Mamelon 2 - Epilogue

EPILOGUE

In the sitting room of their home in leafy Tonbridge Wells, Gail and Tim Wright embraced.

“You played your part well, Galia.”

“You also, my love, but Galia and Timon must be put back in the box where they belong and the lid firmly shut, as well you know.”

He laughed, “I defy anyone to put you in a box of any kind, my love.”

Gail Wright chuckled, “You haven’t made bad job of it si far.”

Tim Wright shrugged, grinning from ear to ear, “I am a Holy Seer, always up for Mission Impossible.” The young-old face assumed a more serious expression, "The children…?”

“Are safe, as well you know. They will be back, plaguing us day in and day out before we know it.” They, too, have done well,” she added with a deep sigh of maternal satisfaction.

“All your children have done well. You will want to return and get to know those you thought lost, your grandchildren too. “

“I will,” she said simply.

“If you had known they lived…?”

“Would I have run away with you like a love-sick teenager? I don’t know. I would have loved you no less, but…”

He shrugged again, “What is done is done. I, for one, have no regrets.”

“Nor I, especially given how things were at the time. As it is, I can at least return now and then…”

“Whereas I may never return,” he murmured thoughtfully.

“Even so, you did a pretty good job of contacting Peter when he needed you most.”

“I did, didn’t I?” His expression lightened. “It would seem that even a disgraced Holy Seer is permitted to make some reparation for letting his carnal desires get the better of him.”

“Of me also,” she pointed out, and they laughed together companionably although anyone within earshot might have been forgiven for detecting a hard edge to the sound.

“Bethan…” he began.

“Has made her choice although I have to say it is not one I would have made for her. What kind of life will she have in the mountains? No life at all…”

“Ah, then are things you do not know!”

“Oh?”

Bethan has chosen to make her life with Calum. I dare say they will bear you more grandchildren in due course.”

“But, she cannot. She dare not. She is a Keeper. Look what happened when there was no Keeper to guard the tomb. Ragund…”

“…has been taken care of and can work no further mischief. Keeper or no, Bethan has a mind of her own. I’d have though you of all people would admire her for that.”

“Is Etta behind this? It would be so typical of her to dissuade the girl from her duty out of some misplaced deference to Calum’s…

“Carnal desires…?”

“If you like, yes, and you may smile but this is no laughing matter, Tim. Bethan puts all Mamelon at risk just when everything has come right.”

“Her father seems to think otherwise.”

“What does Gabriel know? He sees a lovelorn daughter and wants to see her happy at any cost, that’s all.”

“Isn’t that what we all want for our children, happiness?”

“Yes, of course, but not at any cost.”

“You could well be right, as you so often are, my love. But I, for one, trust Merlin’s judgement in this matter in spite of his personal involvement.”

“Merlin…?”

“Did you really not guess?” He allowed her a longer pause before replying than he could have hoped for, she being as quick to judge at times as she could be slow to consider the implications of that judgement although he never doubted her integrity.

Gail sighed, “In my heart, perhaps, yes, with hindsight, although my head refused to believe it. Even so, Bethan…”

“…is Merlin’s daughter, and she has made her choice with his blessing. We can only assume, with Ri’s blessing also.”

“We must hope that Ragund is well and truly out of the picture then. We both know only too well that Ri’s blessing is Xu’s curse. If Ragund continues to have access to the Xaruki, anything may yet happen.”

“Be sure, Ragund is a victim of his own ambitions. He is no longer capable of working dark magic... or any magic for that matter. In the unlikely event circumstances should ever change, we will cross that bridge if and when we come to it.”

Unless it proves to be a bridge too far, mused Gail-Galia uneasily. Before she could voice her fears, however, a door burst open. Mick and Peter made their presence noisily known. “Did you enjoy your time in the woods?” she asked innocently, sharing a knowing smile with Tim.

“Is supper nearly ready? I’m starving!”  Pete neatly side-stepped the question without consciously meaning to although it was true, he was famished.

“Nearly,” Gail laughed, keenly aware that her older son was oddly quiet. Their eyes met.

