Mamelon - Chapter 37

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN 

“Pete, wake up!” Pete opened his eyes. Slowly, the mist cleared and he saw familiar faces gazing concernedly down at him. “Are you okay?” Mick wanted to know. “You gave us a fright, dropping off like that. We thought you’d fainted or something, you idiot,” he grumbled but not unkindly, hastily adding, “You didn’t, did you?”

“I’m okay,” Pete managed to say and tried to sit up but promptly fell back again into a patch of moss and grass. Fainted? He confronted the possibility with growing confusion. Of course he hadn’t fainted. So, what then? Something had happened to him, to all of them, something terribly important. Or had it? Had he just been asleep and dreaming?  No. It was more than a dream, much more. So why couldn’t he remember? 

He tried to sit up again and this time succeeded, strength flowing back into every fragile limb and muscle. He felt as if he had fallen from great height and landed with an almighty bump.  But that was impossible of course…wasn’t it? “Where are we?”

“In Birches Wood, you twit, where else?” Mick grinned.

Pete looked at Beth, as if for confirmation. Beth smiled reassuringly, but said nothing.

“Can we go home?”  His voice, like to question, sounded odd, even to himself.

“We’re on our way,” said Mick and helped Pete to his feet.

The younger boy glanced up at the sky. It was blue and the sun was shining. So why was he surprised? A flock of geese flew by and a rustle of wings pounded at Pete’s eardrums causing him to wince in pain. He put both hands to his ears and looked again at Beth as if she would understand, explain even.

But Beth remained silent, outwardly smiling and no different. Yet, there was something about Mick’s girlfriend that was…different. Pete couldn’t put a finger on it but knew it was true, all the same. She was different. He, Pete, was different too. Yet, how could that be and why? It’s a mystery. He gazed into his brother bright, liquid eyes. Their expression was slightly mocking, a trifle testy but still concerned. Mick hadn’t changed at all, and yet…

It was a strangely subdued trio that made its way back to the house. Or so it seemed to Gail and Tim Wright as they watched them approach from the living room window.

“Will they remember?” Gail put a faint voice to the anxious question hanging over the pair of them like the sword of Damocles.

“Can they forget?” Tim murmured, hugging his wife tightly as if combining their inner strengths for whatever lay ahead. Gail understood the gesture and shivers ran down her spine. They would do their best, she and Tim. But Mamelon was in their children’s blood, now more than ever. Nor would it easily be erased. And what of her other children, once thought dead? “They’ve done well without us so far, we must trust that whatever - or whoever - has been protecting them will continue to do so.”  Tim tried to sound reassuring. But he had only read her thoughts so easily because they held up a mirror to his own misgivings.

But Mamelon is dying. Gail wanted to protest. Instead, she sighed wearily.

Meanwhile, in Lunis, City of Moons, Shireen, consort to Ragund, the Dark Mage, was emerging from the body of Arissa with mixed feelings.  Nadya’s daughter had spirit. Nor was it easy to contain. Hardly surprising, though, since she was also Galia’s grandchild.  Shireen enjoyed the challenge and it was proving as good a means to an end as any.  Let Ragund think he is the master of disguise, little does he know how much I know or what I will do with that knowledge when the time is right.

She glanced in the mirror and frowned. Arissa was young and beautiful.  Now she must contend with reality, at least while she considered her next move. While still beautiful, there was no recompense for lost youth. A wry smile played on the cruel mouth. What would Ragund say, she wondered, if he knew what game she played, let alone her involvement with the krill leader, Radik?  She laughed. Who better than a female to teach a male, mage or whatever, that to underestimate her species was a dangerous practice? She found him in the bedroom, preening in front of a full-length mirror, and hid her contempt. He was, after all, an incredible lover.

Ragund knew her step, which was just as well since the mirror revealed no reflection. He swung round and gathered Shireen, playfully, in his arms. For now, though, there were more pressing needs to satisfy.

After making love they slept. Ragund knew when she slipped away but made no sign. Suddenly, he sat bolt upright in the bed. Something was terribly wrong. There was magic abroad whose potency he had never known the like.  It seemed for all as if the Light of the World was rising and its Dark was falling back, dragging him to the edge of an abyss. Only by summoning the spirit of the Druid, Ca-an, was he able to draw back and keep from going into free-fall.  

Ragund frowned. He was fully warded. Even had Astor broken through, he would never have been able to raise such forces alone. So...what, who?  A threat to his Great Plan has arisen such as none he could possibly have anticipated. He leapt out of bed and went to the mirror. He saw the three motherworlders being greeted by a man and a woman. “Galia, Timon!” he yelled, and then “I will not be thwarted, I will not!” the Dark Mage screamed and smashed a fist into the glass, shattering it. Fragments flew everywhere. One settled on the back of his hand. He went to brush it off only to draw back in disbelief. The eye of a wolf stared back at him and a howling went up that could be heard the length and breadth of Mamelon.

In leafy Tonbridge Wells, three young people also heard it. It woke them suddenly from the same strange dream. As each drifted back to sleep, the same inarticulate need to be somewhere else conveyed a vague yet curiously convincing impression of someone banging on a door demanding to be let in.

Where they lay wide awake in bed, Gail and Tim Wright, too, heard the wolf. Now and then, one would squeeze the other’s hand tightly as they brooded on the past, fearful for the future.

End of Book One

Author’s Note:  

Again, please accept my apologies for the fact that the blog template has rarely let format chapters correctly. Google have not responded to my comments. 

      The Mamelon saga will continue in October with Mamelon, Book 2 - The Purple Mountains.  Health issues may mean some delay, but I will do my best. [The same health issues have prevented my completing Book Three of my Blasphemy-Sacrilege-Redemption trilogy, but I hope to finish it by summer 2014 at the latest.] All the novels serialized on the blog will eventually be published in e-format to amazon’s kindle store at which time they will be deleted from the blog. 
      Meanwhile, if you have enjoyed this or any of my serials, I would love to hear from you. Email me with ‘Fiction Blog’ in the subject field. 

...................................................................

SYNOPSES for novels on this site:  

DOG ROSES

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2011/07/dog-roses-chapter-one.html

(Gay-interest)

BLASPHEMY

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2012/01/blasphemy-synopsis.html

(Crime – Gay-interest)

SACRILEGE

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2012_08_01_archive.html

(Crime – Gay-interest)

LIKE THERE'S NO TOMORROW

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2011/10/like-theres-no-tomorrow-synopsis_3445.html

(Crime/Mystery)

PREDISPOSED TO MYRDER

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2012/03/predisposed-to-murder-synopsis.html

(Crime)

MAMELON (Book 1)

http://rogertaberfiction.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/mamelon-fantasy-novel-synopsis.html

(Fantasy)  - Book 2 will be serialized from October 2013

See also:

https://sites.google.com/site/rogerntaberinthesubjectfield/home 

Mamelon - Chapter 36

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

The Druid, Ygor, watched impassively as the Nu-gen and motherworld female  embraced.  Let her make the most of this unlikely alliance, it meant nothing. She was, after all, a Keeper.  Her destiny lay elsewhere.  Unobtrusively, he let his eyes wander to each of the group. With the possible exception of the one called Heron, none posed any real threat to his plans. Soon, even that possibility would be eliminated. While he hadn’t reckoned on the elf girl’s interference, there was no reason to suppose that she could not be disposed of just as easily.  Indeed, he mused ingenuously, it could well prove advantageous that the Keeper chose to separate herself from young Michal. There had always been a slim chance that their joint powers might have been awakened in time to make his task harder. As it was, Galia’s firstborn in the motherworld would be quite isolated. The red haired boy was of course no consequence, merely an unforeseen nuisance.

     “Come,” urged the Druid, “I will show you a passage through the mountains that will lead you directly to the Sea of Marmela. From there you can navigate wherever you wish to go, even to Gar,” he added, glancing pointedly at Pers.  “Of course, you may have other ideas.  Whatever, it is safer to journey within than attempt to climb. Believe me. I know what I’m talking about.”

