Mamelon - Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

Pers and Irina ran until they dropped.  At last, they stumbled, exhausted, into a circle of huge boulders to whose peculiar symmetry they gave little thought at the time but were only grateful for some protection from the suffocating heat and sand.

      They had sustained an incredible pace all night. By now, though, the grim, forbidding landscape of Fah-y-Noor was perilously close to defeating them. It dragged on every muscle. Each step was torturously slow as if treading on red-hot coals. Above, the sun blazed a scarlet trail. Pers was convinced that soon they must come to the end of their tether. He thought of his parents and friends. The Forest of Gar itself seemed to call out to him. It was his last conscious thought before being sucked into a massive sweep of shadow cast by the towering rocks.  His knees buckled without warning and he collapsed in a heap where he stood. 

Irina sank beside her brother, weary beyond measure. A vision of Michal, called Mick, came to her as she fell. Her dry, cracked lips managed a half-smile. Then the lithe, dainty, body gave up on the daughter of La and Ka and the lovely eyes closed as if in death.

      Elves are tough, their powers of recuperation legendary. Even so, brother and sister alike were astonished to wake simultaneously, feeling wonderfully cool and refreshed. Around them, giant shadows conspired to form a protective ring to which excessive light and heat were denied access, except to a burnt-out stump of tree trunk at its epicentre.

      “Where are we?” Irina murmured in a daze. At first she thought Pers hadn’t heard. But that was absurd, she reminded herself. Weren’t elves blessed with aural senses second to none? “Well?” she insisted, a shade too petulantly for Pers who rounded on his sister with a display of uncharacteristic impatience.

      “How should I know? We could be anywhere.”

      But Irina was having none of it. “You know exactly where we are and it’s no use pulling a face and trying to deny it,” she accused him, “Now, are you going to tell me or do I have to shake it out of you?”

      “I’d like to see you try!” Pers grimaced, neatly side-stepping a sisterly swipe that was not in the least intended to miss its mark.

      Irina was ready to launch herself at him again when the gravity of the elf’s expression pulled her up short. “Well?” she demanded, letting her raised arm fall and adopting an injured tone. “We’re in this thing together, Pers. So, for Ri’s sake, stop playing big brother. Do you know something I don’t? I can’t be much help if you won’t tell me.”

      Pers hesitated and continued to look around, awe-struck. “Mal-y-Dros,” he mumbled several times as if trying to take in the impossible.

      “No!” Irina did not attempt to disguise either disbelief or terror. “Can the stories be true then?” She shivered and began to feel increasingly like an insect caught in a spider’s web.

      Pers ran through the old tales in his head. It was like scanning the pages of a favourite book. Every word, every line, was as familiar to him as taking breath. His mother had left nothing to chance. She has prepared him well for this moment, the elf brooded.  Mal-y-Dros, Ring of Darkness, was reputed to mark the very spot where the great druid leader, Ca-an, had prayed to Ri for salvation even as the god wreaked havoc on the motherworld. It was said that, as Mamelon went spinning into eternity,  Ca-an joined forces with the god to steer it into a parallel time.

      Pers took a long look and began to appreciate the perfect symmetry of their surroundings. The druids had built their finest temple here. According to the legends, Ri doubted whether motherworlders could ever truly break the relentless cycle of evil that marked their kind. So he taught them a lesson and trusted they might learn from it. At the same time, he sought to remove Mamelon from temptation by placing it in a different orbit. Yet, natural law forbade even Ri to interfere with an established cycle of existence.

      Pers frowned. It was said that Ri contrived to invest the druid leader, Ca-an, with powers above and beyond the potential of even druid magic.  But the god hadn’t reckoned on druid treachery. Ca-an and his followers had been unable to resist diverting these powers to their own evil advantage. They were greeted as saviours.  No difficult task, then, to swell the ranks of their followers and rule supreme. Only, they hadn’t bargained on the survival of a darker magic even than their own. Pers gave a long, bleak, sigh. Mamelon has some cause, at least, to thank Ragund.

      “Let us leave this place,” whispered Irina. “It is a sacrilege. Elves do not belong here.”

     “And do elves belong in Fah-y-Noor?” murmured a placid voice among the shadows, “I think not,” its owner remarked dryly. A figure appeared in a yellowy haze, its features only vaguely distinguishable. Pers sensed that the stranger was old, very old. Yet it was impossible to put an age to the lilting, slightly mocking voice.  It, at least, was timeless. “You are a long way from home, Children of Gar.”

      “You know us?” Pers’ native curiosity quickly overcame both initial alarm and deeper sense of foreboding.

       “I have been watching you,” the apparition said evenly, “To watch is to know, is it not?”

       “Who are you, spy?” flashed Irina angrily.

       “I am who I am,” returned the singsong voice, “Aren’t we all?”

       “That is no answer.” Pers shrugged.

       “Ah!  So is it answers you seek then or help?”

