Mamelon - Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Mulac had ‘heard’ Beth’s mute plea and answered in kind.  Whether she caught his telepathic message of reassurance, he had no idea and could but hope so.  Although his mind’s eye remained the only source of vision available to him, he had begun to believe that it was more reliable than his normal sight had been. Certainly, it hadn’t taken him long to grasp its huge potential. Now, he rounded angrily on the druid.

“Why keep me and let the others go?” the Nu-gen demanded.

“You don’t know?”

“I can guess.”

“Then guess.”

“Use me as you will, vut you’ll get no help from me,” growled Mulac, noting with satisfaction a sharp intake of the other’s breath.

“You have spirit. I like that.”

“I care not for your likes or dislikes, druid!” Mulac spat.

“I’d watch my tongue if I were you,” came the unruffled response. “You are merely Nu-gen, whereas I am…”

“Merely an image,” Mulac spat again. “So why do you bother with such as I, a blind Nu-gen?  Could it be you need my help?”

“An astute observation,” remarked the apparition dryly.

“Why should I help you?  This sight I have, it is no thanks to you. Yet. without it Bethan and I would never have found this place. You would have let us perish in the desert, druid!”

“I mean you no harm.”

“Then let me join my friends.”

“Friends?” the hazy face raised an eyebrow, “A Nu-gen with friends? How times have changed!”

“Why do you keep me here?” Mulac persisted, “That you should release the motherworlder, I can understand since she is a Keeper…” He laughed as a frown replaced the druid’s enigmatic smile albeit fleetingly. “Oh, yes, I see that also. Much I see, druid. But of myself, I see nothing. Why is that?”

“You tell me.”

“You have to ask?” Mulac countered, sensing the druid’s growing impatience despite an outward calm.

“Truly, I mean you no harm. You may well be right about the motherworld female. But I let the elves go, too, didn’t I?  Surely, that alone is proof of my good intentions? Trust me.”

“Trust a druid?  I’d rather mate with an aryd.” Mulac fumed. “Besides, there are elves and there are elves. And there is the son of La…your son, Astor, Mage of Mages.”

“You see too much, Nu-gen,” the blurred image kept a rein on its temper with obvious difficulty.

“What’s going on?” Mick sauntered out of the heavy shadow surrounding him; his hands in the pockets of leggings he still called jeans. “Oh, it’s you!” He greeted Mulac without a trace of friendliness, “Where’s Beth? What have you done with her, you peasant?”  He would have lunged at the Nu-gen, but a warning signal from Astor checked him instantly.      

Although he did not particularly like this Michal, called Mick, it crossed Mulac’s mind how unfortunate it was that the spirited motherworlder should have become lapdog to a druid. Trust a druid, indeed!  “She lives,” he grunted. “She was here but moments ago. It seems your master has other plans for her.”

“Here?” Mick frowned and looked to the druid for an explanation. .

But Astor was giving nothing away. “We have much to do. She is a distraction. You will see her again soon enough,” he added soothingly. Meanwhile, the two of you might as well try and get along. Petty squabbling is another distraction we can do without. Now, young Michal, let us show our guest some hospitality.” He turned to Mulac, “Come. Eat, drink, and be refreshed.”

Mick took the Nu-gen’s arm but Mulac shrugged it off. “I will follow you.”

“But…your eyes…” stammered Mick, embarrassed.

“I will follow you,” Mulac repeated between clenched teeth, every nuance of his body tense, like a wolf poised for the kill.

The silvery disc Mulac always wore around his neck suddenly reminded Mick of the albatross in Coleridge’s poem although he could not, for the life of him, have said why. In general, he hated poetry. But they had read The Ancient Mariner in class once and he’d been forced to admit it was a good yarn. Even so, it had annoyed him intensely how everyone felt sorry for the mariner and no one spoke up for the poor old albatross.

The druid had gone. It was left to Mick to pass through the curtain of heavy shadow into the light. He turned to make sure Mulac was, indeed, following close behind. He need not have worried. 

While not wholly convinced by the druid’s declaration of kinship, Mick had enjoyed getting to know his supposed grandfather and learning more about his mother’s alleged place in Mamelon history. It was all too far-fetched for words, of course. But who was he to argue?  So he’d made a show of settling in, accepting everything and doing as he was told. 

 In no time at all, Mick had become fond of the old man. Certainly, in the beginning, they had spent many happy hours together.  Then Astor began to change towards him. The druid became moody, even aggressive. He took to disappearing without a word for passages of time that grew longer and longer. Moreover, each time he returned, he seemed moodier and more aggressive.  Yet, whenever Mick felt the most afraid or threatened, Astor would revert to his old self and they would edge closer to each other.  During such times, Mick could almost believe that this man was his mother’s father, however incredible it seemed. Mostly, though, he felt lonely and homesick. The truth was, in spite of everything that had passed between them, he was glad if not relieved to see the surly Nu-gen again.

 They were in an ever-widening circle of light, shadows like a transparent curtain around them against which the huge boulders,  or ‘Guardians’ as Mulac knew them to be called according to tribal legend, loomed fantastic and intimidating.

 Protectors, his grandfather called the huge stones, but as far as Mick was concerned, they might as well have been prison guards. It was a view Mulac felt inclined to share.

 Straight ahead, a flight of marble steps let to a magnificent structure that comprised granite pillars and sumptuous halls. Its crowning glory was a dome that radiated a shimmering red light. Beautiful though it was, it also conveyed a grave warning even as it drew the enchanted onlooker into an embrace just as it was guaranteed to send a rush of blood coursing through the veins. This was the Inner Sanctum, towards which Mick now led his companion up flight after flight of winding marble staircase. In vain, he tried to shrug off fragments of tales surfacing a deeper consciousness which, defying Mick Wright’s paltry imagination, related with awful clarity how the disciples of Ca-an once performed hideous rituals there, among them a sacrifice of living souls.  For sure, the son of Gail and Tim Wright would have dismissed them as rubbish. Not so, Michal of Mamelon.

Following close behind, Mulac’s inner vision revealed something of the terrors passing through his companion’s mind. “Stop…!”  But it was a while before Mick turned to face the Nu-gen. Indeed, it seemed to Mulac that, as he did so, the young motherworlder experienced extreme difficulty manipulating every limb. “We should go no further. We must go back.”

“No!” howled Mick, and Mulac clearly ‘saw’ the expression of anguish on his face. 

“We must go back. Here, take my hand.”

“Go to the devil!” Mick yelled.

“Not if I can help it,” returned the Nu-gen grimly. Grabbing Mick by the arm, he dragged him back down the circular staircase. “Trust me,” he muttered between clenched teeth, unthinkingly echoing the druid as his reluctant charge continued to drag his feet, resisting every step of the way, struggling to break free.