     “I don’t understand…” Beth, her hand in Mulac’s, caught the Druid’s every word as they approached.

      “As you will know…” the Druid continued in a faintly condescending tone that made Beth wince. It also caused Arissa’s hackles to rise although not on her companion’s account. She trusted neither. Quite simply, she resented everything about the Druid’s manner. “…Mamelon is but one intergalactic island among many, just as time and space are but navigable seas once you have the know-how and resources.”

      “And who says we do?” Arissa wanted to know.

      “Seek, and you shall find,” returned the Druid cryptically. “Now, we must hasten.”

      “Why?” Arissa demanded.

     “Because my time is precious and I have other things to do,” said the Druid. Arissa merely shrugged. But she, too, had contemplated the purple mist with some trepidation. If the Druid knew a better way to access the mountains, it made sense to take a look. “Come,” Ygor repeated and moved on. The others followed close behind. 

      Beth took several steps forward, but Mulac stood firm and did not let go of her hand. She turned, looked over his shoulder at where a silvery haze hid Mick and Pete from view. Mulac squeezed her hand. “I love you.”

      “I love you too.” She smiled and lifted her face to his expectantly. But he did not kiss her. Instead, he gazed into her eyes and let her see his tears. Beth was overwhelmed.  This, from a Nu-gen, was proof indeed of his feelings for her. 

      She flung him a shy, radiant smile that reminded him fleetingly of Etta, the magela, to whom he owed his life. This motherworlder, too, had given that life a whole new meaning. “You must go back,” he said with typical bluntness, but the ache in his voice touched every fibre of her being.

      “No. My place is here, with you. We are meant to be together.”

     “Once, perhaps. But I fear not now, not here.” Not yet, he felt compelled to add but kept silent. “We will be together again in another life, you’ll see.”

      “But my life is here, with you. You are my life and I am yours, we both know that. I think I knew it from the start and I know you did too.”
     “You know me too well, Bethan motherworlder.”  He grinned. but almost at once became deadly serious again. “You told me once that you trusted me.”

       “I do, with my life.”

      “Then trust me now. You must go back with your friends. If you stay, you put both of us in a danger from which I sense there can be no escape, not only for us but others too. Don’t ask me how or why. I cannot answer. But…” He was fighting back tears, struggling openly with emotions for which anyone would have had infinite difficulty finding words even had they been less alien, words and emotions alike. “All my life I have known strange feelings, heard voices, had glimpses of people and places that mean nothing to me. Yet they are part of me, without my knowing how or why, only that they are warnings of a kind. It tears me apart sometimes, the not knowing. But one thing I do know and that is I have to trust they mean me no harm, just as you must trust me now. You must go back.”

      That Mulac should have revealed so much of himself to her, a female, spoke volumes. One thing, Beth understood only too well. She could argue her case until she was blue in the face but it would make no difference. He had made his decision and would not change his mind. There was nothing, after all, to keep her in Mamelon now. Tears streaming down her face, she did not trust herself to say a word. Instead, she turned and ran after Mick and Pete. Nor did she falter or look back.

      Mick and Pete heard running footsteps but barely paused to greet Beth with breathless delight and relief.  A thick, yellowy, fog closed behind them as if the Time Gate itself was already swinging shut.

    “Look!” Mick pointed excitedly. The fog thinned suddenly and he saw his mother. She was wearing a green trouser suit and waving to them.

      “I can’t see anything!” complained Pete.

     “It’s Mum! Come on, or we’ll be too late.” Grabbing both their hands, he ran into the mist, hauling Pete and Beth after him. But Pete stumbled and fell. He let go of Mick’s hand and the others ran on without him. Disorientated, scared, Pete burst into tears.

     “To me, my friend, to me,” Pete heard Heron’s voice accompanied by an agitated squawk. He looked up. Hovering almost directly above him but barely an outline, Iggy was flapping his wings madly while he could just make out Heron leaning down, arm outstretched. Behind him, almost invisible, sat a figure he assumed must be Irina. “Take my hand. We haven’t a moment to lose!”

      Pete gaped, stupefied.

      “Be quick!” cried Irina, “The Gate is closing fast!”

     Grasping the urgency of the situation, Pete grabbed Heron’s hand while Irina grabbed his tunic and the pair hoisted him on to the gluck’s back even as Iggy took off again leaving Pete dangling in mid-air as his friends struggled to hoist him up. Eventually, they succeeded and Pete squeezed between them.

      “Where are we going?” Pete panted. “Are you taking me home?”

      “That’s up to Iggy,” replied Heron. “He’s in charge here. Besides, three are too many for one gluck. He’ll just have to put us down on where he can.”

      “Did you find your parents?” But Heron did not answer and Irina gave his hand a warning squeeze.

        “It’s bad then…” It was not a question.

       “It is bad,” Irina confirmed in a choking voice that did nothing to allay Pete’s worst fears. In spite of her repugnance, Irina’s inner eye fastened on the mutilated remains of Heron’s kindred Ti-Grayans scattered the length and breadth of a ditch that that was all they had for a grave.  It was all she could do not to vomit. Druids!  She spat into the fog.

      “I’m glad we’re together again Heron,” was all Pete could think to say.

      “I’m glad too,” said Heron. Then all three clung on tight as Iggy dived steeply into the very heart of the fog.

      Suddenly, Pete felt a hefty push and fell, screaming, into a whirling mist that sucked him in and dragged him down, down, down… a rush of clumsy wings in his ears spelling out a terrible betrayal. Terrified, he kept screaming, as if the sound of his own voice must somehow make everything all right. At the same time, he could not really believe that anything could be all right again, ever. Nor did he even attempt to rummage a sense of infinite hopelessness for The Okay Song.

      He landed in something soft and damp. Oh, no, bog! It was too much. Pete closed his eyes tight, desperate to shut out whatever might happen next, a willing victim to unconsciousness.

To be concluded on Monday

Mamelon - Chapter 35

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The vale of Ca-aan offered the Druid-led travellers no hint of welcome. Although they had to pass through what appeared to be a lived-in settlement as they made their way along the valley, they did not see a living soul.

      “This is strange, indeed. I have a bad feeling about it,” Irina whispered to Heron who nodded grimly. 

        Not only was the valley eerily quiet and spooking the horses so their riders had to keep them on a tight rein, but Heron also nursed a terrible foreboding.  He now wore his mother’s ring on the first finger of his left hand. As if in response to his growing distress, it bit into the flesh. Gritting his teeth, he tried to wrench it free. It would not budge. At the same time, he thought he heard his mother’s voice, faintly, like a dying echo.  Take care, my son, it warned, and remember that birds of a feather do not always sing the same song. What did she mean? Heron bit his lip and drew blood, but ignored Irina’s searching gaze.

     At the entrance to a gully that appeared to lead to the very foot of the mountains, the Druids indicated they would make camp.

     “So why here?” demanded Arissa, “Why not in one of those dwellings we passed earlier? So much for Druid hospitality…!”

     “Forgive my people,” said Ygor, spreading his hands in a way that might have conveyed humility in any other. In the Druid, it merely conveyed tolerance and served to fuel Arissa’s petulance all the more. “They are unused to guests. Besides, they fear you just as you fear us.”

     “You flatter yourself, Druid!” retorted Arissa, and drew no small satisfaction from visibly denting this Ygor’s veneer of equability.

      “But they have nothing to fear from us!” Pers protested mildly.

      “Ah, but how can they be sure of that?” the Druid pointed out with a chilling smile.

     “True enough,” Arissa conceded as she dismounted, turned and flashed the Druid a dangerous smile of her own. “No more can we trust you,” she added.  For an instant their eyes locked. Arissa recoiled at what she saw in them.  Ygor too, looked shaken. Each reverted to form quickly enough, but not before Irina had intercepted the brief exchange and feared the worst. The elf girl glanced first at Heron and then at Tol.  Both were plainly preoccupied with their own thoughts. Irina began to feel isolated as well as frightened.

