Mamelon 2 - Chapter Twenty-Four

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

It had to be the most intimate, intense, and initially terrifying sensation all five had ever experienced. As one, Calum, Irina, Bethan, Heron and an exhausted Michal put their trust in Tol and did as he bade them; emptying mind, body, and spirit of all conscious thought and letting generations of magic coursing their veins stream into the space where they huddled together on one of the rock platforms that had permitted them brief respite now and then from what had seemed an impossible climb from the start.

As if by unspoken agreement, five pairs of eyes focused on whatever had shut out the sky from them and gave it all their concentration, neither consciously nor subconsciously aware of the forces of magic they were unleashing from sources of which they had never dreamed; elven, druid, and such as had coursed the veins of Rulers stretching back to the beginning of time. Even as mere observers, Pers and Peter felt the intensity and importance of what was taking place engulf them where they stood, as if daring them to utter a sound.

Pers felt as though as spell had been cast upon him and vaguely resented it. He resented, too, that Irina had been chosen (by whom, for Ri’s sake?) to participate in an event that he could only suppose was meant to effect the means of their escape. Fear, though, remained the prevailing emotion, cautioning him against any word or act that might conceivably interrupt whatever it was the others were caught up in, seemingly oblivious to all else.

Pete was inclined to feel much the same as Pers until he thought he heard a voice in his ear that sounded very familiar. “Dad…?” the red haired motherworld boy felt as if an electric current was passing through his whole body leaving him stunned, thrilled, scared and faintly reassured  all at the same time.

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

Back on Ti-gray, Gabriel could scarcely contain an anger and impatience bordering on despair.

“Why is nothing happening? Countless lifetimes of magic being tapped, and nothing is happening. Nothing…!” He stamped his foot like a frustrated child, forgetting for a moment that he had an audience.

“The circle needs to be complete,” said Arissa.

“It is as complete as it needs to be,” Gabriel snapped.

“Even you cannot expect to carry out such a task alone. The dead can help no one, but there is one who can.”

“Such as…?”

The red haired boy, perhaps.  He is the son of a Holy Seer, after all.”

“So is Michal?”

“True, but red hair suggests a fire sign. Long ago, Ri defeated the fire god Xu and Xaruki magic was rendered impotent. If, as you suspect, Ragund has somehow awoken some, at least,  of that magic and is employing it for his own dark purposes, would it not be a spectacle indeed to witness Xu and Ri engage with each other again?”

“You ask questions, but offer no answers,” retorted Gabriel.

“The dead are forbidden to interfere with the ways of the living or impart any knowledge they do not already possess,” responded Arissa, “as well you know,” she added gently.

“I cannot put the boy through such an ordeal. It is asking too much of anyone, let alone a child. He will be so frightened…”

“Oh, but how much and how often we underestimate the resilience of youth,” murmured Arissa, and then, “It is true, you may frighten him, but is there not another who can work through you to accomplish what must be accomplished for all our sakes?”

“All…?” Gabriel was skeptical.

“Oh, yes, indeed, Mage of Mages, Xaruki have no more respect for the dead than any living thing besides their own vile kind.”

“You are suggesting I call upon Timon, ask aid of him who betrayed his Order and Homeland…?”

“I suggest nothing. You but hear what you hear and must do as you will do.”

“If it is the only way…”

“If it is the only way...” echoed Arissa and a tumultuous rustling noise all around them was enough to satisfy Gabriel that the dead were of the same opinion. Besides, he grudgingly conceded, it was the only course left open to him. Instantly, it dawned on him with horror why young Peter had been brought to Mamelon in the first place. It had seemed natural enough to include the boy, but he had gravely underestimated his own stubbornness in feeling inclined to remain blind to the worst home truths.

………………………………

In leafy Tonbridge Wells, Tim Wright, as Timon, once Holy Seer of Mamelon, had been observing events and was prepared for the summons when it came. He was painfully aware that he dare not return to Mamelon, not for fear of reprisal although that, too, but in the sure knowledge of his role as anchorman, without whom his family would stand little if any chance of returning to the Motherworld. A Time Gate had to be opened from both sides. If his and/ or Galia’s subconscious had been manipulated to that effect in the past, it would certainly not work now with consciousness in full play and vulnerable to dark forces beyond imagination.

……………………………….

 “Dad…?” Peter found himself asking again, engaging in a weird kind of mind-talk rather than the spoken word.

“Yes, Peter, it’s Dad here. Now, listen carefully and do exactly as I tell you, understand?” Much depends on it, more than either you or I shall probably ever know. Okay?”

“Okay…”

Pers was unhappy to observe the red haired Motherworlder join the little huddle, linking hands with Michal and Irina to complete the circle. They made no protest, it was almost as if they were expecting his inclusion. The elf was tempted to attempt the same. He cared not for being left out in the cold like some alien intruder. Intruder, though, he had the sense to realize he would be, and remained leaning against a wall of rock, gazing anxiously up now and then as if expecting the sky to return. He sighed.. To secure their escape from this awful place would  take more than the likes of Ricci and the Foss called Fred. He had tried to dissuade Ricci from ascending after the little fellow, but to no avail.