 Mulac set his jaw and persevered.

 Once in the courtyard again, Mick felt the need to fight the Nu-gen flow out of him. Mulac sensed it too and gladly relinquished his hold. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the druid reappeared, just ahead of them, by a queer tree stump.

 For an image, thought Mulac with fresh misgivings, Astor looked flushed and out of sorts. The robed figure beckoned.  Mulac moved to lay a restraining hand on the motherworlder’s arm. He was too late. Mick was already striding, almost running to greet the druid. Around them, it seemed to Mulac as if the giant guardians were homing in on them, casting a lively kaleidoscope of light and shadow. His head ached terribly. It was as if something were tearing at the layers of his mind, seeking access. He felt violated. Drawing upon very ounce of willpower, he gritted his teeth and resisted. After a time, and without any real justification for doing so, he began to suspect it had something to do with the gnarled tree stump occupying the circle’s epicentre like a sore thumb.

 The druid beckoned again. This time, Mulac’s legs refused to obey his throbbing head.  As he approached the stump, he saw young Michal kneel. The druid gestured for Mulac to do the same.  It was no invitation. Mulac understood only too well. It was a command. All his Nu-gen instincts balked at the idea, even as he prepared to kneel. Just then a sudden movement at his feet broke his concentration. He looked down to discover a small snake slithering over his moccasins. A handsome thing, it was. He didn’t feel in the least threatened. Rather, he was admiring the bold yellow markings on a dark green skin when he heard the faintest sound of pipes. A familiar melody, but one he couldn’t place made his ears ring and his pulse race. Dimly, he thought he heard a dog howling… 

No dog, but a wolf, his senses rebuked him. Mulac frowned. How could he have been mistaken?  He knew wolves. Before the Nu-gen found and adopted him, wolves had cared for him.  The strangeness of it had never troubled him. Neither had he ever questioned the why or how of it. Rather, he was simply grateful, enjoying an affinity with wolves that he accepted for what it was…a gift.

Mulac pricked up his ears. Faint or no, there was a discernible urgency in pipes and howling alike. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Without knowing why, the sum of the Nu-gen’s being screamed, No-oooooo! He lunged at the motherworlder.

Mick keeled over, Mulac pioning him with his whole body.

The druid vanished.

To be continued

Mamelon - Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Beth could not have said exactly what prompted her to leave the others. True, she was fed-up with playing eye contact games with Mick nor was she in the least amused by his clumsy attempts make her feel jealous of Irina.  On the contrary, she felt quite sorry for the elf girl who was clearly smitten with Mick’s boyish charm. No, it was something else altogether, almost as if a voice in her head was urging her to get away from there without delay. At the same time, it seemed the most natural thing to go for a pee.

She was on her way to rejoin the others when something rubbed against her leggings.  Looking down, she gave a delighted gasp, “Ace!” The little dog wagged its tail and allowed itself to be scooped up and fussed over while slopping a pink tongue all over the girl’s beaming face.  In no time at all, though, Ace began to wriggle furiously and Beth put him down. “No, this way,” she tried to insist as it ran off in the opposite direction.

Ace paused at one of the outer tent flaps, flung her a look as it to say, “Well, come on! What are you waiting for?” and then proceeded to run back and forth without making a sound but persistently nibbling at her ankles.

“Ouch!” Beth cried out, but the dog only glared and continued its antics with increasing vigour. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

The dog squatted on its haunches, treated her to an ironic expression, and put its front paws together as if clapping. She’d have laughed, but for a warning look in the dog’s eyes. Of course I am. The sharp canine eyes conveyed a growing impatience, Are you stupid, or…what?

“You want me to follow you, is that it?” She could have sworn the little mongrel nodded. “But…the others,” she protested.

Never mind them. They must take care of themselves. We have more important things to do. Now, come on, a low growl seemed to say. Beth hesitated. Do you want to help Mulac or don’t you?

“Mulac…?” Beth checked herself.  This was ridiculous. How could she be having a conversation with a dog?  Yet, Mulac’s name rose unbidden in her head just as if Ace had spoken it aloud.

Ace promptly dropped on all fours and dived under the tent flap, without a backward glance, as if the matter was settled. Beth had to concede it was. Confused, puzzled and not a little frightened, she crawled under the incredibly lightweight folds in time to glimpse a patch of white flank disappearing into the gloom. She chased after it and thought she saw something move out of the corner of one eye. But it was too far away to be sure. Besides, it took all her concentration to make out the dog’s shadowy form zigzagging crazily through the scrub. Panting hard, she had to struggle to keep up.

Without any warning, the dog stopped and performed an adroit belly flop. Beth nearly trod on its tail and swore. As it was, she tripped and went flying… straight into Mulac’s open arms.  She was unprepared and instinctively opened her mouth to scream. His kiss silenced her, and it was a while before she broke free. “This is neither the time nor the place,” she mumbled and wished she sounded more disapproving. “How dare you!” she added somewhat belatedly.

“I knew you would come,” was all he said.

“I must be mad!” Beth’s self-confidence returned with her anger although against whom it was mostly directed, the Nu-gen or herself, she remained unsure.  Neither did she quite understand why they were talking in whispers.  “It’s not as if you couldn’t have tracked us down yourself,” she flung at him accusingly. “What happened to you anyway?” she demanded, partly out of genuine interest and part;y by way of keeping a moral high ground she felt in imminent danger of losing.

“I wish I knew!” Mulac groaned. His voice sounded hoarse to her ears and choked with uncharacteristic emotion.

Beth felt compelled to stand back and consider the Nu-gen more closely. Something about him made her uneasy.  He was the same, yet not the same.  The oval disc dangling from his neck had lost its shine. It had always reminded her of a wolf’s eye. Now it was as if the wolf had gone blind and no longer posed a threat.  Suddenly, she understood what it was about Mulac that had been missing before. But even as she put a name to it, she became more disturbed than ever. For the word that sprung to mind was vulnerability. Once a wolf, emanating an animal lust for life, the Nu-gen now seemed curiously…tame. “What’s wrong?” she asked gently.

Mulac hesitated then lifted one hand very slowly to his face. “I am blind,” he confessed with a simplicity that tore at Beth’s heart. Instinctively, she glanced at the wolf’s eye but dismissed the ironic comparison as pure fancy. She braced herself to look directly into the sightless eyes. They were, she realised for the first time, very beautiful. She wanted to gather him into her arms, but sensed an embrace would not be welcome a second time. Their reunion had been spontaneous, impulsive, an acknowledgement of feelings for one another that neither cared to look at too closely. He was Nu-gen. Such emotion was alien to him. And she was Bethany Martin from Tunbridge Wells. It occurred to her that perhaps his blindness was a warning to them both. Almost at once, she dismissed the thought as too fanciful and melodramatic for words. 

