CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
“This is really not a good time,” Beth murmured
self-consciously, despite the welcome distraction of Mulac’s growing passion.
“True,”
the Nu-gen agreed, “But we dare not go forward and there is no going back so…”
He kissed her again.
“We cannot stay here,
“she insisted in-between kissing him back with equal passion; this, despite a growing awareness of the screams
ahead having quietened to an eerie silence that chilled her, made her shudder
all the more glad of his arms around her. For no reason, she glanced upwards
and saw a flicker of light on the rock shelf immediately above them that seemed
to grow larger the longer she observed it. Moreover it seemed to be performing
a little dance as if issuing an invitation of sorts.
“Mark it well, Bethan
motherworlder and fear it not, but follow.” Tol’s voice came into her head out
of nowhere; she sensed a warning as well a benign edge. This was not a
suggestion, it was a command.
“Are you mad?” was
Mulac’s immediate reaction when Beth relayed Tol’s words to him. “Does this Tol
truly believe we can crawl past Krills without their catching either sight or
sound…or smell of us,” he added with a wry grimace.
“I’d trust Tol with my
life,” Beth assured him.
“And what of mine? Do
you expect me to trust him with mine?” Mulac demanded. They were barely
whispering, but the harshness of his tone, in sharp contrast to the affection
it had conveyed only moments before, caused her to push him angrily away. “I
trust Tol and you said you trusted me,” she muttered between clenched teeth.
“You are even more
beautiful when you are angry,” Mulac told her with a grin that caused her heart
to slip several beats.
“Well, I am going to
follow the damn light and you can do as you damn well please,” Beth retorted.
“Spoken like a true
Motherworlder!” Mulac chuckled, but Beth was in no mood o be teased.
“I am a Motherworlder, yes”,
she reminded him, eyes flashing, “and don’t you ever forget it!” His
hurt expression made her regret the words in an instant, but a native
stubbornness persisted. She turned her
back on him and started to climb. Suddenly, the mountain went into one of its
moods and began to rage and shake. Falling rocks tumbling and rumbling past her,
Beth clung to a protruding root of some kind for dear life and closed her eyes.
Almost at once, the mountain quietened again.
She looked up and was relieved to see the same weird light dancing on
the shelf above as if nothing had happened. She glanced down to reassure Mulac.
The shelf below
remained much the same except for a yawning chasm at the spot where she and
Mulac had exchanged words of love and anger only moment before.
Of Mulac, though, there
was no sign.
Beth, distraught, burst
into tears.
“There is no time for
tears, you must leave here now,” Tol’s voice whispered urgently in one ear
while, in the other, she seemed to hear Mulac calling to her. She could not be
sure, of course, was even inclined to put it down to wishful thinking, but hope
was hope and she took it at face value. “Mulac…” she started to say,
“Mulac is a match for
any mountain,” Tol assured her wryly, in a manner that reminded Beth of her
father. Not for the first time, she
missed his solid, reassuring presence in her life. It cannot have been easy for
him, she reflected. Both had seen them more than their fair share of tough as
well as happier times. She had no memory of her mother who had died giving
birth to her one summer solstice….
“This is no time to
daydream, Bethan of Mamelon!” Tol gruffly but not unkindly interrupted her
impromptu reminiscing and brought her back to the present with a nasty jolt.
Somehow, Beth found the
strength to reach the shelf above where she lay for a time, physically and
emotionally drained. The flicker of light kept dancing in front of her eyes;
now backing away, now returning, now a gentle glow, now a harsh glare as if
increasingly impatient for her to follow. Wearily, Beth began to crawl after
it, on her belly since the mountains rocky entrails were such here that
proceeding even on hands and knees was not an option. She did not look down as
she passed way above where the jubilant krills were celebrating a rare victory
over an old enemy. If it occurred to her at all that they had only to look up
and might well spot her, she was past caring. Yes, she trusted Tol with her
life, but did she trust him with the Nu-gen’s?
Tol, for his part, had
gone as ominously quiet as the mountain.