      Later, Heron approached Ygor to insist on news of his parents. The Druid anticipated the question and pointed to a cluster of rocks in the distance. “You will find them just beyond those rocks and, with them, others from Ti-Gray.”

      “So why don’t they join us?”

      “Perhaps, like your sister, they are wary.”

      “I don’t like it,” said Heron flatly.

      The Druid shrugged. “You asked and I have answered. We cannot always like what we are told, young man.”

      Heron bridled but merely acknowledged the jibe at his inexperienced youth with a curt nod and went to find Arissa.

      “I’m not climbing up there!” Arissa dismissed the suggestion out of hand. “I’m much too tired, for one thing. For another, I’m sure our parents have a good reason for not coming to meet us. They’ll come down when it suits them, you’ll see.”

      “You won’t come with me then?”

     “Are you deaf, brother, or what?” Arissa glared, turned on her heels and crossed to where Pers had lovingly made her up a bed of grass and spread his own cloak for her to lie on.

      Irina did her best to dissuade him. “Surely it is better to wait?”

     “It doesn’t feel right, Irina. I have to go, if only to reassure myself that all is well. They are my parents, after all.”

      “Then I will come with you,” she decided.

      “No. I go alone.”

      “But you would have taken Arissa…” the elf girl protested.

      “They are her parents too,” he pointed out, “Besides, Arissa can…”

      “Look after herself and I can’t, is that it? I thought you knew me better than that by now, Heron.” Irina glared, plainly hurt.  He tried to take her in his arms but she backed away. “I thought you loved me.”

       “I do. That is why I dare not risk taking you with me.”

       “Then you do suspect some mischief, I knew it!”

       “Maybe, maybe not,” he demurred, “But I have to find out for myself.”

       “At least take Iggy with you…”

       “I would rather take your blessing.”

      “You have to ask? You have it, of course.” She smiled tearfully, and relenting utterly did not resist his embrace but responded with a passion that surprised them both. He had wondered whether their lovemaking had meant nothing more or less than two troubled souls seeking mutual comfort. Certainly, Heron was left in no doubt now that Irina truly loved him. Even so, while he kissed her back with feeling, he chose not to look too carefully at his own mixed emotions.

      As she watched Heron ride away, Iggy following close behind, Irina found herself grappling with a question she had preferred to put on hold until now. How would she explain Heron to her parents? Nor would she and Heron be allowed to make a home together in the Forest of Gar. But if choose, she must, between Heron and exile, Irina knew already which route her heart would take.

      The next day was but three parts gone when the remaining company found themselves at the very foot of one particular mountain, the highest. Above, a purple mist hung over them like a mushroom cloud, threatening to descend at any moment and swallow them up.

      At a safe distance, Pete and the others gasped at the stupendous sight. Simultaneously, it triggered in each of them a wondrous disbelief and appalling apprehension.  “We can’t climb up that!”  Pete whimpered softly, not intending anyone to hear.

      Ace rubbed against his leggings. “No-one going up anywhere,” Pete could have sworn Ace said, “The idea is that we pass through the mountains…”

      “I can’t stand heights!” wailed Ricci, somewhat late in the day everyone thought, and even Beth raised a smile.

       Not so far away, the krill leader, Radik, had a sense of coming home.

      Meanwhile, Ricci’s keen eye noticed a patch of mountainside that did not quite gel with the rest. It was like a sheet of black satin that clung to the rock face while, at the same time, wanting no part of it. “Hmm,” mused Ricci under his breath, “If I’m not mistaken, that’s a Time Gate. I’ll say! And another not due in this lifetime! Odd, I’ll say!” He glanced nervously at the others. But they continued gazing, with rapt expressions, at the mountain. Should I tell them, he wondered?  Just then, Ace gave a long, ponderous growl as if debating the same question.

      “I think we should go down there,” declared Mick suddenly as he surveyed the scene just below them..

       “Me too,” Pete agreed. “They’re our friends, after all.

       “And there’s no evidence that the Druids mean us any harm,” said Mick.     

       “You never know with Druids…” Ricci felt obliged to point out.

       “What do you think, Beth?” Mick braced himself to look her in the face. On the rare occasions he had managed to catch her eye since their reunion, her accusing expression had only added to his misery. Beth merely shrugged. She had no opinion on the matter so why bother to voice one?        

      “That settled then,” said Mick with an air of self-confidence he was far from feeling, “Let’s go…”

Ricci having conjured up horses some while since, it did not take them too long to reach the group camped at the foot of the mountain. The Druids barely acknowledged their arrival and did not seem in the least put out by it. Only Irina seemed genuinely pleased to see them, rushing forward to greet them and hugging each in turn, the little dog as well.  Pers, sensing a heavy atmosphere between Bethan and Michal, thought she looked terrible and he not much better. It was none of his business, of course, so he gave them all a big smile and stayed close to Arissa.

      Beth pushed Arissa aside and threw herself at Tol. The gentle giant embraced her warmly, much to Arissa’s annoyance. She felt very possessive towards Tol. How dare this Bethan, motherworlder, usurp her place at the head of his priorities!

      “Come here, Tol,” Arissa insisted. But Tol ignored her even when she stamped her foot and would have given Bethan a piece of her mind had the red haired boy not thwarted her.

      “Where’s Heron?” demanded Pete as if Arissa alone had to be responsible for his friend’s absence.

         “On a fool’s errand if you ask me!” was all Arissa would say and flounced off, dragging Pers by the hand, but only as an afterthought designed to annoy Beth.  It was left to Irina to explain to Pete that Heron had gone to look for his parents.

        “On his own…?” Pete was visibly shaken..

       “He wanted it that way,” Irina told him gently but added, “He took Iggy with him.”  Immediately, Pete looked reassured.

      Meanwhile, Heron had spotted the krills but gave them a wide berth, thankful he’d had the good sense to leave Irina behind or he might easily have been distracted and fallen foul of the vile creatures yet again.  Climbing the walls of the narrow, winding gully proved no mean feat. Its harsh features bore little resemblance to the gentler, cultivated profile of the main valley.  At last, he reached the cluster of rocks Ygor had indicated and by-passed them eagerly but with caution, not daring to call out or the krills might hear. As soon as he dismounted, the horse wandered off although not far. But Iggy stayed close.

      “Mother, father, are you there? It is I, your son.” Heron called softly. No one answered. He ventured farther, leaping from one jutting stone to another across a shallow a ditch. At first glance, he took it for a dried-up stream cluttered with all sorts and reeking of putrid animal remains. Iggy gave a squawk.  Heron looked back. The gluck was clearly distressed. “Come on, Iggy, a little jump like that isn’t beyond you!” coaxed Heron, laughing. But the gluck was having none of it and seemed unable to tear its eyes from the ditch.

         Heron took a second look, and froze. 

      Eyes wide with horror, he began to take in the carnage below. For neither rocks nor animal carcasses littered the ditch, but human remains. Nor had they lain there, decomposing, for an indeterminate passage of time. The mutilated bodies still bore traces of dried blood. This was a recent massacre.

      Heart continuing to deny the truth of what he saw, Heron tied a cloth over hands and mouth before clambering into the ditch.  Just before he hit the bottom, he stumbled, put a hand out to save himself and landed on a torso. His other hand groped the features of a severed head and he recoiled in utter revulsion. He looked away from the head and vomited. Then he forced himself to look again. “Father!” he sobbed, brokenly, and fell to his knees.

      Above, Iggy watched and waited. But Heron stayed put, unable to move, hugging his grief as if it might offer a crumb of comfort although there was none to be had. After a while, the gluck turned back the way they had come and began a frantic descent.

      Ricci, meanwhile, continued to agonize over whether or not he should tell the motherworlders about the Time Gate. He tried to contact Astor and ask his advice but the Master did not respond. Isn’t that just typical?  Ricci, fretted. A crisis like no other and he leaves me to decide for myself. But Ricci was a decent enough fellow and there was never a choice…

      “You mean we can go home?” Mick soon got over the shock of Ricci’s unexpected revelation and turned excitedly to the others. “Pete, Beth, did you hear that? We’re going home!”

