Mamelon 2 - Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

Mick and the Foss, the latter happily answering to the name of Fred, were making good progress. Fred certainly knew his way through the maze of tunnels, moving quickly and surefootedly. “My home is not far now,” Fred called over his shoulder. ‘My people will make us very welcome and there will be much to eat and drink.”

“Even in a mountain?” Mick was sceptical.

“The mountains are full of surprises,” said Fred laughing, “so, too, are Foss.”

“I’ll take your word for it, Fred.” The dwarf flung him a beaming smile over his shoulder just as a queer noise seemed to bounce through the gloom at them.

Fred stopped in his tracks. “What can that be?”

“Whatever it is, you can be sure it doesn’t mean us any good,” Mick muttered grimly. “Wait here while I take a look.”

“But I know the way,” the dwarf protested. “F3 is not far now. “

“F3?”

“There are several Foss communities within the mountain. Mine is F3,” a visibly agitated Fred explained.

“Whatever is making that din can’t be far away either or the echoes wouldn’t be so loud,” Mick pointed out. “Besides, I am bigger than you. Wait here, and don’t move unless I call you.”  Before Fred could argue, he ran ahead, rounding several bends and only slowing down to a snail’s pace when he could see flashes of light ahead.  It was not long before he was mopping his brow with a handkerchief, and then holding it to his nose. It had become unnaturally hot and an awful smell was beginning to make him feel nauseous. 

Something was burning. A sixth sense warned Mick that whatever awaited him round the next bend would not be a pretty sight.  He was about to proceed with extreme caution, when Fred dashed past him with no thought for his own safety.  Although the terrible cry that crashed around his ears soon afterwards was like that of an injured animal, Mick knew instinctively what it was.

It was Fred.

Mick braced himself and ran forward. At the end of a long, sweeping bend, the tunnel opened up, levelled out, and widened.  Domestic items and clothing plainly suggested the area had hosted inhabitants or had so until recently. Flames from a huge bonfire licked at the cave walls and into a kind of chimney in the rock farther than the eye could see.

The smell was intolerable.

Close to the bonfire, Mick saw the little Foss. Fred was squatting in the firelight swaying to and fro, his head in both hands, making horrible wailing sounds.  The intensity of the firelight, simultaneously splendid and hideous, created a tableau that only added to the unbearable pathos of the little man’s anguish.

Mick did not need to be told what it was that was burning.

Having no experience of grief, Mick instinctively went and knelt beside Fred and gently put an arm around his shoulders. “We can’t stay here, Fred,” he shouted as gently as he could above the roar of the flames. “We have to go, now. There is nothing we can do. Perhaps there are survivors…”

“How can this be? What has happened here?”

“Krills…!” Mick exclaimed, more to himself than to his distressed companion.

Fred instantly broke free of the comforting arm, leapt to his feet and confronted the young Motherworlder with a wild-eyed expression that so transformed his appearance that Mick scarcely recognized him. “Krills…?  Why do you say that? Krills have not been seen in the mountains since The Keeper was taken and the tomb of the Creator lost.”

“Druids then…?” Mick suggested

“Ri curse them all, but it is not the way of Druids to…” He glanced towards the fire and broke down in floods of tears, but remained standing, his small body shaking from head to toe.  “Why do you say Krills?  Yes, Krills would do this, but they would not dare return. They would not dare!”” he shrieked hysterically, “The mountains would not let them…”

Mick, at a loss to know what to do or say, decided that straight talking was the best policy. Fred deserved an honest answer. “There were three of us. That is to say, four including Ricci and others joined us…” he began before realizing this was neither the time nor the place to confuse poor Fred with details. “Krills were following us,” he said slowly as memories of that previous visit to the dying planet returned. “We were with some druids, but…”

“Krills followed you here?” Fred screamed at the young Motherworlder. “You brought Krills here? What have you done? What have you done?”

“They were following us,” repeated Mick defensively, “We did not bring them here. They would have come anyway,” he added with a certainty that came from nowhere.

Fred flung out an arm towards the bonfire. “They were my people, my family, and my friends. Now they are all dead thanks to you. You have done this. You, you, you…!!! he continued to scream

“No, Fred, no, it’s not like that!” Mick, incensed by the accusation while struggling with anger, guilt, and more besides, recovered his composure long enough to try and reason with the Foss.

“I am not Fred. I am Foss,” the dwarf retorted furiously and ran out of the fire’s awful glow into the surrounding gloom.

“Fred, wait!” Mick called in vain and ran after the retreating figure, down a tunnel at the far end of what had once been F3 until he came to a fork.  There was no phosphorescent moss on the rock walks here, only pitch blackness. He cocked an ear, but could hear nothing. Once again, he was alone and lost. A flood of tears remained unchecked as he sank to his knees and sobbed uncontrollably, his all but crushed spirit left to run the gamut of loneliness, self-pity, and terror.

Suddenly, he sensed a presence, looked up and all but choked on a cry of relief and disbelief at the sight of a woman hovering a short distance along one of the tunnels. In spite of her weird, ghost-like appearance, he recognized instantly.   “Arissa!” he gasped.

The fragile figure ahead quivered frantically before settling down and approaching him so cautiously that it occurred to Mick that she was even more frightened of him than he was of her.

“You know me?” the voice was reedy and uncertain, not in the least as he remembered it. Arissa, he recalled with a wry smile, had been strong-willed and sure of herself to the extent of arrogance. He had neither liked nor trusted her. But this, this was a different Arissa altogether, and he felt curiously drawn to her in a spirit almost of comradeship as well as immense pity.

“Of course I know you, you’re…”

“No! Do not speak my name again. Never speak it again or we will both be kikiri, or worse,” she added cryptically. “I do not understand. How can you know me?  I have not been blessed with my natural form since it was stolen from me.”

It was only then that Mick became aware of a burning sensation in his jacket the pocket, and instinctively felt for and removed a tiny egg-shaped stone that was warm against his palm and exuding a yellow-green glow.  It had been a parting gift from La-Ri, the elf-queen, upon leaving the Forest of Gar for the Purple Mountains. He had almost forgotten it since a not dissimilar experience in Mal-y-Dros, Place of the Undead, on his first visit to Mamelon.

The figure that had once been Arissa barely stifled a gasp of astonishment. It is a malcryst, Dark Crystal, a druid thing. I did not know any existed but in old, old, stories. How came you by it?”

Mick saw no reason not to tell her.

“A druid thing in a place of elves, these are strange times indeed.”

“What happened to you?” Mick asked, inexplicably no longer afraid.

“I am kikiri. There are others such as I. We are neither alive nor dead. In the Motherworld you would call us zombies, I think. “Mick nodded, appalled.  Arissa went on, “Our identities have been stolen from us by those who wish to use them for dark purposes.  The one you saw before, she is dark magic personified and means only ill to any with whom she may appear to bond as friend or even lover. Oh, yes,” she agreed, correctly interpreting Mick’s expression alarm, “your friends are in mortal danger.”

