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