Pers sighed again. He had never felt such alone, abandoned. His thoughts turned to Arissa only find himself being suddenly sucked forward in a blast of cold air from which there was no obvious source. In vain, the elf struggled to resist its savage pull. He opened his mouth to yell for help, but was unable to make a sound. For an instance, he teetered on the very edge of the rock platform; it was as if an invisible hand was forcing his head down, making him to gaze into the yawning void. Images beset him from all directions; dark, terrible images. Is this death or merely the end of the world? But there was no time to consider what may be truth or lie before the same blast of cold air sucked him into the monstrous gloom, and he was spiraling helplessly into its gaping mouth.

Strangely, he did not panic. It did not even occur to him to panic. He was content to simply let himself fall. Suddenly his descent was interrupted, suspending him in space. He experienced an excruciating pain, screamed, but made no sound. It was as if his whole being was caught in a tug-of-war between opposing forces, each vying for possession, neither much caring for his pain. At the very edge of consciousness, he was vaguely aware that he was ascending at which point he gratefully succumbed to The Void if only to stop the terrifying images assaulting mind, body, and spirit.

Meanwhile, Peter was struggling with a Great Unknown way beyond his experience or understanding. Instinctively, though, he followed his father’s voice through all the twists and turns of ancient magic, leading the conscious self a merry dance until only sheer willpower and native instinct remained the driving force, At one point, it felt as if his entire body was soaring upwards. His eyes dimly saw an obstruction, but the rest of his body paid it no attention and sailed right through it to land on a bracken-coloured cloud that whisked him off into some indefinable time and space.

………………………………

Mick-Michal was the first of the five to emerge from the trance-like state they had been in, for how long they had no idea. He instinctively looked up and gave a ringing cry of delight to find a an aspect of Mamelon sky beaming down at him as if it wore a human face, Immediately, he turned to share both relief and delight with his brother,

Of Peter, though, there was no sign.

“Pete?” Mick called out, first in blank astonishment, and then with growing apprehension? “Pete! Pete, where are you?”

“Pers, too is gone…” Irina began to panic. “…but, where, why, how can they have just vanished? It makes no sense? What do you say, son of Astor? Surely, this reeks of druid magic. Where is my brother? Have you an explanation?” she rounded on Mick with a fury the likes of which he would not have believed the gentle elf girl capable. Before he could even frame a denial, Calum intervened.

“A sixth sense tells me they are safe, but do not ask me how I know this for I can no more begin to understand what is happening here than any of you. Of one thing, however, I am certain. This is neither the time nor the place to speculate. He pointed upwards at the distant sky. We now have the means to escape and we must take it without further delay. Whatever or whomsoever is embroiling us in some unimaginable magic, we must assume it is working for, not against us. It is my belief that all will become clear in good time. For now, we must put all else out of our minds and climb.” He spoke with such authority that no one thought to contradict him.

Mick, supported by Heron, appreciated the other’s reassuring hug while Irina was content, for now, to trust Calum’s instincts that her brother was safe. She and Michal exchanged reassuring looks and drew strength from them.

Bethan kept her own counsel, careful to avoid another of Calum’s adoring glances while aware of them all the same. She dare not let her resolve crumble. I am a Keeper. I cannot leave the mountain. He must know this, surely?  The others having, already resumed the daunting climb, she was content to bring up the rear if only because it forced her to clear her head. I must focus on the Here and Now, and put all else aside. She sighed. Easier said than done…

Meanwhile, at the summit, Ricci’s assessment of their newly found freedom was not encouraging. “We are as trapped here and we were below,” he complained, “Unless this mist clears, any attempt to descend would be tantamount to suicide and if it doesn’t… Well, we will freeze to death, I’ll say.”

“Shut up and listen,” retorted the little Foss with such uncharacteristic  force that Ricci promptly did as he was told.

Nothing.

“What am I supposed to be listening for?” he demanded crossly.

“I don’t know, but there is something out there. Can’t you hear it?  It is faint, and not a sound I have ever heard before, but sound it is, rather like a…”

“Gluck, gluck, gluck!!!”

“There it is again, and getting closer as if…Yes, it is heading straight for us!” Fred could barely contain his growing excitement.

“Glucks…?” Ricci could not believe his ears. “Here, we’re here!” he called out and began waving his arms wildly even though he knew his antics would not be visible in the ever thickening mist.

“What are glucks?” Fred wanted to know, but Ricci’s excitement was infectious and soon he, too, was dancing a little jig and waving his short arms in the knowledge that rescue was at hand.

Rescue, though, was a good while materializing. By the time the others had finally made their way to the mountaintop, there was still no sign of the ostrich-like creatures.

“Where is young Peter?” Ricci wanted to know.

“And Pers, where is the elf? Are they hurt that they are taking so long?” Fred took time off from jigging about to ask.

Both met with a heavy silence that was more than enough to warn them not to probe any further. Fred took the hint. Ricci was less inclined to let the matter drop. “Where are they?” he repeated, “What has happened to them? Are they hurt? We can’t just leave them there, I’ll say!”

“No one knows,” Bethan spoke up since no one else was saying a word, “They just…vanished. And don’t ask how, why or where they may have disappeared to because none of us have the faintest idea. “

“Astor, perhaps, it would be typical of him to…?”Ricci started to say, but was interrupted by a loud ‘gluck, gluck!” close to his left ear. The mist had thinned a little, in time to enable the ungainly creatures to land. He counted only five. Oh, dear, but there are seven of us.  A fine conundrum, and no mistake, I’ll say!