“If they are still alive,” Mick felt obliged to say.

“They live, so far,” the kikiri assured him. Mick felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

“You’ve seen them? You’ve seen my brother and Beth?”

“Not Bethan, but I sense she lives,” she assured him, referring to Beth by the same name as everyone else in Mamelon.  “Your brother is safe, for now. He is with Heron, who is my brother also, and the elf girl, Irina.  But we must go now. I will take you to the Foss. He will take much strength as well as comfort from your presence, and lead you through the mountains. But remember, you must never speak my name again here or you may well end up the same as I.  As it is, we can only pray to Ri that no one heard. And tell no one of the malcryst. You have a saying in the Motherworld that walls have ears. Never has that been more so than here. Now, come, we must hurry.”

“But…” There was so much that Mick wanted to ask, but this was clearly neither the time nor the place. He hurried after the quickly retreating figure, feeling pleasantly light-headed for knowing that Pete and Beth had survived the avalanche.

Mick’s euphoria, however, was short-lived. Suddenly, without warning, the kikiri he knew as Arissa disappeared.

There was some dim greenish light to see by, for which Mick, he was thankful, but he was alone again and it was more than he could bear.  Beth’s words returned to haunt him. “Damn it, mountain,” Mick cried aloud, “I don’t want to be here either. I mean you no harm! I only want to help…” he added tearfully.

A curious but not unpleasant rushing noise in his ears took on a musical sound and he recognised The Okay Song, a lullaby his mother had once sung to him and Pete what seemed a lifetime ago.  It was very reassuring, and in spite of an overwhelming sensation of homesickness, Mick began to feel more positive. Soon, he was on his feet again, and staggering a little, made  steady progress through the gloomy maze of tunnels, some natural, others constructed by slaves long ago.  At times, the tunnels opened up to expose huge caverns descending into bottomless pits. These could only be avoided by walking along ledges barely wide enough for one foot at a time. 

Gingerly, carefully placing one foot in front of the other, his body pressed against the wall of rock, Mick began edging his way past one such yawning chasm when he heard a plaintive cry.

“Help…!” 

Forcing himself to look down, Mick peered into a hideous emptiness, able to see nothing at first. Breathless, heart performing somersaults, he leant against the cavern wall for support and a temporary if deceptive sense of safety.

“Help me!” The cry came again, much weaker now.

Mick leaned over as far as he dared and looked again. It was a sheer drop, but he could just make out a small, shadowy figure trapped on a broken ledge.

It was Fred.

“Fred, is that you?” Mick yelled and his voice echoed eerily all around like a frantic boom, boom, booming sound.

“Yes,” Fred shouted from below, “I am trapped. “

“Are you hurt?”

“Not badly, but I don’t think this ledge will hold for much longer.”

Mick fell back against the rock wall again to catch his breath and consider what if anything he could do to help poor Fred. If only I had some rope. But he had no rope and climbing down the rock face and up again was out of the question. He guessed the little Foss must have lost his footing.  No surprises there, he brooded grimly. The mountain is a death trap.  “Damn you, mountain, he yelled aloud, and the resulting cacophony was deafening.

“Mark me well, Motherworlder,” a new voice penetrated Mick’s swimming consciousness and almost caused him to lose his footing. Shakily recovering his balance, he looked in the direction from which the voice had come. At the far end of the ledge, at the mouth of what looked like another tunnel, stood the tall, imposing figure of the druid, Ygor. Behind him, Mick could just make out several more robed figures. Ygor was holding what looked like a coil of wire.  Barely had he registered this fact when Mick became aware of something snake-like writhing along the ledge toward him to land at his feet. . Instinctively, he bent to retrieve it. 

Rope..!

Rope, yet not rope as Mick knew it, made of a material that was silky to the touch, but not silk either.

“Tie it around your waist and go to the aid of your friend. Then swing this way and leave the rest to me.”  It was not a suggestion, but a command.

Mick did as he was told, relieved at first that here was a chance to rescue poor Fred. It was not until he had tied the knot around his waist and looked down that the enormity of the task ahead struck him like a savage blow to the head.  Could he trust Ygor? No, of course I can’t. And what if the rope breaks …? He felt physically sick.  Yet, what choice did he have? No choice at all.

He turned and began to slowly abseil towards the trembling, sobbing, Foss. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,” wailed the dwarf which did nothing to alleviate Mick’s terror that the rope might snap at any second.  

Finally, Mick was able to get a footing on the ledge. Foss and Motherworlder embraced each other with genuine affection as well as relief. It was just as well, for it was while Mick had the little fellow in a bear hug that the mountain began to shake and roar. In an instant, the ;edge on which they were so precariously balanced crumbled away.

Hurled into the abyss, screaming and clinging to each other, both were convinced these were their last moments of life.   

Mamelon 2 - Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

Once the thunderous roaring noise had ceased and the dust settled, Peter Wright risked opening his eyes where he huddled against the shuddering wall of the cave. In spite of shaking violently, the wall held, and even the terrified boy knew when to count his blessings. Forcing himself to stand up, he called out, “Mick, are you there? Can you hear me? Beth!”

He called several times without really expecting a response which was just as well since none came. “Is anyone there?” he cried one last time in mounting despair. Again, only a thick, uncaring silence rewarded his pleas for some reassurance if not practical help. Even so, the sound of his own voice had a calming effect. Finally, Pete shut up and contemplated his fate with a shade more self-confidence than he had felt since the avalanche.

Any such self-confidence, however, proved to be short-lived. Fighting back tears, Pete took stock of his surroundings. An intermittent phosphorous glow afforded some light and he was able to discern that at least the way remained clear directly ahead while there was no heading back the way he had come since much of the tunnel entrance had collapsed in on itself.  For a while, he resisted the urge to call out yet again. Hesitantly, he proceeded to make his way cautiously further into the tunnel. He had not gone far when the apparition appeared, an almost featureless ghost-like ‘thing’.  “Aar-g-h!”  The frightened boy let rip with a piercing scream.

Pete turned and ran no small distance the way he had come before collapsing, panting, on the tunnel floor. For a thirteen-year-old, he had reasoning powers of which any adult would be proud.  It did not take long, therefore, to convince himself that ghosts were nothing more than a figment of the imagination. The ghastly apparition had almost certainly been as a result of the shock at being separated from the others in such scary circumstances. A sense of déjà vu settled upon him that he found increasingly comforting rather than disconcerting.  Hadn’t much the same thing happened on his first visit to Mamelon, and had he not survived to tell the tale? Suddenly, he remembered the gluck’s shrill cry just before the avalanche struck. Maybe I’ll find Heron if he doesn’t find me first…

Clinging to the hope of finding his friend, much as a drowning man might cling to a straw, Pete turned and proceeded resolutely back along the tunnel. He had not gone far when the apparition returned. “Aar-g-h!” the boy screamed again, but this time stood his ground. “You’re not real. Go away. You’re not real. You’re a…hallucination.” He yelled at the apparition which, in turn, flickered as if cringing, and promptly vanished.

