Mamelon - Chapter 28

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“Are you alright?” Pete asked Heron. He had kept an anxious eye on his friend throughout their journey so far.

    “It’s Iggy you should feel sorry for.”  Heron gave the gluck a friendly pat on the flank. “It’s no small wonder I haven’t strangled him in my sleep!” Heron grinned. He hadn’t been awake long and was still feeling sore but refreshed as he struggled to a sitting position, “I see the elf girl is still with us,” he commented drily.

      “She seems to know what she’s doing,” Pete conceded.

      “But does she know where she’s going?” Heron moaned as he attempted to stretch.

      “The Purple Mountains are that way,” Pete pointed straight ahead, “How can we go wrong?”

     “We haven’t been exactly lucky so far,” Heron reminded him. Pete hung his head.  Neither their minds nor bodies would easily shrug off the rough handling meted out by the krills for some time yet.

     “Tell me about it!” A voice in his head that Pete has learned to associate with the gluck, Sam, now trotting morosely beside him, broke a long, dignified silence. Pete had the grace to blush. To be sure, his and Heron’s plight paled into insignificance compared to the sickening massacre of Sam’s fellow creatures by aryds.

      “Sorry,” murmured Pete and tears sprung to his eyes at the awful recollection.

     “Don’t be sorry,” said Heron, unaware of the ability of gluck and motherworlder to communicate with each other, “just hope that our luck holds for once. Ouch!” He swallowed an oath as Iggy slowed to an ungainly halt. “Me and my big mouth…!” He winked at Pete as much to allay his own fears than those of the red haired boy.

      Ahead of them, Irina had stopped near some misshapen trees and was holding up a hand, indicating they should keep their distance. She turned and held a warning finger to her lips. After a short while, she joined them. “Krills!” she whispered, “probably the same band that took you prisoner. Me also, she added grimly.”

      “You’re sure?” Heron considered the elf girl’s pale face with frank curiosity as well as genuine concern. It would appear that Irina had recognized the krills. True, he and Pete had briefed her about their own encounter but she had barely touched upon her own dealings with the scaly creatures.

        “As if I will ever forget it…!” Irina hissed “We must withdraw and find shelter until dark.”

        “Then what…?” Pete wanted to know.

       Irina drew back her shoulders in a gesture of defiance that fooled no one. “We go around them.” She misunderstood Heron’s admiring intake of breath and glared angrily. “You have a better idea?”

     “Couldn’t we just follow them at a safe distance?”  Pete suggested before Heron had time to form a suitable reply.

      “The boy has a point,” said Heron. “Better to keep the enemy in our sights than at our backs, surely?”

     “It will slow us down,” said the elf girl. Males, huh! she fumed inwardly.
   “So what’s the rush?” insisted Heron with a quiet firmness that did nothing to calm Irina’s mounting frustration.

     “Trust me.” She flung them both an imploring look. How could she explain that elven intuition  brooked no argument?

      “Sorry, not this time Irina.” Heron was adamant and began to dismount with some difficulty. “Whatever’s waiting for us in the Purple Mountains, you can be sure krills have a part to play in it.  Better we keep an eye on them and have some sort of advantage.”

      “You can’t really believe that!” Irina flared, cheeks flushed and eyes darting fire.

     “No,” Heron admitted with a rueful grin that infuriated Irina all the more, “but it makes more sense than getting caught…again,” he added pointedly.

      “Coward…!” Irina spat out the word with such venom that Pete became enraged on his friend’s behalf.

      “Don’t you dare call him that, don’t you dare!” Pete rushed at the elf girl and would have hit her but she caught his wrists in a steely grip of her own. “He’s no coward, nor am I. Nor are we the fools you take us for. You have your reasons for going to the Purple Mountains, so have we, and they’re every bit as important. Heron needs to find his family and tribe. Me, I have to find Mick and Beth. And I’ll not be tied up in a sack and have heaven knows what else done to me again, I won’t!  Not again, no way!”  Pete’s fury subsided as quickly as it has erupted and he burst into tears. Nor did he pull away when Irina released her hold and gathered his shaking body into her arms.

      “The boy has not had an easy time of it,” murmured Heron awkwardly. By now, Irina was crying too. He hated to see people cry. It embarrassed him. Worse, it completely undermined his masculinity and left him feeling vulnerable, almost like a motherworlder. “Let’s go back them find somewhere to camp.” It was a relief to turn away and limp back the way they had come. The two glucks followed him while Pete and Irina brought up the rear. The latter appeared to have capitulated and was preoccupied with comforting the distraught boy. Later, after setting up a makeshift camp among some rocks, they chewed on some mori and drunk a little vinre, Pete fell asleep on Irina’s cloak that she had laid out for him. Heron covered him with his own.

      “So who will keep an eye on the krills?” Irina demanded, “you or I?”

      “I’ll go,” he volunteered as a matter of course.

      “In your condition?” Irina shook her head. “I don’t think so!”

      “I can look after myself!”

      “But yours is not the only life at risk here,” she flared angrily, “and I will not put mine in the hands of an invalid. I will go. I suggest you get some sleep, you look terrible.” She was gone before Heron could stop her. Had he the right even to try, he wondered moodily? If he looked anything like how he felt, he was little use to anyone!  His legs gave way and he rested his back against a rock. Before he could brood further, a weary sleep overtook him.

     Irina had not changed her mind. Heron’s decision was ill-judged. There was no advantage to be had in trailing behind the krills. It would merely delay their journey’s end. But she had no desire to press on alone. Besides, she had grown fond of the red haired boy. At least, that is what she told herself, dismissing the image of Heron’s infuriating grin and mischievous twinkle in the eye whenever they argued to the back of her mind.  She tensed upon hearing voices, concealed herself behind some rocks, and settled down to observe the krill encampment. It consisted of a single tent, a few spits and cooking pans. Here and there, krills sprawled, their scaly skins glistening in the twilight beside the tell-tale flagons scattered within arm’s reach. Irina sniffed and smothered a gasp. She knew that smell. It was tayo. Her father and the elders often drank it when they gathered to reminisce about lifetimes when elves were strong and not confined to the Forest of Gar. Tayo was made from the roots, leaves and berries of a plant that bore the same name. It was much stronger than vinre. 

       The krills were drunk.

      As if on cue, the two creatures nearest to her, staggering and supporting one another with increasing difficulty, burst into bawdy song. Or she supposed it was a song. To an elf, it was nothing more or less than a poorly conceived cacophony of sound designed to inflict damage on the eardrums. Fortunately, she was not made to suffer long. The pair stumbled, went flying and collapsed in a tangled heap. There they lay, barely stirring except to utter the occasional grunt.

      Irina prepared to leave. No one here would be fit to travel before daybreak, if then. She might as well return to the others and get some rest. Inwardly, she cursed Heron. Now would have been an ideal time to skirt the camp and continue their journey unhindered.  The sooner they reached those accursed mountains, the better. For only then could she and Pers return home to their beloved Gar.  Her heart skipped a beat as her thoughts lingered with her brother. Is he still alive, she wondered, and what of poor, foolish Kirin?  Her eyes misted over. Of course, they are still alive! she told herself angrily. Besides, to think otherwise would have been nothing short of betrayal. Even so, the next beat her heart skipped warned her all was not well with the two elves.  