In something behind his mother’s lighthearted expression, Mick sensed a certain unease. He could not put his finger on it, but it reflected his own disquiet with frightening intensity. I am imagining it, surely? The moment quickly passed, however, as both boys pretended filial indifference to their mother’s subsequent hugs.

Tim-Timon looked on, smiling, debating inwardly whether or not perhaps he should have been honest with his wife about that devil Ragund’s no longer posing any threat…

………………………..

Meanwhile, far below the bowels of the Purple Mountains, below even the rocky floor of the Sea of Marmela, on a freak platform within a Black Hole in Time, a lone Xaruki sat cross-legged waiting for The Call.

            The Xaruki looked to neither right nor left as a kikiri approached and squatted in its direct line of vision. Instantly, the Xaruki experienced a great inner disturbance.

The kikiri, in turn, experienced a sense of rapport with the Xaruki, vague and inarticulate but sufficient to suppose that, from it, some form of communication may yet be established. …

For now, the kikiri that had once been Ragund, the Dark Mage, was content to bide its time until the Xaruki fully awoke to its presence and a process of reciprocal manipulation could begin towards a mutually acceptable end.

Although necessarily drained of its senses and all flesh ripped away, the kikiri was unique among its kind. As such, it was not (quite) beyond all feeling, and what remained of that screamed revenge with a deafening silence; it penetrated the Xaruki’s husk, stirring a long forgotten knowledge of The Dark to an, oh, so-faint, and, oh, so-distant, yet, oh, so promising reawakening….

The End

[Note: Book Three of the Mamelon saga is in the planning stages under the (working) title of ‘Merlin’s Daughter’.]

                       

.

Mamelon 2 - Chapter Twenty-Eight

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…”     

Mamelon 2 - Chapter Twenty-Seven

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

All elves were as familiar with the symmetry of the Fire Tree as with veins on the back of a hand. From birth to death, it was a leading symbol of light and spiritual existence beyond any lifetimes Ri intended for them.  Excruciatingly intense, therefore, had been the initial despair and confusion among elves when the Fire Tree, along with all other vegetation, ceased to thrive as light slowly faded and even what was seen as a Tree of Life that never shed it leaves began to display signs of decay.

             While it had to be a sign of ill omen, such was the nature of elves that they tried to put its implications aside and get on with their lives. Even so, it had cast a long shadow for more lifetimes than some younger elves had ever known. Elven elders struggled to reassure and invoke the virtues of resilience, stoicism, and a positive take on all aspects of life, even in the face of such open contradiction, but most had been well aware for the greater part of their own lifetimes that they were probably fighting a losing battle.

            Elves believed that when the sequence of lifetimes granted them at Ri’s pleasure came to an end, their spirits would pass into the Fire Tree and become as a leaf on the tree that never shed its leaves, free to observe and participate if only passively in the lives of their kin; to see its branches bare, hear no spirits talking among themselves or observe tree creatures at play like children cut them to the quick.

            Pers stood before the Fire Tree as he had done a thousand times before and asked of Ri as he always had…Why? As always, there was no answer, but as he gazed into a patch of coppery sky through a window of silent branches, his heart missed a beat as he spotted something tiny and green. Can it be a bud, a leaf?  What is happening? As he continued to observe, awe-struck, he experienced a growing affinity with the tree to an extent he had never entered into before. Astor had been evasive as to the nature of his, Pers’, task, except to suggest that the survival of all Mamelon - and beyond - depended on his actions. But what must I do? Pers had insisted several times, to which the druid would only shrug and say that was between elf and tree. It made no sense. Well, it had made a sense of sorts, but one which Pers’ conscious mind was unable to articulate. Offer yourself to the tree, and be as one with it, Astor had said more than once, and you will find what you will find, as will we all.

            How does one offer oneself to a tree? Per had asked and asked of himself yet again. All Astor would say, with as much obtuseness and evasiveness as ever, was to get in touch with your instincts and follow them. That was all very well, but…how, and follow them where?

            Pers sighed. He had lost all track of time, but his entire body felt as if it had endured more lifetimes than even the most favoured of elves could hope for, and it’s not as if I have even been made to feel favoured in any way, shape or form, the reverse in fact, he brooded with uncharacteristic self-pity. This was a chance to prove himself, Astor had told him, but…how? Without realizing it, he addressed the tree directly, and was shocked to hear it reply.  A tree cannot speak…

            Never underestimate a tree just as we trees never underestimate elves, the voice in his head persisted with a firmness that brooked no further interruption.

