Mamelon - Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Irina took small comfort from the fact that Bethan’s disappearing act left her a clear field with Michal as, one after another, each was hurled into the same rocky cavity.  All had been badly beaten. Nor had the krills spared Irina although she fared marginally better than her male companions. Krills hated elves and plainly relished dishing out a good pasting to Pers and Kirin.  If they seemed a trifle wary of Michal, it was down to his ‘foreignness’ rather than any show of temper.

      “That will teach you to turn your back on krill hospitality!” Radik cackled. Then the krill leader and his men returned to share provisions around a roaring campfire. Laughing and exchanging bawdy jokes, they were glad to squat close to the flames.  Scorching by day, the desert grew icy cold after dark.

      None were bound. Brother and sister collapsed sobbing in each other’s arms. Then it was Kirin’s turn and Irina gave him a tearful hug. Over his shoulder, she caught the motherworlder regarding her shyly.  Mick’s bruised mouth managed a rueful grin. He opened his arms wide. She broke away from Kirin and leapt into them, pressing her head against his tunic. Mick, for his part, was content to lay a battered cheek against the silky tangle of her hair, eyes closed, for what seemed to each of them an eternity.  Kirin could hardly bear to watch although, seething inwardly, forced a comradely smile.

      Pers glanced at Kirin and let out a groan that was not entirely down to his every limb’s feeling as if it had been smashed to a pulp. “What a mess!” he exclaimed wearily.

     “At least we are all together.” Irina snuggled closer to Mick. But she, too, had seen Kirin’s expression. Catching her brother’s warning look, she broke free, albeit with an exaggerated show of reluctance. Pers suspected his sister of sheer provocation. Then he glimpsed the corners of her mouth twitch, and was sure of it.  He sighed. As if being taken by krills is bot enough…

       “Not all!” Mick groaned.

      “We are better off without them,” declared Irina, “I don’t trust that Mulac. Bethan should choose her companions more carefully, Michal,” she flung the words at him.

     “She’s my girlfriend and her name is Beth,” snapped Mick, indifferent to the elf girl’s hurt expression.

       “In the motherworld perhaps, but this is Mamelon. Besides, she seems taken with the Nu-gen,” Irina commented with raised eyebrows. Pers groaned. She had never been one to concede a point gracefully, his sister. 

      “You’re just jealous, you stupid…female!” Mick shouted angrily, but then looked away so no one would see the tears that sprung to his eyes. Irina winced as if he’d struck her. Serves her right! he told himself.  Flattered at first, he was beginning to weary of the elf girl’s constant flirting. That’s not strictly true, a still small voice acknowledged. He chose to ignore it.

       “I wonder whatever happened to the little magician…” Pers mused aloud.

      “How typical of his kind to save himself and let the krills take the rest of us!” Kirin sneered.

     Mick was thinking along much the same lines. Not once, but twice now, Ricci had abandoned them. Even so, he felt obliged to leap to the little man’s defence. “He’s only an apprentice magician and I’m sure he’ll find a way to rescue us before the krills decide to play football with us again.”

      “Football..?” Pers eyebrows rose quizzically.

      “Forget it,” Mick was too tired to explain.

      “It is a game they play in the motherworld,” said Kirin, much to everyone’s surprise.

      “Next time they sport with us, it will be no game!” muttered Pers ominously.

      Irina gasped. Kirin glowered at his friend and went to her. “See, you have frightened your sister!” He gave the elf girl a hug.  

      Mick reddened and turned away. Nor was his confusion solely due to mixed feelings for Irina.  So much had happened, and it was all happening too fast. There was so much he didn’t understand. How could he? During the latest krill attack, the puli in his pocket had proved no more useful than a pebble on Margate beach. He’d begun to expect great things of the stone, especially after its spectacular performance previously. Now they were back at square one, worse even. He had lost Beth again as well as that idiot Ricci. As for the Nu-gen, “Good riddance!” he muttered under his breath. And where was Pete?  Homesickness settled heavily on his stomach, refusing to budge even when Irina slipped a hand in his and met his weary look with a dazzling smile.

      “All will be well, you’ll see.”  But the elf girl’s battered face radiated an optimism Mick could not begin to share.

     “As the aryd said to the doolie,” retorted Kirin. It was not particularly funny, but everyone laughed and it eased the tension. Mick exchanged grins with the elf in a rare moment of rapport. But Kirin quickly reverted to form and looked sulkily away. Mick shrugged. If that’s the way he wants it, so be it. He actually quite liked Kirin and wished they could be friends. A part of him sympathised with the elf. He could not forget how he’d felt seeing Mulac grab Beth’s hand and drag her after him as if he owned her. Mick scowled. Beth hadn’t even seemed to mind. Impulsively, he drew Irina closer.  She met her brother’s eye and started at the strength of his unspoken criticism. Even so, she did not resist the moody motherworlder’s arm circling her waist.

