CHAPTER ELEVEN
At
the Wright’s home in leafy Tonbridge Wells, three shadowy figures stood
solemnly and close together in the master bedroom. Gail and Tim Wright held hands while Etta the
Magela joined them in mind and spirit if not in body. Together, they pooled
ages-old powers that had been both blessing and curse since birth.
Tim Wright struggled to project his alter ego across
time and space to reach Mamelon in his role as Timon, Holy Seer. Gail, it
seemed, for her part, could not get beyond towering ramparts of ancient stone
that seemed impregnable. At her side,
Etta willed her daughter, at considerable cost to her own well-being, to focus
on the son whom she was frantic to save.
Gail, feeling all but drained of her natural senses, somehow
managed to rally, the more so as support from the others flooded into her and
gave her the strength and vision to command a gap in the far distant wall
through which she was able to enter. At
the same time, she was aware of other, less friendly forces, hovering at the
edge of her mind and threatening harm. Yet, there was, too, a hint of something or someone else to which she could not even begin to put a name so did
not try, but knew instinctively ‘it’ was on her side.
She found herself in a huge cavern and soon spotted
the druids and the makeshift litter on which they carried the inert figure of
Michael Wright or Michal as she must think of him here. This proved less
difficult than she imagined as Gail felt herself being absorbed into the entire
Mamelon ethos and mythology as if she had never been away. I am Galia of Mamelon, she silently repeated to herself several
times before it became unnecessary because now she was Galia of Mamelon. Her
thoughts flew to Calum, her firstborn, and her heart skipped several beats.
Hastily, she concentrated on Michal.
“Speak not of Calum,” Etta had told her sharply when
she had tried to raise the subject with her mother. “Don’t even think of him.
Dark powers have acute hearing. “No one must suspect he lives or not only Calum
but all of us risk losing everything. Everything, daughter, everything, she
repeated.” A single glance had warned Galia to drop the matter instantly and
resist asking even one of the many questions on her lips.
Galia took several deep breaths. For now, it must be her
firstborn Motherworld child to whom she must devote a single minded care and
attention.
She followed the druids through a maze of passages
that took them ever deeper into the mountains. Finally, they paused for rest.
The two Robed Ones carrying Michal laid the litter down. Almost at once, they
made a circle and she was almost overwhelmed by the concentration of power that
descended upon her like a raging flood.
Gasping for breath, she rallied and hurried towards the unconscious Michael,
praying that, between the three of them, they could keep her warded from druid
mischief. As yet, there was nothing to suggest the Robed Ones were aware of her
presence. Dear, Ri, let it stay that way.
At the litter, Gail of Tunbridge Wells, now Galia of
Mamelon, concentrated wholly upon the young man she must think of as Michal or
he would not respond to her powers nor would they have any effect anyway on any
protective wards the druids may have placed around him. In vain, she summoned
every ounce of will power to restore the still, pale, figure on the litter to a
state of consciousness, at least to the extent that he might become even
faintly aware of her presence. She sent a stream of familiar images into his
mind, but to no avail. Soon exhausted, she began to panic. There was no telling
for how long the druids would be distracted either by their own rites or her
magic. Should they discover and challenge her, she was even less certain how
she might fare.
It was on the cusp of Galia’s hope and despair that
Michal opened his eye.
“Mother?” he groaned. Gail heaved a sigh of relief,
not only that he was awake but at his way of addressing her. Michael only ever
called her, Mum.
“Yes, Michal.it is I. No questions, we do not have
time. You are in the company of druids that mean you harm, and I have come to
take you to a safer place.”
Michal sat up and gave his mother a fierce hug while
observing The Robed Ones over her shoulder. “How long before they...?”
“My guess is, not long.” She told him bluntly. “We
need to go now. Can you walk?”
“I think so?” Gingerly, Michal swung his legs to the
ground, took several steps, and would have fallen heavily if his mother had not
caught him.”
“It’s no good. I am too weak. You must lend me of your
strength, Mother.”
