
clearing among various rocks and scrub interspersed with pools of red sand that
would give way soon enough to a vast sea of red just ahead. Beth stumbled and fell, dragging Mick after
her.
The elves and Ricci, recognizing that any
immediate danger had passed and the motherworlders needed to rest, waited
patiently. Beth lay exhausted, on the
ground. She drifted in and out of consciousness for some time before finally
grasping that the ball of mist was no longer pursuing them and they were safe.
“What happened?” she gasped to the figure sprawled beside her. She was glad it
was Mick and felt reassured. At the same time, she was vaguely shocked to
discover it was not Mulac. A spasm of unease passed through her weary body.
Reluctant though she was to tear her gaze from Mick’s familiar grin, she looked
around anxiously for the Nu-gen. “Where’s Mulac?”
No one answered her. Everyone looked
nervously at each other, unable or unwilling to speak. Even Mick looked away.
“It must have got him,” said Kirin at last.
“But that’s…impossible,” she tried to
protest but could only manage a hoarse whisper.
“Oh, but surely not…? Nu-gen may be a crude people but they are as
tough as old boots!” Pers tried to sound optimistic.
“There must be another explanation,” Beth
agreed, amazed she could stay so calm, outwardly at leasr. Inwardly, she was
distraught. Mulac had left his tribe because of her, after all. She felt
responsible. In vain, she tried to ignore just how attached to the surly Nu-gen
she had become.
“Mulac can look after himself. We must be
moving on,” Ricci announced with a confidence he was far from feeling.
“But…we can’t just leave him to…that,”
Beth gasped.
“I know, but…Well, what choice do we have?”
Irina was sympathetic.
“None,” said Kirin, “Ricci is right, we must
move on.”
“We must go back. He may be hurt!” Beth was
close to tears.
“No way!” exclaimed Mick. “It’s hard luck on
what’s-its name…”
“Mulac,” prompted Beth angrily.
“Yes, well, poor old Mulac. But these things
happen. The others are right. We’ve got to press on. Bloody hellfire, Beth, I
want to find my brother and get out of this place! Don’t you?” Mick challenged her directly. Tears pricked
his eyes. He would have dearly liked to say more. Instead, a scornful look from
Beth left him speechless. He turned a deathly pale and involuntarily succumbed
to a coughing fit.
“Mulac is Nu-gen,” said Pers quietly. “If he
is alive, he will find us. If he is dead, the tribe will come for his body. We
must go on.” He approached Beth and placed both hands on her shoulders. “Much
is at stake here. We have no time to waste.”
“Oh, and since when was helping friend in
need a waste of time?” Beth made no attempt to conceal her bitterness. The elf
neither replied nor looked away. She held the searching gaze with a defiance
that began to wane as the large, liquid eyes instilled in her a growing sense
of peace. Even as her flagging spirits
soared to new heights, they perpetuated a profound sadnessw. Yet, it was bearable, the sadness. In those few seconds she achieved an intimate
rapport with the elf in the course of which all things became possible although
none would be denied.
Suddenly, Beth had a flash of intuition.
Whatever this place, this Mamelon, held in store for her, she must bow to a
greater wisdom, or fate, whatever. She shrugged. It hardly mattered, surely? “I
belong here,” she murmured incredulously. Only Pers heard, thought he
understood and returned her perplexed look with a shy smile. “Let’s go,” she
heard herself say and strode off ahead of the others.
A much relieved Ricci followed briskly, but
not before taking Mick firmly by the arm.
He needed to keep an eye on young Michal, he told himself. Not only was
the motherworlder dragging his feet but was also plainly preoccupied with
Beth’s extraordinary reaction to the Nu-gen’s disappearance. As if anyone ever gave a hoot for Nu-gen,
for Ri’s sake! At the same time, a
seventh sense told him they hadn’t heard the last of Mulac. He was Etta’s
charge, after all, and she was no mean force to be reckoned with. “I’ll say!”
he muttered to no one in particular.
The elves hung back. “When the time comes,
it will be just us three,” grumbled Kirin. “You heard the motherworlder. He
wishes he had never come to Mamelon. As
for the female, she is his woman and must feel the same.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Irina
retorted, “Females have minds of their own, too, you know.”
