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.