            Pers was more than a little surprised to discover that he was not in the least afraid, quite the opposite in fact as he sensed more, far more than either familiarity or close affinity with the tree, but a kind of flowering into something else altogether. Yes, flowering, that was the word he wanted; it was as if he was not simply observing green shoots on the branches but entering into their very spirit of celebration for a return after so long an absence. No, not that even… He struggled to comprehend. It’s as if I AM that spirit of celebration. But that is absurd. How could that be, unless… He recalled Astor’s words about becoming one with the tree. Instinctively, he took a few tentative steps towards it. The tree welcomed his approach and instilled him not only with self-confidence but a sense of self-esteem the like he had never known before. It had always been Irina that shone, while he was content to live in the shadow of the sister he adored. It had cut him to the quick so to feel estranged from her while under Arissa’s spell.

            Pers quickened his step, anxious to embrace the tree as he might an old friend. Yet, it was as if Arissa’s name, springing to mind as it had out of a distant consciousness, created a barrier between the tree and himself. While he yearned with increasing intensity to grasp the outstretched branches, his feet refused to move.

            Come, said the tree, be all you have ever wished to be and more, much more, a legend among elves of whom all Mamelon will speak with reverence and give thanks, too, for all time.

            Pers willed himself to put one foot in front of the other, but he could not. He sensed dark forces holding him back just as the Spirit of the Fire Tree urged him forwards. What is happening? I can scarcely draw breath. I feel as though I am caught in a tug of war…!

            He began to feel faint while struggling to remain conscious, suspecting for no reason other than a rapid heartbeat that seemed to be beating out the same message over and over… Stay awake, elf, or all is lost. Stay awake, elf, stay awake or…

            Meanwhile, in Lunis, City of Moons, the Dark Mage, Ragund, raged at being thwarted so, finally understanding that the red haired Motherworld boy was but a distraction. No, more than that, a tool for enemy forces with which the elf might yet prove his, Ragund’s nemesis. But I am wasting time, and time is everything. He struggled to breathe as the elf, continued to drag him to the brink of defeat.  “To the brink, it is then?” he yelled in the manner of a war cry, “ So be it, but no further. You will obey me, elf. Obey, ME, no one else! Damn the One to eternal fire who seeks to interfere and prevent the greatest victory dark magic has ever known. Oh, help me, great Xu, and succeed here where you failed before. Send the servant of Ri who has set himself against us scurrying back to the Black Hole from whence, uninvited, he has ventured forth.  Back, back, I say, where scum such as he belongs!”

            “Your humble vessel, Ragund, calls upon you on his knees, great Xu, to fill me with your spirit so together we may overcome that devil, Ri, who dares present himself as a god over you and all the worlds in the galaxy that are rightfully yours. Redeem yourself, great Xu, and bring all the force of the Xaruki into play on my behalf, the better so to serve you, for to serve you, great Xu, is all I ask…”

            Meanwhile, in Nul-y-Gray, Isle of the Dead, Gabriel drove himself to the limits of his skills in magic and manipulation of sheer willpower, calling upon Ri even as he heard Ragund calling passionately upon Xu in the swirling mist where his subconscious seemed to be spinning like a humming top, frantically, a separate entity entirely from that with which mind, body and spirit could expect to be reconciled. Suddenly, he felt it, a mere stirring at first, and then slowly but surely gathering momentum until like a massive tidal surge, it swamped everything in its path, drowning out all sense of Other presence.  The top ceased to hum, ceased even to turn, letting rip with a single, piercing shriek before being sucked into some inarticulate vortex.

            Gabriel fell, exhausted, to the ground.

            “You have done well, mage,” murmured Etta and Galia simultaneously although it was Nadya who knelt beside the inert form and felt for a heartbeat while the others entertained thoughts of their own. Nadya looked up and said quietly, “And so have you all done well. Know that I sensed your coming to his aid and would have done myself had I been even half as well versed in what was required as the two of you. I do not understand what has happened, but I sense it is a force for good and all Mamelon will commemorate this moment for lifetimes to come.”

