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