      “If that’s what you really want,” Ricci stammered.

      “If that’s what we really want?” Mick threw back his head and laughed aloud. “I’ll say! Come on you two…” He grabbed Beth’s hand, but she hung back. Pete, too, remained where he stood. “What’s the matter? What are you waiting for? Don’t you want to go home?”

      “Of course!” yelled Pete, “More than anything in the whole world!” He paused only briefly before blurting, “But we haven’t finished what we came here to do. We’ve barely even started!”

        “Are you mad?” Mick was gobsmacked, “How can you say that after all we’ve been through?”

       “Isn’t that all the more reason to make some sense of it and…whatever?” Pete was close to tears.

       Mick outraged expression softened. “You don’t know what you’re saying Pete. You’re too young to understand.”

        “And you do?” Pete countered, close to tears.

       Irina interrupted before Mick could attempt to answer. “Look!” she pointed to where Iggy was coming towards them so fast his webbed feet barely touched the ground.

      “Iggy…!” Pete ran to meet the gluck, Irina close on his heels, flung his arms around the scrawny neck and demanded news of Heron.

      “Something’s wrong!” Irina cried. “Heron is in trouble. You must take me to him, Iggy!” She clambered on the gluck’s back.

      “I’m coming too!” declared Pete. Irina shook her head but took the boy’s hand in hers and said gently, “Heron belongs to Mamelon and so do I.  Besides, I love him…”

      “I love him too,” Pete mumbled so that only Irina could hear.

      “I know. And be sure Heron knows it also. But it seems you must return to your own world and leave us to make what we can of ours…” Before Pete realized what she intended, she bent down, kissed him on the lips and then took off on Iggy’s back among clouds of red dust.

      “The elf girl speaks wisely.” Ygor stepped forward and laid a paternal hand on Pete’s shoulder but Pete shrugged it off and glared angrily at the Druid.

      “What would you know about it? I bet you’ve never had any real friends!” he retorted with all the naïve integrity of a thirteen year-old.

      “Come on, Pete, let’s go. Heron will be okay. Irina will see to that.” Mick stepped forward, took his brother’s arm and firmly propelled him in the right direction. Pete dragged his feet but made no attempt to pull away. “Time to go, Beth. I’m sorry about everything, but there it is…We didn’t ask to come here and there’s damn all to stay for.  So let’s go home and get on with our lives.”

       “Just like that…?” Beth’s irony was not lost on him.

     Mick grew anxious. Time enough for recriminations once they were safely back home. Meanwhile, there was no time to lose. Suddenly, he felt inspired. “All this will seem like a dream once we’re back in Tonbridge Wells. We probably won’t even remember much about it.”        

      “And you think I want to forget?” She threw the words back at him between clenched teeth, “I never want to forget, even if you do…” Both knew full well they were talking about Mulac. “But you’re right about one thing. There’s nothing to stay for so let’s go.” 

       They said their goodbyes. Arissa did not attempt to disguise her delight at seeing the back of them as under her watchful eye, Pers summoned every last vestige of self-restraint and held back a flood of tears.  Beth attempted to communicate with Tol, but the giant’s expression told her nothing. Nor did she catch any words of farewell, possibly because her head felt completely blocked as if she were going down with a bad cold.

      Mick in the lead, the three headed towards the Time Gate. It had already lost some of its shimmering brightness as if it were starting to close already. Mick quickened his step. Beth, though, did not deviate from her steady pace while Pete, dawdling, kept looking back in the hope that he might yet catch a glimpse of Iggy and Irina returning with Heron safe and sound.

      Beth’s head began to throb. Then she felt rather than heard a voice probing and seeking entry. At first she thought it was Tol and would have let him in had she known how. Suddenly, her heart missed a beat.  It wasn’t Tol, it was…Mulac?  She stumbled, quickly recovered her footing and berated herself for letting a vivid imagination get the better of wishful thinking.

      “We must hurry!” Mick broke into a run but, glancing over his shoulder, saw the others were not keeping up and doubled back. “We mightn’t get an opportunity like this for ages, if ever. What is it with you two? Our parents must be worried sick…”

      His last remark drew a sob from Pete and a spark of new resolve replaced Beth’s glazed expression. Grabbing both their hands, Mick broke into a run again. There was no doubt in his mind that the Time Gate was slowly but surely closing. “We can make it, we can make it!” he panted and ran all the faster.

      Then Beth let go of his hand.

      She stood quite still, clutching her head in both hands. The voice was still there, thrusting like a mad thing now, desperate to break through this phenomenon that was   preventing entry to her mind like a brick wall around a garden. Beth had the sense of a plant left to grow but unable to bloom for want of light. Faintly, very faintly, she heard Mulac calling her. In her mind’s eye, she tore at the wall with bare hands. Now his voice came at her with a rush and words filled the garden with sunshine. Wait, Bethan, wait, Mulac's voice came clearly now, like music to her ears, I love you.

      Beth looked back at the diminishing group that comprised Arissa, Pers, Tol and the Druids. Suddenly, a tall wild-eyed figure burst through and ran towards her. “Mulac!” she darted back on winged heels. When they finally met and fell into an ecstatic embrace, she wished it could last forever. Pete, too, hurried back. Any excuse was better than none to delay the inevitable, after all.

      Mick stood rooted to the spot, unable to believe the evidence of his own eyes. It was Mulac who, yet again, seized the initiative. Looking uncharacteristically sheepish, he approached Mick with one hand outstretched, the other firmly around Beth’s waist. “We are well met, my friend.”

      “But…how? I don’t understand.”

      “Nor I,” Mulac confessed with a shrug. “But who are we to dispute what is or should be or can never be?”

      “I killed you!”

      “Yet I live, thanks to The Magela, although I have a feeling she had some help.”

      “You’re an illusion!”

      Releasing Beth, the Nu-gen took only two strides to reach Mick and encompass him in a bear hug. “You still think I am an illusion?”  He grinned.  It was so uncharacteristic of him that Beth started. Fleetingly, it crossed her mind that Mulac bore a striking resemblance to Heron although the two were opposites in practically every respect. Apart from anything else, Mulac was much older. But it was only a passing thought and she dismissed the unlikely comparison as fanciful almost at once.  A few paces behind her, Pete had been thinking along parallel lines, only he was making the comparison with Mick. Seeing the two together like that, the likeness was quite extraordinary. True, this Mulac was dark and Mick was fair and much younger, but even so…

      Mick returned Mulac’s hug with interest. Over the Nu-gen’s shoulder, he could see Beth’s face shining with happiness and knew already that she would not be returning with him and Pete to Tonbridge Wells. A single thought superseded all others.  How on earth would he explain to her father?

      “Who is that?” demanded Arissa with a gasp of mixed admiration and irritation that she had no idea.

      “His name is Mulac,” said Pers, “He is Nu-gen.”

      “I can see that!” retorted Arissa, “But…a Nu-gen capable of passion, whatever next?”

      Tol watched with baited breath. It was vital that Bethan should remain. The fate of all Mamelon hung in the balance. It was ironic, indeed, that it should fall to a Nu-gen to tip the scales. Could it be, he wondered, that his old friend suspected? True, the tribe was not best known for its perceptive qualities. Arissa, though, was right about one thing....  

        There was nothing typical about Mulac.

To be continued

Mamelon - Chapter 34

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Ricci was finding it hard to be angry with Michal, called Mick, for taking off on his own. The poor lad had been in such a state since that dreadful Stalker business. Some time alone might do him good, pondered Ricci. So long as he doesn’t stray too far, that is, and isn’t gone too long. Astor would throw a fit if he lost the young motherworlder again. “I’ll say!” Ricci confided to a passing snake. He had become very fond of snakes. As it was, Astor would be furious that he, Ricci, had panicked and believed the Stalker meant to take the youth’s life. How could anyone have predicted that disaster could be so easily avoided? And by some worthless Nu-gen, for Ri’s sake!  Truly, these were the strangest times.