      She turned to go. Out of the corner of an eye, she glimpsed the tent flap move a whisker. It could have been a gentle breeze or…she waited, expectantly.  Sure enough, it was soon flung back and two figures emerged in earnest conversation. One, she recognized instantly. It was the krill leader, Radik. The other was a young female. Radik, she could make out easily enough, but the woman was surrounded in a misty haze that may or may not have been smoke drifting from the campfire.  They were arguing.

      Irina caught every word.

     “Spare me your excuses, Radik”, the female railed. “Excuses, excuses, that’s all I ever hear/ Excuses! First you lose the boy, Heron, and the motherworld child. Then you capture a real prize, the one called Michal, and what do you do but lose him as well!”

     “There are powerful forces abroad,” the grim faced krill pointed out. “How can I be expected to handle everything when even the great Ragund has his back to the wall?”

      “How dare you?” the woman snarled, “You are not worthy to lick Ragund’s boots. If he has his problems it must be down to…druids.”

      “Druids…!” Radik paled. “I had no idea,” he stammered then rallied hastily. “I rest my case.” He shrugged. “How can I be expected to stay on top of things when there is druid magic about?”

        “Druids have no interest in you, you fool!” hissed the female. “They have bigger fish to fry. All you have to do is keep your eyes and ears open and…” She looked around and sniffed the air, “your men sober.”

Radik merely shrugged again. “What do you expect after several lifetimes of living in some poxy swamp with only bog folk for company? These are good men and will not fail you. I shall not fail you either, you can be sure. Only, keep faith with us. We will succeed, and then…”

      “Mamelon will live again, rise again, and be…”

      “Ours!” cried Radik, his ugly face creasing into an even more grotesque mask of scaly triumph.

In her hiding place, Irina shivered. It was too horrible for words. She watched as the krill leader reached for his companion’s hand but the woman moved adroitly away.

      “Not now, Radik. A dream-self may not sustain touch. You could kill me.”

      “So when..?” Radik implored, positively drooling. But he retreated several paces all the same.

      “Soon, I promise, when I am my true self again. For now I am stuck with this stupid girl’s body and must trust it will lead me to the key. Without it, we cannot succeed.”

      “Nor without the boy, Heron,” Radik snarled.

      “Perhaps…” the woman murmured. Irina did not hear, but sensed the other’s growing frustration.

      “You are thinking that perhaps the motherworlder, Michal…” Radik did not need finish the sentence.

      “Perhaps,” the woman repeated as if to herself, “but Galia’s motherworld son as well as her Mamelon grandson…Who would have believed it?”

       “If Galia lives, she is a threat to us all,” Radik growled.

      “No, not Galia although, yes, it would seem she lives if only in the motherworld. No matter, for Galia is no threat to us. Neither is she any match for Ragund.  Yet, she is Astor’s daughter…”

       “Astor, huh…!” Radik scoffed. “He is no match for Ragund either. Haven’t you told me so a thousand times?”

      “It is true. But there is something else, something that troubles even Ragund, more so even that any meddling elven or even druid magic.”

       “Such as…?”

       The woman shrugged. “I don’t know. But when I do, my dear Radik, then I will also know how to destroy it.

      “You are magnificent.” The krill made ghastly rasping noises that Irina could only suppose were meant to convey admiration. Whatever, they made her flesh crawl.

      “Quite,” the woman agreed. The sneering tone conveyed nothing short of pure malice. Irina strained to get a clearer view of her face.

        “Why are elves about?” Radik shifted uneasily.

       “Why, indeed?” The woman was dismissive. “They are a nuisance, I agree. But that is all. Elves are of precious little consequence beyond Gar. Everyone knows that. Oh, they have their uses. But elves are sentimental creatures. There is no room for sentimentality with so much at stake. Trust me, Radik. I know elves of old.”

       “A foolish race,” Radik agreed.

       “So how come they outwitted you?” the woman uttered a throaty chuckle.

        “Don’t mock me,” growled the krill leader.

      “Or what?” the woman laughed outright. “Please don’t sulk, Radik. It is a childish habit and I deplore it. Come, give me a smile and say nice things to me,” she coaxed.

       “Or what…?”  Radik parried, with a grimace that might have passed for a smile had it not more closely resembled a smirk.

       The woman tossed her head and black ringlets rose like plumes of smoke in a light breeze. “Or I might have second thoughts about making you my consort once I am Ruler of Mamelon.”

      “You wouldn’t…?” croaked the krill leader.

     “You know I would. But you also know I won’t. We are two of a kind, Radik,” the teasing voice made Irina cringe but scored a direct hit and plainly gave the krill leader heart.

     Radik’s scaly chest swelled. “I love you,” he declared.  Irina sensed he meant it. Resisting an urge to vomit, she shifted her position only slightly but sufficient to achieve her objective, a clearer view of the woman’s face.

     “You love me but you hate Ragund more. You play a dangerous game, Radik. I like that. We risk all for all. Oh, and you are enjoying every moment, even your failures.”

      “As are you,” returned the krill leader, his voice as smooth and deadly as a snake.

      “As am I,” the woman agreed. “Only, I have by far the most to .lose.”

      “True,” Radic nodded his scaly head, “but also by far the most to gain.”

      “True,” she tittered.

      “All I want is you.”

      “But I want more than you, my Radik, much more,” the teasing tone persisted.

      “I will die for you if I must.”

     “And if you must, you will, Radik. You can be sure of it.”  In the half shadow, Irina saw the woman smile and gave an involuntary shudder for it was as deadly a smile as it was beautiful.  This woman is a devil, surely?  “It is as I have always said, my Radik. “We are two of a kind, you and me, and one day we shall reap our reward for that.”

       “Why wait?” he growled. From where Irina watched, it seemed the woman tensed and relaxed again in the same instant.

       “You know why, my Radik,” the voice purred, “First we must recover the Tomb of the Creator and restore the Spring of Life. A dead planet is no use to anyone. Then all we have to do is carry out our plan and enjoy….”

      “Each other,” the krill leader smirked.

      “That, too,” the woman agreed crisply.

      Irina had the impression neither quite believed the other. But the krill leader was besotted, that much was obvious. His was an unrequited love, though, she was certain of that. Whatever she wanted from him, the woman would abandon him, or worse, once his usefulness had served its purpose. Did the krill leader know this? Something about the way his adoring eyes glittered suggested he might. On the other hand, it could simply mean he was drunk.

      “One day!” the krill leader uttered a half-strangled cry that sounded to Irina’s straining ears like a curious mix of demand, plea and…wishful thinking?

      “One day!” echoed the silky voice.

     Did she imagine an unsubtle hint of mockery, Irina wondered, even as she put a hand to her mouth. Of the woman who had been standing there only moments before, there was no sign. The krill leader was quite alone.

      A scream rose in the elf girl’s throat and she thrust a tiny fist into her mouth to stifle the sound. Radik, on the other hand, well used to such visitations and departures, merely felt in the pocket of his tunic for a flask of tayo and took a long swig. Irina, already making her way stealthily and pensively back to the others, did not hear the krill leader mutter, “You have my word on it. One day, my fair Arissa…”

     Meanwhile, Pete stirred and imagined a frantic licking at his face. “Ace?” he woke, excited, his disappointment such that he could not go back to sleep. Instead, he gazed at a bleak, near starless Mamelon sky wishing for the umpteenth time that he hadn’t faked a headache that fateful day but had gone shopping with his mother. That it all seemed so long ago and far away, almost a dream already, was really scary. He stubbornly refused to cry but let his thoughts turn, as they invariably did, to Mick and Beth.