     Kirin caught his breath sharply. One of their guards sniggered. It was too much for poor Kirin. He charged the interloper, Michal, like a mad bull. Mick, who had been half-expecting just such an attack, quickly recovered from the initial shock. He and Kirin were soon rolling on the ground, scrapping furiously. Irina hovered and made plaintive squealing noises. Pers, though, wasted no time diving into the fray. The  elf was angry. They should not be fighting among themselves. He finally managed to separate the pair although not before sustaining more bruises and another black eye for his trouble. 

     Meanwhile, the two guards had edged closer and were plainly enjoying the spectacle. Pers and Mick exchanged meaningful glances. Kirin, though, preoccupied as he was with looking to Irina for sympathy, missed this fleeting interchange. The elf girl, however, did not. Instantly on the alert, she returned her brother’s wink and instinctively understood what was expected of her.  Kirin, glad the fight was over, was feeling sheepish and hard done by when the motherworlder suddenly caught him off guard with a forceful shove. He went reeling and fell heavily. Before he could strike out, the other had straddled the elf’s chest and pinioned his arms. “Be ready to run!” hissed Mick. But the elf was full of such hatred, he did not hear.

      Deep down, Kirin sensed that something was not quite right. For the first time in his life, the elf denied his natural instincts. A frenzy of emotion ran riot in his head until it felt near to bursting. His only concern was to be rid of the motherworlder once and for all. Drawing upon all his reserves of elven strength, he heaved and twisted free.

     The fight resumed. “Not so rough, eh…?” Mick whispered, and then saw the murderous look in Kirin’s eye. The elf wasn’t shamming. A voice in his head warned that he was fighting for his life. He lashed out. The pair fought like demons, much to the delight of the guards and growing consternation of Pers.

      Irina, blissfully unaware that the fight was for real, rose to the occasion and grabbed one of the guards by a scaly arm. “Stop them before they kill each other!” she pleaded.

      “Do something!” Pers remonstrated with the other guard.

    Both krills gave a harsh cackle and remained oblivious to their danger until it was too late. Simultaneously, brother and sister made their moves. Each caught the guards a lightning blow in the face, following it up with a chopping movement of elf hand to scaly neck. The guards stood no chance, slumping senseless to the ground before any self-defence mechanisms had time for even a knee-jerk reaction. 

     “Come!” whispered Pers with an urgency that penetrated even Kirin’s raging frustration.  But he and Mick continued to square up to each other. Neither moved or said a word.

     “Now!” urged Irina, beside herself. Then she made the mistake of rushing up to Mick and grabbing his hand. “We must hurry!”

         Kirin saw red. “No!” he yelled, “You belong to me!” He lunged at Mick yet again.

      Irina would have screamed if Pers hadn’t clapped a hand over her mouth and issued a grim warning. “Do you want to kill us all?”  Barely sparing the pair on the ground a second glance, he seized her by the wrist and crept stealthily into the darkness, dragging her after him.

        In vain, Irina tried to struggle free. “Michal!” She opened her mouth to scream. But Pers had no intention of being caught again. Without allowing himself time to think, he silenced her with a single blow, slung her over his shoulder and raced  silently into the gloomy Mamelon night.

      A particularly savage blow sent Mick sprawling. Kirin made as if to follow up his advantage. Mick froze, unable to move a muscle. Suddenly, something hit a nerve in the elf. He looked dazedly about him. Irina was gone! She was no longer with them in the tiny cave. He looked again. Pers, too, had disappeared.  Angry and confused, he rounded on the motherworlder. Mick’s expression told him all he needed to know.

        The elf’s heart sank.

     "Well done!” said Mick scathingly and watched unsympathetically as realization and distress dawned in the elf’s stricken gaze. But there was no time to waste. He staggered to his feet, massaging his jaw. “Now, come on!”  He moved forward, sluggishly, only to have a lone krill look out of the darkness directly in his path. It took in the situation at a glance and opened its ugly mouth to raise the alarm. “No you don’t!” muttered Mick between clenched teeth and flung himself at the scaly creature. The pair went flying. Mick hung on, but the krill was by far the stronger. A ferocious hug all but squeezed the breath from his body. By the time they hit the ground, Mick was barely conscious. Neither the cruel eyes boring into his face nor a vile stench emitting from thick lips twisted in triumph could touch him any more. Only an agony of crushed ribs kept his native spirit alive.