“Come on, we can’t hang around here.” She took his hand but he snatched it away. “Be practical, mule-head!” she railed at him, “Let me help you.”

“I am Nu-gen,” he stated flatly.

“You are blind,” she reminded him and was shocked by her own forthrightness.

Mulac said nothing and hung back a while before stretching out his hand. Beth, too, hesitated before taking it.  As she did so, she half-expected to be struck by lightning or something. But nothing happened. Moreover, she felt nothing. Not even pity stirred within her. Certainly, there was none of the passion that gripped her as she had responded to his clumsy kisses. Even so, it was good to feel the warmth and roughness of his hand in hers. She would have led him back the way she had come but Ace darted off in another direction.

“What is it?” growled Mulac. Beth explained. “Follow the dog,” he told her.

“But the others…” she prevaricated.

“He led you to me, didn’t he?”

“Yes, but…”

“Then he must know things.”

“He’s only a dog!”  Beth laughed.

“He knows things,” repeated Mulac, “We must follow him and find out what he knows.”

“But Mick and the others, they will be looking for me.”

“And they will find you when the time is right. Meanwhile, we follow the dog.”   Beth agonized, pitting instinct against emotion.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do.” She did not hesitate and he looked pleased.

“Good. We follow the dog.”

“If you say so,” she muttered without conviction.

“I do,” declared the Nu-gen in that same uncompromising tone that was guaranteed to make her hackles rise. Only, this time she took some perverse reassurance in the fact.  At least he was not full of self-pity. She could not have handled that.

As it happened, Ace led them to the spot where Beth had left the others, but by a roundabout route that meant nothing to her.  While the dog sniffed around, Beth and Mulac were glad to rest. Suddenly, Beth spotted something shiny on the ground. Bending to retrieve it, she recognized Mick’s key ring and gave a sharp cry.

“What is it?” Mulac leapt to his feet. She told him, close to tears.

“So he dropped it here. It proves nothing.”

“It was clipped to his belt. He left it here for me to find,” she insisted.

Mulac sniffed the air. “Krills have been here!”

“Oh, no, not again…!”  She burst into tears.  Mulac put an arm around her. “I hate this place, this…Mamelon!” she sobbed, “I hate it, I hate it!”

“It was not always like this,” he murmured into her hair. “One day, things will be as they should be and you will love it here.”

“I don’t think so!” she returned hotly. Mulac made no answer but squatted on the ground and rummaged in his knapsack to produce sticks of what she took to be liquorice for them to eat as well as a flask of vinre.

“Sit,” he told her brusquely, “A little food and drink make even bad times seem better.”

“I’m not hungry or thirsty,” she mumbled. It seemed no time at all since she had been tucking in with Mick and the others.

“Well, I am!” said the Nu-gen.  After watching him for a while, Beth had to concede he may have a point and accepted one of the liquorice sticks. It tasted delicious, not like liquorice at all but more like a tangy cheddar cheese. The vinre, too, helped calm her nerves. She looked for Ace, but the little dog was nowhere to be seen.

“What is the matter?” Mulac felt her tense beside him.

“Ace has gone!”

“He’ll be back.” The Nu-gen shrugged so matter-of-factly that it did not enter Beth’s head to doubt him.  She shivered in spite of the night air’s clammy heat. It was Mulac’s turn to tense. Then he put an arm around her and let her snuggle against his tunic. Neither spoke. Before long, she was asleep. But the Nu-gen brooded long into the night.

When he had stumbled in the mist, in agony from the humming noise piercing his eardrums, Mulac had not lost consciousness at once.  He tried to call out to the others, but no sound emerged from his lips as he engaged in a fruitless battle with mounting panic. Instinctively, he glanced behind at where the danger lay. A yellow fog was rolling through the mist like a hazy fireball, looming bigger and bigger as it bore down upon him. He had struggled to rise. But his left leg dragged on every muscle and he was forced to cower where he lay.  He was Nu-gen, he kept telling himself. Fear meant nothing to him. Yet, he understood only too well, that what gripped his heart in an iron fist was sheer terror.

The approaching horror had gathered pace and was about to swallow him whole. Staring annihilation in the face and powerless to defend himself, stories about his forefathers sprung to mind. Was this, he wondered, what it was like to lose one’s soul?  Nor did it seem strange to put the question even though, as Nu-gen, he had been reared to believe he had no soul to lose.  Suddenly, in his mind’s eye, he saw wolves. Wolves…?  A distant memory tugged at his mind.  “Who am I?” he asked himself without thinking.  All at once, he was distracted. A small dog appeared out of nowhere. It leapt at him before he had time to grasp its intention. Too weary even to be surprised, he rolled on his back. The dog landed on his stomach. The ball of fog was practically upon them. The dog growled. He only vaguely saw the animal take a defensive stance. Past caring, he shut his eyes and awaited the worst.

As he closed his eyes, the awful humming had ceased. Instantly, he began to feel like his old self. He felt the dog shift slightly where it still lay on his stomach but sensed  the immediate danger had passed. Experiencing a sensation like clammy fingers poking him all over, he had presumed the fog was upon them.  At the same time, terror gave way to an intuitive sense of its groping impotency.

Then he had opened his eyes and seen… nothing. He was blind.

Panic had welled within him again, its clawing fingers reminding him of the fog. Only, this was worse. He sensed the mist had thinned, maybe even lifted completely.  Why, oh why could he not see for himself?  The dog stirred.  Instinctively, he reached out, but it eluded his grasp and ran off.  Come back, he’d wanted to yell at the top of his voice.  Yet, although his lips moved, they made no sound. I will, don’t worry. He seemed to hear an answering call in his head and put it down to wishful thinking.

After a while, he had got shakily to his feet and taken a few tentative steps only to trip on something he took to be a fallen branch and go sprawling. For the first time in his life, he, Mulac, wept.

How long had lain there, hugging his misery as if it were the only meaningful thing left to him, he would never know.  A picture of Bethan, called Beth, floated into his mind’s eye and lingered. “Help me,” he heard himself sob and saw her so clearly that she might have been real.

“I’m coming!” The image of her lips had moved, and he knew it would not be long before she found him. The motherworlder’s lovely eyes had filled with tears and a passion equal to his own. He felt himself come alive again. Yet, how could this be? He was Nu-gen, and Nu-gen had no time for such things. Oh, they had feelings, of course they did. They knew about love, hate, jealousy… They could be happy, sad, and moved to run a whole gamut of feeling. Sometimes, they might even experience a special rapport with another in the tribe. But this fire, this passion, it was alien to Nu-gen. He feared it almost as much as he had feared the fog. But where he had dreaded the fog swallowing him whole, he would gladly give himself to this. Who am I to feel this way?” he demanded of his inner self and recalled asking himself the same question even as the ball of fog had caught up with him and proceeded to probe him, mind, body and spirit.