            “Your senses serve you well,” responded Etta with a wry smile.

            “Will he live?” Galia asked anxiously, feeling guilty that her main concern should be returning to the Motherworld with her children, and for that, she knew full well, she needed Gabriel alive. Neither her own powers nor those of elves, druids or an erstwhile Holy Seer would be enough, just as they, alone, had never been enough to transport them to Mamelon in the first place. Fool, Galia, that you let emotions cloud your vision.

            “He lives,” said Nadya looking down again just when, as if on cue, Gabriel opened his eyes. “So too, I suspect, does Mamelon.” She glanced from Etta to Galia and felt reassured by a perceptible glow of triumph in their faces. “How do you f…” She turned back to Gabriel, at the same time bracing herself for hazarding at least an educated guess at interpreting the grizzled features, but she got to further.

            Of Gabriel there was no sign.

……………………......

            Mind, body and spirit pulled first this way and then the other, Pers soon became convinced he was literally about to collapse in pieces…If I do not burst first for I cannot   breathe. The air will neither enter nor leave my body. Mind and spirit are ready to fly away into some poetic horizon although… he felt compelled to retract… there can be no poetry in annihilation, surely? So what gibberish am I thinking…?

            Come, urged the tree with increasing passion if a shade less compassionate and a note of sternness creeping into the lilting voice. I sense desperation, but desperation for mine or its own survival? The elf found himself entertaining the strangest thoughts if more astutely than he realized.

            Snap!

            Suddenly, it was as if a cloud of spores burst free from its source and proceeded to drift with speed, not into some bleak space, heading nowhere, but directly towards the Fire Tree; its branches spread infinitely wider to receive it, folding inwards again the instant it had taken to its heart the reconciled mind, body, and spirit that had once been Pers, only son of La-Ri and Ka-Ri, true child of Gar, of as pure eleven stock as any, destined for greater things even than the poetry of imagination.  

……………………………..

            For some time after the glucks and their riders had faded from view, Bethan and Fred kept a companionable quiet on the bleak purple mountaintop. Bethan shivered for the increasing cold, but did not complain although envying the Foss his furry coat.

            It was Fred who broke the silence. “We should leave, I think,” he ventured, hating to see his companion’s sense of loss and abandonment even though it had been her choice to remain.

            “I had no choice,” she told him as if reading the little fellow’s thoughts, “I am a Keeper, my place is here as it has always been.”

            “Not for a long time,” he reminded her gently.

            Bethan shrugged. “I know my duty,” she insisted.

            “Duty, huh…!” Fred retorted, “Duty is much overrated if you ask me.”

            “It is a privilege,” she responded instantly, “A privilege…, she repeated.

            It struck her companion that this Bethan, Keeper did not so much mean what she said as was saying it to convince herself rather than… What is it, he wondered, that she cannot or will not accept? What is she so afraid of…herself perhaps? “We must go,” it was his turn to insist, “…before you freeze to death. Come…” he took her hand in his, paw “I will take you to where you will be safe, warm, and comfortable. No one knows the mountains like Foss,” he added reassuringly.

            “I must guard the tomb,” she murmured, more to herself than to the little Foss.

            “That is just a manner of speaking,” Fred told her, “No one expects you to literally guard the tomb. A Keeper’s presence on the mountain has always been enough.”

            “Enough for what, fo whom?” she asked, genuinely intrigued, “Look what happened when there was no Keeper. Now Mamelon has hope. Would you have me throw that away by following my heart instead of my head?”

            “Ah!” exclaimed the Foss, “So your heart, at least, entertains more than duty.” It was not a question.

            Bethan made no reply but turned to face the way they had come, “I am ready. Let’s go. I am very grateful for as well as glad of your company, Fred,” she added with a smile so sad that it only served to convey her misery. “I will miss you,”

            “I am going somewhere?”

            “Your home, your people, you must be longing to return to them?”

                        Fred shrugged, “I am in no rush, and will not leave you until or unless it becomes necessary for whatever reason.”