…………………………………….
Galia’s moods fluctuated moment by passing moment;
between despair at finding her way back to Earth blocked and euphoria at the
possibility of finding her firstborn of Mamelon whom she had long thought dead;
now fear for her children, now a rare satisfaction she had not anticipated at
returning to a place her heart had never left despite its being in denial for
more lifetimes that she cared to recall; now a calling out for revenge, now a
need for closure, redemption even. Running helter-skelter through this maze of
passions, she was loath to identify an increasingly sickening realisation that she
had no idea what to do next or even which way to turn.
Contemplating
the mouths of several tunnels, she found herself calling upon Ri for help and
guidance, something she had not done since a childhood she had put out of her
mind for what in Earth history would be called centuries. Maternal instinct
told her to follow Michal. That same instinct warned her against it. He must find his own way. I cannot, dare not
interfere until the balance of time is right. So what, how, where…
“Daughter,
daughter, what have you done?” Galia
swung round to find her mother close by, the expression on the young-old face
giving little away but veering closer to a smile than a frown.
“I
can’t get back,” said Galia flatly.
“Even as a child you
had a talent for expressing the obvious,” the Magela murmured, permitting
herself a rare, fleeting glimpse of a long-ago time when she and Astor has been
almost happy. In an instant, though, she had collected herself. “You used to
enjoy a hug in those days, I seem to recall.” She opened her arms wide. “It is
I, daughter, no dream-self, but perhaps you are too old now…?”
Wordlessly, Galia flung
herself into her mother’s arms; arms that closed protectively around her; arms that
provided all the reassurance, strength, determination, hope, and resolve for
which she craved, and more.
Etta was the first to
open her eyes. Gently, she pushed Galia away. Time is on no one’s side,
daughter, but we must make the most of what we have and what we know.
“And what do we know?”
“Yes, well, nothing and
everything, my dear. Knowing nothing excludes nothing which, in turn, leaves us
open to everything,” she added characteristically obscure and matter-of-fact at
the same time. “Now, come, for there is
much to be done,” adding under her breath, “Not least, a world to save…if we
can.” She did not look back, but chose to enter one of three tunnels without
the slightest hesitation.
Galia followed, as much
in awe of her mother now as she had been as a child, and no less trusting. At
the same time, it came as something of a revelation to understand why she no
longer felt intimidated by Etta. She,
Galia, was a mother, too, and with a feeling for magic that, if not yet fully
realised, nevertheless made mother and daughter formidable partners in whatever
this unique combination of past, present and future might hold. Bursting with a new found self-confidence,
Galia quickened her step. albeit with difficulty until the tunnel opened up and
they no longer had to stoop. Alert to every danger, physical and otherwise,
they continued in companionable silence, Etta marginally ahead and seemingly
leading the way.
Etta saw no reason to
alert her daughter to the presence of a kikiri guide. Galia, like most of Mamelon,
was distrustful of kikiri, Etta among them. This kikiri, though, was unlike any
she had ever encountered; for a start, it projected itself so faintly that it
was all even her sharp eyes could do to keep track of it. She suspected this
was but one of several images. Clearly, it was dividing itself. To assist others, she wondered?
Whatever, the Magela sensed no malevolence here, only in the spell that kept
the poor thing from assuming its natural form. Try as she might, though, she
was unable to penetrate the layers of dark magic attached to it. “Ragund,” she
hissed under her breath so Galia would not hear. The kikiri, however, seemed to
tense briefly, as if acknowledging a threat worse than death.
As they approached yet
another bend in the ever winding stream of passageways, Etta froze. Galia,
caught unawares, stumbled into her. Etta cocked an ear while signing to her
daughter to stay silent and perfectly still. Someone or something was just ahead, so close by that she could hear that
someone - or something – breathing…
……………………………………
As the ledge on which
he had been poised to follow Bethan to the shelf above began to crumble and
sent him plummeting, Mulac opened his mouth to call out to her. He was,
however, unable to make a sound. It was as if an invisible hand was held over
his mouth forcing him to keep silent.