Kirin ignored her. “I tell you, my friends,
this journey is ill conceived.”
“No one asked you to come,” Irina reminded
him.
“You may be right,” conceded Pers gravely,
“But these motherworlders are elf friends. I cannot believe they would
willingly abandon us or wish us any harm. There is more than Dark Magic abroad.
Can you not feel it? Other forces
surround us. Good or bad, only time will tell. Meanwhile, we must trust each
other and stay together. That way, at least, we stand a chance of survival. Or
we may never see Gar again…” His voice broke.
“If you say so,” said Kirin ungraciously
before adding, “I, too, miss our beloved forest!”
“We all do.” Irina gave him a friendly hug,
but he misunderstood the kindly gesture and held her tightly, not ever wanting
to let go. He clung to her. The sound of her heart beating against his tunic
was like music to his ears and her sweet breath on his face more intoxicating
than any woodland perfume. “Come,” she said, and gently but surely urged him
after the others.
It was a deeply troubled Pers who watched
them go. He sighed. Among all the dark
powers abroad in Mamelon, he continued to suspect that unrequited love was not
the least they should fear. “What will be, will be,” he told a passing doolie but found little consolation
in philosophy and hurried, with loping strides, to catch up and overtake
them.
At last, they reached the edge of the desert
itself. An amber twilight greeted them as they regrouped. All were cold, tired
and hungry. Ricci promptly conjured up shelter, food and hot baths.
Mick regarded the huge tent with a mixture
of relief and dismay. “Won’t the krills spot that a mile away?”
“Not unless their eyesight has improved
considerably,” said Ricci in an injured tone, “Naturally, I have taken the precaution
of warding us from prying eyes.”
“Not like the last time then?” Mick glared.
Ricci looked suitably abashed, but urged
them to make the most of their opportunity. “Once in this wretched desert, who
knows? Fah-y-Noor is unpredictable, to say the least. It has been known to
thwart even the best magic!”
“You wouldn’t be covering your back, of
course?” Mick was unimpressed. But everyone laughed, and it helped ease the
tension. Ricci promptly went into a sulk and disappeared into one of the tent’s
various compartments.
Even Mick had to admit that, as a provider
of home comforts, Ricci had once again excelled himself. Everyone was soon
feeling refreshed and, outwardly at least, in good humour. Beth sat slightly aloof from the others. Is she still brooding about Mulac, Mick
wondered? But Irina was pressing against
him and he avoided Beth’s eye as the elf girl slipped a hand in his and
snuggled closer. Was Beth attracted to
the Nu-gen? But that’s impossible,
surely? Yet, this whole, bizarre
situation is impossible so, why not?
Out of the corner of one eye, he saw Beth glance his way. Defiantly, he
put an arm around Irina and drew her closer.
Her tongue stroked his ear lobe. He felt flattered, there was no use
denying it. Nor could he quite ignore the lust fermenting in his loins as the
ball of one velvety finger continued, indiscreetly, to stroke the back of his
hand.
Any satisfaction Mick took from the elf
girl’s attentions soon dissolved when he chanced looking at Beth. She was aware
of the elf girl’s interest in him, he was certain. But her face was
expressionless as if she didn’t even appear to mind. Then his eyes met Kirin’s. Mick winced,
experienced a rush of irrational spite and deliberately leaned across and
nuzzled Irina’s hair. Kirin’s gaze darkened.
But Mick was too angry with Beth to care that if looks could kill the
elf would have seen to it he dropped dead on the spot. He saw Pers lean and
whisper in his friend’s ear. Kirin seemed to relax and turned his attention
again to Ricci who had been amusing them all with various tricks.
Suddenly, Beth got up and left the room
without a word.
Magic was second nature to Ricci. Such minor
feats as these were meant only to amuse. Indeed, he was flattered the elves
stayed to watch. Any distraction better than none, he wryly surmised. For he
was not indifferent to the tensions he strived to ease. Pers, he decided, could
be trusted to keep an eye on things as far as the Kirin-Irina-Michal triangle
was concerned. He rather liked Pers. This was surprising since he was wary of
elves.
Who isn’t, for Ri’s sake? No,
it was Bethan who worried him the most. She seemed preoccupied. He guessed that
she continued to brood about Mulac although, for the life of him, could not
understand why.