“Iggy, are we glad to see you!” Mick ran up the lead gluck and flung his arms around the pleased if disconcerted creature.

“Ricci, you and Fred are the lightest. You will have to ride together,” Calum was saying, “We need to move fast. I sense this fog is a living thing and who knows what harm it means us?” 

Fog, a living thing indeed! Whatever next? Even so, that their departure was of the greatest urgency Ricci was in no doubt. .

Where is Peter? Iggy wanted to know. Accustomed to mind talk by now, Mick quickly recovered from his initial surprise.

I don’t know, none of us do. He and Pers have just…disappeared. But Calum thinks there is no need to worry and both are safe.

Iggy appeared to accept this and said no more. He was far from reassured however and young Michal’s positive tone had rung hollow. He does not believe that any more than I do. If glucks could frown, Iggy would have done so. He had a peculiar fondness for the red haired Motherworld boy who had been the closest to a friend as any gluck could hope to find among humans.

“I will stay,” Fred announced loudly, startling everyone including the assembled. glucks. “The mountain is my home, it means me no harm, and I need to be with my own people.”

“But how will you find your way back down?” Irina put to him, her voice ringing with genuine concern for she had become fond of the little Foss, as had all they all.

“I will return the way we have come if this mist does not lift,” said Fred with a show of self-confidence he was far from feeling.

Calum, too, was about to protest when he was stopped in his tracks.

“I will stay also,” said Bethan, “I am a Keeper, it is my duty.”

“What, are you mad?” Calum could not believe his ears.

“I am a Keeper. I know my duty, just as you now know yours.”

“Duty…? Duty, be damned! You and I, we belong together, not apart, never apart!” he fumed and stamped his foot.

Bethan could not resist a tight smile as the infuriating Nu-gen in Calum overtook all else. “What must be, must be,” she insisted, “We have known that from the start. I can no more go with you than you can stay with me.” She pressed her body against his until it seemed to her that their hearts beat as one. Choking back tears, she pressed a finger to his lips. “We will not say goodbye, my love, for we will remain in each other’s hearts for all time.” She removed her finger and replaced it with a kiss before he could say another word; a kiss he eagerly, desperately returned.

The mountain shook.

“We must go, and go NOW,” Ricci wailed, already mounting the gluck nearest to him.

“He is right,” Heron agreed and indicated to Irina that they should do the same. Irina nodded, but she was carefully observing Mick-Michal who, in turn was clearly shaken by Bethan’s decision.

“You can’t stay Beth. What will I tell your father?”

“You will need to tell him nothing. He will know all there is to know,” she said, twisting slightly in Calum’s arms. “I belong here, Mick.” For a few moments they were Mick and Beth from leafy Tonbridge Wells, but the moment passed. She started to push Calum away, but so loath was she to leave his fierce embrace that her first half-hearted attempts failed miserably.

It finally dawned on Mick that Beth meant what she said. He knew that look too well to argue. Instead, he went to Fred and gave the little Foss a big hug. “Take care of her,” he whispered.”

“I will,” Fred promised. It was the first time he had experienced a hug and decided that he quite liked it. I will miss them all, but this one especially. They had, after all, endured much together.

“Friends forever,” Michal was saying.

“Friends forever,” Fred agreed, reflecting that he had never had a real friend before.

“Come along everyone, before the mountain changes its mind about letting us go!” Ricci shouted.

Irina and Heron mounted their glucks, and Mick proceeded although Irina noted that he could barely able to take his eyes off Bethan.

Beth pushed Calum away with a force that took him by surprise and sent him sprawling. “Now go, Mulac, GO.”

Her use of his adopted Nu-gen name told him all he needed to know, that she truly loved him, and would not change her mind. He turned from her without another word and mounted the nearest gluck that happened to be Iggy. “Take us wherever, gluck, I care not.” he groaned, falling into mind-speak without even having to think about it.

“Where are we going, and who sent you?” Ricci wanted to know, “Astor, I suppose. Better late than never, I’ll say. Even Ti-Gray has to be better than these accursed mountains.

“We go to Gar.”

Irina pricked up her ears as he caught Iggy’s reply and her heart leapt, dropping like a stone again as she pondered the fate of her dear brother. How would she explain his loss to their parents when his absence was inexplicable, a mystery?

All five glucks took off in unison.

“So, Fred, what now?” a tearful Bethan asked. It was, of course a theoretical question as nether had the faintest idea.

.

Mamelon 2 - Chapter Twenty-Three

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

In Lunis, City of Moons, the Dark Mage, Ragund gazed into the seer bowl and rubbed his hand with glee to witness the rising panic of those trapped forever in their mountain tomb. “Yes, yes, yes,” he hissed, “Try as you might, call upon whom you will, you will not escape.” He spared but a few minutes longer to congratulate himself on the success of a spell older even than the sacred purple mountains themselves before turning his attention elsewhere. “Now, at last, is the hour for which I have strived. Now to show that meddling fool, Astor, that it is I, Ragund, who am the greatest mage of all time. Yes-ssss”, he hissed, “Grater even than he in whom you appear to have rashly placed your trust. Fools! Now, to Gar, and let those pathetic elven wretches defy me if they dare…”

……………………………

            On Ti-gray, Isle of the Dead, five pairs of eyes looked on in horror as the seer bowl in Astor’s trembling hands revealed the plight of those trapped within the mountain.