            “You have no duty to me, Fred. I appreciate your concern, but…”

            “Duty has nothing to do with it. I want to stay with you. You need someone. It is not in your nature to be alone. We Foss, we may seek and enjoy companionship or we may prefer our own company. Now, that is choice…”

            “Well spoken, Foss,” said a voice behind them that all but startled them out of their skins. Both turned uneasily.

            “Daddy…! Is it really you?” Bethan gasped. So great was her incredulity that she did not even wonder why Fred barely reacted.

            Father and daughter embraced.  For the first time in ages Bethan, Keeper resumed the persona of Bethany Martin from leafy Tonbridge Wells.

            “But, Dad, how, why…? What on earth are you doing here? How did you know where to find me? How did you get here? I don’t understand…”

            “Never mind me, child, what about you? What are you doing here when we both know, as our Foss friend here also knows, that you long to be elsewhere?”

            “I am a Keeper. I belong here. It is duty that brought me here and duty that would have me stay.”

            “And how do you feel about that? Do you want to stay on some cold, inhospitable mountain for the rest of whatever lifetimes may be left to you? The truth now, child, for nothing less will do. If this notion of duty, laudable as it is, did not compel you to stay, would you not rather be somewhere else even with someone else,” he added with a wicked twinkle in the searching gaze.   He glanced conspiratorially at Fred. “No offence, Foss, we owe you much, my daughter and I, and we are grateful, but I suspect we all know where her heart lies.”

            Fred nodded, too awe-struck to say a word.

            For her own part, Beth was content to snuggle against her father’s chest, relieved to relinquish a tenuous hold on past, present and future. Daddy, please help me, her inner self cried. Even as it did so, she wondered why it was not begging to go home. And where is home?  Oh, but I am so, so tired. For now, she would block everything else out and savour the moment by remaining exactly where and as she was without, just for once, having to keep battling self-doubt and feeling increasingly guilty for a growing sense of losing a war.

            Gabriel gently pushed her away and looked her in the eye. “You must choose, daughter, and choose now, “Forget all you have been told about duty. Sometimes we need to put ourselves first. True, many would dispute that of lovers, but lovers also have the right to make choices. So…choose.

            “You know…?”

            “About a certain Nu-gen that once was and who now fears confronting his destiny without the love of his life at his side? Oh, yes, I know. I know also about love for I loved your mother dearly.”

            “I cannot choose. I have no right…” She turned appealingly to Fred, “Tell him Fred, tell him I do not have a choice, that this is Mamelon and I am a Keeper and cannot, must not, will not put my duty before anything or anyone else. “Tell him…” she wept.

            “Tell him what? All that he knows already? I think not. As for choices, how many times must I repeat myself?  We all have them, you as much if not perhaps more than anyone.”

            “Why, because I am a Motherworlder?” she retorted through tears, “I thought you knew me better than that.”

            “A Motherworlder, yes, but you must know that it is not to a Motherworlder I speak now but to Merlin’s daughter.”

            “Merlin…?” she gasped, met the full-on twinkle in her father’s eyes and instinctively knew that it was true.

            The mage inclined his head, “It is one among many names I have been called in as many lifetimes,” he agreed.

            “And my mother…?

            “Ah, Freya, light of my life, heart of my darkness. I loved her well, your mother, and love her still. It is from her I would guess the druid in you would have you mistake duty for a ball and chain. Mamelon has no need of a Keeper now. Ri has once again triumphed over Xu. Ragund and his  consort are less than the dust beneath our feet, trodden into the ground by their own dark ambitions. As for you, daughter, you are as free to choose as anyone what course you will follow.

            ‘Gluck, Gluck…!’ All three looked up as Iggy emerged from murk and mist to make a perfect landing.

            Bethan made her choice.

.

Mamelon 2 - Chapter Twenty-Five

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

In leafy Tonbridge Wells, Tim Wright, albeit in his persona as Timon, erstwhile Holy Seer of Mamelon, had kept a close eye on his family since Gail and the boys had been transported to that Otherworld. His concern for their safety reached a new intensity as the seer bowl revealed they were trapped within the mountain, close to the Tomb of the Creator. He was only too well aware of the various forces for good and evil alike posing a threat to their deliverance, not least the power of Xaruki magic into which Ragund appeared to have tapped. He was expecting Astor, and was agreeably surprised when Gabriel materialised in the Wright’s suburban lounge.