        “Don’t fret so, Ricci,” chided the Master’s voice in his head. “You have done well.”

      “I have?” Ricci responded in kind and his long face lit up. “Well, yes, I suppose I have”.  He beamed at the snake but it merely wriggled on its way. “And I haven’t lost him, if that’s what you’re thinking! He’ll be back soon. You’ll see,” Ricci added a shade more defensively than he intended.

      “Indeed, he’ll be back,” Astor agreed. “Moreover, he will bring The Keeper and the red haired boy.”

      “Really…? Ricci enthused, “But that’s wonderful! Ricci’s heart leapt. It seemed a lifetime ago since the krill attack that had sent all four of them scurrying blindly in every direction. Now they would be together again and things would be as he intended for once.  Sadly, Ricci’s delight was short-lived.

      “And you will go to the Vale of Ca-an,” added Astor in the tone he always used by way of warning Ricci that any protest was futile.

        “Oh, no, not there…!”  Ricci cried aloud, “I thought the plan was to keep well clear of meddling Druids?”

         “I am a Druid,” Astor reminded him tersely.

      “You know what I mean. They’re a rogue bunch in the Vale and no mistake. But they have powers capable of just about anything. I’m no match for them, I know that,” Ricci declared grudgingly.

         “So, do they, Ricci, so do they.” Astor commented drily, “In which case, they will not see you as posing the least threat. It shouldn’t prove too difficult for someone with your talents to catch them off guard as and when the opportunity arises.”

         “I suppose not…” Ricci remained unconvinced. “But why go by the Vale of Ca-an? There are other ways into the Purple Mountains.

        “Because you can be sure the Druids will take young Heron and his sister, Arissa, there, the elves also. We can hardly abandon them.”

          “Maybe not, but Michal must be our chief concern surely?”

         “True,” Astor demurred, “But the others have parts to play that, as yet, remain unclear. Better by far to keep them all together. Besides, these young people have magic powers whose potential eludes them utterly…although not, I fear, for very much longer.  They will need a mentor, Ricci.”

          “Me?” Ricci preened and blushed with pleasure.

          “I certainly cannot be in all places at once!” Astor pointed out a trifle irritably. He hated lying to Ricci but did not dare trust him with the truth just yet. Nor was he, Astor, convinced he knew the whole truth of things himself. Certainly, each had their parts to play. But how could anyone predict who, what, how, where or when, exactly?  Neither I nor Ragund. He could only pray that, ultimately, Truth would side with the powers of Light and not be won over by Dark Forces.

      “Ricci…!” Bethan called Beth was running towards him. Even as the smiling Mamelonian embraced the tearful motherworlder, he sensed Astor make his customary abrupt departure.  Over her shoulder, Ricci saw the red haired boy run up to them and felt a violent tug at his tunic.

      “Heron and the others have been captured by Druids,” Pete announced loudly, “We’ve got to rescue them.”

      It was too much. Agitatedly, Ricci glanced enquiringly at Mick, having only just realised the young motherworlder had returned. But if Ricci was hoping for moral support, he was in for a big disappointment. The youth looked away, his expression every bit as surly as Mulac’s had been. It really is too much.  A single shriek in the distance chilled them all to the marrow and Pete‘s persistent yanking at Ricci’s tunic resulted in a piece of fabric coming away in his hand.

      “Oops, sorry!” blurted Pete, genuinely apologetic. But Ricci barely heard. A frantic barking took them all but surprise. “Ace!” yelled Pete, ecstatic as the little mongrel rushed up to him, wagging its tail.

      They had no way of knowing that it was Arissa whose scream had made their blood run cold.

     After her set-to with Heron, Arissa had returned to the camp in a foul mood. Finding Pers enjoying a cosy chat with Beth was the last straw. She promptly told the besotted elf to fetch her some water. As he went scurrying off, she matched Beth’s indignant frown with an insidious sneer of her own. She was enjoying their altercation when she glimpsed something shining where the hazy moonlight occasionally fractured the menacing shadows beyond. Can it be Radik? Immediately, Arissa lost interest in the motherworld girl and wandered off with a casual and disdainful air that required neither effort nor pretence in spite of her growing impatience.

      Arissa paused at the edge of the small clearing, leaned against a tree and called softly, “Radik?”  No reply. But krills were out there, she sensed it, and that meant Radik. Her gaze fixed absently on the campfire’s dying embers, she watched Irina and Heron return together and help themselves to fragments of rabbit still dangling from the makeshift spit. They looked happy, she observed dryly. Well, not for long. Not if Radik runs true to form.  Suppressing a sly chuckle, she whispered again, “Radik?”  Again, no answering sound reached her ears. She was about to edge farther away from the camp when they appeared out of nowhere. Druids…! All else she could think of was that she must warn Radik.

      Arissa screamed.

      Irina froze. At her side, Heron reached instinctively for the dagger at his belt.

    “Don’t be afraid. We mean you no harm.” One of the robed figures stepped forward, smiling benignly, both arms outstretched. “We mean you no harm,” he repeated. He was a tall, bearded man who cut an imposing figure and seemed particularly interested in Heron. “I bid you greetings, son of Nadya and Kris.”

      “You know me?” Heron’s grip on the dagger did not relax for an instant.

      “Your mother described you well. She and your father await you at the Vale of Ca-an, your sister also.” He raised his voice slightly so that Arissa would hear as she approached but did not turn his head. “We come to guide you.”

       “How do I know you speak the truth?” Heron remained wary.

      The Druid plunged a hand into his robe and pulled out a closed fist, indicating with a slight nod for Heron to come closer.  Heron took a few steps and stretched out a palm. A smile on his face that Heron did not trust for a moment, the Druid let a small object drop into it. Heron looked and pursed his lips. It was his mother’s ring. He would have recognized it anywhere. Releasing his hold on the dagger hilt, he met the Druid’s steady gaze and let a smile play on his own lips. “You have the advantage, Druid,” he pointed out equably enough.

     “Forgive me. It is so long since we have had the pleasure of company that I forget my manners. I am Ygor.”

      “You are their leader?” Heron nodded towards the others and counted five.

      “We have no leader. But my friends have done me the honour of electing me to speak for them.”

    "This is Irina,” Heron gave the elf girl’s hand a reassuring squeeze before introducing his companions. “This is Irina and her brother, Pers. The tall one is called Tol who travels with Arissa.  My sister, Arissa, you have already met.”

      “Your mother speaks of her children with just pride,” murmured the Druid. “I bid you greetings also, elves of Gar.” He continued to ignore Arissa and did not spare Tol as much as a passing glance.

      “We were told to expect others…”

      He is stabbing at shadows, Heron sensed, and summoned a disarming grin. “We are, as you see, only five.”

      “As I see,” agreed the Druid placidly. “May we join you and rest? For we are weary and we must start out again at first light.”

      “Do we have a choice?” Arissa hissed, joining Heron and Irina so that she could see the whites of the Druid’s eyes.

      “Not if you desire to see your parents again,” said the Druid . Nor was it only Heron and Arissa who thought they detected a veiled threat. Irina suppressed a little cry and felt Heron’s arm around her waist tighten.

      “It will be our pleasure,” said Heron.

      “Speak for yourself, brother!” Irina snapped. But she accepted the warning glance he flung her at face value, resisting an urge to pursue her obvious dislike for the Druid spokesman and his silent, shadowy confederates.

      “You are welcome to share our camp. But we have already eaten and prepare to sleep on the ground without comfort or ceremony,” said Heron pointedly.

      “We also,” responded Ygor with a dry laugh. “So now we shall withdraw apace and let you talk among yourselves.” No sooner said than done, the small company of Druids made their way to the other side of the smouldering campfire then lay flat to form a star shape.

