CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
In Gar, from a bay window in a chamber of the Great
Library where its archives were kept, Calum observed the celebrations below
with mixed feelings. It was only fitting that there should be music and dancing
and much revelry to mark the Mamelon’s return to life and light after so long a
absence. Yet, for him, it marked a new beginning about which he nursed many
doubts. Soon, he would ride with an entourage to Lunis, City of Moons to be
sworn in as Ruler for all the lifetimes afforded him by the grace of Ri.
Can
I do this? Do I even want it? He sighed. Whatever happened to choice? The sound
of someone coughing nervously startled him although it was a welcome diversion
from thoughts he much preferred not to entertain. He turned to find himself
face to face with the one called Galia whom he had since been told was the same
who had birthed him. Birthed and
abandoned…
“You know who I
am,” she said quietly.
“I
do.”
“I
am your mother.”
“So
I understand.”
“Do
you? I wonder just how much you understand or ever will.”
“Have
you come to enlighten me?”
Galia shook her head.
“Time is not on our side. Soon I must return to the Motherworld although…”
“Although…?”
he felt compelled to prompt her even though he wished her gone.
“I
was born here. Mamelon is a part of who I am. In the Motherworld, my memory of
it, of you, will fade, but never completely. I could even return now and then
if you wish it. We could get to know each other, your sister Nadya also. She
crossed to the window and together they took in the joyful scene below.
“I
have heard that my sister lives.” he told her tonelessly.
“You
have seen Etta.”
“I
have seen Etta,” he acknowledged, “the only mother I have ever known and whom I
love and respect dearly,” he added with less rancor than he was feeling.
“You
know she is my mother, your grandmother?”
“I
do now, yes.”
“I
would have come before…”
“Then
why didn’t you?” He rounded on her, now with rage, now with anguish, now
faintly conceding both.
“Just
as there have been forces at work during your lifetime, so there were in mine.
Dark forces, working against us…” she protested
“Forcing
you to abandon your children, abandon Mamelon for the sake of a Holy Seer? Were
they so great these dark forces that you could only find sanctuary in his bed?”
“I
understand your anger…”
“No,
you understand nothing!” he yelled, but forced himself to take deep breaths as
Etta had taught him, impetuous child and quick to anger as he had been. “Etta
has been and is a good mother to me. She has always been there for me when I’ve
had need of her. Where were you? You…you are a stranger for whom I feel
nothing. I’m sorry if you expect more of me, but I am as I am and that is how
it is. Perhaps Nadya will feel differently and you will have more success with
her than with me. Where is she now, anyway?”
“She
has made a life for herself and her family on Ti-Gray, Isle of the Dead”
“No
place to make a life, surely?”
“The
dead mean them no harm. On the contrary, they have afforded greater protection
than they will ever know.”
“Family,
you say?”
“She
lives there with her husband, Kris, a plain woodcutter but a good man”
“Why the ‘but’? There
is no shame in plainness.”
“I only meant…”
“That he is not of
noble birth? A fall in grace, indeed, for one of the bloodline,” he put to her
ungraciously.
Galia took no offence.
On the contrary, she could not help but smile inwardly on reflecting how her
son’s cynicism was so typical of his father. “They had two children, Heron and
Arissa, both of whom you have some knowledge, I believe, although Arissa…”
“She is kikiri, I
know,” he said with genuine sorrow in his voice that touched her deeply.
“No longer kikiri. She
has been redeemed and returned to her mother.”
“Alive…?” Galia shook
her head.
“Huh! So much for
redemption…!
Oh,
but how your father would have so agreed with you,
Galia would have liked to say, but said nothing. Instead, she proceeded to
observe Heron and Irina whose dancing was of that intimate kind enjoyed by
those who only had eyes for each other. “They are good together.”
“Heron
is…”
“Your
nephew, yes, and my grandson whom also I would so love get to know if he will
permit it.”
In
spite of himself, Calum could feel his mouth twitching in the semblance of a
smile. “Yes, they look good together. I wish them well.” He frowned, envious
for thinking of Bethan.
“The life of a Ruler
can be a lonely one,” Galia murmured, “It is not good to be alone.” His heavy
silence told her all she needed to know. “We all need someone, to help us stay
strong as well as providing comfort and reassurance.”
“I
believe it is called love,” he commented drily.
“I
believe it is,” she agreed
He
turned from observing Heron and Arissa to look Galia squarely in the eye. “You
need to get to know your family here in Mamelon, as do I. I would have liked to
know my half-brothers better, but I dare say you will expect them to return to
the Motherworld . Unfortunately, journeying between the two is not for
everyone...” He shrugged. “…although that is just as well perhaps. But you are
welcome to return as often as you can spare the time and, yes, we can get to
know each other. But do not assume you will like what you find, and never
expect me to love you as I do Etta.”
Galia
inclined her head and tossed him a radiant smile that quite took him a-back.
“You are so much like your father. That is just the kind of bargain he would
have sought to strike.”
“We
have a bargain then?”