     "Things will turn out alright, you’ll see.”  A familiar voice came unbidden into his head.

Pete tossed a sceptical look towards the spot where the two glucks were resting. “I thought you were asleep,” he murmured half-accusingly.

     “Chance’d be a fine thing,” retorted Sam. “Someone has to keep a look out for the enemy, for Ri’s sake!”

      “The krills don’t even know we’re here.”

      “There are worse enemies than krillls,” Sam murmured cryptically and then pricked up his ears as they homed in on Irina’s return. She was very agitated, the gluck could tell by the way she kept running a little, slowing, pausing, and then breaking into a short run again. Her breaths were quick and choked. Can it be the bold elf girl is frightened? “Things will turn out alright, you’ll see,” the gluck repeated as much to reassure himself as the motherworld boy. 

      Suddenly, the small, floppy ears began to twitch violently as they began to pick up other sounds coming from the opposite direction and much too close for comfort.  Preoccupied with listening out for Irina and krills, the doughty gluck had missed a new threat creeping up on them from behind…

To be continued

Mamelon - Chapter 27

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The shock of seeing Irina fall off the cliff had reduced Pers to a weeping wreck. The elf was inconsolable. He sat at the ravine’s edge, sobbing and staring blindly into the abyss. 

     In vain, Beth tried to comfort him. Finally, all her efforts ignored, unacknowledged by even the faintest response, she gave up and put her mind instead to considering their next move.  Once he was calmer, Pers would be anxious to retrieve Irina’s body.  She peered down. To attempt a descent would almost certainly cost them their own lives. As far as she could make out, their only alternative was to follow the sweep of hills round and enter the ravine from the other side. This would mean travelling miles out of their way then swinging back on themselves just to reach a point directly opposite the grassy verge where they now squatted. Like dogs chasing their tails, Beth reflected grimly and did not relish the prospect one bit. She wished Mulac were here to bully her flagging spirits into a more positive approach to the situation. 

     Beth sighed. She missed the surly Nu-gen.  Eyes closed despairingly, she let herself surrender once again to the heat of his embrace, thrill to the intimacy of his mouth decsneding roughly on hers... For an instant, the flames of passion rose above all else and she seized on the comfort they offered as a drowning soul might grab at straws.  The illusion, though, passed as quickly as it had come. Heavy eyelids flew open like a faulty bolt on a door. Beth started, badly shaken. Was she in love with Mulac?  Impossible, retorted a voive in her head a shade too quickly. That first time had been a moment of madness, that’s all.  She couldn’t deny that he aroused, excited her. Moreover, her intuition had proven spot on. He was not the macho sexist he pretended to be. His lovemaking had been incredibly warm and sensitive. She shook her head and ran impatient fingers through her hair. Mulac had no place in her life. He belonged to Mamelon. The sooner I can leave this alien place and go home, the better.  Her dad, her reflected tearfully, would be frantic with worry.

     Dad.  It struck Beth like a hammer blow that she given precious little thought to her father lately.  But the kindly face that sprung to mind was even more unbearable to contemplate than Mulac’s smouldering features. Instead, she struggled to concentrate on the present crisis.

     “I am ready.” Pers broke his long silence and leapt nimbly to his feet. “We must prepare to go down,” he announced in a choked voice but with an air of determination that Beth had been dreading.

     “It’s too dangerous!” she protested.

     The elf glared. “Dangerous? Of course it’s dangerous. Is it a picnic you want? If so, then go back whence you came, motherworlder, and I will go alone.”

     “We could go round.”

     “It would take too long. We would not find Irina in time.”

     “In time..? You can’t believe she’s still alive, surely?”

    “Alive, no!” the elf sobbed, “but there are things to do, rites to perform. There is Dark Magic abroad. Were it to claim her spirit before it can return to Gar…” His resolute expression crumbled and he burst into another flood of tears. Beth went to him. On this occasion, he accepted her embrace and sought comfort in it.

     “We must save her!” he wailed.

    “Gar will find a way,” she murmured in his ear and was surprised by the sure note of conviction in her voice. “We have to stay together and reach the Purple Mountains. Gar will save Irina. But who will save Gar if we fail?”  Did I really say that? Had those words sprung from her own lips?  She was sceptical, incredulous even. Yet, even her pounding heart could not deny their uncompromising sincerity. So why did she feel so…uneasy? “Please Pers, listen to me! We have no choice. We have to go on together,” she begged and meant it. She sensed her voive was starting to penetrate his resistance. At the same time, part of her felt almost ashamed, as if she were forcing an entry like some common thief.

     Pers trembled. She was right, of course. They had to stay together even if it meant taking the longer, safer route. At the same time, a deeper intuition warned it was out of the question. He must save Irina from whatever Powers of Darkness had stolen her from him. The need for haste coursed like a trail of burning pitch through his veins until his entire insides were ablaze and he all but began to suffocate.

     “You can’t help Irina!” Beth screamed in sheer desperation. “No one can. She’s dead. We won’t make things any better by killing ourselves as well!”  Per rounded on her with an expression of such agony that she longed to take the words back. But the devil had her tongue and she continued to lash out at the unfortunate elf. “Go ahead, kill yourself if you must. Me, I want to live.” She paused briefly. “Go on, sod off! What are you waiting for, my blessing?” she snarled in a voice so unremittingly scathing that her conscience disowned it on the spot.  But the devil in her was having no truck with such petty distractions. “Elves, huh!” she spat.  “Cowards…!”

     Pers bore this tirade of abuse with an air of mixed stoicism and appalled hurt. He had never thought to see the motherworlder in such a rage. The pretty face was flushed purple, the lovely mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. The truth came to him, unbidden, in a flash of nether insight. This was not Bethan.  It was…

    The elf made a supreme effort to check his thoughts as they proceeded to run riot, all but losing an obscure trail of realization that led to the very edge of consciousness then dropped like his beloved Irina into the abyss beyond.  He strained to keep a tenuous hold on reality. Bethan, he guessed, was surely possessed by the same Dark Force threatening to overtake and destroy them both?  The chaos in his mind intensified.  Invisible hands propelled him towards an almost welcome oblivion.  His head throbbed unbearably. Yet he managed to cling to a vestige of elven will. Its little remaining strength ebbing fast, he somehow found a voice. “Father..!”

    Her companion’s wild cry struck Beth like a savage blow to the head. She stumbled backwards only a few steps before dropping in a heap to the ground. As she came too, a while later, she cried out in in pain. Her whole body felt as if it had been put through a shredder. The sensation passed quickly enough, but it was not one she would forget in a hurry. She remembered only vaguely, what had happened.  Irina was gone, presumed dead.  Pers and she had…quarrelled? It seemed so unlikely since they had become such good friends. Instinctively, she glanced at where the elf lay, motionless, on the ground a few feet away.

     Pers opened his eyes. Bethan smiled concernedly at him and he smiled back. Both gave a sigh of relief. They were friends again. “What happened?” she asked gently as she helped him sit up.

     “I am not sure,” confessed the elf, “I think my father…but that is not possible. Elves have no real power beyond Gar. All Mamelon knows that. 