      “And the stars miss nothing…” murmured Heron, not meaning Irina to hear, but she did. The elf girl shivered and pressed even closer to him. One of her mother’s sayings sprung to mind. Trust no smiling beast, it anticipates an early feast.  Heron drew her gently aside, whispering in her ear before they were joined in a close huddle by Arissa and Tol, “I love you.”

      “We must escape before daybreak,” Arissa insisted.

      “We are prisoners then?” asked Heron.

      “You think we are not?” she countered.

      Heron shrugged. “We journey to the Vale of Ca-an, sister. So why not let these Druids take us there?”

      “Because we cannot trust them, you fool!”  Arissa cried, stamping her foot.

      “It is not wise to trust Druids lightly, I agree,” Heron responded evenly, “but it is no bad thing to play trust by ear, surely?  Or betrayal, as the case may be…” he conceded with a shrug. Tol caught his eye. Heron sensed his approval.  Not for the first time, he wished the gentle giant could speak.

     Only Irina appreciated the full import of Heron’s words or felt his every sinew tense, barely expressive of the turmoil within even so, as he struggled to stay calm in the face of his own sister’s traitorous designs on them all. Neither she nor Heron had doubted for a moment that Irina’s hysterical scream had been a warning. But meant for whom, each wondered, for themselves or the krills?

       Irina’s heart missed a beat. Krills, Druids…What chance do elves stand against such odds?  This bore no resemblance whatever to the adventure she used to dream about within the wondrous but comfortably predictable confines of Gar. Why couldn’t she have been like other elf females, content with their lot?  Then Heron gave her hand another squeeze and she knew the answer.  But it was poor Kirin’s adoring face that passed before her eyes, not Heron’s or even Michal’s, and she grew even more afraid still.

Instinctively, Irina glanced at Pers for some encouragement. But that elf, lost in admiration for Arissa’s outspokenness, did not even notice.

      While Irina slept beside him, more fitfully than she expected, Heron toyed with his mother’s ring between his fingers. That it was hers, he didn’t doubt. At the same time, it was her wedding ring and he knew for certain that she would never have parted with it willingly.

      Dawn had barely graced the horizon with its presence before the motley group began making their way to the legendary Vale of Ca-an. Here, tales would have it that the body of great Ca-an himself was buried and his spirit roamed free, watching over his flock although whether for good or ill, few dared voice an opinion. A Druid, dead or alive, should never be underestimated. Indeed, reflected Heron grimly as they marched, there were few in all Mamelon who could not point to a grave rumoured to testify as much. A dangerous thing, rumour, Heron acknowledged but was glad Irina rode close by for there was precious little comfort to be had elsewhere as far as he could see.

     Three Druids spearheaded the company and three brought up the rear. They were so swift of foot that being able to ride gave their companions no real advantage. If anything, the krill mounts tired more easily and were hard put to keep up. Iggy waddled, morosely, at his own pace.  Heron marvelled, as he always had, how such ungainly creatures as glucks were ever able to sustain such a respectable speed.

      “You see,” Arissa complained to Pers, trotting happily enough beside her, “we are prisoners. If you or I were to make a break for it, you can be sure we’d be caught and hauled back in no time.”

      “Where would we go?” asked Pers naively. Arissa flung him a withering look. Digging scornful heels into her mount’s flank, she urged it slightly ahead of the impossible elf and drew level with Tol. He may be dumb, but silence can be a blessing in disguise, she reminded herself, while not caring to look too closely at the fact that his solid dependability also gave her a pleasing sense of being invulnerable. .

      Only Tol seemed unperturbed by the Druid presence. The most alert observer would never have guessed at the workings of a keen mind well camouflaged by balding head and impassive expression.  Certainly, as they rode side by side, Arissa had no cause to suspect her trusty servant and long-time companion of attempting to make contact with the motherworlder, Bethan. 

       It was proving more difficult than Tol could have anticipated. Locating Bethan had been easy enough, and it was reassuring that she was among friends.  But something was terribly wrong. An impenetrable wall around her mind defied even his deepest probes. Could it be, she is protected, warded by forces unknown?  But that was impossible…Well, isn’t it? 

     He had known at once that she was open to mind touch. Nor had it taken long to show her, unobtrusively, how to direct her thoughts and access his along mutually consenting lines. Their rapport was unusual, to say the least. Any capacity for mind-speak in a motherworlder was unheard of.  At first, he put their ability to communicate chiefly down to the fact that they had warmed to one another so quickly. Increasingly, he had understood there had to be another explanation. Whatever it might be, he sensed it would have far-reaching if not dire consequences for them all.

      He tried again.  His senses acknowledged that she grieved, this Bethan, called Beth. But it was more than emotion, however strong, that separated them. Moreover, he knew instinctively that, within the confines constructed around her, she would have welcomed his presence. So if she has warded herself, he reasoned, she must have done so unconsciously. At the same time, it followed that, if this was indeed the case, her capacity to ward was innate. So…Who or what is she, this Bethan, motherworlder?

       Uncharacteristically, Tol continued to brood.

      In her turn, Beth sensed the gentle giant was trying to make contact. But it was as if the door to her mind had locked of its own accord. Try as she might, she could not find the key to open it and let him in.       

      Eventually, she gave up looking.

     Beth sighed. Perhaps it was for the best. Once the door was open, anyone who knew how could enter. Druids even? Tol would be a welcome enough visitor, but she really couldn’t face anyone else right now. Conscious of Mick’s unhappy gaze on her, Beth willed her defences to last a good while yet.

      Not so far away, Radik led a select band of well-chosen krills and took his bearings from the way the Dragon’s Tail began to slope steeply. “They are heading for the Vale of Ca-an,” he mused aloud. “It augurs well. It has been too long since we made sport with Druids.” The krill leader bared his teeth and gave a hearty cackle. At the same time he was uneasy. It had been a while now since Arissa had made contact. He had taken her scream for the warning it was intended. But suppose it had been genuine and those dastardly Druids have harmed her in any way?  If that were true, Radik silently vowed, before long there wouldn’t be a Druid left alive not begging him to kill them.

      By now, the Dragon Hills had spread wings to form a valley. At the far end, its tail seemed to lead directly into the mountains that towered above them, ominously close. All eyes looked up in awe, peering through a purple mist at the Gates of Heaven as its peaks were sometimes called.

      Gates of Hell more like… thought Heron, but smiled encouragingly at Irina who had turned very pale.

Beauty, threat, magnificence challenge…All these things leapt out at them and more. 

      Beth, standing slightly apart from Michael and Pete, could only gaze in wonder at the spectacle even as she, alone, grasped something else. The purple mist hung ready and…waiting.

       They were expected.

To be continued

Mamelon - Chapter 33

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Gail Wright gazed forlornly out of Peter’s bedroom window at the garden below. In the next room, Tim slept soundly. He had been off colour for days but refused to see a doctor.  When she insisted, he’d told her about Astor’s visit and how he had sent his dream-self to aid Michael in Mamelon. She was livid they hadn’t discussed it with her first.  Worse, she was upset and resentful that Tim had been able to access their eldest son while all she could do was gaze into the seer bowl from time to time and glean what news she could subject to its whims.  From what Tim said, Michael had been in a bad way and no reassurances that he was fine now could stop her fretting.  Besides, if Michael could find himself in a tight fix, small chance of Pete staying out of trouble! Guiltily, she spared a passing thought for poor Bethany. It was small relief that the girl’s father was away at the moment. How she would ever begin to explain his daughter’s absence, Gail hadn’t the faintest idea.

      She went back downstairs and attempted to consult the seer bowl but not the slightest flicker of life was forthcoming. In her frustration, she almost flung the fine crystal-ware to the floor but thought better of it. Instead, she replaced it on the sideboard and began tidying the room for the sake of something to do.

      “Your housewifery does you credit,” a half-forgotten voice startled her and Gail swung round angrily to confront its owner. Her anger dissipated on the spot, however, when she saw her father’s anxious expression.

      “Michael, Peter…?” she cried.