“What is it, what has happened?” Galia looked to her mother for an explanation, but Etta could only shrug helplessly so she fixed Astor with an accusing glare that did nothing to still his growing disquiet.

“Xaruki,” a grim-faced Astor murmured.

“Xaruki…?” Etta was incredulous, “But Xaruki magic belongs to ancient times. Few know of it and none have possessed the knowledge to practice it in the sum of all our lifetimes.” The grey-green eyes fell upon each of them, one after the other, defying any to contradict her. Legend has it that they worshipped Xu, the fire god. Xu wanted absolute power but Ri was having none of it. There was a great battle. Xu lost and was exiled from the world, left to plot and scheme in vain in the Dark Unknown.”

“In vain indeed, until now perhaps… ” Astor commented drily, unable to finish his sentence, too terrible were the potential consequences to even begin to put into words.

“Father…?” It was no small signal of her inner turmoil that Galia addressed him so.

Astor, ashen faced, turned to Gabriel, “Xaruki magic cannot be undone by any power known to me…or you, I suspect.” All eyes fell on the latter, but if they were hoping for a flat denial, they were in for a frighteningly intense disappointment.

Gabriel sighed. “It is true that Xaruki magic is older even than the mountains. Precious little of how they came by or practised it is known. Some have devoted their lives in search of such knowledge although all have barely scratched the surface, if that, of one of the greater mysteries of all time. Compared to the Xaruki, druids are mere amateurs.” He glanced at Astor and permitted himself a wry grin. Astor, though, was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to even notice.

“Then how…?” Galia began before answering her own question, “Ragund…!” The name rang out in the grim silence like a solemn death knell.

“Yes, Ragund,” Gabriel agreed, “Somehow he has discovered how to create a Xaristra. It is said the Xaruki were able to move mountains. Moving even the most massive rock was child’s play. They would deposit their enemies in a cave or pit with enough food and water to sustain them while they contemplated their fate. Then they would employ magic to command an immovable stone to block the entrance, effectively burying them alive. The stone was known as a Xaristra Stone; it served to remind the tribe not only of its purpose but also the power of it elders. To look with any hint of concern or irreverence upon a Xaristra was seen as an act of betrayal. Some say any who touched one would be struck dead on the spot, their spirit left to wander infinity.”

“Kikiri,” murmured Etta.

“Kikiri,” Gabriel agreed, “Oh, Ragund, you have researched well, burrowing lifetimes, I dare say, for scraps of information, pouring over any clues that came to light, and no one suspecting that even you were capable of so evil a purpose.”

“Purpose…?” Etta echoed, and froze. 

“Xaruki sought to control everyone and everything by a magic darker even that which has its epicenter in the City of Moons,” Gabriel continued quietly, “Ragund seeks no less. Water flows again in Mamelon, bringing new life where there has only been parched earth killing its vegetation and all but dried up springs to nourish its people. Only Gar stands between Ragund and supremacy not only over all Mamelon but of the Motherworld also.”

“A fate too horrible even to contemplate,” murmured Galia.

“But contemplate it we must,” insisted Gabriel with force enough to startle Astor out of his trance-like contemplation of recent events along with no little self-reproach for so underestimating his old enemy.

“Even if all of us pool such powers as we have, they are no match for Xaruki magic.” Astor stated categorically.

No one spoke.

            “There may yet be a way,” said Gabriel after so long and deep a silence that it became a brief sanctuary of sorts. Here, he found a much welcome respite despite being under siege by thoughts growing darker, to almost pitch blackness, with an ever increasing sense of hopelessness. “There may be yet be a way,” he repeated, slowly and deliberately as if trying to convince himself as to the truth of it, however fragile that truth might prove.

            “Impossible!” Astor exclaimed, forgetting for a moment to whom he was speaking,  inclining his head apologetically under Gabriel’s steady gaze. But the latter appeared not to notice, his eyes and ears elsewhere.

“Perhaps,” Gabriel conceded in a strange, distant voice, “But we have to try. Xaruki magic may well be as old as the Purple Mountains themselves, but there is a magic that is older still.”

“Elves…!” Etta exclaimed if with significantly less excitement than coursed Galia’s veins.

“Yes, elves,” Gabriel agreed.

“Huh, elves…!” Astor scoffed, “Surely, you are not suggesting that elven magic is any match for Xaruki?”

Gabriel shook his head. “No, but…”

“But…?” Galia prompted, seizing upon a distant hope that Michael and Peter might yet be saved from a slow, painful death.

“Together, perhaps, elven and druid magic…”  Gabriel struggled to say, his speech slurred, voice more distant than ever, his whole body straining as if communicating with some inner self.”

Etta froze. He is not real. It is a dream-self we see before us. Dream-selves, as she knew only too well, had their limitations. The others must realize this, surely? At the same time, she knew they did not.

“Elves and druids, are you mad?”  Astor thundered, “Besides, you are forgetting that legend has it that a Xaristra can only be removed from within.”

“Legend also has it that it cannot be done,” Nadya pointed out upon rejoining the group. No one had noticed her approach. Moreover, there was something about the way she comported herself besides a discernible inflection in her voice that forbade any mention of Arissa.

“But…”  Galia prompted a second time.

“If druid magic and elven can work together…” Gabriel’s melodic voice grew fainter until it trailed away altogether, lost in thought.

He is communicating with his true self, Etta understood although why the others, especially Astor, could not see it was beyond her.