Instead of feeling deservedly well pleased with himself, Pete was left feeling almost guilty. Bloody hell, I frightened the poor thing. Bloody hell, how can you frighten a ghost? He had taken only a few steps forward when the same weird phenomenon reappeared just ahead.  Pete stood stock still and chose his words carefully. “I don’t mean you ant harm, honestly. How about you? Can you say the same?” Bloody hell, I can’t believe I’m talking to a ghost.

The apparition hovered awhile, and then approached until boy and it were close enough to take each other’s measure. Pete did not know what to make of the experience at all. The ‘thing’ barely had a human shape. The mere fact that he could make out slits for eyes, nose and mouth in what just about passed for a head suggested some human input if only historically. Bathed in a queer yellow glow and flickering like a light bulb about to go out altogether, it struck Pete as a somewhat pitiful creature. Creature, did I say?  Is it alive then? I suppose it must be, sort of… Amazed by how easily he had established an affinity with the apparition he asked, “Who or what are you?” hastily adding, “I’m Pete.” I must be going mad.

The apparition said nothing but turned and turned again several times until Pete caught on. “You want me to follow you, is that it?” There was no reply, but sensing the ‘thing’ meant just that, Pete nodded. “Okay, you lead and I’ll follow.” What have I got to lose?

They made good progress along through a maze of winding tunnels. To break what was a companionable silence, but silence all the same, Pete would chat to his guide now and then. “Do you have a name? I should call you something? I can’t keep thinking of you as ‘Thing’ or ‘Ghost’ and something tells me neither is appropriate anyway.” Inspiration came almost effortlessly. “I know. I’ll call you Chloe. I had a hamster once called Chloe. She was a funny little thing too…” Not once did it occur to him that his strange companion might be male.

Chloe may not have had much to say for herself, but Pete quickly grasped that she was capable of evoking certain feelings. He sensed that she warmed to his chatter. Sometimes, she would be wary and pause. Pete, too, would then pause and cock an ear as if knowing he was expected to listen out for something…or someone. “We’re not alone down here, are we Chloe?  It isn’t only the mountain that doesn’t want us here, is it?” Chloe made no reply, of course, but Pete had a keen sense of her approving of as well as agreeing with him. As if I’ve done anything but escape with my life by the skin of my teeth. Oh, well, that has to count for something, I suppose.

“I say, Chloe, any chance of getting something to eat? I’m starving!” Chloe stopped, waited for him to catch up, and then pointed to the cave wall with something that passed for a hand even though it had no fingers. Pete stared at the wall, puzzled. It was a while before he spotted tumours of some mossy substance he had not noticed before.  “Are you suggesting I eat that?”  Chloe oozed affirmation while Pete could only wrinkle up his nose in disgust. “I don’t think so!” All at once, he experienced a sharp pain in his head. It quickly passed, but Pete sensed it had come from Chloe. Bloody hell, she’s having a go at me because I won’t do as she says. Another similar burst of pain seemed to confirm his suspicions. “Okay, okay, I’ll give it a go.” Gingerly, he plucked a small piece of moss, closed his eyes, popped it in his mouth and proceeded to chew on it. The expression on his face soon registered surprise and delight. “Why, it’s delicious!”

Chloe flickered as if to say, I told you so.

The mossy substance tasted like liquorice and was also moist enough on the tongue to quench thirst. Consequently, it was almost with a spring in his step that Pete followed his guide further into the bowels of the mountain.  They had not gone far this time, though, when Chloe signalled extreme caution. At the same time, Pete heard voices. While sensing Chloe’s reluctance to continue, he could not restrain himself but ran past her and round the next bend to find himself among old acquaintances.

“Greetings, young Motherworlder, we meet again,” The druid, Ygor, rose and walked a few paces outside the circle of companions in which he sat to welcome Pete. Pete, overjoyed at being in human company again, forgot his manners and ran to druid, flinging his arms around the elderly figure that, in turn, seemed taken aback, but quietly pleased.

“You will join our humble supper?” asked Ygor.

“You bet,” Pete enthused, and was soon tucking in to meat and vinre that was a vast improvement on moss, liquorice tasting or not. “What kind of meat is this? It’s delicious.”

“Foss,” one of the druids replied, only to receive a sharp glance from Ygor.

Pete shrugged. “Well, it’s great!” While he ate, the druids talked among themselves, in a language Pete did not understand.  He did not mind one bit, was just glad to be back among friends. He wanted to ask about Mick and Beth but a sixth sense warned him this was not the right time.

“You did well to find us,” Ygor broke into his thoughts, “The mountain’s ways are treacherous and confusing even to those of us who are familiar with them.”

Pete gave a guilty start. He had forgotten all about Chloe. Again, though, a sixth sense warned him against confiding in the druid. At the same time, he sensed Chloe was nearby. “I was born lucky,” Pete responded with a cheery laugh that brought no hint of a smile to the druid’s face.

“I see,” said Ygor gravely. “But you look tired, my young friend, and must be exhausted.  Lie back and rest awhile. “

Pete had the notion that this was more of an order than a suggestion. Even so, it was true. He was dead tired. Indeed, his eyes closed and he was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow one of the druids had provided. He was unaware that Ygor covered him with a blanket so did not see the druid’s grim expression.

In the strangest dream, Pete found himself flying over mountain peaks, clinging for dear life to the neck of a gluck.  Oblivious of the incredible views below, the dream Pete could only struggle to fight off cold, hunger, and a terrible despair. Finally, they descended. A lush, green expanse loomed into view while still some distance below. Suddenly, he lost his grip on the gluck’s neck, slid off its back and went spiralling downward at break-neck speed. A time would come when he would have good cause to remember the same screams of terror that woke him. For now, though, the dream withheld its worst, tumbling him instead into a state of  semi-consciousness where he found himself mutely thanking Ri for glucks and instantly feeling all the better for it.

Gradually, Pete became aware of voices. Although some distance away and muffled, he recognized Ygor’s distinctive way of speaking. At the same time, a sixth sense warned him against opening his eyes and letting the others know he was awake. Consequently, he lay quite still, straining to catch at least some of what was being said.

“The time is not right,” Ygor was saying, “The boy may yet prove useful to us.”

“And if not?” another voice demanded.

“Then we will kill him, of course.”

“But he is only a child,” someone else protested.

“ Our purpose lies too heavy upon body and spirit for any among us to balk at whatever needs to be done,” Ygor retorted without hesitation, ”The red haired boy is expendable, I agree. Yet, we must also ask ourselves if it is only chance that has brought him to Mamelon with his companions. I for one find that hard to believe. Now, if he, too, has a purpose here, I suspect it would serve us better to discover its nature before dispensing with its carrier. His part in events may be small, but that does not render it insignificant.  Let him believe he is among friends and we shall see what we shall see…

The voices drifted away.