       “Why should you help us?” Irina was sceptical.

      “It is plain that you have need of me.” The infuriatingly mild reply came without the slightest hesitation. The elf girl took just one step towards the hazy figure, whereupon it raised a hand with such authority that she instantly thought better of it. “You need me to leave this place. I will take you into the Dragon Hills. There, you will be better equipped to continue your journey. The desert is no place for the Children of Gar. True, it is a way to the Purple Mountains. But for others, not elves.”

      “Why should we trust you?” Pers wanted to know.

      “Why should you not?” countered the stranger.

      “Because you are…” Pers began but could not bring himself to voice such a terrible suspicion.

      “A druid, yes, I am.”

      Irina gave a shriek.  A long, heavy silence fell upon them. It was she, again, who broke it, making no effort to conceal her contempt. “Why should a druid help elves?” she demanded, “You are our enemy. Why, you are not even flesh and blood,” she suddenly perceived and hissed, “You are a dead thing!”

      “I am a projection, yes, but dead? Dear me, no. If I were dead, daughter of La, so would you be also.  Now, come. Time is short. There is Dark Magic abroad and you are far from home.” He turned and strode resolutely into the gloom without looking back to see whether or not they followed. The elves looked questioningly at one another and then back at the rapidly retreating figure.

      “It is a trap,” Irina hissed.

      “We have no choice,” said Pers, “He is right about one thing, anyway. Elves do not belong here.” Somehow, he trusted the druid. At the same time, he was disquieted by that trust. Elves had no place among druids. Yet, he could not forget how the puli had come alive in his hand and blasted the krills.  How had he, an elf, been able to command a druid thing? But there was no time for debate, nor was this the place.

      “To reach the Dragon Hills will take as far out of our way as we have already come!”  Irina protested.     
Besides, whoever heard of a druid helping elves?”

      “Mother would say there is a first time for everything,” Pers reminded her. “Come on, before we lose him.” He caught her hand, but she drew back. “Or do you have a better idea?” But Irina knew when she was beaten. Sullenly, she nodded her head, took the outstretched hand and allowed her brother to take the lead.

       The two elves hurried after the faint haze that was all they could still see of the druid. They never did catch up with him but followed the yellowy glow, careful to avoid the tree stump dead of centre, until it faded completely. Pers stopped so suddenly that Irina crashed into him and swore in a very un-elfl-ike fashion. They peered in all directions but could only make out weird shapes in the gloom.

      “Now what…?” Letting go of her brother’s hand, Irina confronted him, hands on hips. She did not need to say anything. Her expression plainly said, “I told you so!”

      “Look!” Pers stammered, pointing to where some of the shapes had begun to congregate. Two of these stood out from the rest and were coming there way. More druids…? The elf went weak at the knees. The best storytellers did not balk from telling how the Druids of Ca-an had once pitted their magic against elves and won a crushing victory. The dying elf king, Gar, had been forced to retreat to the forest that later bore his name.  And breathed his last there, Pers recalled, shivering. Yes, but not before invoking a warding spell that made the forest impenetrable even to the darkest druid spells. So it was, as far as elves knew, the Forest of Gar became inaccessible to none but those few who survived and their subsequent bloodline.
      “Who goes there?” Pers demanded brazenly. Talk about appearances being deceptive, he mused wryly. He was scared stiff. But who am I to complain? Hadn’t they longed for adventure, all three of them?  Fleetingly, his thoughts turned to Kirin.  Had his friend and the motherworlder, Michal, escaped the krills?   He prayed to Ri they had. Even as he did so, a ring of fire flared around his heart and he failed to suppress a cry. The fierce heat subsided quickly enough but a feeling of immeasurable loss persisted. He knew now that somewhere an elf had endured a terrible fate. Who or why, he dare not even guess. Pers bit his lip and was relieved, almost glad, to turn his attention to the now recognizable figures in the mist.

      It was Irina who found her voice first. “Bethan!” the elf girl exclaimed and rushed forward to gather Beth into outstretched arms, all the dislike and jealousy she had previously harboured towards the motherworlder forgotten. Beth submitted gladly enough and returned the embrace. Mulac had hold of her arm and she felt him stiffen. Irina, too, sensed the Nu-gen’s hostility, but chose to remain indifferent to it. No one takes Nu-gen into account, for Ri’s sake!

      Lagging behind his sister, Pers was thinking much along the same lines. Even so, his eyes travelled grudgingly to the Nu-gen’s face and registered shock at what they found there. “You are blind!” Somehow, this far outweighed any implications of either the Nu-gen’s presence there at all or even the fact that he was still alive.  The nomad neither spoke nor inclined his head.  “What…why…how did you get here?” But Mulac merely shrugged, preoccupied as he was with putting the same questions to himself.