“Ygor is lost to us in case you have forgotten,” Astor snapped, “and good riddance,” he added with feeling, “True, druid powers course the bloodline, but it is not enough to sustain such a task, and well you know it. Even if the elves were to draw upon such ages-old knowledge, the use of it is way beyond the likes of young Pers or…” hesitating a faction before saying Irina’s name.

Both Galia and Nadya sensed a growing tension between the others. Galia glanced intuitively at her mother, remarking that the young-old face wore a strained expression, an infinite sadness she had never seen before.

“Ah, yes, Irina,” Etta echoed quietly, but loud enough for all to hear. “Tell us about Irina, Astor, my once husband and mentor. Tell us how you seduced La-Ri of Gar behind my back, and how Ka-Ri knows not to this day she is your daughter.”

No one spoke.

It was Galia who, carefully avoiding her father’s eye and addressing Gabriel directly, eventually put into words what was in all their minds, “So are you saying that Irina, being of elven and druid stock, can somehow shift the Xaristra?”

Gabriel shook his head. “Alone, no, but with help…possibly, I do not know. I am merely speculating...”

“But what help is there?” Etta asked despairingly, “We have seen how magic has no effect within the tomb. The Xaristra is but an extension of it, after all.”

“Speculation or no, we have to try!” Galia cried, “My children…” she gasped, and promptly burst into tears.

“My son…” Nadya looked pleadingly at Gabriel, “Please, save my son.”

For some time, Gabriel said nothing. At last he appeared to stir as if from a long sleep. “I will do what I can,” he said slowly, “but I must go somewhere quiet and be alone.”

“Then go to the woods from whence I have just come,” said Nadya, “None but the dead wander there, and they will not disturb you.”

Without a word, Gabriel proceeded to retrace the very steps Nadya had taken in order to retrieve her daughter’s body. The further he walked into the woods, the more he became aware of rustling noises; no gentle wind in the trees but the dead, almost certainly observing him as they had done Nadya, wondering, he did not doubt, why any living thing  should choose their company.

Why indeed, Gabriel wondered as he reached a pretty glade and sat on a dead tree trunk. He could, after all, have gone anywhere to be alone and attempt the impossible. Why here? Why did she point me here? He had a vague sense of purpose other than for which he had come, but whatever it might be eluded him and he put such thoughts aside, directing all his concentration to the task in hand, dispatching his Tol persona to aid those trapped by the Xaristra.

Nothing happened.

Try as he might he could not make contact with Tol, through which persona he had kept an oath made long, long, ago to watch over a dying Mamelon and find a way to save it from oblivion. He sighed. Distracted by that meddling she-wolf, Shireen, he had taken his eye off Ragund. “Oh, fool, fool, such a fool am I!” he continued to remonstrate with himself aloud. Had Ragund suspected, he wondered? Had he so underestimated the enemy that he had left himself vulnerable to Ragund’s growing understanding of Xaruki magic? “No, no,” he told the ragged trees, “I would have known. Besides, he would never have permitted me to come thus far…unless…” Could it be he has been toying with me? Fool, fool, you thought yourself inviolable. Instead, you are as ego-led as any Motherworlder!

“Do not be too hard on yourself,” a familiar voice made him to turn his head.

“Arissa…!” he was unable to quite contain his shock.

“Yes, it is I, Arissa. No kikiri or tool of that she-wolf Shireen, but not Arissa as I once was either for she is dead.”

“Then how…?”

“You can ask that, you who are truly Mage of Mages?”

“You know who I am?”

“I do, of course, and I know it is not your true self I address just as you know it is not Arissa with whom you speak. My spirit is yet young, and thus visible to any with the eyes to see and ears to listen. Time enough yet before I join my companions at the edge of time and become as a rustling of leaves.”

“But how…?”

“How is it we can communicate with each other even here on Ti-gray where the dead and the living exist side by side though neither twain shall meet?  I am not sure. I can only believe the connection between us is so strong and Mamelon’s need so great that I am given the privilege of aiding you. Either that or my loathing for Shireen fills me with a life-force beyond all knowledge even though I have had my revenge on her, thanks to you. It was you, was it not, giving me strength where I had none, pouring life-force into a kikiri that was no more than a skeletal abomination?”

“I did what I could.”

“Oh, and you could have done more, much more, saved me even. But what is done is done. As it is, you saved me from a fate far worse than mere death, and I am come to repay the debt. Tol is thwarted by that old fox, Ragund, but even Xaruki magic is no match for the dead. I will be the vehicle by which you may access your Tol persona. Draw upon my spirit, and take from the forces that sustain it what you will while you still can.  You do not need me to tell you that time is not on your side.”

“I must work alone. What little I know of Xaruki magic suggests it does not respond well to more than one life force at a time.”

Arissa gave a little laugh. “Alone you are, old man, for the dead do not count as a life force in any lore. Now, do what must be done and do it now. Even as we speak, I fear we may be too late.

Gabriel gravely inclined his head. Her words rang frighteningly true, and who better than the dead to know how time takes no one’s side but its own?

He did not hesitate again.

