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.