“I dare not, my son. I need all I have or I cannot
stay even for the short while I am needed here. Empty your mind of all but the
will to live, survive, and more. Journey far within, and further still. Let
your very selfhood fly all time and space until it can reach out and touch the
spirit with which you were born, and then enter. Let it mingle with the blood coursing
your veins. Motherworlder, you may be, but you are of the bloodline no less for
that. It will help you, save you, and shine light on you where there is only
darkness. But you must want it, my son ….want
it, will it, acknowledge it, and then practise to use it well if any of us are
ever to be returned to the reality of our first choice. “
“Choice..?” The word thundered through his brain. “I have a choice?” The words sounded weak,
feeble, and he barely recognized his own voice.
“Choose, Michal. Choose to seek, find, and learn to
use or…” Suddenly overcome by an intense weariness, Galia, unable even to finish
her sentence, sank to her knees. She could but trust her firstborn Mmotherworld
child would reach such a place within himself where words were unnecessary and
he would understand all she was trying to say, hopefully far more.
For his part, Mick-Michal found himself drifting on
the very sound of his mother’s words; this made no sense until he, too, was
overwhelmed by an awareness of his own breathing so intense that it hurt. His
head began to throb. At the same time, he became dimly aware of another sound,
a vaguely familiar one trying to find a way through to his inner ear. Suddenly,
the lilt and lyric of the Okay Song burst into his head and blossomed like a
flower, every note a petal opening up to some tawny dawn. Now he was flying through the air across the
wild, angry, wilting Mamelon landscape. At last, he touched down. A veil of
mist began to lift. I know this place.
Something brushed his face and floated to the ground. He bent to retrieve it,
recognized its coppery hues and turned to find himself at the Fire Tree, Heart
of Elvendom.
“Greetings, young Michal.” a soft, lilting voice
reached his ears almost as if it had sprung from the Okay Song itself.
The figure of a man, whose features he could barely
make out although his senses told him he was old, made Michal start. At first,
from what he could tell, he thought it was Astor, the grandfather to whom had
first been drawn but learned since to mistrust on a previous visit to Mamelon. How could I have forgotten? Memories of
that visit passed like a twenty-first century movie through his mind. He
tensed, grew wary, and then relaxed completely. This was not Astor, He was in
no danger. The stranger meant him no harm, on the contrary. I can trust this man with my life.
I can’t see or hear you very well,” Michal thought it
best to be honest.
“That’s because I am here, and am not here. I am as
you find me, and not as you find me. I belong here, and do not belong here. We
have much in common, wouldn’t you say?”
Michal nodded.
Excepting his mother, he had never felt as confused by or as comfortable
with anyone in his whole life before.
“You have journeyed far, young Michal, and have
further yet to go. But this is a good beginning. That is to say, as much as any
awareness implies beginning. Trust your senses and they will bring you to a
good end. That is to say, as much as any awareness implies an end. It is not
so, of course. But that is something else we can discover for ourselves or
impose lesser alternatives of our own making. Go now, and tell your mother how
we met by the Fire Tree, Heart of Elvendom, and she will be reassured. You are
of her blood, young Motherworlder, part elf, and part druid for all you are but
human. These parts of a whole, they will serve you well, my friend, but only if
you choose to let them and are willing to trust magic over human instinct as and
when the time is right”
“How will I know the time is right?” Michal was not
sure he understood.
“You will know, and then it is up to you which path
you take. Now, close your eyes and return to your mother for I fear her
strength is failing and I must attend to it as best I can.”
The image of the old man began to fade. “Who are you? How are you called?” Michal
cried, “You know who I am. Surely, I may know who you are also?”
But the image had already vanished.
Like birdsong in a light, summer air, Michal heard
once again the command to close his eyes, and did so only to be instantly catapulted
into a blankness that was as uncomfortable as it was uninspiring. Hastily, he
opened them again, and found himself gazing into his mother’s eyes; they looked
troubled and anxious, but lit up like twin moons in a dark sky the second he
gave her a huge, reassuring grin. “I saw an old man sitting by the Fire Tree…”
he began but Galia put a finger to her son’s lips.