“I was expecting Astor,” Timon admitted, “But you are welcome, of course, more than welcome. Indeed, I am honored by your presence in my home.”

“You know who I am?” It was Gabriel’s turn to express surprise.

“I know who you are not, Gabriel Martin,” responded Timon with a wry smile that was sufficient to put Gabriel as ease. He had not changed, this Holy Seer, always something of a rogue at heart and never quite suited to his position. At the same time, Gabriel also recognized something of a kindred spirit; both were inclined to go their own way whether or not it should fall in with general opinion. He is a good man, for all his faults. I should have known better than to nurse misgivings. Even so, he kept his tone neutral and took pains not to appear conciliatory. “You know why I am here.”

“I do. You want to know if I can beat Ragund at his own game.”

“Can you?”

Timon shrugged. “I can try. Ri has been kinder to me than any in Mamelon. Whether or not He will aid me in thwarting Xakuri magic, who knows…?”

“But you will try?”

“Of course, and with such as your good self backing me up, how can I fail?” He smiled, but neither mockingly nor lightly.

“Ri knows Xu of old and Xu is Xaruki,” said Gabriel mustering an impressive show of self-confidence.

“The elf and my son, they must be in Gar and know what they must do before Ragund has time to launch a counter offensive.”

“I could not have put it better myself.”

“My son, Peter, can he survive this?”

“I hope so. If he has inherited his father’s bloody-mindedness, as his red hair would suggest, I would say it is very likely.” He managed a wan, impassive smile.

“But no guarantees…” It was not a question.

“No guarantees,” Gabriel agreed, “I will support you in any way I can, of course. But no, there are no guarantees.”

“In other words, you would have me gamble with my son’s life,” a tight-lipped Timon observed with a hint of venom.

“Do we have a choice, either of us?” responded Gabriel coolly.

Timon shook his head, and proceeded to prepare himself mentally and physically for the task ahead.

Gabriel did likewise if requiring minimal preparation, mind and spirit no better  prepared than the other’s to venture forth from the body but having had considerably more practice over more lifetimes than Earth folk were inclined to measure in centuries. There, he had to concede, lay the greater flaw in his calculations. Timon had chosen the Motherworld over Mamelon. Earth folk, as he’d often had cause to despair, were far too easily led by their passions. Or misled, as well the case may be…

Not unaware of his visitor’s reservations, Tim concentrated all the harder on reviving and reliving old practices, confident in the knowledge that Gabriel could and would provide back-up if and when required. Consequently, Timon, erstwhile Holy Seer of Mamelon, was soon engaging in mind-speak with his Motherworld son.

“Dad, is that you?”

“It is, and you have nothing to be afraid of if you just do as I say, okay?” A bemused Peter nodded. “Good. Now, I want you to close your eyes, empty your mind and be led by me through the gamut your subconscious needs must run. Can you do that?”

“I’ll try, but…”

“Do you recall the crab apple tree in out garden at home?”

“Yes, and…?”

“Picture it in your mind, focus on a single branch and imagine you are a bird alighting upon it. You must do more than picture the bird, you must become the bird. “Can you do that?”

“I’ll try. Any bird…? A magpie…?

“A magpie will do nicely, yes. Oh, and you must do more than try, son, for much is at stake.”

Peter did as he was told and was surprised to discover how easy it was to recall the old apple tree and imagine he was a magpie alighting on one of its leafy branches.

 “Now, spread your wings and fly away…”

“Good, now Ri in His wisdom will guide you and keep you safe as far as to the Forest of Gar. The bird knows its destination so just relax, fly and enjoy…”

Suddenly, Timon was aware of danger, near, demanding attention. Yet, he dare not take his inner eye off Peter just yet or the boy would probably sense his absence and panic.

“Leave the boy to me,” said Gabriel, the other’s mind-speak as urgent as it was reassuring.

Pers…! How he sensed the elf was in danger, he could not be sure at first but it was not long before his worst suspicions were confirmed.  Xaruki…

Pers was plummeting into the heart of Xaruki underworld. It took all the skill, power and resolve of Timon, Holy Seer, to reverse the elf’s fall and set him on a course for Gar.