“We
do. I have just one favour to ask and you are, of course, well within your
rights to refuse.”
“Ask…”
Galia
hesitated a fraction before taking a deep breath, “I would so like to embrace
you.”
It
was Calum’s turn to hesitate. His mother was a stranger, yet not the stranger
he would have expected. I know you from
somewhere, and it is not from either
womb or some distant childhood memory. So where…and why do I have this
sense that you love me, have always loved me…? He shrugged. “You may embrace me, but I should warn
you not to expect some form of instant bonding simply because we are mother and
son.
They
embraced.
Galia
closed her eyes and let herself feel young again, young and happy, walking with
Michal and their children, not simply as Ruler and consort but bathing in
lively chatter and laughter as parents as well as lovers, seizing a moment that
would stay with them for all time.
Calum,
too, closed his eyes although he had not intended to any more than he had
intended to tighten his hold on this soft, gentle, stranger who was no stranger
at all and with whom, albeit reluctantly, he found himself bonding with an
intensity his alter ego welcomed.
They
broke apart albeit with a tenderness that surprised them both.
“Say
and think what you will, Calum, but bloodline is bloodline and family is
family. Like it or not, we are a part of each other.”
“If
you say so,” he retorted, contriving a chill in his voice he was far from
feeling.
“You
felt it, too, didn’t you? I know you did.”
“You
are mistaken. I felt nothing,” he lied.
Galia
made no attempt to brush away a tear that cut him to the quick as he watched it
truckle down one flushed cheek. “Thank you for seeing me, my son. Be sure, we
will meet again.” Mistaking his silence for rejection, she turned away and left
the room.
Such beauty, he reflected, such grace and
dignity, too, and, yes, there is much love there. How can I ever expect to be
worthy of all that? He looked down again at the revels below and continued
to observe Irina and Heron for some time. Little wonder he had bonded with
Heron, since it would appear they were first cousins. At the same time, he had
to acknowledge yet again that it was something more than affection he felt
towards the young couple. Oh, how I envy
you?
He heard a
sound, and froze, guessed it was Galia returning to make a fresh appeal to his
filial instincts. He closed his eyes. Can
I, should I resist her a second time? Do I even want to? Opening them
again, he turned, undecided.
Only, it was not his
mother who stood there, a ray of light from the gilt decorated dome overhead
lending her the appearance of a tree nymph of whom he had only ever seen
pictured in archives for they were long believed to have been swallowed up by
the mists of time.
“Bethan…! Is it really
you?
“Yes, Calum, it is
really me.”
“I am not dreaming?”
“You are not dreaming.”
“But how, why…I
thought…” He fumbled clumsily for words where words were not nearly enough to
express his joy. Come, Calum, get a grip. You will soon be taking a Ruler’s sacred oath.
This is no time to revert to some inarticulate Nu-gen. “Why have you come?,
he demanded, struggling in vain to put hope aside. “Is not a Keeper’s place
among the Purple Mountains, guarding the Tomb of the Creator?”
“It no longer needs a
guard. I begin to doubt if it ever did. Whatever, the Keepers are history and I
am more concerned with the present.”
“And the future?” he
suggested hesitantly.
“And the future,” she
agreed with a self-assurance that, in turn, encouraged the same in himself.
“So why are you here?”
he repeated,
“All Mamelon
celebrates, why shouldn’t I…? She came to the window and stood beside him. Both
looked down at the happy scene, each waiting for the other to speak. It was she
who broke the fragile silence. “Look,” she pointed, “there’s Michal. Who is he
dancing with?”
“Some elf I do not
know. Nu-gen rarely have any contact with the elves of Gar.”
“He certainly dances
better here than back home.” She laughed. “Someone must have put a spell on
him.”
“Never jest about
magic,” he told her sharply. “So…”, he added before she could respond, “You
still think of the Motherworld as home?”
“It was just a figure
of speech,” she said apologetically.
“And love, is that,
too, but a figure of speech?”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing, ignore me. I
am a Ruler now and Rulers are not permitted the same feelings as others.” He
glanced again at Michal. “You came to us with him. It is only natural and right
that you should wish to return with him. He is, after all, your… how do you say
it in the Motherworld…boyfriend?”
“Is that what you
really think, that it is natural and right I should return with him? Where is
the Nu-gen who said he loved me?” she demanded hotly “…or was that just a
figure of speech,” she added with uncharacteristic sarcasm.
“Mulac is no more. He
is the past.”
“Your past, perhaps,
but not mine, never mine, never…! Mulac
is my past, my present, and I had thought my future too. More fool me for
believing you!”
“Mulac is the past,” he
repeated, as nonplussed by her mood as by her tears, “I am not…”
“You are the same
person, Calum. Only your name has changed. Oh, yes, and your status. Such an
elevation from Nu-gen to Ruler, I’ll say!” she flung at him, mischievously mimicking Ricci.
“The life of a Ruler
will not be an easy one nor any easier for his consort,” he muttered, unsure
what to say, “She has to share him with the rest of Mamelon.”
