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.