By the time he had accomplished the task, he was exhausted and barely had energy left to check on Peter’s progress. No worries there. The boy lay fast asleep on a bed of leaves within a short distance from the Fire Tree, close enough to be discovered by elves that would shortly be dispatched by their queen, La, to that very end.

Tim-Timon’s last thoughts before losing consciousness focused, albeit through a thickening mist, upon whether his youngest son might yet be saved from the clutches of the Xu. And where does the elf figure in the ultimate end-game? How far was he, as either Holy Seer or father, prepared to go to save Mamelon from Ragund? Thankfully, he sank into a deep sleep before he could begin to frame an answer to the question so tormenting him.

And well it might torment you, Gabriel mused, as he prepared to make his departure for Nul-y-Gray where he barely dared hope to make allies of the Dead if only for the briefest moment in time; no more or less would be required, but it would mean openly defying every principle of magic and mortality upon which not only Mamelon but the entire universe had tuned since the beginning of time. Can even the Dead be bought for a price, a sacrifice willingly made…? He sighed. Would Pers be willing to surrender his life even upon a solemn promise of rescue at the eleventh hour?  He sighed again, all but certain the elf was not up to it and doubtful, in any case, if any such rescue were possible, which left him with only one alternative…

He would have to lie.

………………………………

For Astor to visit the elven city of Gar was a rare enough event to be noted in the archives kept in its Great Library. Ka-Ri and La-Ri who ruled in Gar, Ka and La as they were generally known, received him in the comfort of their private chambers. Ka was curious while La maintained a dignified silence throughout the interview, only betraying any emotion at the mention of her children.

Astor explained as much as he had been given to understand by Gabriel that Pers had returned to Gar along with the red haired motherworld boy, Peter; their task, to return natural light to Mamelon which, together with the flow of water once again, would restore Mamelon to its former glory.

“But what roles are they expected to play, our Pers and the Motherworld boy?” Ka was as anxious for his son as he was excited about saving his people.

“The boy is a fire sign,” Astor pointed out. “As such, he has an affinity with the Fire Tree through which light will once again brighten our gloomy skies. He will become as one with the Fire Tree, give it life, and restore its spirit before…” His voice trailed away.

“Before what…?” La prompted

“Before Ragund can put some vile purpose of his own into practice,” Astor responded with uncharacteristic eagerness after a fractional pause that Ka appeared not to notice but which did not escape La.

“Ragund!” the elven ruler exclaimed, “What is that devil up to now?”

“Somehow he has managed to tap into Xaruki magic and use it to his own foul ends. The boy’s natural affinity with the Fire Tree has the capacity to set itself against the likes of any dark magic, Xaruki or otherwise.”

“I see,” said Ka who was not at all sure that he did “…and what of our Pers? How does he fit in with the way of things?”

“Would you have had the Motherworld boy carry out such a task alone?”  Astor was plainly uncomfortable, but if his hosts noticed, neither gave any outward sign. “Pers is an elf on elven soil, a child of Ri as are all elves. He will know instinctively what needs to be done. Having already established a relationship with the boy, he is in a unique position to offer support and guide him through the gamut that needs must be run.”

“So why Pers and not Irina…?” La asked with a directness that left Astor even more uneasy. He had asked the same question of Gabriel, only to feel less than reassured by the response. Swallowing hard, he contrived an enigmatic smile and repeated Gabriel’s own words as he had done, more or less, from the start, “The masculine force in magic is always greater than the feminine, as we all know. No little is at stake here. Every precaution must be taken. Ragund must be thwarted at all costs. Failure is not an option. The alternative is unthinkable.” He managed to inject a certain authority into his voice despite feeling less self-assured with every word he spoke.

Ka nodded, “It makes sense. It would not do to fall at the last hurdle. Be sure that elves do not underestimate the Dark Mage. I am pleased that Pers has been chosen for this task, the responsibility with do much for his self-esteem.  He is a good son, but less aware of his flaws than is perhaps…”

“Safe…?” La suggested, the irony in her voice not lost upon Astor who took care to avoid her eye and continued addressing Ka.