Slowly but surely, Gabriel proceeded to assimilate Arissa’a spirit into his own life force. He could feel all opposition, whatever its nature, Xaruki or otherwise, being swept aside, enabling him, finally, to make contact with his elusive Tol persona, lend his voice to it and freely feed its instructions into the minds of Calum, Michal, Irina and Bethan, his own beloved daughter simultaneously. It will be enough, surely? Between them, they can summon magic beyond even their own understanding and knowledge. Even so, to fail would mean…

Failure, though, was something he dare not consider.

…………………………

Denied all means of escape, the climbers within the mountain’s darkening heart did battle, each in their own way, with various demons of which easily the more powerful was terror.

In vain, Ricci searched his mind, but of Astor there was no sign.

By now, all were perched precariously on the same shelf of rock. “I’m going to take a look,” Fred suddenly announced, “Don’t attempt to follow me. I am smaller and faster than any of you. The mountain is my home. I know it as well as I know the eyes in my head, and it knows me. I will come to no harm and will be back before you know it.” Before anyone could argue or object, the little Foss set off again, scampering here, feeling his way there, until he was invisible to naked eyes peering anxiously from below, heart in mouths opening and shutting like doors on their hinges in a strong breeze. Only, there was no breeze and the air supply was draining fast.

Once at the top of the shaft, Fred gave a half-hearted push, with no expectation of shifting whatever it was sealing the exit. Desperation alone lent him the illusion of greater strength than he had as he kept pushing and heaving only to keep falling back exhausted and in tears. One more, no more, and then I might as well die in company than alone. Oh, fool of a Foss to think you could actually be of any help. More out of despair than hope, he gave the obstruction a weak, token tap and braced himself to rejoin the others with the bad news they were all expecting.

All at once, with no warning, as if my some magic, a tiny crack appeared through which trickled a trickle of reddish-brown mist that became a steady stream as the crack widened until large enough for a little Foss to clamber through.

Free! Taking deep breaths of murky mountain air, Fred would have danced a little jig had he not lost his footing, taken a tumble, and almost plunged headlong into space. He lay quite still while his eyes took in what they could of  his surroundings, lying precariously as he was on a narrow ledge, nothing above, below or in front of him but mist. Shakily, he rose and pressed against the mountain wall. He could hear voices. The others would, of course, have seen the light and taken fresh hope. Hope, what hope? I can barely see paw in front of face so what chance any of us, even Foss, of descending a mountain and living to tell the tale?

“Oh, dear me, not a pretty sight, I’ll say,” Ricci’s head appeared. There was, however no room for two on the ledge. Master, master, where are you? But from Astor there was no word.

Meanwhile, the clinging mist was already turning unbearably cold.

Mamelon 2 - Chapter Twenty-Two

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

On Ti-gray, Isle of the Dead, Astor, Gabriel, and Nadya were joined by Etta and Galia. Astor tossed a questioning glance at Gabriel who appeared not to notice.

“Is it really you?” Etta addressed Gabriel as the two embraced like old friends.

“I don’t understand,” Galia confronted her father, “What is a Keeper’s father doing here?”

“Let mind and spirit travel back many, many, lifetimes, daughter and you will understand. I will join you so you do not lose your way.”

“I don’t need your help,” Galia snapped.

“Oh, but you do, daughter, you do. You are of the Motherworld now. Like it or not, your powers are a trifle diminished even here in your homeland. Now, do not argue but let mind and spirit be guided by mine.”

Galia knew better than to resist and reluctantly did as she was told. When she next appraised Gabriel, it was with undisguised awe and reverence.

“Good.” Astor was satisfied that the feisty spirit he so loved and admired in her would, for now at least, consent to be led rather than go its own way regard.

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

In Lunis, City of Moons, Ragund peered earnestly into the seer bowl at the little group, quite unable to repress his delight. “Ah, now I have you, all of you. None shall leave the mountain alive. I, alone, will rule Mamelon with no interference from that fool, Astor. Call upon your mentor in vain, my dear Ricci. Come, what are you waiting for? Enter the Passage of Infinity at your peril. He cannot help you, no one can. Yes, yes. Climb, climb, and the mountain shall be your tomb.”  He would have rubbed his hands with glee had it not been necessary to hold the seer bowl with both hands to prevent losing his grip as it began to shake violently. Nonplussed, it took all his powers to keep hold of the bowl. Indeed, it seemed to him as if he were wrestling with demons. Or what, exactly… But he chose to put the half-thought aside rather than confront the sole means by which he might yet be thwarted in his desire for power beyond imagination. Mamelon, yes, and the Motherworld, too, once I control the Water of Life. The possibilities are endless…endless.

The seer bowl shook so violently that, yet again, it took all his strength to prevent its falling to the ground

……………………………………

Nadya started as a familiar cacophony caused her to turn her head, “Why summon them?”  She looked to Astor for an explanation. The few glucks, all that remained of the weird, ostrich-like species since others of their kind had perished in the coppery skies above Mamelon, managed to convey a certain dignity despite their absurd appearance.

It was Gabriel who answered, “They will be needed sooner than you or they know, and stand ready to perform a vital rescue mission. Is that not so, Iggy?”

The lead gluck inclined its head.

……………………………………

Shireen, in the body of Arissa, knew at once that she must leave. The thunderous sound of rushing water was too close for comfort. Radik was already climbing. For all the good it will do him.

She summoned her dream-self from Lunis, City of Moons and prepared to regain her natural form.