      Irina clung to Beth. “Did you see the druid? Imagine, druids, here! They are supposed to be extinct, for Ri’s sake! I can’t believe I saw one with my own eyes. Well, sort of saw him. He wasn’t real, of course…” she chattered on excitedly and quite forgot how frightened she had been.

      “Where are the others?” Beth asked anxiously, “Where’s Mick?” Irina frowned. A vivid picture of the motherworlder wrestling with Kirin in the tiny cave leapt into her mind’s eye.

      “Later,” growled Mulac, “That way, see?” He pointed.  But the bemused elves looked to Beth for an explanation.

      “He has some kind of inner vision,” she explained, “Trust me. He knows what he’s doing.”

      “Look, there!” cried Pers.  They peered through the mist, just able to make out what appeared to be a chink of natural light between the sketchy outlines of two huge boulders. The bald elf grabbed Irina’s hand and the four of them started running towards what had to be a way out of the druid circle.

      Pers broke through the gap, Irina close on his heels. As if by magic, one moment they were surrounded by shadows, and the next their eyes were all but dazzled by a tawny daylight.

      Mulac checked Beth’s loping stride with a sharp tug. She reeled around. He caught her in his arms and kissed her roughly on the mouth. At first, Beth was too taken aback to make any response as his tongue pushed between her lips and his rampant body smell swamped her senses. Yet, for all its lack of tenderness, she could not fault the sincerity of the Nu-gen’s passion. Coiling herself around him, she prepared to return his kiss. Then without removing his lips from hers until the very last moment, he wrenched the hands around his neck free and flung her away from him.  Beth gave a startled cry, stumbling outside the Druid Circle as she did so. But even as her eyes rejected the sun’s glare, her lips continued to savour the taste of Mulac’s mouth against hers.

      “Mulac…!” Beth called out in a sudden panic. She scrambled to her feet and stared at the spot where she and the elves had tumbled between the boulders. Where the massive stones had stood, a tawny grass now stretched in all directions to form a range of gently rolling hills. Certainly, there was no evidence of a Druid Circle. Nor any sign of Mulac.

     "The Dragon Hills!” exclaimed Irina with a mixture of child-like delight and ready elven acceptance of the incredible. She only vaguely wondered what had happened to the Nu-gen. Perhaps the druids had come for him? Whatever, it was no concern of hers. Druids…! She pursed her lips. Krills, druids… whatever next?
       Mutely, Beth implored Mulac not to abandon her. Nor was she convinced that he had done so. Meanwhile, basic instinct warned her that she and the elves must not linger but hasten towards their goal, just visible as a purplish haze where a coppery sky dipped and caressed the Dragon Hills some distance yet. She did not resist as Pers gently took her hand and proceeded to lead her in that direction, resolving not to make a fuss and accepting, without quite knowing why, that they could not spare any time to wait for Mulac.  Even so, she remained resentful that none of her companions suggested they should. 

      Pers could not bear to look at the motherworlder, her distress plain to see. Unlikely though it seemed, he could not help wondering if she hadn’t formed an attachment to this Mulac. It was comprehensible, he supposed, that she should feel pity for the Nugen’s blindness and it was thanks to his inner vision they had escaped the Druid Circle. They should be grateful, he supposed, and then hastily put the prospect aside. Feeling indebted to a Nu-gen was preposterous, to say the least.  He looked ahead, where Irina tripped gaily, pausing now and then to pick leaves from the occasional mori plant to prepare mori-ga for them to eat when they camped.  A smile crossed the elf’s drawn face. She was the epitome of a free spirit, his lovely sister. Nothing ever troubled Irina for long.

      On this occasion, though, Pers was mistaken.  Light of step and carefree she may have appeared at a glance but the strain of events was taking no less a toll on Irina than the others. Pers, she knew, could read her like a book so she was careful to keep several paces ahead. At first, it was a deliberate ploy. Before long, though, she felt a pull on her that she could neither place nor define.  It was most strange.  Her elven instincts told her it posed no real threat.  But if it was no hostile force pressing her, intuition warned it could not be completely benign either. Or else it would not be pressing her at all. Moreover, she remarked inwardly, it was growing stronger.  She tried to distract it by thinking about Michal. But it was having none of that. It was as if, although her feelings for the motherworlder had not passed, they possessed her less. Reflections on Mal-y-Dros took over, flooding her mind until she could focus on precious little else. There had been something oddly familiar about that druid, something she…recognized?

      So engrossed was the elf girl with the impossibility of her own perception that she failed to spot how the sloping terrain peaked suddenly. By the time she did, it was already too late. Her scream, as she hurtled down a sheer drop, brought Pers and Berth rushing to the edge. They looked down in horror and could barely identify flailing limbs tangled in the branches of a precipitous bush jutting out of the gully’s side. The elf was about to heave a sigh of relief that Irina was at least still alive when the bush gave way and plummeted out of sight. As if on cue, a screeching aryd appeared out of nowhere and performed an adroit nosedive after it.

To be continued