He had staggered to his feet and plunged resolutely into the darkness that was all that awaited him. In spite of his blindness, some deeper instinct came to his aid. He sensed he had nothing to fear so long as he kept the image of Bethan in his head and followed sounds in his ears, much like a dog barking, as if issuing directons. 

Safe now, Mulac looked down at the sleeping Bethan beside him and let the warmth and smell of her invade his remaining senses. So much so, he could not bear to sleep. Indeed, he put up a game fight. Inevitably, though, sleep won if disinclined to temper any victory with mercy.  “Ah-hhh…!” Mulac screamed, tossing and turning in a cold sweat.

“What the…?” Beth woke and had to struggle free of the Nu-gen’s grip on her arm. “Mulac, wake up!” His eyes flew open. Instantly, he relaxed his hold. The anguish of his expression at not being able to see cut her to the quick and helped her stay calm. “You were having a nightmare.” She wiped his face with her scarf.

“Nightmare?” he groaned.

“A bad dream….”

“Ah, yes!” Now he understood. “Strange, how asleep I can see and awake I cannot. Awake is like…being dead,” he said with a gentle irony that devastated her more than if he had ranted and raved. She fumbled awkwardly for something to say to reassure him, rejected various clichés and was relieved to hear a familiar barking.  “Ace..!” She scrambled to her feet. The dog bounded up to her, wagged his tail, cocked his head on one side then ran off again. “He wants us to follow,” she told Mulac.

“So, what are we waiting for?” The swarthy Nu-gen instinctively pushed Beth’s helping hand away. But his sense of balance left much to be desired and he was forced to reach out for it again.  He heaved himself up and would have withdrawn the hand, but she clutched his fingers tightly.

“Don’t you dare let go of my hand, do you hear? She told him. “You need me as much as I need you.  It may not suit either of us, but that’s life. Am I right or am I right?”

“You may have a point,” he conceded dryly and let her guide him. It took every last drop of willpower. He felt naked and humiliated. But what choice did he have? “Females!” he grumbled under his breath. Beth heard, gave his hand a gentle squeeze and was rewarded with a blast of muttered oaths.  They trudged on, Ace leading the way.

An early morning haze was already lifting by the time the unlikely trio reached the desert proper. Beth stopped, awe-struck. Ahead of them stretched an appalling expanse of red sand likely to intimidate the most formidable spirit. The barren landscape of Fah-y-Noor, Place of Skulls, was much as she imagined hell.

Ace ran ahead, jerkily, with numerous stops and starts. He would wait for them to catch up, and then dart off again, disappear beyond one of the numerous sandy dunes only to hare back in a short while, alternatively barking encouragement and growling with impatience.  Time passed slowly. The sand scorched the soles of their boots. Mulac had taken to placing his left hand upon her right shoulder as he padded, morosely, one step behind; to Beth, it felt like a ton weight.

Above, the sun glared with relentless ferocity. Inconsequentially, Beth found herself wondering yet again why Mamelon had two moons but only one sun. Just as well or we’d be fried alive for sure.  Several aryds swooped, made a low arc just above their heads and hovered like ghouls. “We must find shade and rest,” she gasped. They had been trudging for miles, surely?  Yet the far-off purple haze of mountains seemed no nearer than when she had last peered over the scarf tied around her face. Meanwhile a gritty dust continued to tear at the few exposed parts of her flesh like a swarm of vicious insects.

“No time,” Mulac, insisted “We must press on,” he panted. How could he tell her that there was no shade?  Surely she must know the flask of vinre in his pack did not hold infinite mouthfuls?  The Nu-gen grimaced.  He had crossed deserts before. But, this Hah-y-Noor, this was something else. Would they die in this terrible place, he wondered? Do I care? Of course he cared! And, no, we are not going to die. He was sure of it. All at once, without quite knowing why, he felt elated.  In his mind’s eye, an inviting cameo appeared. He saw a steady stream of water among a cluster of rocks trickling into a grassy patch shaped like the palm of a hand. “This way!” he cried.  Dropping his hand from Beth’s shoulder, he hastened ahead. It was his turn to lead, and he did so without flinching.

“What are you doing?” Beth cried and ran after him.

“Trust me.”

“But…you’re blind!

“Take my hand, there is a sand storm coming.”

“You’re mad!”

“Probably,” Mulac agreed. He waited for her to catch up and then grabbed her arm.  Exasperatedly, Beth shook herself free.  Suddenly, the storm struck and she could not see Mulac at all even though he was standing right next to her.  He groped for her hand and this time she knew better than to pull away. She resisted, however, as the Nu-gen attempted to lead her through the swirling red sand. “We should wait until the storm passes!” she yelled.

“By then we’ll be dead,” he shouted back. Beth began to panic. By now she was utterly confounded and as blind as he. Battered by wind, grit and sand, she screamed above the awful cacophony, “We should wait for Ace. He’ll find us, I know he will!”

“Do you want to be found alive or dead? Trust me,” he repeated.

How can I? she would have retorted had a powerful gust not almost flung her to the ground. Sand poured into her mouth, gagging her. Mulac made no answer but dragged her to her feet and pulled her after him. Beth submitted, resigned to going along with this…utter madness.

Mulac headed for the fist-shaped rocks. So vivid were they in his mind’s eye that he was convinced they were no illusion. How he could be so sure when he had never passed this way before was beyond his understanding. He only knew that he was right. Bowing his head against the sand, he battled on, thankful that Bethan had decided to co-operate.  Suddenly, the ground became much firmer albeit still belching grit and sand.  He paused and peered ahead with sightless eyes that were smarting terribly and ‘saw’ a promontory just ahead. Shelter... He tried to hurry, but it made no difference. Progress was agonizingly slow. 

Finally, they made it. The desert floor sloped sharply, propelling them into a niche of rocks that formed a small cave just big enough to allow two exhausted refugees from the storm to crawl inside.  Immediately above them, a jutting rock wagged an impotent finger at the desert’s blood-red fury.

In such a confined space, the bedraggled pair had no choice but to lie down. Both welcomed an excuse to press tightly against the other. Neither, though, was proof against the onslaught of raw emotion that reared and fell upon them like a pack of hungry wolves.

They made love.

Eventually, they slept and it was Mulac who woke first although he closed his eyes again almost upon opening them. The fragrance of Beth’s hair under his chin triggered memories of their lovemaking. In spite of a raging thirst, he managed a grin. No female had ever satisfied him better or made him feel so…complete.