     “Your father saved us.” It was not a question.

     “Yes,” he agreed and gave her a queer look.

     “So, what now..?”

    “We must find my sister.” He expected a blast of protest. Instead, Bethan merely nodded.

     “Of course, but…”

     “It will not be an easy climb…” He watched her carefully as he spoke. If she still had doubts, she chose not to voice them. Neither did she passively acquiesce. Instead, she radiated an aura of acceptance, determined and resolute. Certainly, there was nothing in the least passive about it.

     “True,” was all she said and held his searching gaze as she spoke, “But we don’t mevessarily have to descend from this very spot. We should at least look for an easier  way down.”

        “Look for what, a path perhaps?” Pers grinned.

     “Why not?” she grinned back and gave him a hug that he returned with genuine affection.

     “Why not, indeed!” came a voice out of nowhere. Pers and Beth sprang apart in startled haste, each grabbing the other’s arm to save tripping over their own feet.  “A path sounds like an excellent suggestion though I can’t imagine why anyone should want to climb down a sheer drop, for Ri’s sake.  Are you both quite mad?” the stranger laughed teasingly. Pers gave a shy grin.

      Beth regarded a young woman about her own age with instant if irrational mistrust. “But I must be going mad, too! An elf, goodness me! And if I’m not mistaken, a motherworlder…” she tittered gaily, “Oh brave new world that has such creatures in it!” she quoted Shakespeare with a twinkle in the lovely eyes and a throaty chuckle.  Beth winced at this unexpected reminder of another life and thought she detected a glint of malice in the other girl’s eyes. But Pers saw only the dazzling smile and felt his lanky frame go weak at the knees.

     “So who might you be?”  Beth found her voice while Pers chose to study the tawny grass a trifle sheepishly.

      “I’m called Arissa. This is Tol.” She gestured with a sweep of the hand and Beth noticed the young woman’s companion for the first time. He was a good seven feet tall, thickset, a veritable giant of a man who hung back at a distance, regarding the scene with apparent indifference. The long, pale face was almost devoid of expression. Thin lips betrayed no sign of greeting. Not for a single moment did the fellow’s wide blue eyes lose their bland expression. “He serves me,” Arissa added by way of explanation.

      The other woman’s dismissive manner towards her servant, as if he were nothing more or less than  necessary baggage, made Beth’s hackles rise. She flung the giant a friendly smile. But the giant’s lips did not so much as twitch nor did the eyelids flicker. Yet she felt something. For no apparent reason, she decided she liked this Tol. There’s more to you than meets the eye, she mused inwardly. If you’re her pet zombie, I’m no Keeper.  She suppressed a start. Keeper…? Why had she thought that? 

     Outwardly, Beth appeared calm. Only Tol, she vaguely suspected, knew better. Nor did that trouble her in the least. Tol, all Beth’s instincts reassured her, was a friend. The same instincts warned her that Arissa was…an enemy?  “I’m Beth,” she said aloud and almost said Bethan but checked herself just in time. “This is Pers.”  

     Pers…?” Arissa repeated, rolling the name on her tongue as if savouring the sound. “A fine name, indeed, for such an imposing elf!  This is an unexpected pleasure.” Arissa came forward and embraced him, barely sparing Beth a second glance.

     To Beth’s growing annoyance, Pers’ elven countenance blushed an even deeper red. “And who exactly are you, Arissa?” she asked with a directness that appeared to amuse this undisputed subject and object of poor Pers’ embarrassment.  The dramatic effect on the elf of Arissa’s hug and subsequent peck on the cheek was lost upon neither woman.

     “We journey, Tol and I, to the Purple Mountains,” said Arissa.

     “That wasn’t what I asked,” Beth started to say but Pers jumped in ahead of her.

     “So are we!” he exclaimed excitedly. “We can…”

     “Travel together!” Arissa clapped her hands gaily, “How delightful!”

     Pers beamed. Beth frowned. This was not the same Pers who had been grieving for his dead sister not half an hour since. Nor was it the trusty companion she had come to love like a brother. This was some infatuated dimwit sure to come to grief. Even as her heart sank, it went out to the elf. By now, he had fully recovered his powers of speech and was chatting animatedly with a still smiling if subtly more restrained Arissa.

     “You know the way? Will you take us there?” Pers was asking as a child might beg a treat.

     “The way is clear enough!” she laughed, pointing to the distant towers flickering in a mist like white haired giants in purple robes. “But I will take you by the shortest route, yes.”

     “We go there to meet friends,” said Beth coolly, “and you?”

     Arissa’s full, sensual mouth curved and a set of perfect white teeth flashed Beth a sunny smile. Only, the eyes did not smile but remained wary. “I go to find my parents. They wait for me in the Vale of Ca-an.”

     “The Vale of Ca-an…?” Pers stammered, “But that’s an unholy place. No one goes there.”

    “I do, elf.” Arissa snapped. Aware of Beth’s hostile gaze, she hastily recovered her composure. “These are strange times as well we all know. But I trust my mother. Would you not trust your mother also, elf?” she purred and Beth was hard put to suppress a knowing snort.

     “Yes, of course!” Pers blushed yet again.

     “Yes, of course!” Arissa clapped her hands, a habit that was already starting to jar on Beth’s nerves. “It is the same for me. But have no fear, my dear elf, for I shall leave you before we reach Ca-an. By then we will already be in the mountains. You will go your way and I mine. Meanwhile, we can enjoy each other’s company surely?  I would like that dear Pers.” 

     “Me too!” the elf enthused, clapping his hands delightedly in unconscious imitation.

     “Now, tell me. Why do you seek a way down?”

     Pers frowned as if he had trouble remembering. Suddenly, his face lit up. Then it darkened again and he was close to tears. “My sister, Irina…she fell,” he mumbled.

     “Fell? But that is terrible my poor, poor elf!” She embraced Pers again and held him close. “And you must find her, yes? But of course! There is a path not far from here. Tol knows these parts like the back of his hand. He will take us there. We shall descend together, find and…bury…your sister and then continue on our way.”

     “There is a path?  Pers sobbed. “But…”

     “Incredible, I know. But Tol assures me it is so and Tol has been with me a long time. I trust him with my life. And you, my dear elf, must trust me.”

     “I do, I do!” his face lit up again.

    You can trust her if you like, Beth seeted inwardly, “but I wouldn’t put anything past this one! She forced smile. “You were saying about there being an easier way…?”

     “…than attempting to decend a sheer drop, yes. But of course…” The lovely lips pouted mockingly.

     “We must go down,” said Pers. But he slurred his words and uttered them with such faint-heartedness that Beth found it even more disturbing than his earlier, stubborn insistence.

     “Not so, my dear elf,” Arissa smoothly contradicted.

     “We haven’t time to go all the way around,” Beth was quick to point out.

    “You speak for us all, motherworlder?” Arissa pouted, “But why bother, when all we have to do is…continue.” She shrugged and gave a ringing laugh that made Beth wince. Tol will take us. He knows these hills like the back of his hand. Once, he escaped from krills who would have taken him to mine for gold in the Purple Mountains. Or so he would have us believe.” She shrugged again and flung the silent giant a searching glance. “He says little but knows much, my Tol.  In time, he made his way to Ti-Gray, Isle of the Dead. My parents took him in. They gave him to me. I would not be without him.”

