Monday 11 March 2013

Mamelon - Chapters 22 and 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO




In the bowels of Lunis, City of Moons, the Dark Mage, Ragund, smashed his fist against a wall again and again. Much of the workshop’s contents quivered like jellies while a variety of objects flew in all directions.   It had been a brilliant plan, almost perfectly executed until…what? How had he failed? He smashed another fist into the wall, oblivious to the whole room shaking as if a minor earthquake had struck. 
      How is it I have failed? It was incomprehensible. Worse, it was unnerving.
     It had proved no easy task to impersonate Astor and win the confidence of Galia’s brat. Yet he had succeeded, brilliantly. All he had to do then was clone the Nu-gen with young Michal and there he had it, a pawn to beat Astor at his own game.  Controlling a Nu-gen would be easy. He would pass him off as Michal and no one would be any the wiser until it was too late. 
      How can it be that I, Ragund, have failed?  Astor hadn’t guessed. He, Ragund, would have known of any interference from that quarter. The boy, Michal, was pliable enough. True, he was warded, but to no extent that he, Ragund, could not penetrate. The Nu-gen, Mulac, he should be able to dismiss as being of no account whatever. So why can’t I…? But the thought had barely registered before he turned to more pressing matters.
      Others could sense his presence. He had felt theirs. Who? Not that idiot Ricci, that’s for sure. Nor elves either. Not druids even. His disguise had been the result of one of the finest if not darkest spells he had ever worked. Yet, it had been discovered.  How, and by whom…?
      It was mystery.



CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE




Irina was almost dragged into the ravine by the coarse branches protruding from the cliff edge as, with reluctance and protesting loudly, the tiny bush’s roots were wrenched loose by the frantic pressure of her grasp. Only a last-ditch foothold on the ledge where she teetered saved her.  Yet, even as she pressed her back against the treacherous rock face, her legs began to slither forward. She screamed in terror. Surely, nothing could save her now?  Once over the edge, all she could expect was freefall and certain death.
      A fraction of the ledge gave way and hurtled below.  The elf girl almost slipped and screamed again, “Gar!”  Her feet found a new, if precarious, hold.  She repositioned herself slightly to one side. Another chunk of the ledge dropped into infinity. She screamed again, “Gar!”  All at once, as if in answer to her cry, she rumbled inwards. Moments later, she found herself sprawled on the floor of a cave that she could not have known lay behind a natural camouflage of mud and grass.
      Relief soon turned to a mixture of fear and desolation. Elves like company. To be left alone for long was horrid. True, her brother Pers was an uncommon exception. Not so, Irina.  For all her apparent self-confidence, the daughter of La and Ka needed an appreciative audience to bring out the best in her. Crawling on her belly to the cave’s mouth, she rolled over and tried to peer upwards, yelling at the top of her voice, “Pers! Please, help me!”  But she could make out no sign of life at the ravine’s edge and no answering shout was forthcoming.  She tried again and again. Finally, exhausted, she lay quiet and contemplated her fate. This is worse than being taken captive by krills, she lamented, but not for long. Stories were told, even around elven campfires, how the scaly creatures enjoyed performing unspeakable acts of cruelty just for sport.  But for the others, who knows what her fate might have been?  “Dear Ri, the others!” she wailed aloud.  Poor Pers would suppose her dead. “I might as well be!” she sobbed. How could she expect to survive alone in such a place?
      After a while, self-pity gave way to a native defiance that could always be relied upon in the face of adversity.  Once she had calmed down sufficiently to attempt a rallying of spirits, Irina proceeded first to take careful stock of her surroundings then to explore.  The clammy gloom revealed precious little so she was forced to feel her way around the cave. Its low roof kept her on her knees. It did not take the elf girl long to realize, however, that the cave was far bigger than she had at first surmised.  Moreover, the further she ventured into its forbidding interior, the more headroom became available. She had a sense of its continuing some distance. A tunnel…? A way out, perhaps or a dead end…?  Irina braced herself. There was only one way to find out.
      Gamely, Irina put her best foot forward…and froze.
     A distant rumbling, like thunder, shook the rock floor. An almighty shudder flung her against the cave wall. A jutting stone ripped her tunic and grazed a shoulder. Panic-stricken, she swung round and headed back towards the light. If offered no solution, she knew that, but at least it was a comfort of sorts. Meanwhile, the tremors grew stronger and more frequent.  She paused and had to struggle to keep her balance as the ground heaved beneath her feet. A shower of rocks cascaded in front of the cave’s sneering mouth.  Some struck the ledge and tumbled inside. Before the elf girl’s very eyes, they quickly piled up until obliterating even the faintest glimmer of light.  Still the tremors persisted.  Irina wept and stamped her foot. Taking several deep breaths, she turned to confront the roaring blackness.  The only way to beat danger is to tackle it head-on.  She could almost hear her mother’s voice urging her not to be afraid.
     So be it. Irina gritted her teeth and moved forward, stumbling often at first. Then, in sheer desperation, the elf girl put on a spurt and sprinted down the tunnel, dodging flying rocks and leaping sudden fissures more by intuition than any real awareness of the dangers. The darkness, smell, and dread of being underground became less of a hindrance once she achieved a rhythm of sorts, relying on a native sureness of foot to carry her along.  Instincts she trusted lent her wings, carrying her along with a sureness of purpose she was far from feeling.  Whether or not Ri chose to aid her, Irina was past caring. Whatever, the elf girl knew only too well that she dared not pause for thought.
       How long or how far she ran the gauntlet of horrors the angry earth spewed up at her, Irina had no idea.  Her eyelids, reduced to slits, suddenly responded to a discernible lifting of the blackness weighing them down. They flew wide open.  Her heart leapt. Directly ahead, she could just make out a pinprick of light. She ran towards it without thought or fear of what might lie beyond. There simply wasn’t time for either.  The walls of the cave began to shrink and narrow even as they continue to shake. By the time she all but reached daylight, Irina  had to crawl on hands and knees again, constantly having to twist and turn to negotiate a want of space as well as flying rocks. Finally, she dragged herself through a tiny opening and lay, smiling and tearful, on a carpet of reddish grass interspersed with tiny yellow flowers.
      “Who the devil are you?” 
      Irina gave a start and jumped up. The first thing that struck her was that the voice belonged to a child. He was approaching adulthood, yes, but a child still. Moreover, he was plainly a motherworlder.  She studied him more closely. His flame coloured hair reminded her of leaves on the Fire Tree back in the Forest of Gar. Before she could surrender to another attack of homesickness, however, she became alert to the boy’s ill-concealed distress.
       “Who’s asking?” she countered evenly.

To be continued