Complete? The Nu-gen played with it on his tongue. It sounded strange, yet apt. Then the silence hit him like a sledgehammer and he gave a long sigh of relief. The storm must have passed.  A warm wetness began stroking his face, now tickling his nose. Recognizing its source, the Nu-gen opened his eyes and reached out for the little canine. Well done, the dog seemed to say, wagging its tail and waking Beth. 

“Ace..!”  Beth was even more delighted than Mulac to see the little mongrel again.

“What’s that?” Mulac pricked up his ears.

“It sounds like…” Beth strained to hear.

“Running water...!” Mulac leapt to his feet and sent the dog flying. Ace did not seem to mind in the least and led the way, barking loudly, to a clutch of rocks nearby that closely resembled the fingers of a hand. Into a tiny indentation, not unlike a child’s palm, dripped a steady trickle of water. There was only room for one at a time. Beth expected Mulac to go first. Uncharacteristically, he hung back.  She promptly knelt down and cupped her hands although she did not drink immediately but lifted her precious load to the Nu-gen’s quivering lips. The wolf’s eye around his neck glinted in the sunlight as if winking. It crossed Beth’s mind that the wolf approved of her and she found the whimsy oddly comforting. Then she lay flat again and drank her fill before assisting Mulac to take her place.

“We have wasted enough time,” growled Mulac. “Fill the flasks with water then we must leave. Whatever waits for us in the Purple Mountains will not wait forever,” he added with a certainty he could not explain. He pointed. “There is an underground stream we can follow. Since it has not dried up completely, it may well continue to provide water.”

Beth looked where he pointed but saw nothing. “How can you possibly know that? Besides, you’re…”

“Blind, yes. Thank you for reminding me,” he said scathingly. “Do not ask me to explain for I cannot. Yet, in my mind’s eye, I see what I see. You can trust me, or…” He shrugged and proceeded to scramble over some rocks ahead. However, she saw that he did so with none of the sureness of someone with normal vision. She pursed her lips. Mulac may well see whatever it was he thought he could see, but that certainly wasn’t everything. She finished filling the leather flasks and then hurried after him, grabbing his hand as he stumbled.  He snatched it away. “I am not a child. I do not need you to hold my hand,” he snapped.

“Well, I do!” Beth retorted.

“Huh!” was all Mulac said but the way his fingers entwined with hers and gave them a gentle squeeze belied the Nu-gen’s surly manner. Beth’s heart skipped a beat and she was almost glad he couldn’t see her face.

But Beth was mistaken. Mulac could ‘see’ her face clearly.  It was uncanny, this inner vision. By now, he was almost accustomed to it. Once the initial shock had worn off, he’d quickly adapted.  He did not accept it, and never would. At the same time, common sense dictated he must resign himself to the condition, for now at any rate. Nor had it taken long before he began to appreciate how this lack of normal sight was no ordinary disability. On the contrary, he had the strongest sense that it was a gift.  But, .how, why?  To add to his confusion, a voice inside his head insisted that no external forces had imposed this blindness upon him. Rather, this inner vision had been summoned. Should he feel reassured or take it as a warning? “This is madness,” he muttered, not for the first time. He shook his black mane and set his jaw resolutely. Whatever, if the weird phenomenon saw them safely across Fah-y-Noor, he supposed they must be grateful.

The pair set off again. Neither mentioned their lovemaking, nor were their thoughts ever far from it.

To be continued

Mamelon - Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Where were they taking you?” Pers asked Kirin.

“To the Purple Mountains if we are to believe what they were saying among themselves,” the elf replied and shuddered at the memory.

“Do not believe all you hear,” growled Mulac.

“Brrr…!” Beth shivered. Was it her imagination or was the mist growing as cold as it was clinging?  A cloud seemed to be forming around them that seemed separate from the main body of mist. She shrugged. It must be her imagination. Even so, the clothes she wore, snug enough until now, no longer seemed to offer the same protection.

“Run! Run for your lives!” shouted Pers suddenly, “The mist, it means us harm!”  The alarm in his voice brooked no argument, but the same question on all their lips begged an answer.

“Why?” Mick demanded.

“By Ri, he’s right!” yelled Mulac, inwardly taking himself to task. Why hadn’t he seen it himself?  But there was no time to worry about that now. “Run, all of you!” He grabbed Beth’s hand and ran through a break in the swirling cloud. 

Although the possessive manner in which the Nu-gen assumed charge of Beth irked Mick no end, his better instincts warned him to follow close behind.  The elves did the same. Ricci, castigating himself for not recognizing Dark Magic when it was being literally shoved in his face, brought up the rear, although no lhastily for that.  He tried to think of a warding spell against the mist, failed miserably, and concentrated instead upon keeping the fleeing shadows ahead in view. The elves and Mulac were not his concern. They must fend for themselves. But the Master would never forgive him if he lost the motherworlders yet again.

Pers overtook Mulac and led the way, twisting and turning through the mist while the cloud chased after them like a huge white ball. Yes, chased. They all felt it. The faster they ran, the more furiously it licked at their heels. Mulac was content, for now, to let Pers take the lead. The elf, at least, seemed to have some sense of direction where he, Mulac, had none. Ricci found time to ask himself how the elf had become aware of the danger they were in before he did but promptly cast the question to the back of his mind for future reference; this was definitely not the time. The ‘thing’ was plainly targeting them. More to the point, it was gaining on them. Everyone sensed it. Irina held on tightly to Kirin’s hand. Mick, panting managed if only just to keep pace with Mulac. Beth, glad of Mulac’s hand in hers, struggled to keep up. All were almost glad to be running as it left them less time to feel afraid.

As he ran, Mulac heard a shrill humming in his head that grew steadily worse. Eventually, he let go of Beth and raised both hands to his ears.  He began to fall behind the others. By now, the pain in his head was so excruciating he could hardly see what little the mist permitted. Beth barely registered the fact that Mick had slipped a hand in hers and taken the Nu-gen’s place. It seemed natural enough, and she was frightened.  She simply assumed that Mulac was close by.

The mist began to thin. Was it his imagination, Mick wondered, or was the air getting warmer too? It was still cold, certainly, but less bitingly so than before. He shook his head. A faint humming noise in his ears had been a source of irritation for some time although not so much the noise itself as the sound it made. It resembled a familiar tune played badly; try as he might, though, he could not place it.

If slightly less chilled to the marrow, the exhausted fugitives felt no safer for that and kept on running.  Soon, the mist cleared completely. Even so, the sun radiated only a muddy light and little enough heat penetrated a flurry of tawny clouds.   They reached a small clearing among various rocks and scrub interspersed with pools of red sand that would give way soon enough to a vast sea of red just ahead.  Beth stumbled and fell, dragging Mick after her.