     “Gave him to you?” Beth was mortified.

     “Yes, of course, and why should they not? He sought employment, refuge, a place to call home. We gave him all these things. In return, he serves me well. Is it not an excellent arrangement?”

     Beth did not trust herself to answer. Instead, she glanced at the giant as if expecting some kind of denial. Tol merely continued to gaze impassively ahead without a word. Even so, she sensed denial in every timbre of his being. Warning bells clanged in her head.  No way can this Arissa be trusted. 

     “Come, my dear elf, let us go find your poor sister.” Arissa took Pers’ arm and paused only long enough for the bald elf to gaze adoringly into the merry eyes before nodding to the giant.

    “We must go down,” repeated Pers. But he wore a glazed expression as if not entirely in control of his own faculties.

     “Not so, my dear elf, we go across. True, the ground slopes but not as steeply as you imagine,” purred Arissa, tossing her head. Her hair swirled like clouds of smoke. “What you see is an illusion. Step into the void and grass will grow beneath your feet just as it does now.”

     “But…” Pers fumbled for words.

     “That’s absurd!” Beth retorted.

    “Strange, I agree,” Arissa conceded, “Someone wishes you ill, I think, on this journey you take. How exciting!” she clapped her hands again.

     Beth was hard put to swallow her irritation.  She looked away impatiently. Her eyes chanced to meet the servant Tol’s impenetrable stare. There was no change in the fixed expression, but she sensed a surge of rapport and smiled, tacitly acknowledging a bond between them albeit with no real grounds for doing so. For his part, Tol gave no visible sign whatever. Yes, there was something, she was sure of it.

     “Here, Tol!” Arissa called and the shaggy head moved a fraction in her direction. “Walk into the ravine.” She turned to the others. “The only way to defeat illusion is to ignore it.  Tol will demonstrate for us, won’t you Tol?”  The big man gave a slight, respectful nod of the head, performed a lumbering about-turn and faced the ravine.

     “If you’re so sure, why not give us a demonstration yourself?” Beth challenged her angrily. Arissa only laughed. “Or perhaps you’re afraid,” she added for good measure.

     Arissa’s lovely eyes narrowed. The full, sensual mouth tightened. Beth expected a tempter tantrum but Arissa’s expression changed suddenly from dark to light. Even Beth had to admit it was like watching the sun emerge from behind a thundercloud.  That Arissa was a beauty, there was no denying.  She’s also nobody’s fool, Beth noted for future reference. “I am Arissa,” the newcomer declared as if she were royalty and   gave a regal snort that was calculated to have maximum effect. It certainl worked on s Pers who gazed adoringly at its source with a puppy dog look that made Beth’s stomach heave. “I have to prove myself to no one. Besides, Tol likes to do things for me. Don’t you my Tol?”  The servant gave a slight, stiff bow. “He cannot speak for his tongue has been removed. By krills probably,” she added as an afterthought.

     “Illusion…?” Pers echoed dazedly, “But my sister…” tears filled his eyes.

     “Fell…” Beth insisted.

    Arissa shrugged. “She thought she would fall, so she fell. But not into any ravine, believe me. These hills are littered with caves. Perhaps she stumbled into one.”

     “But we saw,” Beth insisted.

    “You saw only what whoever created this illusion wanted you to see,” returned Arissa with an air of someone explaining the obvious to a slow-witted pupil. Beth winced. Someone…? Certainly, their journey had been plagued with mishaps and misfortune so far. But who would want us to fail, and why? Before she could throw any such questions at Arissa, however, Pers launched himself at her, kissing her on both cheeks.

     “She’s alive!” cried the elf, “My darling Irina lives!” He was ecstatic and ran from Beth to Arissa, flinging his arms around her. Arissa, Beth observed with ill grace, wasted no time responding in kind.

     “In all likelihood, that is so!” Arissa returned the elf’s embrace with interest.

     What are you up to, Arissa? ”Beth desperately wanted to know, but said nothing. She had grown fond of Pers. He was plainly besotted. While she did not trust the stranger an inch nor would she risk alienating her friend by playing straight into the other woman’s hands. An involuntary smile played on Beth’s lips.  They made an odd couple, the beautiful Arissa, oozing self-confidence, and the shy, gangling Pers.  It struck her that, whatever game Arissa was playing, the stakes must be high indeed.

     “These are strange times. Anything can happen…” Arissa was saying.

     “Or not happen, it would seem.” Beth remained sceptical.

     “Or not happen,” Arissa agreed gaily. She kissed Pers lightly on the cheek before turning to Tol. “Now, y Tol, show us how it is done.”

     Beth held her breath as the servant proceeded to walk unhesitatingly towards the ravine. “No!” she cried. Tol stopped just short of the edge. “This isn’t fair!” she protested and glared at Arissa. “He’s a person, not piece of luggage to be discarded at your whim! You can’t treat people like that, it’s sick.”

     Arissa burst into peals of laughter. “Discard? As if I would dream of such a thing! I would be lost without my Tol!”  A look crossed the lovely face that Beth might well have read as pain in any other. It was but the briefest glimpse. The straining features quickly relaxed, their cool beauty restored. “Continue Tol,” she called cheerfully, but shot a warning glance at Beth. “Don’t ever try anything like that again. Tol takes orders only from me,” she muttered between clenched teeth without letting her radiant smile falter for an instant.

     Beth contrived a meaningful smile of her own. He stopped, didn’t he? it said. But she resisted the temptation to gloat.

     Arissa went to stand with Pers. She took the elf’s arm and placed it in hers. Nor was the possessive gesture lost on Beth who pretended indifference.  All three observed Tol approach the ravine with shambling but determined strides. 

     Beth could not bear to watch and closed her eyes. Dear Ri, let him be alright! Without thinking, she called on Mamelon’s own god in silent prayer.

     “Fear not, motherworlder,” a voice answered from nowhere, “but you are right not to trust Arissa. Watch out for the elf, his need is greatest. Do not concern yourself with me, but always remember Tol is your friend.”

     Tol…? Beth started. She opened her mouth to speak but some deeper instinct warned her against saying a word. That Arissa’s servant was addressing her, she had no doubt, but…How?

     Beth’s eyes flew open at the precise moment Tol stepped over the edge.

To be continued

Mamelon - Chapter 26

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“Where the devil are we?” groaned Mick, slowly emerging from unconsciousness. He’d had the weirdest dream. He was at home in bed and his father had been yelling at him to wake up.

       “Call not upon devils in this place,” was Mulac’s grim response, “unless you care for such company.”

      “So? I’m stuck with you, aren’t I?” retorted Mick without thinking. He meant it half-jokingly. It was clear from the Nu-gen’s expression, though, that he was not amused. “Sulk then, see if I care,” muttered Mick. He neither liked nor trusted the surly nomad. His head throbbed. The image of a temple and a tree trunk became confused and blurred his mind. A figure hovered, too. Grandfather, is that you? He had liked the old man and believed the feeling mutual. They had formed a bond, or so he thought. Yet, now he found himself in a dark, unearthly place with only this nasty piece of work called Mulac for company. He sighed and felt betrayed, but struggled, nonetheless to get some bearings. It was so dark he could barely make out the nose in front of his face.

      They were in a huge cave.