Pete swallowed hard and tried to think clearly above a humming noise in his head that was vaguely familiar but too high-pitched to identify. Had it been this that had woken him in the first place? Chloe! She was warning me. Oh, Chloe, Chloe, where are you? He continued to lie still for some time, sweating profusely, before daring to open his eyes. On one side, he could make out the silhouettes of druids sitting in a circle. On the other, he could just make out the bend in the tunnel from which he had impetuously run into a trap. Would Chloe be there waiting to help him after the way he had abandoned her without as much as a second thought? I don’t deserve it.

 By now, the humming in his head was softer, lower, and less intense. He recognized a few bars of a lullaby that reminded him of his life in Tunbridge Wells and brought a lump to his throat. Why on earth should he think of it now, and here of all places? A flash of inspiration, and homesickness quickly made way for more positive thoughts. It was Chloe’s way of reassuring him that she was nearby, he was certain of it. Cautiously, he rose and kicked off his boots to tuck them under his arm before edging towards the bend, and then breaking into a run.

Once round the bend, he paused and looked wildly around.  There was no sign of Chloe. Pete began to panic, and ran on, convinced the druids would soon be in hot pursuit. He stumbled and fell, grazing his hands on the rock floor as he frantically tried to save himself. Chloe where are you? In vain, he tried to stifle a flood of tears and buried his face in his hands.  “Pete Wright you are such an idiot!” he sobbed aloud. “What am I doing here anyway? I must be mad. I should never, ever, have come back here! Mick, Beth, where are you?”

Suddenly, he was aware of hands exerting gentle but sure pressure on each shoulder. In an instant, terror had his every muscle gripped in a steely vice that continued to tighten. .

“Hush, now. Walls have ears and spoken words will often echo in places we would rather they did not.”

Heron!  Pete wriggled free in an instant and flung himself at his friend with what would have been a gleeful whoop if it had not been smothered by a bear hug. “Druids,” he gasped, “they talked about killing me. I thought they were friends, and all the time…”

“Druids are friends to no one but druids,” Heron commented dryly.

“It is good to see you again, young Motherworlder, but we must hasten I think before the druids realize you are gone.”  It was a sweeter but no less kind if anxious voice that broke into the chaos Pete’s of consciousness.

Irina! Pete swung round and it was the elf girl’s turn to hug him before all three were hurrying on their way again. Just ahead of them, Chloe was all of a flicker. Pete glanced at the others, but neither gave any sign that they could see the apparition.

Chloe is my secret. Finding Heron and Irina again had so relaxed Pete that he put the druid threat out of his mind and was even starting to feel quite smug as they reached a fork in the tunnel until, like the others, he became aware of echoes of some terrible event happening not so far away . Bloodcurdling yells intermingled with heart rending cries stopped all three in their tracks.

. Pete bent down to scratch an itch on his leg. It was no itch, however, but a snake. More terrified of snakes than any echoes, he let rip with an ear-splitting scream. Irina, though, did not hear. She had clapped both hands to her ears in a desperate attempt to shut out the awful sounds and try, in vain, to pretend she had imagined them. Heron, though, instantly swung round, reaching for the blade inside his tunic as he did so, ready to do battle with whatever it might be that presented the more immediate threat.

For its part, the snake remained quite still, wrapped around Pete’s leg just below the knee...

Mamelon 2 - Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

Beth did not hesitate.  Mick’s cry, ‘Run!’ reached her ears even as the rumbling sounds were already becoming ominously, terrifyingly, louder.  She ran as fast as her legs would carry her to the foot of a tall tree not far from the cave entrance, but far enough to spare her the worst effects of the avalanche. In horror, she watched the mountain rage and spew huge rocks, completely blocking the path she had just fled. “Mick, Pete!” she screamed until, finally overcome by her own sense of helplessness, she collapsed on a bed of tawny grass.

            It seemed to Beth that the mountains continued their furore for ages, but common sense told her it could only have been minutes before calm was restored and the choking dust began to settle sufficiently to allow their magnificent peaks to reassert themselves like birds, majestic and splendid, as if nesting among her tears.  Eventually, the tears ran dry and she began to take stock of her surroundings. All around, clusters of tall trees suggested there was some shelter to be had if little else. Immediately ahead, piles of rocks completely littered the tawny slopes she had only just managed to negotiate in time.

            Beth shivered. It was still very cold. Although the mist seemed to be lifting, it struck her as reluctant to leave altogether. “As if a mist has any choice!” she remonstrated with herself loudly. “For Ri’s sake, what is happening here?” her instinctive call upon the planet’s Creation mythology throwing her consciousness into further turmoil.  At the same time, she had a sense of recovering the same notion of belonging that had embraced her on her first visit to Mamelon and haunted her ever since. As if on cue, her mind’s eye proceeded to open much like petals on a flower.  One by one she was able to put names to the petals. “Ricci, Pers, Irina, Heron, Arissa…” She saw, too, a band of scaly creatures that clearly meant harm, “Krills!” Beth shuddered as the memory of being taken prisoner by those awful creatures came flooding back.

 Another name hovered on her tongue, but it was a while before she could say it, “Mulac.” Instantly, she became emotional and tearful, After all, had she not loved the surly Nu-gen?  Had it not been his voice that had brought her back to this place, this Mamelon? “Oh, Mulac, Mulac” she cried, “Where are you now?”

“A good question,” a familiar voice declared with feeling to one side of her, its owner appearing out of the mist like a spectre from the past.

“Ricci…!” Beth scrambled to her feet and flung herself at the cone headed little man who had brought the three of them to Mamelon that first time. “Oh, Ricci, I am so glad to see you. I’ve lost them. Mick and Pete they’re…in there.” She pointed to the mountain.

“Oh, dear, I’m too late!” Ricci wailed, “I came as fast as I could once my master warned me you had returned and needed my help…”

“Your master…?” Beth was curious to say the least.

“Astor, the White Mage, the greatest and wisest warlock of all time, to whom I am but a humble apprentice…” Ricci waffled on, while Beth’s consciousness revealed more about Astor than the little man could ever put into words.

“So, come on, Ricci, what do you suggest we do now?” Beth interrupted her companion’s lively monologue, much of which she had heard before on other occasions, if more sharply than she intended. “We have to find a way into the mountain and rescue Mick and Pete,” she insisted while adding silently, if they are still alive, yet refusing to concede they were probably dead.  At the same time, her memories became a flood, reminding here why they had come to the Purple Mountains, to find the Tomb of the Creator, Ri, source of the Spring of Life that needed to flow again or Mamelon would surely die.

Beth’s head began to swim.

“Are you alright?” Ricci asked, suddenly alert to his companion’s distress.

“Yes,” Beth lied, “it’s just that there’s so much to remember, so much to do and…”

“So little time, I’ll say!” Ricci wailed so plaintively that Beth got angry.