      Kirin watched in fascinated horror as the krill drew a blade from a handsome sheath at its belt and lifted it high, poised to strike at the exhausted motherworlder.  Yes, yes, a gleeful voice shrieked in his head. The elf nearly jumped out of his skin. The sound was completely alien to him yet excited him like no other. Nor did he have any difficulty recognizing it for what it was…pure evil.  The slight elven form gave a shudder. What have I done?  Mortified, he stared, wide-eyed. The krill blade descended teasingly, in slow motion, until it pricked the motherworlder’s throat and drew blood. Suddenly, the creature moaned as if in pain. The hand gripping the knife pulled back slightly, the scaly wrist twisting as it if wrestled with some invisible restraint.

      Mick felt himself tumbling into a dark void. In his head, he sung the Okay Song. It seemed the natural and obvious thing to do. His terror eased somewhat as he imagined himself a child again being comforted by his mother, picturing her face with such clarity that she might have been standing over him. He even fancied that he heard her sweet soprano voice joining with his shaky tenor in the old, familiar lullaby.

      Kirin heard it, too, faintly at first but growing stronger until his head seemed to be swimming with music.  It stopped with a suddenness that made him cry out, so intense was the feeling of irreparable loss left clutching at his heart. All at once, his vision cleared as if a veil across it has been flung back.  He saw the krill poised to kill the motherworlder whom he, Kirin…hated. In an appalling flash of insight, the elf bore witness to a hideous yellow fog. A dark spot within it began to swell. Kirin cried out.  A seventh sense told him that this evil thing was no less than his own spirit, looming large and impenetrable before his very eyes. From a place in such nether regions of self he had never reckoned to go, the music started up again, although he could tell it was but a dying echo. Even so, it was an inspiration. Gar was calling to him. All was not quite lost. “Elves…!” he cried and leapt upon the krill’s back, wrenching back its knife arm with a burst of super strength.

      Mick remained semiconscious and unaware of the battle that ensued between elf and krill. He came to in time to see Kirin drive the creature’s own knife between its scales where he judged its heart to be. The krill reared up and then fell back, uttered a long, low moan while continuing to flap about for a bit even after sneaking its last breath. He gaped at Kirin in blank astonishment.

      “I have killed!” the elf could only sob, pitifully, over and over.

    “You saved my life!” murmured Mick incredulously as he stemmed a flesh wound with a handkerchief. “Thanks, but we must hurry!” he whispered in the elf’s ear as he tried to pull him to his feet.  But Kirin would not budge. “Come on!” Mick hissed, “Before his mates get here. It beats me why they’re not swarming all over us already!”

      “Elves…!” Kirin repeated, but in an entirely different tone than the warlike cry he had uttered earlier. He began to cry. “Elves…!” He sobbed again, weeping freely now and moaning softly. Yet, he did not appear to Mick as being in any great distress. Rather, the elf seemed almost happy.

        Mick felt a sticky wetness against his palm, glanced at it and back at the slight figure slumped in his arms. In spite of their danger, he could not suppress a sharp cry at the bloody discharge from a wound in the elf’s chest.  Even as he did so, Kirin gave a long, low sigh and went motionless. 

       Frantically, Mick felt for a pulse. There was none. The elf was dead.

     “Take him and go!” commanded a firm but not unsympathetic voice in Mick’s head. Dazedly, he gathered the elf in both arms, lurched towards the cave exit and prayed that a dim light from the krill’s campfire nearby would not expose them as he crept into a welcome but freezing Black Hole of night.

     “Where are we going?”  But if Mick was hoping for an answer from the unseen presence he sensed so strongly while not quite believing in it, he was disappointed.  Yet, he knew better than to display either frustration or disappointment. Instead, he pressed doggedly on. 

       Dawn came without any warning, the twin moons replaced by an ascending glow that, in turn, brought with it a revelation that halted the weary youth in his tracks.

        A splendid dome glistened in the distance. At first, Mick thought it must be a mirage. Somehow, it seemed to lack substance, almost as if it were pure light. Whatever, it’s weird. He shrugged, shifted the corpse in his arms and proceeded to stagger towards the dome. Every bone in his body was crying out for rest. More than anything, he longed to be rid of his burden. Yet, an uncanny instinct urged him to carry the elf to a safe place. Did the mysterious dome offer sanctuary, he wondered?  Could there be any connection with the puli in his pocket that lay as cold and still as poor Kirin? There was only one way to find out. He put on a spurt in spite of his fatigue. All around him, the landscape’s bland indifference to his growing desperation stuck him as palpably more unbearable than any open hostility.