     Mulac stared straight ahead, and for the first time, regretted the inner sight that had replaced his normal vision. What he saw, all but paralysed him with fear. And he was no coward. Figures, all monstrous shapes and sizes had gathered directly ahead and were contemplating the two interlopers much as a pack of wolves might relish a meal of fresh meat.

      “Where are we?” repeated Mick.

      “In the jaws of the dragon,” murmured Mulac grimly.

      “Dragon..?”

      “The Dragon Hills make up its tail, we are in its mouth,” the Nu-gen explained.

      Mick recalled the bleak panorama and paled. “That’s not so bad, surely?  If the tail leads to the Purple Mountains then all we have to do is find a way out of here and it shouldn’t take us too long to get back on track, right?”

      “There is no way out of this place,” said Mulac flatly, “except, if the legends be true, for a rare few deemed to have earned the right…”

      “You’re not making any sense,” Mick grumbled between teeth that had begun to chatter. It was growing colder by the second.

     Mulac turned, appearing to collect himself somewhat. “We are in Nul-y-Gray, Place of the Undead,” he said quietly. Nor did he flinch from Mick’s horrified gaze but forced himself to continue. “Those that come here are neither alive nor quite dead. For whatever reason, Ri has forbidden them access to Ti-Gray, Isle of the Dead. Unless they can win back His favour, they must remain here for all eternity and rot. Or…” he paused and grimaced.

      “Or…?” Mick prompted, stomach churning.

      Mulac shrugged. “Tales are told how an exchange may be done,  a life for a death. If any here can lay their hands on a living soul, they may leave. So…”

      “We’re going to be popular!” Mick forced an uneasy chuckle.

     “True,” the Nu-gen also forced a smile. Ahead, the rapidly swelling band of boggle-eyed creatures retreated a few steps.

      “What are you staring at?” Mick wanted to know.

      “We have company.”

      “Really…? I can’t see a bloody thing, it’s so dark!”

      “Be glad you cannot see,” Mulac murmured.

      “Are they...?” Mick gulped.

      “Coming for us? Yes. They will fight over our souls, and then two will be allowed to leave and we will take their place.”

      “There must be something we can do?” Mick began to panic. “We can at least put up a fight!” he added stubbornly.

      “To what end?” Mulac shrugged again. “We cannot kill them for they are already dead. We, on the other hand….”

      “So what are they waiting for?”

      “I have been wondering that myself…”

     The pair stared straight ahead, one seeing the whole grisly scene and the other little else in a thickening gloom beyond the Nu-gen’s faint outline. “Why are we here?” Mick wailed. “We’re not dead and we haven’t done anything wrong!”

      “Why indeed?” murmured Mulac.

      In his pocket, Mick felt stirrings of something warm as if alive. He remembered La’s gift and how he had felt its presence just prior to being rescued from certain death by Astor, his so-called grandfather.  Just as he had experienced a sensation of safety then, so he felt it now. But look where had it got him last time, he reflected angrily?  He dug a hand in the pocket of his jeans and promptly removed it, biting his lip to suppress a yelp. The tiny egg-shaped stone had burned his fingers. He was about to tell Mulac but any sound died on his tongue as his eyes focused straight ahead. He could see them. “Oh, my God…!”

      “You can see them?” Mulac exclaimed.

     “You bet!” Mick’s legs threatened to give way under him and he leant against the cavern’s rock wall for support.

      “How…?” Mulac grabbed his companion ad shook him, “How is it you can see them?  Tell me, it may help us!”

       “I…” croaked Mick, and then his eyes widened like saucers.

      “What is it?” demanded Mulac, slackening his hold on Mick’s tunic but slightly.

      Mick could only gulp and stare. Over the Nu-gen’s shoulder, he saw a familiar figure step out of the mob and approach. “Kirin…!”  

      Mulac let go and swung round.

      “Although you are not welcome here, greetings,” said the elf in a strong, clear voice.

      “You…!” Mulac spat, unable to conceal either astonishment or contempt. “How came you to this place, elf?”

      “I erred and now I must pay,” said the elf with such naïve simplicity that it brought a lump even to the Nu-gen’s throat. “Thank you for not leaving me,” Kirin spoke directly to Mick. “I did not deserve your kindness.”

      “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Mick responded if a shade halfheartedly, “You certainly don’t deserve…this.”

         “Can you help us?” Mulac wanted to know.

        That is why I have come. Follow me and I will lead you out of here. But speak to no one or you will pass beyond my help.”

         “How can this be?” Mulac was incredulous.

        “I am new to this place. Even here, an odour of the Forest still clings to me. It will protect us, but not for long so we must hurry. Mark we well. Speak to none but me.” 

      “Fat chance!” exclaimed Mick and took a few hesitant steps forward. The elf turned and faced the creature mob. It oozed hostility, but parted to allow them through. At their every step, it closed ranks behind them. Kirin walked briskly, with confidence and an air of defiance. Mick followed fast on the elf’s heels, trying to ignore the sickening stench and ghastly clamour all around. Nor did Mulac hesitate wither, but continued to mull over the elf’s words and kept them close to his heart.

      The cavern seemed endless. Suddenly, after negotiating one of a seemingly infinite series of twists and turns…they were alone, just Mick and the Nu-gen. Gone was the ghostly rabble, panting at their necks. Kirin, too, had disappeared.  Mick turned to Mulac who appeared no less mystified than he. “What the…?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” growled Mulac, “but we must take great care. There is evil here.”

  “You’re telling me!”

  “Not the Undead, though some be evil incarnate. No, something else has stalked our every move long before we came to this place. I feel it with every breath, every step I take. It hunts you, motherworlder.  Yet, like it or no, I am involved also.”

  “So it’s my fault we’re stuck with each other, is that what you’re saying?”

  But Mulac made no reply. Not for the first time, the Nu-gen sensed a curtain drawn over his mind and sought to open even a chink and peer through. “If only I could see,” he murmured and knew, somehow, that he did not refer either to normal vision or that which had come with his ‘blindness’. It had been with him for as long as he could remember. Even amomng the wolves, he had sensed there was a vital part of his true self to which he was denied access. It was as if something or someone was intent upon saving him from himself. In some obscure way, he understood this force was well meant if misguided. I must draw back the curtain. Yet, try as he might to focus his will on penetrating the invisible obstruction, it was to no avail. In the past, he had shrugged it off and given up. This time, though, he persevered. Yet, still nothing. Only, very faintly, he could hear pipes playing a tune he thought he should know but could not place.

“Mulac…!” But Mick’s cry drew no response. “You’re a big help, I don’t think!” He sighed, a growing impatience mingling with the seeds of panic. For his companion appeared lost in a trance of sorts.

“Michael…!”  He heard his name called, and all but jumped out of his skin. Ahead, only a few feet away, stood a familiar figure, arms outstretched. Mick could only stare, open mouthed at his mother and let feelings of sheer relief and joy rise within him like an erupting volcano.

Mum! he yelled in his head and would have rushed into her open arms. But his legs remained as tethered as his tongue to a surfeit of emotion that kept him rooted to the spot.  It was too much. His eyes filled with tears. To find his mother, here of all places, it was…unbelievable. His heart sank. The giant wave of emotion rising within him suddenly transferred itself to some external phenomenon, now towering over him like an ornamental dragon’s head, now dropping…to smash into a million fragments at his feet.