“That is good, very good, but we are running out of
time. You must go Michal, and go now.”
“Are you coming with me?”
Galia shook her head. “I must return to the Motherworld.
Believe me. I can help you all from there, far better than if I were to remain,
even if that was an option which it isn’t,” she added ruefully. “Go and find
your brother. He is with friends, and they are your friends too.”
“But I have no idea where he is or Bethan either.”
“Use the puli,
and it will guide you to Peter. As for Bethan…” Galia sighed. “She is safe.
Mulac will see she comes to know harm.” For
now, she added silently.
Michal’s serious expression brightened considerably. “Mulac
may be Nu-gen, but I trust him with all my heart.”
“There is more to Mulac than you know…” Galia began
before realizing what she had said and clapped a hand to her mouth to prevent
all she longed to say. Yet, what can I
say and how would it help to tell you Mulac is your brother, Calum? Dear, Ri,
what am I thinking? Minds, too have ears. I must go, now, before I ruin
everything. “Go, my son, and know that you and your brother are much loved
by parents who are sorrier than you will ever know for burdening you with
Mamelon’s past, present, and future.” She gave Michal an impassioned hug,
kissed him on the cheek, and was gone before he even realized it, vanished just
like the old man.
Still feeling slightly dazed, but much stronger,
Michal felt in his pocket for the small, flat stone shaped like a triangle that
had been a parting gift from La-Ri, the elf queen. Instantly, it pointed in the
direction its owner trusted he should follow.
Moving away from the druid circle and into one of
several tunnels leading ever further into the mountain, Michal discovered to
his amazement that he could not only run, but also faster and lighter of foot
than ever before.
Galia watched him go and managed not to cry if only
because it would further drain her of those innermost resources she was relying
on to see her safely back to Tonbridge Wells. It came as no surprise that she
felt no inclination to stay except for her children. She had hated Mamelon
once, and she hated now, even more so because it threatened her children. All my children... Will I ever see Calum and
Nadya again? How they must hate me for abandoning them? But I thought you were dead. Astort said…
But there was no time for regrets or recriminations.
Gathering all her willpower and struggling to establish mind contact with Etta
and Timon, Galia prepared herself for
the journey back to the Motherworld and the Gail Wright persona she had long
since adopted and grown into just as she might have grown into a new pair of
shoes until they fitted perfectly.
Her mind reached out. Again and it again, it reached
out, but found nothing and no one, only a vast emptiness across which her inner
eye could see no way to cross unaided. She
began to panic. Help me! Timon, Etta,
help me! But her cries fell on deaf ears. Her heart sank. For now, at
least, there was no discernible way back. In desperation, she tried Astor. Father, help me. If you ever cared for me at
all, help me now. Again, she received no response. She thought she sensed a presence of sorts
but could not determine its nature, only that it meant well and might even be
trying to help her, but it was barely a flicker and was quickly snuffed out
like a candle. She considered the analogy. Had the candle ben snuffed out by
accident or design? Someone is working against me, but who? She shivered despite the
clammy heat. For it had to be her old
enemy, Ragund.
No longer did Galia resist the tears welling in her
tired eyes as she confronted her greatest fear, one that had haunted her far,
far, longer than she cared to recall.
Suddenly, through her tears, she saw a dear face she
had not seen for more lifetimes than she cared to count. “Calum!” she tried to
call out, but no sound came from her lips. The image remained. though, but wore
an expression of distress and fear. She struggled to send positive, reassuring
thought waves, and seemed to sense a response, but could not be sure.
As suddenly as it has appeared, the image vanished,
and there was nothing left to hold on to but her innate identity as Galia of
Mamelon, consort to Michal the Great. She was unprepared for the rush of
adrenalin that coursed her veins. Yet, had she not old scores to settle? She
owed her children that much, and her murdered husband. Bracing herself for
whatever may lie ahead, she heaved a huge sigh that conveyed mixed feelings,
but primarily one of fierce anticipation.
Galia of Mamelon had come home.