      “Are safe and well,” said Astor quickly, “They are a credit to you both, I must say.”

      “Praise indeed!” Gail could not keep the sarcastic edge from her voice.

      “I did not come here spoiling for a fight, Galia,” Astor snapped. A gentler inflection crept into the rasping tones almost immediately. “I need your help.”

      “I see. Having put my husband at heaven only knows what risk and worn him out in the process, it’s my turn now is it? Oh,and let's not forget my children.”

      “Don’t be petulant Galia, it really doesn’t suit you. This is a matter of great urgency. Life and death are at stake here and more besides. Get the seer bowl and I will demonstrate.” Seething but curious, Gail fetched the bowl and placed it on the sitting room table. She could already feel her Gail persona slipping away fast as Galia of Mamelon resumed an ages-old feud with her meddling father.  “Now sit and pay attention.” 

      She complied wordlessly, not trusting herself to speak. Astor’s capacity for understatement was well known.  She began to grow afraid.

      The crystal glowed first pink then white, like a blank page. Gradually, an image formed, the most vivid she had been able to make out so far. It showed a young man lying prostrate in what might have been a cave. His black, unruly hair lay in the lap of a white haired woman. “Mother!” she gasped.

      “Yes, your mother,” murmured Astor wistfully. “We see each other so rarely now.”

      “Who is the young man?”

      “Ah, yes, Mulac…” Astor hesitated a full second before continuing. It was yet another sign of the mage’s inner turmoil and Galia struggled to put her personal feelings aside. A matter of life and death and more, he had said. She did not doubt that he spoke the truth. She waited. “He goes by the name of Mulac and he is Nu-gen,” Astor went on.

      “Is he dead?”

      Astor nodded gravely. “But his spirit has not had time to get far. It could still be called back if the circumstances were right.”

      “How did he die?” Galia looked more closely at the rugged profile and thought she glimpsed the faintest signs of life in the smouldering eyes, wide open and quite beautiful but plainly unseeing.

      “A Stalker,” murmured Astor.

      “Good grief!” Galia was appalled, “I had forgotten they existed!”

    “Oh, they exist alright!” Astor spat but flashed an apologetic glance as Galia tossed him a disparaging look.

      “So does the Stalker have him?”

      “No.”

      “Then he gave his life willingly?”

      “Yes.”

      “So who…?”

      Astor sighed, but pressed on. “It was none other than your own son, Michael. He was very brave…”

     Galia leapt to her feet, eyes blazing. “You let my son, your grandson, kill a man? You always were a selfish, self-centred old man, Father. But this time you’ve excelled yourself! Where is he? I want to see him?     

      He’ll be devastated. For Ri’s sake, father, he’s only a boy!”

     “He is a young man, Galia and one of whom you can be well proud. But we cannot waste time on Michal now. Your mother can only delay the Nu-gen’s spirit into the nether world. She cannot prevent its ultimate departure. Only you can do that.”

      “Me? And why should I even try? You know what you’re asking, father. Such a task could kill us both and still fail. Why should I put my life on the line for a complete stranger, especially a Nu-gen?”

     “For the same reason your mother and I would risk our own lives,” said Astor sternly. But he would not meet her questioning gaze directly. “Look again, daughter, and tell me what you see.”

      Once again, Galia curbed both anger and distress, gazing into the bowl as instructed. He was handsome in a rough sort of way, this Nu-gen.  She might have used the word common, only the adjective was totally inappropriate. There was something about him she couldn’t quite place. Whatever, it amounted to the least common aspect she had ever, intuitively, contemplated in anyone. Something shiny around his neck caught her eye and she wondered how she could have missed it before. An oval disc hung by a length of cord and glistened like a tearful eye.  Indeed, it glistened even more brightly than the blade still embedded in a mat of coarse hair that all but covered this Mulac’s bare chest.

      As Galia watched, the eye grew larger until it swamped the entire bowl. Its long, tragic look cut her to the quick. An immense fatigue overcame her that she couldn’t shrug off.  She recognized the feeling. It was guilt. But how…why?  Suddenly, the eye reverted to natural proportions. In its place, the Nu-gen’s striking profile.  “Did you give it to him?” Galia demanded huskily.

     “No, you did,” Astor murmured, “It belonged to his father but he loved to play with it, remember?”

      “Calum?” she whispered in disbelief.

      “Calum,” Astor confirmed, only the slightest tremor in the voice betraying the mage’s discomfort.

       Galia rounded on her father, eyes blazing. “You told me he was dead!”

       “I lied,” Astor was forced to admit.

      “And Nadya…? Does she live too?” His expression told her all she needed to know. “By Ri, what have I done?  How could you let me abandon my children?”

        “You made your own choice, daughter,” returned Astor drily.

       “Only because I thought my children were dead! What kind of a father does that to his only child? And now Mamelon has all my children. You have taken all my children from me, you evil old man!” She lunged at him with clenched fists. Astor put up no resistance but let her rage a while before reasserting his control.

      “If we are to save Calum, we must act now,” he said quietly. “Even as we speak, his spirit moves farther away from his body. Soon, it will be irretrievable.”

      Galia calmed down instantly and sat down before her knees gave way. The look she flung Astor conveyed that she understood only too well the implications of the crisis for all of them. It also hurled a silent hurt, rage and despair at him that declared she would never forgive his withholding the truth from her. 

       Astor shrugged. It could not be helped. He had done what he must even though Etta had warned against it and estranged herself from him as a direct result. Rarely does Fate offer us easy choices, he mused philosophically. People were bound to get hurt. Even so, he could not deny the pain Galia’s expression caused him.

      “What must I do?” she demanded hoarsely.

     “You must go to him and call his spirit back,” said Astor and spoke with such matter-of-factness that Galia could only stare in astonishment.

      “You want me to send my dream-self to Mamelon? I’m not even sure I could after all this time!”

      "No, not your dream-self,” Astor’s voice quivering with suppressed emotion, “That will not be enough. You must go in person. It is the only way he can be saved.”

      “What?” Galia gaped open-mouthed at her father. “But that is impossible, surely? The dream image must return to the body, not the other way around…”

      “The image returns to the body’s will,” Astor corrected patiently, “I will act as a surrogate. My will shall act for yours and thus sustain the life form to which you will return. It will also assist you in your task. Your mother is primed to do the same. Between us, we will create an all-powerful trinity. Our combined wills should provide a sufficient energy surge to allow you to pass to and from Mamelon at minimum risk of detection or interference.”

      “But you can’t be sure of that…”

       Astor shrugged. “You don’t need me to tell you there are no guarantees in the old religion.”

       Old religion, huh! Magic…” she hissed

       “Have it as you will.” Astor shrugged, “We are wasting time, Galia!” he reminded her curtly.

       “And if I fail?”

      The mage gave another shrug. “Then you fail. But the magic of elves and Druids flows in your veins,” he said with a grim smile, “You will not fail.”

      “So be it,” Galia agreed but did not return the smile.

     “Good. Now, take my hand. When I place my free hand on the seer bowl, you must do the same. The rest is up to you…” he added cryptically.

      “How will I know what to do?” Galia began to panic.

       “I have every faith in you, daughter.”

    “Huh!” Galia could not resist retorting, but felt encouraged all the same as their free hands converged simultaneously on the glowing crystal.

      So began an incredible, surreal roller coaster ride through time and space that was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.  Even as she hurtled at breakneck speed through a rapid succession of distorted thoughts, half-memories and assorted images, all defying description, Galia clung for dear life to a single purpose…Calum. Whenever she found herself floundering and in danger of losing control, she drew upon the image in the seer bowl.  It eclipsed all else among the turmoil through which she passed. In the kaleidoscope of her inner vision, only the face of a dead Nu-gen remained constant. Now and then she began to have doubts. Was her father lying? Could this be some vile conspiracy to lure her back to the planet of her birth?  Each time, the sound of a wolf howling would re-enforce her determination to see this thing through no matter what. Besides, it continued to strike her with some amusement, she could hardly back out now.