“Walls have ears,” said
a voice in his head. But fear not for yourself or for Bethan,” the voice
continues reassuringly. .
“Tol…?” Mulac adopted mind-speak without even
thinking about it although he had never attempted it before. His suspicions
were quickly confirmed.
“Yes. But ask no
questions, Nu-gen. The time for questions and answers will come soon enough.”
Mulac, unharmed. went
sprawling on a bed of red sand. Instantly, he felt it move.
“Fear not the Kurzl, it
means you no ill. On the contrary, it will take you where you need to be. Rest
now, for you will need all your strength for the battles with dark forces that
lie ahead.”
“Battles…?” Mulac was
more curious than alarmed. But there was no answer. Mulac sensed the other’s
absence just as he had sensed his presence. Infinitely weary of trying to make
sense of the impossible, he made no attempt to resist falling fast asleep on
the sea monster’s back.
……………………………………
Beth continued to
follow the light ahead that would occasionally do a little dance as if willing
her to relax. “As if…” Beth
remonstrated with it, worried sick about Mulac and wondering if she would ever
see him again. Moreover, she hated being
alone. Where was the damn light taking her, and why? What did it mean that she
was a Keeper, and what had her father to do with any of this. The more she
thought about it, the more she was convinced she had glimpsed his dear face even as she and Mulac thought they were
falling to certain death. Furthermore, she was convinced her father had saved
them. But how, why...and, oh, but I must
stop thinking Earth or Motherworld and think Mamelon. I must. Yet, how can I when both keep coming
together as if part of the same whole just as I, too, am Berth and Bethan…?
She paused and sat down
on a small but significant boulder that offered a straight choice of clambering
over or squeezing past. The dancing light had disappeared around a bend just
ahead. Beth sighed, close to tears. I
don’t deserve this, I really don’t! She stamped her foot on the rock floor
and laughed for recalling how she had done much the same once as a child when
confused, anxious or wanting her own way. Her father would invariably sit out
her little tantrum and proceed as he saw fit, rarely giving in to her but
always in such a way as she would feel foolish while, at the same time, less
confused, anxious or wanting her own way. She had trusted her father implicitly
just as she trusted Tol. As for the dancing light, it was less a matter of
trusting it than its offering as good a course of action as any in the absence
of an alternative.
Letting rip with a
long, deep sigh of frustration, self-pity, and apprehension all rolled into
one, Beth-Bethan let herself indulge in a good old-fashioned sulk. Not for
long, though, did she stare at the uncompromisingly stony floor of Ri’s
mountain and contemplate her fate. She
could almost hear her father whispering in one ear. Get a grip, girl. You’ll get nowhere fast sitting on your backside and
feeling sorry for yourself. The stinging rebuke - imagined or otherwise -
was all the encouragement she needed. In an instant, she scrambled to her feet,
choosing to climb over the boulder rather than attempt squeezing past and risk
being pinioned against a wall of rock with no hope of rescue. Worse, was the thought of Mulac suffering a
similar fate. I must find him. He is
alive. I know it, I feel it. He will be relying on me. Dear Ri, help me. There
is no one else…
At the bend, she froze.
A sixth sense told her that there was something or someone other than any
dancing light on the other side. Swallowing hard and blaming both a hostile
environment along with too vivid an imagination for fostering a growing terror,
she rounded the bend in a spirit of defiance that had the desired effect of
killing it stone dead. Whatever it is, if
anything, I’m a match for it, she was in the process of convincing herself
when she came face to face with Etta.
……………………………………………
Mick-Michal ran headlong into pitch blackness
with no clear idea of where he was going, only that he needed to get as far
away from the druids as possible. Incredibly, he neither fell nor even stumbled
once. Down tunnel after tunnel, he ran;
now at full height, now having to crouch low; now passing through a cavernous
mouth of rock, now in a mossy hall emanating a grandeur worthy of a child’s
fairy tale.