“Michael!” she called again, but more faintly now. She was leaving, leaving without him. This can’t happen. It mustn’t happen. Unspoken words tumbled from his mouth and rushed at her on a tide of such raw feeling that the hurt was unbearable.

Mum, wait! his frantic mind screamed as he forced his lips to frame the sounds that offered him escape, freedom…a way home. Yet, even as they leapt from his tongue they were rudely blocked.

“No!” yelled Mulac, one hand over the struggling motherworlder’s half open mouth and the other wrenching an arm behind his back to prevent him from running after the vision. “Remember what the elf said. Speak to no one. It is not your mother. It is but a trick of the Undead to capture your soul. Be silent or you will never leave this place!” Never, never, never... Echoes like knives splitting his skull mingled with a pounding of the heart that finally penetrating his nether consciousness.  Mick stopped struggling and remained passive, eyes closed, in the Nu-gen’s iron grip.

Sensing that the immediate danger had passed, Mulac relaxed his hold and lowered his companion to the stony ground.  Mick submitted, trembling, and making pitiful whining sounds.  Mulac surprised himself by not wanting to let go. Instead, he continued to hold his companion, rocking him gently in arms unaccustomed to such gestures and making soothing noises.

Tucked up in his bed in Tunbridge Wells, the child, Mick Wright, let The Okay Song wash away the cares of a long day and carry him, safe and snug, into the bosom of a dreamless sleep. 

When he awoke, Mick was mortified to find himself snuggling up to Mulac, of all people! The Nu-gen was resting against the cavern wall, eyes closed, apparently dozing.

Mick shifted his position, and was about to thrust the Nu-gen’s encompassing arm away from him when a blast of cold air hit him in the face and caused him to have second thoughts. After all, he was comfortable enough where he was. Besides, he felt safer than he had for some time. He may not like Mulac, Mick decided, but after this he would trust the surly nomad Nu-gen with his life. He closed his eyes and settled back into the crook of the nomad’s arm, huddling even closer against the other’s tunic for some reassurance as well as warmth.

“Wake up, we must hurry!” The two companions woke abruptly to find Kirin close by and growing more agitated by the second. “There is a power abroad of such evil that even The Undead fly in fear. See…” He swept an arm all around. It was true. Not one of the awful creatures that had thronged and menaced them earlier was to be seen.  The pair, each suddenly aware of the other’s closeness, promptly disentangled themselves and leapt to their feet as one, flushed with embarrassment and careful to avoid looking at one another.

Kirin appeared not to notice their discomfiture. “We must hurry,” he repeated.

“And you, elf, you are not afraid?” Mulac was curious.

“Of course, but the Forest calls and I must answer as best I can. I may not go there, but all the while it remains a part of me there is hope.” He smiled, much as the live Kirin would have done. “And hope, my friends, is stronger than fear, believe me.”

“I believe you,” said Mulac gravely.

“Now, come, hurry…” Kirin pleaded.

They followed the elf this way and that through the maze of tunnels that dogged Nul-y-Gar, running for much of the way and only pausing for breath when Mick got stomach cramp. At last, the elf stopped and pointed. “Take the right fork and it will bring you safely to the world above.”

“And you?” Mick felt obliged to ask even though he knew the answer.

“I must return to the others.”

“How can you bear it?”

“I must. Besides, while Gar is with me I am not like them.”

“But…”

“For how long…? Who knows? Perhaps Ri will take pity on a foolish elf…”

“A brave and good elf,” Mulac growled. At the same time, the Nu-gen contrived a rare smile that, fleetingly, so transformed the sullen features that Mick scarcely recognized him.

“Hear, hear!” Mick agreed and held out a hand to the elf who drew back immediately as if struck.

“He may not touch us or else suffer an even worse fate,” murmured Mulac. Embarrassed, Mick withdrew his hand. “We owe you, elf,” said Mulac quietly before making his way towards the fork ahead.

“Thanks,” said Mick shyly.

“It is I who should thank you,” replied the elf. “When you see Pers and Irina…tell them…” His voice trailed away in abject misery.

“I’ll give them your love just as they would wish me to give you theirs,” said Mick with uncharacteristic diplomacy.  The elf’s face lit up. Then, without another word or a single backward glance, he turned and fled. Mick watched the retreating figure with a heavy heart until it turned the first bend. Only then did he hurry to catch up with Mulac. The Nu-gen was contemplating a wall of solid rock with growing exasperation. “What on earth…where’s the fork?”

“You tell me!” Mulac groaned, hands on hips and a face like thunder.

“Oh, no…!” Mick groaned and sank to his knees.

Mulac pounded on the rock with his fists then, finally, accepted the futility of it and joined Mick on the ground.

“He said there was way out!” wailed Mick.

“And the elf would not lie,” said Mulac thoughtfully, “It can only mean one thing…”

“We’re stuck here forever!”

“We haven’t time for that!” observed the Nu-gen laconically.

Mick burst out laughing. “Do you realize you almost made a joke?”

“A joke…?” Mulac was genuinely puzzled.

“You know...something funny, amusing…”

“You find Nul-y-Gray funny, amusing? By Ri, you motherworlders are impossible!”

“And you clowns from Mamelon are the pits!” Mick exploded despairingly before lapsing into a sulk.

Mulac merely shrugged and continued to brood. The fork had been there. They had both seen it, the elf too. So, either it had been an illusion or… “Of course!” he leapt up and glared first at the wall then at Mick. There was something vaguely familiar about the wall. He closed his eyes. Instantly, the ‘curtain’ appeared. I wonder…?  He continued to ponder. “Do you trust me?” he suddenly flung at Mick. Mick glared back wordlessly. “I did not ask if you liked me, only if you trust me,” said the Nu-gen with a twitch of the lips to which, in spite of himself, Mick could relate only too easily.

“Yes, I trust you.”

“Good. Now get up and take my hand.”

“Why?”

“Never mind, why…just trust me”. Mick got to his feet.

“Now, take my hand.”

“I don’t think…”

“Exactly. For that it what you must do. Don’t think. Just do as I say. Now, take my hand.”  Mick swallowed his pride, contented himself with a baffled shrug and did as he was told. “Good. Now, close your eyes.”

“But…”

“Close them!” Mick grimaced, but obliged.

“Now, on the count of three we will take six paces forward.”

“But…”

“Six paces forward, yes?”

“If you say so…” Mick grumbled peevishly.

“I do.” Mulac closed his eyes and was greeted by the familiar curtain.  “One, two, three...” Hand in hand, the pair stepped six paces forward. Mulac let go of Mick’s hand. “Good. Now you can look.”

With an exasperated click of the tongue, Mick opened his eyes. “What the blazes…?” The wall had disappeared and, straight ahead, the rock floor forked right and left. “How on earth…?

“Either the fork was an illusion or the wall. I guessed it had to be the wall. But we had seen it, touched it. We believed in it. By ignoring it, we undermined that belief and destroyed the illusion.”

“And if you had guessed wrong?”

Mulac shrugged. “Do you really care?”

“I guess not,” Mick acknowledged with a rueful grin. Both men started forward and took the left fork.  After yet more seemingly endless twists and turns, Mick began to have doubts. “Maybe this is an illusion too,” he muttered.

“The thought had crossed my mind also,” Mulac admitted as they entered a new tunnel.

“So what’s your guess?”