“All the more reason to make the most of the time we have,” she pointed out, “Now, stop wailing like a Banshee and let’s find a way into the mountain…if there is one,” she added lamely. By now she was calm again. In place of anger, there was only a dull, throbbing ache. “There has to be one,” she asserted with a surge of spiritedness that took both of them by surprise. “I mean, it makes sense doesn’t it?  If there wasn’t, what the hell am I doing here or any of us for that matter?

“True…” Ricci agreed and was rewarded with a smile. It was the first time he had seen Bethan smile since their reunion and it helped ease his conscience about arriving too late to save the others. The red haired boy, Pete, did not count, of course, but Michal…Astor had emphasised the young motherworlder’s importance time and again, but to Ricci’s intense frustration, refused to elaborate. Michal, Ricci thought he understood, was of the royal bloodline descended from Michal the Great. Yet, he suspected there even was more to the young motherworlder. Whatever, at least there was plainly a purpose in keeping young Michal safe which was more than could be said for the Nu-gen tribesman, Mulac.

As if reading his thoughts, Beth felt compelled to ask, “What happened to Mulac?”

Ricci shrugged. “Ask me another,” he retorted with uncharacteristic tartness. “My master says to keep an eye on him and keep him safe so I do, although why all this trouble for a Nu-gen Ri only knows!  And what does Mulac do, the ingrate, but sneak off in the night, to Ri alone knows where, leaving me high and dry and in my master’s bad books yet again. Mind you, he changed his tune when you returned. Astor, that is. He quite rightly relegated Mulac to the status of non-person and insisted I hasten to your aid. I came as fast as I could…”

Poor Ricci looked so abjectly apologetic that Beth gave the little man a hug. Ricci beamed and she, too, felt marginally more optimistic that somehow things would resolve themselves in their favour.

“We were some distance away from where you left us,” Ricci was saying, but Beth was only half listening. “Ygor and the druids entered the mountain by way of one of its better known caves. The female, Arissa, decided to go with them so, naturally, the elf, Pers, did the same. You will remember how besotted he is with her…” 

Beth was remembering only too well even as a petal opened up in her mind that she had overlooked before, revealing a much loved face. Tol…! How could she have forgotten the gentle giant that served Arissa but had warned her, Beth, never to trust his arrogant, tantrum prone mistress?  Beth could not resist a grin. They had communicated, she and Tol, by a mixture of sign language and telepathy that had infuriated Arissa who had been unable to share either. Beth was no stranger to signing. Her father was deaf.  Telepathy, though, had come as a complete surprise. Even so, she had soon got the hang of it. She trusted Tol implicitly and hoped they would meet again. Tol made her feel safe.

Beth sighed. She would have given anything to feel safe now. Instead, she feared the worst for Mick and Pete while having to admit privately that she had precious little faith in the accident prone little man whose comforting arm around her she could not bring herself to shrug off.

“Irina would not leave Pers,” Ricci was saying, “which I suppose was only natural given that he is her brother. Heron tried and failed to talk her out if it so they followed the others on that silly gluck creature…”

Beth recalled how close Pete and Heron had become and how Mick’s younger brother had adored glucks, grieved in fact for one in particular that had come to an untimely end.

“Mulac, of course, being a typical Nu-gen, wanted none of it and went his own way. I was all set to take my chances with the mountain, but my master insisted I accompany Mulac even though it was as plain as the nose on anyone’s face the he wanted nothing whatever to do with me. I tried to be friendly and be the very best of companions. But did Mulac appreciate my efforts?  He could at least have tried to meet me halfway, surely? I grant you, Nu-gen are a miserable, solitary lot, but…well, really, he could have made an effort just this once! I told him I didn’t want to be there but Astor insisted. Did it make any difference? Was he impressed? Not one shred. I’d have tried a spell or two, become a bird of something, but Astor forbade it, said I mustn’t draw attention to myself. I ask you, whose attention? Ragund, I suppose…”

“Ragund…?” Beth struggled to pay attention, “He’s our enemy, right?”

“The Dark Mage is everyone’s enemy including his own,” Ricci absently agreed. “I ask you. What was I supposed to do about Mulac?” he went on. “What could I do? I was given no choice but suffer his appalling rudeness and take it on the chin.”

Beth sensed it was important she learn more about Ragund, but was distracted by a scuffling noise behind her. She looked and was amused to see a squirrel-like creature on its haunches, its bright eyes observing her with such intensity that she was momentarily unnerved. The creature promptly dropped on all fours, turned and scurried away further into the yawning hollow of the tree. Without thinking it through or a word to Ricci, Beth crawled after it.

Ricci, rapt in full, storytelling mode and revelling in a graphic monologue on the legendary enmity between the White and Dark warlocks, Astor and Ragund, did not even notice Beth’s disappearance…until he heard her scream.

“Help…!” Beth had not crawled far before the ground beneath her suddenly gave way and she found herself in free-fall down a pitch black hole.  Finally, she landed on a heap of something soft and quickly felt reassured for apparently having broken no bones.  She looked up at Ricci’s face peering down at her like one of Mamelon’s twin moons, his expression a mixture of concern and annoyance.

“What are you doing down there, for Ri’s sake?”

“Yes, thank you, I’m fine, no bones broken,” she called back.

“That’s alright then,” Ricci shouted.

“No it isn’t alright,” Beth yelled. “It’s not alright at all. Get me out of here!”

Ricci paused. “What is it like down there?”

“Dark…!”

“Suppose you let your eyes get used to that, and then tell me what you see,” Ricci suggested.

Beth looked around, becoming accustomed to a musty smelling gloom sooner than she had anticipated. “There are queer vines everywhere. Oh, and there seems to be some sort of tunnel.”

“Ah, now a tunnel must lead somewhere.” Ricci sounded excited. “I’m coming down.”

“No!” Beth shrieked, but too late as Ricci landed with a soft thud, missing her by a whisker. “Are you mad? “ Beth rounded on the little man, Ricci, “Now we’re both trapped!”

“Not if the tunnel leads somewhere,” Ricci was quick to point out.

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Trust me, it will, I’ll say! We’ve found the Freedom Tree.”

“Oh, so we’re free are we? How silly of me not to realise that,” Beth managed to say between clenched teeth.

“Imagine, we are talking legend here and now we’re a part of it! Oh…” Ricci caught his companion’s incensed expression, “but perhaps I should explain.”

“Perhaps you should,” Beth agreed tersely.

“Many years ago…” Ricci began, settling himself comfortably into storytelling mode.

“Keep it short,” Beth told him.

Ricci flung her an aggrieved look, but sensed his audience was in no mood for longevity. “There was a time, as you know, when krills crossed the Sea of Marmela and invaded Mamelon. They would have taken over completely but for coming to an understanding with Ragund. Instead, they took slaves from all over Mamelon and made them mine the mountains for gold of which, naturally, Ragund expected a share. Few slaves escaped, but the old tales tell of how some burrowed a tunnel that led to ground level, emerging in a great tree that provided them with shelter and a hiding place once the krills realised they were missing. Only a few slaves at a time took to the tunnel so hundreds had escaped before the alarm was raised. The tree has been known as the Freedom Tree ever since.”