Eventually, he
stumbled, fell headlong into a bed of red mud and lost consciousness. When he
opened his eyes, he was at once relieved to discover that he was alive and not
a little disconcerted to find himself looking into the searching gaze of the
Nu-gen, Mulac. Only briefly, though, was the Motherworlder in him reminded of
Beth’s attraction to the surly Mamelon tribesman. Gratefully, he accepted a flask
if vinre. Although the heady wine
made his head swim, once it cleared, intelligent thought became less of a
hardship than it had been for some time.
“Where am I?”
*On the back of a sea
monster heading for Ri only knows where,” Mulac told him. The surly expression
lit up with a wry grin of which Michal had no recollection whatsoever.
“Beth…?”
Mulac’s expression
clouded over only a fraction before the grin became what his companion read as
a reassuring smile. “She is safe.”
“So where is she?”
Mulac shrugged. “I do
not know. I only know that she is safe, and will be ready to play her part when
the time is right…as will you and I,” he added cryptically.
“But where is she,”
Mick insisted, “and if you don’t bloody know, how can you be so damn sure she’s
safe? As for playing a part, what does that mean exactly? A part in what, how, when…?”
“I have no answers to
your questions so you might as well rest more and try to sleep. I sense we will
need all our strength in events to come. Perhaps they will answer our
questions. Oh, yes, friend Michal, I have much the same questions, and a need
for answers greater even than yours I am thinking. For now, though, we can but wait and see
where the Kurzl take us, and then do whatever it takes to survive. Fear not for
Bethan…” He proceeded to try and explain about Tol and mind-talk to his
sceptical companion.
It constantly came as a
surprise to Mick just how much of his Michal persona he had taken on. Even so,
he remained adamant it would not take him over completely. Even so, the
Nu-gen’s explanation, for all it was far-fetched and unbelievable, somehow rang
true. Either that or he was too fatigued to argue. Whatever, he chose to take
Mulac at his word and grab some sleep. Suddenly, something the Nu-gen had said hit
home. “Did you say we are on the back of a sea monster?”
“I did,” Mulac
responded with a rare laugh, “but fear not, and ask no more questions I cannot
answer. I am thinking we should both get some sleep. I wondered why my eyes
would not close. Now I know. They were watching out for you to come back into
my life. Be sure, our destinies are joined, whether we like it or not. I think
we will never be true friends, but we can at least not be enemies, agreed?
“”Agreed,” said Michal
and shook the outstretched hand unhesitatingly.
As their hands made
contact, both men experienced a sensation similar to what Mick could only
describe as an electric shock from which he could not instantly withdraw but
had to endure until it ceased as suddenly as it had flared. He said nothing.
How could he begin to explain electricity to the Nu-gen. He tried to convince
himself it was the result of recent tensions causing his body to be extra
sensitive. His inner self knew better.
He wondered if Mulac had felt anything like the same experience of
shock, but thought better of asking as it could only complicate matters
further. As if there aren’t enough bloody
complications, half questions and half answers flying around like birds of
bloody prey! What am I doing here? I hate everything about this place. What is
this hell-hole of a Mamelon to me anyway? Where is Beth? Where is Pete? He
started guiltily upon realising that he had scarcely given his brother a second
thought for some time. Oh, damn it all, I
need to get some sleep. He closed his eyes as was asleep before he could
even start to disentangle his Mick and Michal personas one from the other.
Mulac continued to
observe his sleeping companion for some time.
He understood the shaking of hands to be a Motherworld ritual
acknowledging a bonding of sorts. Nothing, had prepared him for what he had
felt at the point of contact, flesh on flesh, or how the experience left him
feeling now. We are bonded, this
Motherworlder and I, as if we were flesh of the same flesh, brothers in mind,
body and spirit. But how can this be? It is unheard of for Nu-gen to bond so
even within the tribe. Bethan called Beth, too, affects me deeply. What is it I
do not know and need to know? What can it be that Etta has never seen fit to
tell me, and why? Who am I…?
He fell into an uneasy
sleep, the last question, above all, continuing to attack every nuance of his
being.