      At last, the sensation of being swept along ceased and Galia became aware that her own two feet were taking her through a long, gloomy tunnel. Around bend after bend they carried her but she saw nothing and no one. Panic gripped her. Had they failed? Was this all she could expect, another bend?  But beyond the very next bend she found a white haired woman cradling a dead Nu-gen in her lap.

      “Mother…?” Galia gasped tearfully.

    Gently, the Magela placed Mulac’s head on a pillow made from her own shawl and stood, arms outstretched, smiling radiantly. “Galia…! Oh, but it is so good to see you again!”

      “And you, Mother!” Galia gave a little cry and would have rushed forward but Etta turned both palms towards her warningly.

      “We may not touch each other, my dear. It is but your mother’s dream-self you see. I am only able to touch your son because he is dead and it does not matter.  Touch me and the spell will be broken, the tripartite chain of power irredeemable.”

      “My son…?” Galia came forward and knelt beside the prostrate figure of the cave floor. “But how can I be sure?” she wailed, “I left behind me a small child and this, this is a stranger…”

      “Remember what I always taught you, Galia. Never take the word of another where matters of the heart are concerned. Let yourself see. Let yourself feel. Answer your own question.”

      Galia knelt beside the Nu-gen. A hand stroked his cheek that felt icy cold at her touch and his hair that was lifeless, like straw. She drew away, shocked and disappointed for she felt no rush of maternal feeling…nothing.  Swallowing hard, she took one cold hand in hers, peered into the wide, unseeing eyes  and felt herself being sucked into them.

It was a journey of a very different kind that she embarked upon now. She knew this route. It took her to the orange grove where she had first met Michal. It was the same orange grove where he had proposed marriage a year later and where Calum, their first-born, had been conceived. It carried her, too, through the streets of Lunis, City of Moons, in an open carriage drawn by white horses as bride of Michal the Great, Ruler of the High Seat of Mamelon.  It also led her into every nook and cranny of the Great Palace where she, the children and Michal, too, whenever affairs of state could be put on hold, would often play hide-and-seek. Oh, how the palace corridors had rung with their laughter! She always knew where Nadya hid for the irrepressible child never stopped giggling. But Calum played to win. The rich chuckling noises he made, once caught, were like music to her ears and always reminded her of a stream that swept merrily past the little white house where she was born. She often took the children there to visit their grandparents and it always felt more like home than the huge palace.

She pricked up her ears. Then she saw it, the very stream. Beyond it, white walls and a red tiled roof set in an amber twilight among lawns, trees and a variety of brightly coloured flowers. At the centre of one lawn, stood a spreading kola tree in whose leafy branches she had often hid and waited with baited breath to be discovered by her mother. It was always her mother who came looking for her, Galia recalled, never her father.  She crossed the stream, ran to the tree and peered though the huge green-red leaves. Instinctively, she began to climb.  Nor was it long before she came upon a small boy with untidy black hair and an angelic smile curled, fast asleep. “Calum!” she called softly, “Come on darling, wake up!” The boy stirred, yawned, vaguely recognised his mother and flung his arms around her. “Wake up, Calum. We have to go back down now and I can’t carry you. I’ll help you but you must help yourself too…”

“Don’t want to,” the boy grumbled, “I’m tired.”

“I know, darling, but it’s time to wake up!”

“Why don’t you stay here with me and we can go to sleep together?” the boy yawned again.

“Because…” said Galia weakly and then rallied. “Because I am our mother and I don’t want to sleep in a tree! Now, come along or…”

“Or…what?” challenged the dark eyes fastened on her face.

“Or I’ll go away and leave you,” Galia threatened.

“No Mummy, no, you mustn’t. Please don’t leave me!” The boy suddenly burst into tears. “Please, please don’t leave me!”

“Of course not,” Galia soothed, “but you had better come down now before I change my mind…” They descended and Galia leapt the final few feet, laughing aloud, to the grass below. 

 And the grass was green in those far-off halcyon days, Galia reflected distantly.

 She opened her arms wide to catch the laughing boy poised to jump from a low hanging branch. He seemed to be having second thoughts. “Come on, come to Mummy, Calum!” she urged. Yet still he hesitated and looked almost scared. Galia found herself getting cross. “Come on, Calum, jump! There’s nothing to be afraid of. Mummy will catch you. I won’t let you fall.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

 The boy jumped. And it seemed to Calum that he was flying through the air for an eternity before his mother’s arms encircled him, spun him round and tumbled with him, in peals of merry laughter, on the grass.

 Mulac opened his eyes. A face swam before him. It seemed to be crying and laughing at the same time and he vaguely recognized it. “Mother…?” The lovely lips parted but made no sound. He could scarcely have blinked. Even so, by the time he was able to focus properly again, the face had disappeared. In its place, it was Etta, the Magela, who gazed down at him as if from a great height, her radiant smile falling like a child’s ball. He cupped his hands, caught the ball, hugged it to his chest and drifted into a blissful sleep.

“He is safe now, thanks to you,” Etta flashed her daughter a grateful smile.

“It’s the least I could do,” Galia murmured, unable to take her eyes off the sleeping figure on the cave floor. Colour had returned to his cheeks and the hairy chest demonstrated a relaxed, easy breathing. “I only wish I could do more.” She looked imploringly at her mother. “Let me stay, at least until he wakes up. I have so much to tell him, so much to explain.”

 The Magela shook her white head. “You have stayed too long already. You must go now or you will never get back at all.”

 Why should I ever go back? Galia wondered and then spoke aloud. “My children are here. All of them,” she emphasized and flung a fond, wistful look at the sleeping Calum.

“Michael and Peter will return one day and you must be there for them. Besides, you must think also of Timon? He needs you too.”

 “He will come after me,” Galia was certain.

 “All the more reason to return to the life you chose, Galia. There are many who cannot forgive what you did with the Holy Seer.”

 “Nadya…” sighed Galia.

 “Nadya,” the Magela agreed.

“Is she...?”

“Alive? Yes. She is married with a grown son and daughter.  I guess she is well enough. These are hard times, Galia.”

 “I’m a grandmother! Oh, how I wish…”

 “Go, Galia. Go now. Trust me and…GO.”

 “Will I ever see you again, or him?” She went to the sleeping figure and knelt to plant a kiss on his forehead. Mulac stirred, a lazy smile illuminating the pale face.  lips. But he did not wake. Galia looked imploringly at her mother. “Look after my children, Etta, and my grandchildren.”

 “Of course I will. Now GO,” Etta urged impatiently.

 Somewhere, Galia heard Astor calling her name. He sounded cross, but his manner changed suddenly and he began to croon an old, familiar lullaby. On the wings of its gentle strains, she almost gladly let herself float back across time and space - far more quickly, it seemed to her, than she had come.  Nor was it Astor who greeted her in the little sitting room of the house in Tonbridge Wells.  Tim was waiting, looking immensely relieved, arms outstretched. Gail fell into them, weeping uncontrollably.

 When Mulac opened his eyes again, he was still feeling very tired but also wonderfully relaxed. He looked around for the Magela. Surely he hadn’t dreamt her presence? Besides, there could be no other explanation for his being able to draw breath. But there was no sign. He was quite alone in the cave. He permitted himself a wry smile. While never underestimating the Magela, he had to admit that her healing powers had excelled on this occasion.  

 His thoughts turned to the motherworlder, Michal. The poor lad would be feeling wretched. There was no need but it was only human nature. He must find and reassure him.

 Mulac tried to rise but fell back, exhausted. A cosy drowsiness proved irresistible and the heavy eyelids began to close. Through slits, he saw two shadowy figures at the mouth of the cave.  Knowing that mind and body still needed rest, he did not fight sleep. Sleep was a welcome visitor. He tensed. The same could not be said for the newcomers. He barely had time to reflect on the matter, though, before finding himself in the beautifully landscaped grounds of a white house that struck just the faintest chord of memory before his fading consciousness identified the robed pair as Druids.

To be continued