Radik’s fate was of little or no concern to her although she had enjoyed their time together. The krill leader was an incredible lover whereas the same could not be said for Ragund whose paltry advances she endured only as a means to an end. He was a great mage, after all, and she had learned much under his tutelage. More than you know, my Ragund. She could not resist a sly chuckle for thinking how she had learned to draw upon his magic powers without his suspecting a thing. Blind fool, you think I could love you? Huh. in your dreams old man!

Poised to make the transition, she became suddenly aware that something was wrong, very wrong. Instinctively she turned.

She froze...

The kikiri that had once been Arissa stood perfectly still, fixing the source of her worst living nightmares with a steady, determined, gaze.

“No, this cannot be!” Shireen shrieked, “Away, you have no place here!” It was unheard of in all the annals of magic since the beginning of time for a kikiri to approach, let alone confront, its creator.

Confront Shireen, though, the kikiri did, with unrelenting malice.

How can this be? This thing, this kikiri, it has no feelings. Yet, the loathing exuding from the skeletal figure was almost tangible. Shireen began to panic. Desperately, she tried to enact the customary fluid-like bonding with her dream-self that somehow remained present and ominously static. This, too, was unheard of. For kikiri, an adopted persona and true self to be present at one and the same time was…Impossible!

Now incredulous, now fearful, Shireen struggled to make sense of what was happening. I must return, I must, and yet… I CANNOT. Fear turned to abject terror as the kikiri persisted in its advance; not once did it falter even as the ghastly triumvirate came together; kikiri and the twin selves of the erstwhile consort to mage and krill. Shireen made a last ditch attempt to save herself. “Ragund!” she cried aloud across time and space, but whether he did not hear or did not choose to hear, she would never know. Even as the three merged into one with the roar of water gushing forth, a final thought pursued the paltry remains of her consciousness. Who, how….? But it was already too late for Shireen to catch the mocking response. Where three had merged into one, there was only a rush of water such as none in Mamelon had barely dared hope to ever see again, making good its escape, dashing like a wild beast from a cage, its brave heart bursting with a rage to live free, answerable only to nature.

Meanwhile, in Lunis, City of Moons, Ragund has been pacing Shireen’s apartments for some while, searching in vain for his long-time consort. Suddenly, he sensed another’s unseen presence and slowly, surely, almost (but not quite) fearfully put a name to it. “You…!” he hissed, “You have done this to me, to us. But I am not the apprentice I once was. I am not that fool, Ricci. You will not defeat me, Astor, nor will you crush me, try as you might.”

How had Astor acquired such power?

It took Ragund only a moment to find an answer, during which time the fear-like sensation he had scornfully put aside transmuted first into incredulity before - for the first time in any lifetime - the fear became real, real and terrible. Awful as it was, the feeling quickly passed to be replaced by a rush of resolve not to be outdone; it raged through him much as the Sea of Marmela was furiously regaining its rightful place as heart and soul of Mamelon. “I am not finished yet!” he screamed, “Mamelon may feed on living water again, but it is nothing, NOTHING, without daylight, and there I have the edge. We shall see what we shall see…”

Still ranting, the fox made a mad dash for the comparative safety of his own den.

……………………………………

“You would use the glucks to return them all safely from the mountain? Etta asked Gabriel directly. She did not need to be told that it was not Astor who was in charge of events.

“Not all,” murmured Astor.

“Ah, yes,” Etta thought she understood and her thoughts flew to Bethan, Keeper. “They will be safe here if it can be done.”

“You doubt it?” Again, it was Astor who spoke.

“Not here,” Gabriel said slowly, “Their paths lie elsewhere as they surely will for each of us, once what is done is done,” he added cryptically, “Ri willing, the dead shall reclaim Ti-gray for their own while the living must find their own way which is as it should be.”

“And Heron, Arissa…what will become of my children?” Nadya demanded.

“Your children…!” Galia could conceal neither surprise nor excitement. “I have grandchildren?”

“Heron and Arissa…?”  Nadya answered her mother without taking her eyes off Gabriel.

“Go, Nadya, and take a walk into yonder woods,” Gabriel told her, and his expression was enough to send her running.

Galia and Astor looked to Gabriel for an explanation.

“Not all,” Gabriel repeated, “There will be price to pay if Mamelon is truly to live again.”

“A sacrifice…” Astor muttered darkly.

“Indeed,” Etta agreed, close to tears.

“Sacrifice..? Yes, well, whatever, Mamelon has to be worth saving at any price.”

“Agreed…” responded Etta and Astor almost reverently.

As one, the thoughts of all three flew to Bethan whose duty it was to remain within the mountain, never to stray far from the Tomb of the Creator as had been a Keeper’s destiny since the beginning of time. In unison, too, their gaze flew pityingly to Gabriel whose daughter it was would be required to make the sacrifice.

They had no way of even suspecting that Gabriel’s thoughts were elsewhere.

“When can we expect them in Ti-Gray?” Galia asked.

“Not Ti-Gray, Gar. If salvation there is to be, it lies with elves in the Forest of Gar,” said Gabriel, his voice distant, his whole demeanor trance-like as if he were experiencing a premonition of sorts.

The Fire Tree… Etta and Astor grasped the implication immediately but said nothing, hoping to spare Galia.

Galia, though, was no fool. Her beautiful face turned suddenly grey and etched with the agony only a mother can know when he fears for her child.

No one spoke. Astor groaned with unexpected pain as he finally understood the purpose bringing young Peter, his grandson, to Mamelon. 