      An aryd swooped out of nowhere, its bulbous eyes hideous with evil intent. Mick had no choice but to stand his ground. He hadn’t the energy to run. The creature came straight for him like a bullet from a gun, waiting until the very last second before it zoomed off at a tangent, soaring with a grace that belied its ungainly appearance.  Mick saw the whites of its eyes and thought he detected an outraged astonishment, as if the winged thing was unaccustomed to and therefore unprepared for blind confrontation. Even so, the rush of its giant wings came like a blow that sent Mick reeling in its wake.  He tottered clumsily, like a child learning its first steps, but soon recovered his balance and continued to head for the dome.

     The strangest sensation came over Mick. He felt as though he had been rebuked by a dark, ungodly force that persisted, determined to force him to his knees. He swayed and nearly fell, but if ever stubbornness was a virtue, now was the time to make the most of it. He plodded on. Each step was an effort, the result of sheer willpower. A searing heat had already replaced the bitter cold. A haze rose and swirled everywhere like clouds of steam. Meanwhile, the dome flitted in and out of his vision with tantalizing frequency without ever seeming any closer.  At last, panting and feeling dizzy, he dropped to his knees with a bleak cry of despair, still clasping the elf to his chest. “Ri, help me!” he groaned, unwittingly invoking the ultimate power acknowledged by all Mamelon.

     The dizziness grew worse. Something stirred in his leggings pocket. The puli..? Somehow, he thought not. La’s gift was capable of power, yes. But this, this was a life force. Then he remembered a second gift,  a tiny crystal the elf king Ka-Ri had slipped him. His breathing became easier.  Ka meant him no harm. Mick managed a wry smile. If ever there was a time he needed to believe in elves and their magic this was it.  Suddenly, the vision of a huge whale came upon him. Absurdly, the biblical tale of Jonah sprung to mind. Mick began to panic. The beast’s jaws opened wide. A sensation of being transported into regions beyond imagination took hold.  “Am I dying?” he wondered aloud, and was instantly more amused than frightened. All at once, he felt incredibly calm. Resistance, he realized intuitively, would not only prove futile but foolish. Relieved, he gladly submitted and let himself float like a fallen leaf on a Kentish breeze…into sweet oblivion.

      On awakening, Mick felt wonderfully refreshed. I must have slept well, was his first conscious thought. He yawned, stretched, and for one heavenly moment could have been at home, in his own bed.  Then the foreignness of his surroundings rushed up at him and he remembered. His heart sank. But before he had time to brood or even collect his thoughts, a voice spoke from a shadowy corner of the blissfully cool chamber where he lay.

     “For a motherworlder, you’ve done well, young Michal. Your mother hasn’t done a bad job on you, I must say. Not bad at all.” A shadowy figure rose and approached the bed.  Mick perceived someone dressed all in yellow, with white hair and a beard. He could easily have been Ricci’s father. Or grandfather. Mick hastily corrected himself for the stranger had to be very old, although it was harfd to justify this conclusion since the smiling face bearing down upon him was almost youthful. He remembered the elf.       

      “Kirin…!”

     “The elf waits where he must wait,” said the enigmatic figure. Mick did not like the sound of that at all, but was disinclined to seek further clarification concerning the dead elf’s whereabouts.

     “So, who are you?” Mick demanded. Immediately contrite, he softened his tone as he began to realise that in all probability he owed his life to the stranger. “Where am I, exactly?”

      “Exactly…? And what, exactly, is exactness? Suffice that you are safe…for now,” murmured the old man cryptically, “And I’ll thank you to be more polite to your grandfather,” he addedm but not unkindly and chose to ignore the look of astonishment on Mick’s face. “Now, rise and shine if you please. Much hangs on you, my boy, and time is short.  My, you’ve an education ahead of you and no mistake! But don’t look so worried. I am a brilliant teacher and you have the makings of an excellent pupil.” He grasped the bed covers and flung them off.

      “My…grandfather…?” Mick managed to mumble at last.

     “Yes, of course. You didn’t think I would let you go though this on your own did you? Now, hurry up and get dressed. We have much work to do….”

      “You wouldn’t happen to have any food, I suppose, and some water?”

      “I dare say I can manage that,” agreed the robed figure, “As soon as you’re ready, come through and I’ll have something prepared.” He turned to leave. “Just bear in mind, young Michal, that I don’t appreciate being kept waiting,” called Astor, self-styled Mage of Mages, over his shoulder.

To be continued