“How could anyone climb out of here?” Beth was sceptical.

“Look around you. The vines you spoke of are the tree’s roots. We can haul ourselves back up any time.”

“So let’s do that.”

“If you wish, but don’t you see? This is our way into the mountain.” Ricci could scarcely control his excitement. What leads out must also lead in, yes?”

“I suppose so.” Beth conceded. “Hey, just you wait while we…talk this through,” she added, but to herself since Ricci had already vanished into the tunnel.

Taking a long, deep breath, Beth proceeded to follow on hands and knees  until the tunnel began to open up sufficiently to allow them to walk almost normally, backs only slightly bent until even that was no longer necessary. A phosphorescent light began to exude from the tunnel walls. “Thank goodness we have some light,” Beth murmured, “and the air is better here to.”

“Indeed, yes, I’ll say!” Ricci agreed.

Suddenly, there was an almighty roar and their surroundings shook violently. Dust was flying everywhere as they were tossed about to the extent that Beth was reminded of snow scene in a glass ball that she had loved to play with as a child. She would shake the ball and snow would fall around the snowman inside. At that moment, she felt considerable affinity with and sympathy for the snowman.

Finally, the mountain went quiet again.

“Thank Ri for small mercies,” Beth exclaimed, but in a whisper for fear her voice might set the mountain off again.

“I’m not so sure,” Ricci whispered back, more than shade plaintively.

The dust had begun to clear and the reason for Ricci’s lack of enthusiasm become obvious. The way ahead was completely blocked. Instinctively, Beth found her feet and turned, only to discover the way back, too, was blocked. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. “So what do we do now, Ricci? Can you magic us out of here or something?”

Ricci shrugged. Oh, but if only…

Beth could not believe how incredibly calm she felt. Ricci produced a flask of vinre and they drank of the fruity, wine-like liquid with relish. For a while, both sat cross-legged on the cave floor passing the flask from one to the other. “Not the best place for a picnic,” Beth joked.

“Picnic…?”

Beth tried to explain but soon gave up as the vinre made her feel increasingly heady and past caring about even the prospect of being buried alive. “I feel like Wendy, flying through the air on the way to Neverland,” she confided to a bemused Ricci. “It’s as if nothing matters because we have all the time in the world to make anything matter.” She sighed. “I just wish…”

Be careful what you wish for, Bethan, motherworlder…. A voice in her head made her start …especially when there are powerful forces about. Beth looked at Ricci who gave no sign that he had heard anything. Do you not know me, Bethan, motherworlder?

“Tol..!” Beth gasped and it was Ricci’s turn to be startled.

“What the…?” Ricci demanded and looked less than pleased once Beth had hastily explained her special relationship with Arissa’s servant.

You must go on, Bethan, Tol continued. The way ahead is not blocked. What you see is an illusion. You may pass through it, but falter just once and you will become as nothing, left to exist in no-place forever.

But where does it lead? Beth lapsed easily into mind-talk, disregarding Ricci’s visible discomfort. Tol, what am I doing here? Where am I going, and why? I need to know.

Have patience and be strong… The voice in her head faded away as abruptly as it had come, in its wake a silence that left her feeling only faintly less dispirited than before.

“Do you trust this Tol?” Ricci asked.

The very simplicity of the question helped Beth reach a decision. “Yes,” she replied without hesitation, “with my life.”

“So be it then,” said Ricci with a shy grin that prompted Beth to give the little man a big hug before taking the lead into the rock pile ahead.

Certain she would suffocate, Beth paused to try and catch her breath, recalling Tol’s warning only just in time to force another step, and another, and another…. At one point she felt faint.  “Limbo, here I come,” she gasped with wry amusement in spite of the deadly peril in which she found herself.  But this was the old Beth talking, not some Bethan motherworlder, and she took great comfort in that. Her legs began to buckle, at which point a curiously familiar lilt in her ears lent her renewed energy.  She pressed on, increasingly relaxed, what could only be described as lullaby acting as both balm and spur to her muddled senses.

It was over as suddenly as it had begun. Even so, Ricci quickly became aware they had journeyed farther into the mountain than he could have anticipated.

Oh, but it was good to be able to see clearly again as they found themselves in a huge cavernous space from which forked several tunnels. Beth had barely got used to being able to breathe more easily again when she spotted a flickering some distance along one of them that could have been a fire. Whatever, it had to mean company. They were not alone. Mick, Pete!

Before Ricci could counsel caution, Beth began to run towards the light. Only as she drew closer did she realise it was a reflection on the tunnel wall from a source below where its floor narrowed to form a ledge at a wide bend. She stopped and peered down,  almost blinded by a light not only reflected from flames licking at something roasting over a spit, but also from scales that covered the body of each creature gathered round it in eager anticipation of their meal. “Krills!” she gasped in horror. “We must go back!” she whispered to Ricci whose breath she could feel on her neck. .

“You observe well Behan, motherworlder,” was the dry retort from someone who was definitely not Ricci. Beth turned, shaken, but not altogether surprised. Nor did she need a finger on her lips to keep her from crying out. “You called me back,” she murmured accusingly.

“I did,” Mulac agreed before taking her in his arms and planting a kiss on quivering lips demanding no less. “I am sorry, yet not sorry…,” he murmured into ear as she snuggled against his tunic.  Beth understood only too well, feeling much the same way herself, “…for you are needed here,” he continued, “and not only by one who loves you. “ He took her face in both hands and kissed her again. “I have missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” she murmured between kisses.

Both had forgotten about Ricci, left to stumble bemusedly upon this display of affection and run a gamut of mixed feelings from shock and relief upon seeing the surly Nu-gen again to incredulity that a he was capable of loving anyone and a growing unease regarding so unlikely a liaison. He sighed. No, no, such a thing is impossible. It cannot, must not be.  He sighed again. Oh, well, let them make the most of what time they have. But it can only end in tears or worse, much worse. I’ll say!

“What are they roasting?”  Beth whispered in Mulac’s ear? Whatever it is, it smells good.”

“It is Foss,” Mulac growled, and she sensed suppressed anger.

“What is Foss?”

“The Foss are a hybrid people who live in the mountains.” Mulac informed her curtly.

“You mean…” But Beth could not finish her sentence for having to swallow the bile that rose in her throat.

How much, Ricci wondered with a sinking heart, did Bethan and Mulac understand already concerning their fate?   Whatever, if the dying planet was to be saved, it could not be long, surely, before each was forced to assume the mantle of his and her quite separate destinies? He coughed politely and loudly. So distracted had he been with the unlikely liaison between motherworlder and Nu-gen, that he was oblivious to the krills below. “We haven’t time for this nonsense,” he declared shrilly.

It was Radik, the krill leader, who first cocked and ear, looked up, saw them, and raised the alarm.