Mulac pointed. In the distance, a tiny amber glow winked at them “My guess is that’s the sky!” 

Both broke into a run.

Mamelon - Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Tim Wright finally persuaded his wife, Gail, to lie down and rest. For his own part, he felt the need for a long, hot bath. As he soaked his weary body and began to relax, he deliberately cleared his mind of present distractions and sought in the far distant past for the purpose behind the sudden re-opening of old wounds.

It was an incredible tapestry of history and legend that he conjured up in the rising steam and left him breathless.  How was it possible that none of it had touched him or Gail for so many lifetimes? 

     The erstwhile Holy Seer of Mamelon let out an involuntary cry. Haven’t we endured more than enough already? They were happy in the motherworld with their two fine sons.  He groaned. Where are Michael and Peter?  He could not bear to lose them. Why should they be made answerable to the sins of their parents? Whatever is Astor thinking of? 

     Tears filled his eyes. Only, they did not flow for his sons or for the Keeper, Bethan. They flowed because he could not endure the prospect of being separated from Galia again. Hadn’t he lost her once already to Michal, childhood friend and once Ruler, too many lifetimes ago than he cared to remember?  Yet, remember he must.  He sighed and the water at his chin rippled over his naked body like a crumpled sheet. How could they have been so foolish, Galia and he, as to believe that Ri had marked out a kinder fate for them?

     “Never mind all that now,” a voice came out of nowhere, “There is evil abroad and I need your help.”

Timon recognized the voice and waited, passively, for the vision to materialise. Soon, Astor hovered nebulously on a cloud of steam.

     “Greetings, Astor, Mage of Mages,” Timon intoned the ages-old ritual.

    “Greetings, Timon, Holy Seer,” muttered Astor with indecent haste, anxious to get down to the business in hand. “I need your help, Timon, and I need it now. There is no time for procrastination. Trust me.”

      “Why me?” protested Timon. “Galia is your daughter, after all, and of elven stock if the tales be true.”

      “Pah, tales…!” Astor exclaimed, “Granted, Galia has uncommon gifts. But I have no use for them just now. As for elven magic, it is next to useless against such forces as are abroad in Mamelon now even as we speak…” he lied.

    The vision hesitated, so rare a thing for Astor that he immediately had Timon’s undivided attention. Pleased that his little ploy had worked, Astor allowed himself only the briefest sigh of relief. Timon could be stubborn to a tiresome degree when he liked.  He pressed on. Your motherworld son, Michael, stands in peril of his very soul. The other also faced danger. I can ward one, not both”.

      “Against what exactly…?” Timon demanded. .

      “Have you grown deaf after so many lifetimes of ease and pleasure?” Astor snapped. “I told you, there is evil abroad. Somehow, Ragund has succeeded in raising the spirit of Ca-an.”

      “But Ca-an is…” spluttered the Holy Seer.

    “Soul-less, yes… For all his greatness, he suffered the same fate as his foolish followers. Now, do you begin to comprehend the danger?”

      “A soul-less spirit in the hands of one such as Ragund…?  It’s unbelievable!”  Timon was aghast.

     “Believe it,” Astor rasped. “I am doing what I can, but I fear I fight a losing battle…” He frowned. That was another lie. It was a battle he expected to win although…. 

      Much as he would dearly have liked to claim all credit for keeping the upper hand, Astor had long sensed the presence of an Unknown Power. Its nature completely eluded him in spite of every probe.  At first, he had deluded himself it came from Timon.  After all, the powers of a Holy Seer were such that they should never be underestimated.  Yet, if that were true he’d have smelt it, tasted it on the tongue.  No, this was an unknown quantity that defied even druid magic. A bruised ego eventually put aside, his instincts told him that its ultimate aim was for Good rather than Evil, to restore Light rather than perpetuate Darkness in Mamelon. Even so, the mage remained uneasy to say the least. How could he be sure? Ally or no ally, it was an element over which he had no control, and Astor did not like that one bit.

      “What must I do?”  Timon was pale, his expression grim.    

     “Help your son. Send your dream-self to protect him. I will do my best for the other, although…” he made a helpless gesture. This was so uncharacteristic of Astor that Timon needed no further proof that his son was in imminent danger. At the same time, he was torn.  “Galia will never forgive me if I fail,” he stammered. “Besides, it requires a degree of…”

      “Dark magic, yes, that is true enough. But it is druid magic, too. You, more than anyone, know that not all druid magic is destructive. As for Galia, a mother will forgive anything to save her child…”

       “She has no idea…”

      “That you are a druid?” Astor permitted himself a dry chuckle, “I dare say. Like it or not, her sons are part elf, part druid, part human. An awesome combination, I agree, but one that may yet save Mamelon. But I digress. We are wasting time. You know what you must do, get on with it.”

The vision disappeared. For a split second, Tim Wright was tempted to deny everything; Astor, Mamelon, his own druid roots. But his son needed him. Michael was in danger. No! He felt the pull of Dark Magic on every sinew and summoned all the Power of Will to resist, overcome, outmanoeuvre…

     It was a terrible journey, to the nether regions of self and beyond, penetrating dimensions of Time and Space devised to take all humanity to the brink of madness. Time and again, Timon found himself surfing waves of pure evil vying for supremacy over a noble spirit. Time and again, he all but lost his balance and would have drowned.  But each time his concentration slackened, a paternal desperation came to the rescue. Yet, it was a descent into hell. Too often, the tiny flame of sanity in the pitch blackness, upon which all his will focused, would start to flicker and…die? No! He continued to fret and rage, drawing upon reserves of energy he hadn’t known he possessed. After one such triumph, the flame reared and blazed a weird aura. In its glow, he could just make out shapes...

      Until now, he had been aware of neither heat nor cold. Now, a heat was upon him like a furnace, but he pressed on until one of the shapes became vaguely recognisable. Michal!

      But the figure lay inert.

      Another shape manifested itself. A head, it was, without a body. A handsome head, too, with finely hewn features. Full sensual lips parted. Teeth, like daggers, descended on the prostrate figure. Polished and gleaming, they were, and deadly.  Michal! Timon yelled again with every nuance of druid consciousness at his command.

       No response.

     The daggers were poised to strike. A flash of inspiration came to the youth’s horrified father. Mick! Tim Wright screamed deep within his self, bursting through the druid persona like a man possessed. Wake up! He hadn’t the strength left to wait and see if his son would respond in time. The flame subsided and, with it, every vestige of his selves-control. Helpless, he could but allow himself to be sucked into an almighty vacuum…

     After what seemed an eternity, he became aware of his twenty-first century body once more. His eyes flew open. He was home in Tunbridge Wells, contemplating his toes in the bath. I’ve made it back! He heaved a long sigh of relief. This time, anyhow, his inner self added grimly.  But what had become of his son? What of Michael? 

     “Gail!”  Tim scrambled out of the bath and ran to the bedroom, dripping pools of water everywhere. There was a sure way to find out if their son was safe. They must consult the seer bowl. Once it would have responded to his mere touch. Now it rejected him for his transgressions were many and he had forfeited the right to command it long ago. Yet, he took some pride from the fact that it chose to reveal its secrets to Astor’s daughter. As her husband, he was not, therefore, entirely excluded.

“Galia!” cried the once Holy Seer of Mamelon, shaking the sleeping figure none too gently, “Wake up! For Ri’s sake…”