“None of us are flawless,” the White Mage commented, “but, yes, the experience will be a valuable learning curve for Pers.”

Ka nodded thoughtfully while La bristled at what she saw as Astor’s patronizing tone. The elf king suddenly looked Astor in the eye, “Can we see him, his mother and I?”

Astor shook his head. He had been well briefed by Gabriel on a question that was only, after all, to be expected, “Per must do this alone, no distractions. Trust me. He will find it within himself to do what must be done and see to it that the Motherworld boy also plays his part. There is much at stake,” he added unnecessarily.

Ka nodded.

Trust you, druid? La was incredulous but said nothing.

The attention of all three was suddenly distracted by the arrival of a very shabbily dressed elderly elf who, despite his attire, instantly commanded notice and respect. “I humbly beg your highnesses pardon,” murmured the elf about whom Astor judged there was nothing in the least humble, “…but I need my king’s advice on a gardening matter.”

“My husband is a keen gardener,” La murmured to Astor who was already well aware of the fact.

“A king’s best friend is his gardener,” Ka told Astor,” apart from his wife, that is,” he added with a chuckle. Suddenly, the dour king seemed more animated than he had been throughout and anxious to accede to the newcomer’s request. He glanced at La as if seeking her approval.

Or is it her permission he seeks …?  Astor wondered, never an admirer of the elf king.

 La nodded, her face lighting up with a radiant smile, one that caused Astor to reflect how he had once, long ago, felt inspired by her beauty to bring all his charm to bear on the elf queen, and in turn, been charmed also.

“You will forgive me, Astor?” Ka was anxious to leave while equally anxious not to offend their surprise guest who had kindly brought such astonishing if welcome news.

“There is nothing to forgive,” Astor assured him, “A garden that is about to be restored fully to life requires immediate attention.”

Inclined to think Astor was mocking him but resolved to give him the benefit of doubt, Ka took his leave.

A long, uncomfortable silence ensured between mage and elf queen.

“I must take my leave also…” Astor began only to be interrupted by a La-Ri in no mood to be trifled with.

“So masculine magic is more powerful than feminine, is it? Whoever has filled your head with such nonsense is a fool indeed.  Yet, you are no fool, Astor, and know better than anyone not to underestimate elves. We both know why my son was chosen for this task. He is pure elven while Irina…”

“She is well and grown as beautiful as her mother.”

“And what else does your inner eye tell, you, mage? Does it tell you she is also as strong-minded and intuitive as her mother? Thankfully, she takes far less after her father although more so than I would wish.”

“What can I say…?”

“You can say what is in your heart, mage, and tell me the truth. My son has his flaws, yes, as we all do, but he is not one to be trifled with. Elves are not mere tools to be used for the purposes of magic, light or dark. I tell you again, Astor, do not underestimate elves.”

“I…” Astor fumbled for words.

“Lost for words, druid? That has to be a first. The truth must be worse than I even feared…” her voice trailed away in the face of an expression she never thought to see him wear, one of immense compassion. For an instant, she froze. My son, my son, what terrible fate awaits you? She quickly recovered her composure while scarcely recognizing the sound of her own voice. “Everything you have said since your arrival here has been a lie. Now, either you tell me the truth about my son and the Motherworld boy or I will seek them out myself and bring them back here, away from the Fire Tree, where they will be safe.”

“You cannot, you dare not!” Astor protested.

If she needed to be convinced further of Astor’s deceit, the genuine fear in his eyes was more than enough. “You truly believe I would not?”

Astor shook his head miserably. He had warned Gabriel that the elf queen would not be easily convinced.

“Ragund…” he began

“There is more to this than I dare say even Ragund himself is aware. He may well, as you say, have tapped into Xaruki magic but if he thinks he has the faintest idea how to use it, well, he is in for a rude awakening. We both know better. Xu will make a tool of him for his own dastardly ends. So I think you had better start from the beginning.”

Astor sighed. Never underestimate elves. He had tried to tell Gabriel, but the other had chosen to turn a deaf ear.  “I fear no one is in possession of the whole truth,” he began lamely, “so much of what I say will be speculation…”

“I am listening, druid. Go ahead, speculate…”

.