Pers, too, found Beth’s behaviour
incomprehensible. He hadn’t liked having to abandon the Nu-gen to his fate, but
they had no choice. Besides, it was one thing to place a value on life but
quite another to risk one’s own, especially for a Nu-gen. In the motherworld
tongue, he began to reflect, Nu-gen would translate into No-Person. Considered
among the lowest forms of life, it summed up the nomads perfectly. Certainly,
they were expendable.
One of many tales surrounding them told how
the first Nu-gen tribe was a band of druids who broke away from the Old Order
and proclaimed themselves gods. They travelled all over, demonstrating a
powerful magic. Most life forms stayed true to Ri but others handed over all
their possessions for the privilege of being taken into the heathen fold. Their
ranks swelled. The chief druid, Ca-an, grew so despairing that he sought the
aid of Ri, Himself, to remove their souls one night while they slept. The
rebels were thus robbed of all their power and, with it, any credibility. Thereafter, they were despised and shunned
everywhere they went.
The elf blinked back a tear. The story was
one he had learned at his mother’s knee. Homesickness rose like bile in his
throat. Then one of Ricci’s amusing tricks made him smile and he began to
unwind again. It was a curiously entertaining experience, albeit a queer one,
to see magic used for frivolous purposes. Elves liked to play, of course. But
magic…magic was something to be taken seriously. It surprised him that he was not in the least
offended by such trivia.
Some time later, Kirin casually remarked
that Beth had not returned, looking directly at Mick as he spoke. Mick rose to
the bait, got up, and left the room. Irina flung Kirin a look of fury that
spoke volumes to everyone else. Ricci hastily contrived to avoid a battle royal
with a new trick he hadn’t practised much but which worked so well that everyone
clapped.
“Beth’s
gone!” Mick burst back into the room, “You said we were protected!” He glared
at Ricci, and then hurled himself at the bemused magician. Both went flying.
Mick’s hand fastened around the little man’s neck. The elves looked on, too astonished to move.
Ricci almost choked but managed to splutter a changing spell and got it right
first time. Sliding out of the motherworlder’s stranglehold in the form of a
snake, he barely had time to congratulate himself before the alarm was raised a
second time.
“Krills!” yelled Pers as the tent instantly
vanished and they were standing in a small clearing that offered no
protections. Besides, the elf’s warning came too late. Mick fought like a
demon. The elves, too, gave an excellent account of themselves. But they were
outnumbered and never stood a chance. Not for the first time, Irina fretted
that elven magic was useless outside Gar. Soon, the scaly creatures had
overwhelmed all four.
The krill leader, Radik, stepped forward and
regarded them with a malevolent grin. No one paid much attention to a reptile
about the size of a grass snake slithering here and there like a thing
demented. Eventually, it slid under the tent and wriggled off into a forbidding
landscape that offered small refuge and was unlikely to give poor Ricci
sanctuary for long.
“So, snarled Radik, “We meet again, my
lovely…” leering at Irina as he ripped open her tunic and placed both scaly
hands on her breasts.
“Don’t touch her, you ugly brute!” cried
Mick, mortified. Radik swung round angrily. Another krill held him in an iron
grip and there was no way Mick could avoid Radik’s fist in his face. Blood
spurted from his mouth and he was sure his jaw must be broken. Another rain of blows followed in swift
succession. His body went limp. Seconds before he drifted into unconsciousness,
he felt his captor hurl him, cackling, to the ground.
Irina opened her mouth to hurl abuse at
Radik but an instinct for survival prevailed. Instead, she concentrated on the
prostrate motherworlder. Dear Ri, don’t
let him die, she prayed silently before chancing a glance at Pers, in poor
enough shape himself, for support. But her brother was regarding Kirin with
undisguised dismay. The smaller elf was
glaring, teeth bared, not at the krill leader but at the unmoving heap on the
ground.
Kirin recovered his composure quickly
enough, blushed crimson when he saw that he was observed and visibly shrunk
from Irina’s contemptuous expression.
Radik looked from one to the other of his
captives, saw the joke, threw back his scaly head, and let rip with a roar of
harsh, guttural laughter.
To be continued