“Perhaps,” she agreed
in a lighter, teasing tone, “but less hard, surely, for two than one? Besides,
the rest of Mamelon is welcome to its Ruler. All I ask to have an incorrigible,
insufferable Nu-gen called Mulac all to myself sometimes. But if that is too
much to ask…” she half turned away.
“No!” Calum could
scarcely believe his ears. “I mean, yes. I mean…I don’t know,” he spread his
hands helplessly. “Everything has changed. I cannot see clearly. I have lost
sight of who I really am …” and so need to find that out…“As for the
Nu-gen, Mulac, I have no idea how much, if anything at all, remains of him.”
“In that case, don’t
you think you had better find out before you get yourself into a real mess?”
He shrugged. “I am open
to suggestions.”
“Well, for example,
what would Mulac do if he were here now?”
“I…” he began to
protest. A mischievous twinkle in her eyes infuriated him all the more. How dare she mock me! Without thinking,
he caught her in his arms and kissed her, roughly at first, and then with a
passion she returned fully, measure for measure. He finally released her
without pushing her away, continuing to hold her close. “Does that answer your
question?” he murmured into her hair.
“I rather think it
does, yes. And you, do you have any clearer an idea now of who you are and what
you want?”
“I rather think I do,
yes. I am Calum, Ruler, except when I am with you and will only ever answer to
Mulac…”
They kissed again.
………………………….
Weary
of trying to dance away his troubles, Mick-Michal left the pretty elf girl to
partner another and wandered off into the forest. He came to the Fire Tree
without even realising he had been heading towards it.
The tree was a glorious
sight to behold, a fountain of leaves coloured red and gold that reminded him
of …home. A single aryd began to sing
and it seemed to Mick as if it were a skylark singing, and among its sweet
music his ears seemed to home in on the familiar notes of the Okay Song. I’m homesick, he thought for the first
time since finding himself in Mamelon, but
how can I go home, ever? There will be so many questions, and I have no
answers. Heaven only knows what has happened to Pete, and how do I explain
Beth’s absence? Who is going to believe
me?
“Cheer up, young man,
the world is saved, not lost, and you have done well in playing your part.” A
voice behind him caught him unawares and made him jump.
He turned. “Who are
you?”
“I am Bethany’s father,
come to tell you that you need have no worries about explaining her absence to
anyone, least of all to me. Suffice to say, she has made the right decision.
She is with Mulac or Calum, whatever. I always think names are so cumbersome,,
hung around the neck like millstones, supposedly telling everyone who we are
without even coming close. Don’t you agree?”
“I hadn’t really
thought about it,” Mick muttered, resenting the newcomer’s intrusion into his
thoughts.
“Well, each to his own,
talking of which, I dare say you’ll want to be off home, yes?”
“How can I go home?”
Mick yelled, “I’ve lost my kid brother. He just…vanished, and now I haven’t the
faintest idea where to start looking for him.”
“Oh, is that all? Why
don’t you try calling his name? I know I’m contradicting myself, but even names
serve a useful purpose sometimes.”
“Are you quite mad? I
call out and he comes running, right?”
“That’s the idea, yes.
Nothing ventured, and all that…. It’s helpful if you close your eyes and
picture the person you’re calling. That way, you make a connection, you see.
Come on, humour me. What have you got to lose?”
My
sanity, thought Mick, this
is stupid. Even so, he closed his eyes, let his inner vision home in on an
image of Pete typically dipping into a biscuit tin just before lunch, and
shouted at the top of his voice, “Pete! Pete, where are you?” He began to feel dizzy and fell to the
ground although not heavily, a cushioned landing rather than a bumpy one.
“Mick, hey, Mick, are
you okay?”
Someone shook him. Mick
started. I know that voice! Opening
his eyes he found himself gazing into familiar if concerned looking features.
“Pete, is that you?”
“Of course it’s me, you
twit. Who else would it be?”
Mick sat up and looked
about, struggling to reconcile with familiar surroundings. “We’re back in
Tonbridge Wells.”
“You are, yes. Me, I
haven’t been anywhere. You sound like you’ve been with the fairies. Are you
sure you’re okay and haven’t bumped your head?”
Mick got unsteadily to
his feet. “What happened…?”
“You…Oh, I dunno. You
must have fainted or something, I forget. Whatever, we need to be getting home.
Mum will kill us if we’re late for dinner.”
“Where’s Beth?” Mick
looked around, dazedly, only half expecting to see her.
“How should I know? We
haven’t seen Beth for a while, remember? She wandered off to look for
blackberries. I dare say she’ll find her own way home if she hasn’t already.”
“No, that can’t be
right. Oh, well, if you say so. Yes, I must have knocked my head when I fell
and it’s addled my memory.
I’ll
say,
Ricci chuckled before the Time Gate faded and he lost sight of them.
“Did you say
something?”
“No,” said Pete with a
grin, “Hearing voices now, eh? Sounds like you’re a lost cause.”
“I’ll show you a lost
cause. Race you home, loser?
“Loser, me…? No chance!
You’re on…”