“Run!” Mulac cried, already racing along the narrow ledge with Beth and Ricci close behind, a swarm of scaly krills clambering the jagged rock face just ahead in an attempt to head them off.

Mamelon 2 - Chapter One

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval systems or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior (written) permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names,, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

MAMELON: BOOK TWO

The Purple Mountains

CHAPTER ONE

Bethany Martin rose from her bed after a restless night, went to the window, and flung open the curtains. As she watched the sunrise restore the garden below to life, a lone blackbird burst into song, filling her with an infinite sadness she could not begin to explain. Her gaze wandered beyond gleaming rooftops and hedgerows to the tall, leafy, guardians of Beeches Wood. She began to cry, at which point she lost patience with herself, resolving with a surge of fierce determination to get dressed and put aside once and for all this foolish melancholy that had dogged her for days.  “I’ll go for a walk.” She told her reflection in the dressing table mirror, but it gave no sign that it was impressed. Are you mad? It’s barely dawn for Ri’s sake? it seemed to say.  

For Ri’s sake…? Why had she thought that? Who or what was Ri? It made no sense. I’d put it down to spring fever if it wasn’t midsummer,’ she reproached herself with a laugh that even to her own ears sounded hollow. Even so, she decided, a brisk walk and some fresh air would be sure to help her feel…What?  Better? But I don’t feel ill, just…Quite unable to put her feelings into words, she gave up, sat down, and proceeded to brush her hair with increasing vigour.

Half an hour later found Bethany ready to face the world. She was not, however, prepared for what confronted her on the doorstep as she opened the door with an enthusiasm that was still more make-believe than reality. “Mick..!”

“Hi,” her next door neighbour and boyfriend greeted her with a lazy grin, “Great minds think alike, yeah?” Michael Wright could feel himself blushing, knew he must look as uncomfortable as he felt, but could only stand there, like an idiot, lost for words to explain his presence on Beth’s doorstep at the crack of dawn. Typically, she did not press him but slipped a hand in his and they began walking, the silence between them increasingly relaxed. Without discussing where they might go, their feet seem to have ideas of their own and took them to the edge of Beeches Wood.

They stopped.

“The wood is so beautiful at this time of year,” said Bethany for the sake of something to say, her feet stubbornly refusing to move another step.

“Yes,” Mick agreed, wondering why his legs had suddenly turned to jelly.

“I suppose we should go back,” Bethany murmured half-heartedly.

“I suppose so,” Mick muttered, and then seemed to find another, stronger voice. “This is ridiculous!” he exclaimed, “What on earth is there to be scared of?” Scared…? Now, why did I say that? He looked at Beth as if expecting an answer.

Beth, though, said nothing. Instead, she continued to stare at the trees as if concentrating on…something they were saying? Talking trees now, whatever next? We need to get out of here before something really weird happens. Mick took her arm, but she pulled away. She had not meant to resist Mick’s gentle tug. On the contrary, she welcomed it, and would gladly have gone with him just about anywhere if only to be somewhere else. At the same time, she felt all but overwhelmed by an absurd notion that she was needed.  It was then that very, very faintly, she heard someone calling her name. The voice was not unfamiliar, yet she could not place it.  Moreover, its very sound sent her senses reeling in a way that both baffled and excited her.

Mick struggled manfully with mixed feelings. Only mildly irritated by Beth’s lack of response to his trying to get her attention, he had the sense that she was somewhere else and that he, too, was close behind, neither of them from choice while neither quite wanting to resist some quirk of time and space taking them…wherever. He shook his head. This is mad, mad, mad…. Yet, he could feel himself becoming increasingly acquiescent to the strangest forces that were not altogether unfamiliar.

Out of nowhere, a frantic yapping went up and a little white dog dashed past them into the trees. Hot on his heels was a boy with red hair who paused, panting, beside them. “Ace, he came back!” Pete Wright, Mick’s younger brother, gasped. He got into the house somehow and came and woke me up. Then he ran off again. I suppose it had to happen,” he added, but was not sure why. “I mean, here we are, aren’t we?’ he went on, again without the slightest idea what he meant, only that it made sense…of sorts. “We must go after him before it’s too late…”His voice trailed away into an early morning mist.

“Yes, we must,” Beth agreed, every instinct assuring her it was the right thing to say and do.

Pete ran on into the trees. Beth followed. Mick stood quite still, watching them as if in a dream. No, no, NO, he screamed after the retreating figures, but only on his tongue since his lips adamantly refused to let any sound out.  As he finally drew breath, a sense of resignation coursed through his veins. At the same time, he felt his feet and legs take on a new lease of life, and he ran after the others.

The woods oozed a morning freshness that was invigorating to mind, body and spirit. In no time, the three companions were completely relaxed and glad they had come. They stumbled into a small glade where Ace was lying down and watching out for them with a look that plainly said. About time, too…Nor did the little dog make any attempt to run off again but rolled over on its back for several minutes to let Pete tickle its belly, making little whimpering sounds of obvious delight. Suddenly, it jumped up and trotted to the edge of the glad where the branches of two trees formed a natural arch that none of the three had noticed before.

Ace vanished under the arch.

Pete did not hesitate, but ran after his pet. He thought of the dog as a pet even though it had appeared out of nowhere only weeks earlier and would disappear for days at a time. Beth made as if to follow them. Again, Mick took hold of her arm. “Are you sure about this?” he wanted to know.

Beth shook her head, “No, but we have to go back. You know we do.’

“Back…?  Back where?”

Beth met his puzzled gaze with one of her own. “I don’t know, but we do, you know we do if only for Pete’s sake.”

Mick nodded. Hand in hand, without another word to each other, the pair crossed to the arch and passed through it.

All three considered the tawny light and misty surrounds that greeted them without a tremor of surprise. “Mamelon…” they said in unison, taking considerable comfort from the sound of each other’s voices. 

Beth was the first to realize the light and mist thickening even as they spoke. “We need to find shelter,” she declared. ‘There is a storm coming,” she added with a confidence that came out of nowhere.

Mick peered through the mist where mountains - the nearest one in particular - rose like watchful giants. What might have been an eye but was probably a cave caught his attention. Absurd though the metaphor struck him, he could manage no more than a nervous laugh. ‘Here, this way…” He began to walk slowly towards the eye, his concentration so intense that it was a while before he became aware of Beth tugging at his arm.

“I don’t like it, Mick,” she whispered. “The mountain doesn’t want us here, none of them do.”

“Don’t be daft,” he retorted, unreasonably irritated by the suggestion although unable to refute it completely. He sensed a hostile presence, yes, but put it down to the approaching storm. An inner sense of urgency demanded he break into a run. He barely hesitated before it began to rain heavily.

Beth grabbed Pete’s hand  and they chased after Mick, struggling at times to keep him in their sights through sheets of icy, sleet-like, rain drenching them and making them run all the faster for the sheer cold. “Don’t you dare let go!” she yelled above the clamour of the rain.