The elves and Ricci, recognizing that any immediate danger had passed and the motherworlders needed to rest, waited patiently.  Beth lay exhausted, on the ground. She drifted in and out of consciousness for some time before finally grasping that the ball of mist was no longer pursuing them and they were safe. “What happened?” she gasped to the figure sprawled beside her. She was glad it was Mick and felt reassured. At the same time, she was vaguely shocked to discover it was not Mulac. A spasm of unease passed through her weary body. Reluctant though she was to tear her gaze from Mick’s familiar grin, she looked around anxiously for the Nu-gen. “Where’s Mulac?”

No one answered her. Everyone looked nervously at each other, unable or unwilling to speak. Even Mick looked away.

“It must have got him,” said Kirin at last.

“But that’s…impossible,” she tried to protest but could only manage a hoarse whisper.

“Oh, but surely not…?  Nu-gen may be a crude people but they are as tough as old boots!” Pers tried to sound optimistic.

“There must be another explanation,” Beth agreed, amazed she could stay so calm, outwardly at leasr. Inwardly, she was distraught. Mulac had left his tribe because of her, after all. She felt responsible. In vain, she tried to ignore just how attached to the surly Nu-gen she had become.

“Mulac can look after himself. We must be moving on,” Ricci announced with a confidence he was far from feeling.

“But…we can’t just leave him to…that,” Beth gasped.

“I know, but…Well, what choice do we have?” Irina was sympathetic. 

“None,” said Kirin, “Ricci is right, we must move on.”

“We must go back. He may be hurt!” Beth was close to tears.

“No way!” exclaimed Mick. “It’s hard luck on what’s-its name…”

“Mulac,” prompted Beth angrily.

“Yes, well, poor old Mulac. But these things happen. The others are right. We’ve got to press on. Bloody hellfire, Beth, I want to find my brother and get out of this place! Don’t you?”  Mick challenged her directly. Tears pricked his eyes. He would have dearly liked to say more. Instead, a scornful look from Beth left him speechless. He turned a deathly pale and involuntarily succumbed to a coughing fit.

“Mulac is Nu-gen,” said Pers quietly. “If he is alive, he will find us. If he is dead, the tribe will come for his body. We must go on.” He approached Beth and placed both hands on her shoulders. “Much is at stake here. We have no time to waste.”

“Oh, and since when was helping friend in need a waste of time?” Beth made no attempt to conceal her bitterness. The elf neither replied nor looked away. She held the searching gaze with a defiance that began to wane as the large, liquid eyes instilled in her a growing sense of peace.  Even as her flagging spirits soared to new heights, they perpetuated a profound sadnessw.  Yet, it was bearable, the sadness.  In those few seconds she achieved an intimate rapport with the elf in the course of which all things became possible although none would be denied. 

Suddenly, Beth had a flash of intuition. Whatever this place, this Mamelon, held in store for her, she must bow to a greater wisdom, or fate, whatever. She shrugged. It hardly mattered, surely? “I belong here,” she murmured incredulously. Only Pers heard, thought he understood and returned her perplexed look with a shy smile. “Let’s go,” she heard herself say and strode off ahead of the others.

A much relieved Ricci followed briskly, but not before taking Mick firmly by the arm.  He needed to keep an eye on young Michal, he told himself. Not only was the motherworlder dragging his feet but was also plainly preoccupied with Beth’s extraordinary reaction to the Nu-gen’s disappearance. As if anyone ever gave a hoot for Nu-gen, for Ri’s sake!  At the same time, a seventh sense told him they hadn’t heard the last of Mulac. He was Etta’s charge, after all, and she was no mean force to be reckoned with. “I’ll say!” he muttered to no one in particular.

The elves hung back. “When the time comes, it will be just us three,” grumbled Kirin. “You heard the motherworlder. He wishes he had never come to Mamelon.  As for the female, she is his woman and must feel the same.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Irina retorted, “Females have minds of their own, too, you know.”

Kirin ignored her. “I tell you, my friends, this journey is ill conceived.”

“No one asked you to come,” Irina reminded him.

“You may be right,” conceded Pers gravely, “But these motherworlders are elf friends. I cannot believe they would willingly abandon us or wish us any harm. There is more than Dark Magic abroad. Can you not feel it?  Other forces surround us. Good or bad, only time will tell. Meanwhile, we must trust each other and stay together. That way, at least, we stand a chance of survival. Or we may never see Gar again…” His voice broke.

“If you say so,” said Kirin ungraciously before adding, “I, too, miss our beloved forest!”

“We all do.” Irina gave him a friendly hug, but he misunderstood the kindly gesture and held her tightly, not ever wanting to let go. He clung to her. The sound of her heart beating against his tunic was like music to his ears and her sweet breath on his face more intoxicating than any woodland perfume. “Come,” she said, and gently but surely urged him after the others.

  It was a deeply troubled Pers who watched them go. He sighed.  Among all the dark powers abroad in Mamelon, he continued to suspect that unrequited love was not the least they should fear. “What will be, will be,” he told a passing doolie but found little consolation in philosophy and hurried, with loping strides, to catch up and overtake them. 

 At last, they reached the edge of the desert itself. An amber twilight greeted them as they regrouped. All were cold, tired and hungry. Ricci promptly conjured up shelter, food and hot baths.

Mick regarded the huge tent with a mixture of relief and dismay. “Won’t the krills spot that a mile away?”

“Not unless their eyesight has improved considerably,” said Ricci in an injured tone, “Naturally, I have taken the precaution of warding us from prying eyes.”

“Not like the last time then?” Mick glared.

Ricci looked suitably abashed, but urged them to make the most of their opportunity. “Once in this wretched desert, who knows? Fah-y-Noor is unpredictable, to say the least. It has been known to thwart even the best magic!” 

“You wouldn’t be covering your back, of course?” Mick was unimpressed. But everyone laughed, and it helped ease the tension. Ricci promptly went into a sulk and disappeared into one of the tent’s various compartments.

Even Mick had to admit that, as a provider of home comforts, Ricci had once again excelled himself. Everyone was soon feeling refreshed and, outwardly at least, in good humour.  Beth sat slightly aloof from the others. Is she still brooding about Mulac, Mick wondered?  But Irina was pressing against him and he avoided Beth’s eye as the elf girl slipped a hand in his and snuggled closer.  Was Beth attracted to the Nu-gen? But that’s impossible, surely? Yet, this whole, bizarre situation is impossible so, why not?  Out of the corner of one eye, he saw Beth glance his way. Defiantly, he put an arm around Irina and drew her closer.  Her tongue stroked his ear lobe. He felt flattered, there was no use denying it. Nor could he quite ignore the lust fermenting in his loins as the ball of one velvety finger continued, indiscreetly, to stroke the back of his hand.