Three pairs of eyes turned on Gabriel if not quite accusingly nor entirely absent of recrimination.

“Is there no other way?” Galia fixed Gabriel with a pleading look that touched all their hearts.

Before Gabriel could frame a reply, however, they were distracted by the sudden reappearance of Nadya, emerging from nearby woodlands bearing the lifeless body of Arissa in her arms. She passed them without a word, barely looking to either left or right except to glance briefly at Gabriel Thank you, her weak, grateful smile spoke for her. Even in her grief, she was relieved beyond measure to find Arissa restored to her true self. The customary fate of kikiri was too unbearable for even the most stoic imagination to contemplate. She, too, realized that it was beyond even Astor’s powers to achieve the impossible, finding no small comfort for knowing that, whatever lay ahead, Ragund had almost certainly met his match.

Gabriel sensed their confidence in him, and could only wish it was well-placed. As it was, he had no idea how the elves would respond to the task they faced or whether La-Ri and Ka-Ri could convince even themselves that what had to be done must be done for all their sakes. In his mind’s eye, he summoned the image of the red-haired Motherworld boy, Peter,  and brushed away a tear.

………………………………………..

The climb was slow, and taking its toll on the little company in more ways than one. Now exhausted and dispirited, now determined to press on no matter what, they sought foothold after foothold, gradually ascending the gloomy chimney. For what seemed an age, the glimmer of coppery sky above seemed no closer; if anything farther away than ever. .

Only Ricci and Fred found the going relatively easy their size allowing them to use the tiny shelves of rock as a kind of stairway, leaping nimbly from one to the other. Even they, though, needed to rest occasionally on the widely spaced broader shelves. At such times, an affinity began to develop between the seemingly ill-matched pair that took both by surprise and in which each took comfort bordering on a sense of camaraderie.

“Where is your home?”  Fred asked during one such respite.

The question took Ricci by surprise, not least because he was at a loss for what to answer. “I have no home,” he confessed sheepishly, “That is to say, no real home. I live at my master’s calling, to do as he asks and go when and wherever he may choose to send me.”

“I would hate that,” the Foss pulled a comic expression that made Ricci smile. “There, you see. You can do it if you try.”

“Do what?”

“Smile, of course. That is the first time I have seen you smile. You always look so…lost.”

His choice of words upset Ricci whose immediate reaction was to be defensive. “I am apprentice to Astor, the greatest of all mages, and I have never been lost in my life.”

“Being lost is not good,” Fred remarked, “but feeling lost is as bad if not worse,” he added more intuitively than Ricci would have believed.

Ricci shrugged, lost for words, unprepared for what was a more astute observation that he would have cared to admit. After a considered pause, during which his previous ambivalence towards the other swung from open hostility to begrudging affinity, Ricci was about to open up to the little Foss, in a way he had never permitted himself before to anyone, when the gloom in which they perched suddenly assumed a significantly darker, eminently more forbidding quality; even the phosphorescent glow emanating from the rock surrounds had dimmed significantly.

Instinctively, both peered upwards. Where a hint of bracken sky had persistently urged them on, there was nothing; it was if a lid had been placed over the mountain shaft, sealing all means of escape.

Yells from below might have been the mountain itself expressing, in turn, its rage, terror and despair culminating in a deathly silence.

Ragund, was Ricci’s first thought. “We are trapped,” he managed to say, all but choking on every word, his throat dry with the sheer horror of it all. Master, master, where are you? Help us… But from Astor there was only an ear-splitting silence. He glanced at his companion, hoping for, but not in truth expecting a denial, reassurance, anything but the sickening despair that gripped him in its strangle-hold. 

But the mountain-born Foss could not speak for tears.

Some distance below, the others struggled to regain a sense of calm after their initial panic.

“Where is it, what has happened to the sky?” Pers spoke for them all.

“It feels like someone has just re-sealed the tomb, only this time it is ours,” said Heron, struggling no less than the others to stay positive and failing miserably.

“I’m scared,” Pete was the first to admit, glad of a comforting hug from Mick that, at any other time, he would have shrunk from on principle.

“It is as I feared,” said Beth, but in her Bethan persona, instinctively sensing that its substitution of her Earth self was almost complete. Neither consciously nor subconsciously did she feel the familiar if inconstant need to keep resisting the change. For once, perhaps even for the first time, she felt in control. Hers had been no passive surrender but the result of a gradual process of acquiescence, although to quite what, exactly, there remained a lingering doubt. She felt confused, yet less so than she would have thought. Moreover, her spirits rose unexpectedly as she felt compelled to catch the eye of first Irina and then Heron, who had been supporting Michal, clearly the most fatigued by their climb. Finally, her gaze fell on Calum, her heart skipping several beats as it always did whenever she saw the way he was looking at her now; if she had nursed any lingering doubts that Mamelon’s Ruler-in-Waiting returned her love, these were instantly obliterated by the force of emotion that passed between them. Both collected themselves almost at once, but not before Heron and Michal had glimpsed the brief exchange and silently wished them well.

Heron, for his part, acknowledged a similar flood of emotion coursing mind, body, and spirit, returning a smile that spoke volumes as the elf-girl, Irina, reached for his hand and squeezed it tightly.  

The five exchanged meaningful looks, simultaneously aware of the same voice, kindly yet authoritative at the same time; advising, no instructing them.

It was Tol.