Pete had no intention of letting go as memories of how he had become separated from the others once before returned to haunt him. As he ran, struggling at times to keep up, Pete found himself recalling more and more of his previous visit to Mamelon…

At last they reached the cave in what appeared to be the largest mountain in the range. It proved to be a lot further away than Mick had estimated. All three were soaked to the skin and shivering violently. “We need to make as fire,” Mick announced emphatically, “before we all die of hypothermia.”

“Oh, yes?  And just how do you suggest we do that with neither firewood nor matches?” Beth demanded testily.

Before Mick could answer, a strange squawking sound erupted, its shrill echo bouncing around the cave like a rubber ball. “What on earth is that?”

“An animal of some kind obviously,” said Beth, “and whatever it is, it sounds as if it’s in some distress. But where…?”

“A mountain lion…?” Mick suggested

“That’s no mountain lion,” Pete scoffed and let go of Beth’s hand, “that’s a gluck!” He immediately dashed the full length of the vast cave where its rock ceiling sank so low it was impossible even for him to stand. Pete sank to his knees. “There’s some sort of tunnel here,” he called to the others.

“Don’t move, Pete. Stay put!” Mick yelled, his voice promptly drowned by another bout of furious squawking. “I can see something!” Pete cried excitedly and started to crawl through the narrow passage.

“Listen!” Beth grabbed Mick’s arm.

“What do you mean, listen?” Mick shouted, “They can probably hear it in Tonbridge Wells…”

“No, it’s something else. Listen,” she said again.

A note of rising panic in Beth’s voice forced Mick to try and think through a barrage of echoes. At first, his senses acknowledged nothing other than the noise hurting his ears. Then he felt rather than heard it; a distant rumbling not unlike the sound of an approaching express train.

The squawking noises had ceased but for a faint, dying echo. For an instant Mick imagined himself on the platform at Tonbridge Wells station waiting for the Charing Cross train, and almost laughed, but the train was already thundering into the station, and it wasn’t going to stop.

 “Avalanche..!” Mick yelled. “Run!” He pushed Beth away and waited only long enough to be sure she was heading for the cave entrance before heading in the opposite direction. At the spot where he had last seen a pair of blue jeans disappearing into the rock face, he knelt down and yelled, “Pete, get out of there fast!”

Seconds later, the train crashed. The entire mountain shook, gave a thunderous roar that seemed to last forever, and then went absolutely still.

To Mick, sprawled on the floor of the cave, the subsequent silence seemed even more deafening than the roar of the express train. His ears hurt and a cloud of dust was stinging his eyes as well as giving him a rasping cough. At least there was some light although it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to a dull, fluorescence issuing from the walls of the cave.

As the dust began to settle, so breathing became easier. At the same time, Mick’s alertness to the situation in which he found himself began to reassert itself. “Pete!” he gasped, unable to manage a yell. But the hole through which he had last seen his brother crawling was gone, in its place, nothing but a pile of huge boulders. He struggled to his knees and looked round. “Beth?” There was no reassuring answer. “Beth?” he managed to shout this time.

“Mick…?” At the sound of her voice, faint though it was, his heart leapt until he realized it came from the other side of another towering pile of rocks. There was no way he could reach her. He tried to take some comfort from the fact she was alive, but it only served to drive home the prospect that Pete was almost certainly dead.

“Mick..?” Beth’s thin wail somehow managed to penetrate the fallen rocks. “Can you hear me? I’m going for help.”

Mick gave a huge sigh of relief. Beth, at least, was safe. Since it was a certainty the cave entrance was completely blocked, she must have managed to get clear in time. Help? It was too late for that. He was trapped. Even if any help was on hand to be called upon, which he doubted, by the time the rubble had been cleared he would most likely be dead.

Beth’s earlier comment returned to haunt him, and he was now inclined to agree. “The mountain does not want us here,” he conceded aloud.

“That is certainly true,” an unfamiliar voice tossed back at him.

Mick swung round to find himself confronted by a cone-headed little man wearing a bright red bobble hat much like one his father kept for fishing trips. He instantly reminded Mick of someone. Now, who? Why, Ricci, of course. An image came into his head of himself, Beth and Pete encountering Ricci in Beeches Wood where they, unknowingly, had followed him through a Time Gate into Mamelon that first time. How could I have forgotten? Trust Ricci not to be around now when we need him. Mick shook his head and the image duly vanished. This was no time to be speculating on the accident-prone magician’s fate or anyone else’s, for that matter, other than his own.

“Who are you? Where the devil did you come from? How did you get here? It must be lack of oxygen, that’s it, it has to be. I’m hallucinating already! I am, aren’t I?  I must be. You can’t possibly be real.”

“I am Foss,” responded the little man indignantly, “and I am as real as you are, young Michal.”

“You know who I am?”

“Of course I do. You are expected.”

“Expected by whom?”

“By the Foss, at least, although I suspect there may be others.”

“The Foss…?”

“The Foss, yes, they are my people, we who live under the mountains. I must say, young Michal,” he added with more than a shade of admiration, “You certainly know how to make an entrance.”

“You are Foss of the Foss?” Mick could not decide whether to laugh or cry.

“To be precise, I am Foss 1789632. But you can call me G, everyone else does.”

“G?”

“I am Foss G as opposed to, say, Foss K.”

“So how many of you are there?”

“Oh, hundreds, I imagine. We were thousands once, but that was a good few lifetimes ago.”

“But there are only twenty-six letters in the alphabet,” Mick pointed out.

“In your alphabet, perhaps, but a good few more in ours I can tell you.”

“Hang on, I can’t call you G. It sounds…Well, odd, to say the least. You look more like a Fred to me. Yes, that’s it. I’ll call you Fred.”

“What is a Fred?”

Mick scratched his head, and then inspiration dawned. “Fred is a nice person, a friend.”

G’s face lit up approvingly. “Then I shall be honoured to be called a Fred. Now, young Michal, shall we get out of this horrid little hole?”

“How…?”

“The same way I came in, by the door, of course. You must focus, young Michal. Focus is everything.”

“My name is Mick,” he insisted.

“If you say so, young Michal,” The dwarf responded absently.

Mick sensed it would be useless to insist. Even so, names were important. I am Mick Wright. Whatever happens, I must never forget that. “Anyway, what door? What are you talking about?” I am hallucinating, I must be.

“That door, of course.” Fred pointed at the north wall of the cave. “Oh, sorry, you probably can’t see it. Well, trust me, it’s there. Just follow me…” Fred swung neatly on his heels, strode to the wall and disappeared through it.

At first, Mick could only stare in blank disbelief. Then a distant memory began to stir in him, recalling a time he had walked through another wall with Mulac, the Nu-gen, in Nul-y-Gray, Place of the Undead. (Whatever happened to Mulac?) Mulac had insisted the wall was an illusion, and been proven right.

“No wall. No wall. Think ‘door’.” Mick muttered over and over before following Fred through the rock face and deeper into the mountain, Beth’s words still ringing ominously in his ears.

The mountain does not want us here.