Any satisfaction Mick took from the elf girl’s attentions soon dissolved when he chanced looking at Beth. She was aware of the elf girl’s interest in him, he was certain. But her face was expressionless as if she didn’t even appear to mind.  Then his eyes met Kirin’s. Mick winced, experienced a rush of irrational spite and deliberately leaned across and nuzzled Irina’s hair. Kirin’s gaze darkened.  But Mick was too angry with Beth to care that if looks could kill the elf would have seen to it he dropped dead on the spot. He saw Pers lean and whisper in his friend’s ear. Kirin seemed to relax and turned his attention again to Ricci who had been amusing them all with various tricks.

Suddenly, Beth got up and left the room without a word.

Magic was second nature to Ricci. Such minor feats as these were meant only to amuse. Indeed, he was flattered the elves stayed to watch. Any distraction better than none, he wryly surmised. For he was not indifferent to the tensions he strived to ease. Pers, he decided, could be trusted to keep an eye on things as far as the Kirin-Irina-Michal triangle was concerned. He rather liked Pers. This was surprising since he was wary of elves.  Who isn’t, for Ri’s sake?  No, it was Bethan who worried him the most. She seemed preoccupied. He guessed that she continued to brood about Mulac although, for the life of him, could not understand why.

 Pers, too, found Beth’s behaviour incomprehensible. He hadn’t liked having to abandon the Nu-gen to his fate, but they had no choice. Besides, it was one thing to place a value on life but quite another to risk one’s own, especially for a Nu-gen. In the motherworld tongue, he began to reflect, Nu-gen would translate into No-Person. Considered among the lowest forms of life, it summed up the nomads perfectly. Certainly, they were expendable.

One of many tales surrounding them told how the first Nu-gen tribe was a band of druids who broke away from the Old Order and proclaimed themselves gods. They travelled all over, demonstrating a powerful magic. Most life forms stayed true to Ri but others handed over all their possessions for the privilege of being taken into the heathen fold. Their ranks swelled. The chief druid, Ca-an, grew so despairing that he sought the aid of Ri, Himself, to remove their souls one night while they slept. The rebels were thus robbed of all their power and, with it, any credibility.  Thereafter, they were despised and shunned everywhere they went.

The elf blinked back a tear. The story was one he had learned at his mother’s knee. Homesickness rose like bile in his throat. Then one of Ricci’s amusing tricks made him smile and he began to unwind again. It was a curiously entertaining experience, albeit a queer one, to see magic used for frivolous purposes. Elves liked to play, of course. But magic…magic was something to be taken seriously.  It surprised him that he was not in the least offended by such trivia. 

Some time later, Kirin casually remarked that Beth had not returned, looking directly at Mick as he spoke. Mick rose to the bait, got up, and left the room. Irina flung Kirin a look of fury that spoke volumes to everyone else. Ricci hastily contrived to avoid a battle royal with a new trick he hadn’t practised much but which worked so well that everyone clapped.

 “Beth’s gone!” Mick burst back into the room, “You said we were protected!” He glared at Ricci, and then hurled himself at the bemused magician. Both went flying. Mick’s hand fastened around the little man’s neck.  The elves looked on, too astonished to move. Ricci almost choked but managed to splutter a changing spell and got it right first time. Sliding out of the motherworlder’s stranglehold in the form of a snake, he barely had time to congratulate himself before the alarm was raised a second time.

 “Krills!” yelled Pers as the tent instantly vanished and they were standing in a small clearing that offered no protections. Besides, the elf’s warning came too late. Mick fought like a demon. The elves, too, gave an excellent account of themselves. But they were outnumbered and never stood a chance. Not for the first time, Irina fretted that elven magic was useless outside Gar. Soon, the scaly creatures had overwhelmed all four.

 The krill leader, Radik, stepped forward and regarded them with a malevolent grin. No one paid much attention to a reptile about the size of a grass snake slithering here and there like a thing demented. Eventually, it slid under the tent and wriggled off into a forbidding landscape that offered small refuge and was unlikely to give poor Ricci sanctuary for long.

 “So, snarled Radik, “We meet again, my lovely…” leering at Irina as he ripped open her tunic and placed both scaly hands on her breasts.

 “Don’t touch her, you ugly brute!” cried Mick, mortified. Radik swung round angrily. Another krill held him in an iron grip and there was no way Mick could avoid Radik’s fist in his face. Blood spurted from his mouth and he was sure his jaw must be broken.  Another rain of blows followed in swift succession. His body went limp. Seconds before he drifted into unconsciousness, he felt his captor hurl him, cackling, to the ground. 

 Irina opened her mouth to hurl abuse at Radik but an instinct for survival prevailed. Instead, she concentrated on the prostrate motherworlder. Dear Ri, don’t let him die, she prayed silently before chancing a glance at Pers, in poor enough shape himself, for support. But her brother was regarding Kirin with undisguised dismay.  The smaller elf was glaring, teeth bared, not at the krill leader but at the unmoving heap on the ground. 

 Kirin recovered his composure quickly enough, blushed crimson when he saw that he was observed and visibly shrunk from Irina’s contemptuous expression.

 Radik looked from one to the other of his captives, saw the joke, threw back his scaly head, and let rip with a roar of harsh, guttural laughter. 

To be continued

Mamelon - Chapters 13 and 14

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Below Lunis, City of Moons, in the heart of the southern territories of Mamelon, Ragund, the Dark Mage, sprinkled a few grains of red dust into a flickering flame. All at once, it flared ceiling high, sending out not only a heat that would have reduced a lesser being to ashes but also a power surge that flung him across the room.

Sprawled in one corner, and in spite of an excruciating back pain, the Dark Mage recovered quickly, throwing up a hand to shield his eyes from the glare. By now, the flame was a sheet of fluorescent white light. Peering between blackened fingers, Ragund could only gaze in disbelief at the imprint upon it of features unseen and unheard of in Mamelon for motherworld centuries. “Michal!” he gasped.

This spectre of the murdered Ruler did not trouble the Dark Mage for long, however.  Michal the Great was dead. Of far greater concern to Ragund was the source of the power surge. The young-old face gave vent simultaneously to feelings of fury and relish. It hardly mattered, for now, that the mighty flame died as suddenly as it had reared, the vision with it. For one thing he understood only too well. There were forces abroad in Mamelon that he had only suspected until now.

The light of battle flared in snake-like eyes. “Astor!”  Ragund’s fiendish expression broke into a gleeful smirk. “So…” he hissed, “you break cover at last, oh self-styled Mage of Mages!”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“You will go that way,” said Etta.

 “Oh, no, not Fah-y-Noor!” protested Ricci.

The magela had used a stick to sketch a rough map on the earthen floor of Mulac’s tent. Now she looked up and nodded mildly. Her relaxed expression was deceptive. Mulac recognized it at once and bit his lip. His mother meant business. To argue would only be a waste of everyone’s time.

“That desert is accursed!” Ricci wailed “The Dragon Hills are much safer. I’m only thinking of them,” he added, glancing at Mulac and Beth who were earnestly studying the crude map. A shade too earnestly, thought Etta, and her heart missed a beat. But she forced herself to concentrate on their present danger. It would not do, she told herself, not for the first time either, to confuse the gift of Sight with mere anticipation.

“The Dragon Hills woild take too long to cross….” Etta was unmoved by Ricci’s pleading look, “…and time is short,” she reminded her old friend.

“Nu-gen have crossed deserts before,” growled Mulac.

“Not like this one, they haven’t!” declared Ricci, “I’ll say! Anyway, Bethan is not Nu-gen? We have to think of her too,” he argued. He did not like this Mulac character one bit. “Fah-y-Noor is no ordinary desert. Not for nothing is it called the Place of Skulls. Better by far to play safe and arrive in one piece, surely? The Dragon Hills have my vote,” he repeated stubbornly. But he knew the look in Etta’s eyes.  It was a forgone conclusion that he would be outvoted.

“Safe, pah…!” Mulac spat on the floor with such derision that Ricci’s hackles went into orbit.

“How dare you! I am only thinking of the female. Someone has to, for Ri’s sake!”

Mulac curled his lip and looked set to heap more abuse on the indignant Ricci.

Etta opened her mouth to intervene, but Beth beat her to it. “I can take care of myself!” She was furious. “I’m a match for the pair of you any day!” she fumed, “After all, I’m from the motherworld, aren’t I?” The challenge itself astonished her only marginally less than whatever native impulse prompted it.  But she held each startled gaze coolly enough, stoically ignoring the fact that her insides had turned to jelly.  She was not afraid of these people or this Fah-y-Noor that was scaring the wits out of Ricci.  What did frighten her was the strength of feeling rising in her like a tidal wave as the urgency of their situation struck home. Although the true nature of that urgency continued to elude her, warning bells were ringing in her head as if tolling that time was against them.  She, Bethany Martin, would do well to heed the warning.  However absurd, she would play whatever part she must in all this. Nor was she about to let any sexist nonsense stand in her way.

“Bethan speaks the truth.” Etta’s smile was as broad as it was genuine. Ricci shrugged. Mulac scowled at all three in turn and stormed out of the tent. “You must forgive Mulac. He is unused to females who speak as they find,” murmured the magela and looked from Ricci to Beth with a twinkle in each eye.

“You wouldn’t dream of it, of course,” muttered Ricci whose petulant frown amused both women.

“I am The Magela,” Etta pointed out, laughing. At the same time, it struck Beth as faintly odd that she hadn’t said, “I am his mother.”

Not long afterwards, the three set off on horseback. The shaggy creatures reminded Beth of ponies she and her father had once rode on holiday one summer although, where they had barely gone at a steady trot, these were as fleet of foot as the finest horses. She refused to cry. Even so, she missed her dad terribly and brooded for some time about the ups and downs, twists and turns, their lives had taken since the death of her mother only a few years ago. What would he make of her now, she wondered? Get a grip girl, she could almost hear him say, Get a grip… It made her chuckle and she felt much better for that.

Mulac’s expression grew surlier than ever. He tried to dismiss the motherworld female from his thoughts and concentrate on the task in hand. Ri alone knew what they might find in the Purple Mountains, assuming they survived the desert. He may have been scornful of that idiot, Ricci, but he, too, had heard stories to make the blood run cold. Consequently, even Nu-gen avoided Fah-y-Noor. Only, his blood did not run cold. On the contrary, he relished the challenge. Adrenalin flowed like fast-flowing lava through his veins.  A heat on him brought sweat to his brow. Nor was Bethan, called Beth, ever far from his thoughts.

Ricci was fed-up. He hated riding. It was an extremely cumbersome way to travel. He would have much preferred to fly. It had crossed his mind to invoke a changing spell upon his companions whereupon barking noises in his head reminded him that their untrained minds would not be in the least receptive.  Oh, what a pity. He sighed. The animal beneath him pricked up its ears, and to his annoyance slowed to a near halt.  A light kick against the flank designed to spur the beast on, had the opposite effect. It promptly came to a complete standstill.

They had reached a sloping expanse of bush that formed one wall of the wasteland basin called Fah-y-Noor. Beth recalled the magela’s map. To one side of them stretched the tail of the Dragon Hills; on the other, an area of rocky terrain that formed the dragon’s head. Ahead of them lay sheer desert. Beyond that, a purple haze flirted with the horizon…their goal.

The rock formation that grew into what resembled a dragon’s head held a queer fascination for Beth.  Involuntarily, she shivered. The others made no allusion to it. No wonder, she mused, for she had a sense of the unspeakable. A deeper intuition warned her to close her mind to it so she did. But feelings of dread stayed with her and a chill settled on her heart.

“Why have we stopped?” growled Mulac.

“The horses seem to think they know better than us,” declared Ricci.

The mist had worsened. Immediately ahead, a clump of trees rose like ghostly fingers.

“Listen!” Beth urged her companions.

They strained their ears and heard nothing for a while, and then voices.

“Look, a fire!” Mulac kept his voice low while pointing to a faint light not too far ahead.

All three dismounted.

“We should investigate,” said Ricci without taking a step.

“I’ll go,” Mulac volunteered and gestured for the others to stay put.

Ricci heaved a sigh of relief. “Don’t do anything rash,” he felt obliged to say. There was simply no telling with Nu-gen, and this one struck him as a particularly impetuous sort. “I mean, there’s no point in asking for trouble,” he added and sensed Beth’s unspoken rebuke. Mulac ignored him.

“Be careful,” murmured Beth with mixed emotions she had no wish to examine too closely. But if Mulac heard, he gave no sign.

Mulac had heard. Moreover, his heart beat all the faster for the note of genuine concern in her voice. There was no time now, however, to mull over its effect on him.  As he approached the trees, the voices became clearer. He recognized a cackling sound that might have been laughter or chanting. “Krills!” he swore under his breath. Only once before had he ever encountered krills, and that was long ago. It was not an experience he had any wish to repeat.  They had taken him prisoner and it was by no small miracle that he’d escaped.  Such was the extent of his shame that he had never revealed it to a living soul, not even Etta. 

Mulac’s scalp prickled. He swore again, mutely this time. It took a little while for his eyes to get used to a shadow play on the wall of mist, a band of chanting krills slowly moving around a small campfire, its flames licking at their scales. He edged closer until he lay sprawled on his belly at the outermost edge of the circle. They were just as he remembered them; evil personified, their rainbow scales a travesty of all things beautiful. Inside the circle, their terror almost tangible in faces hideously distorted by the flames, two bound captives were plainly visible. “Elves…!” He could not suppress a cry then bit his lip, tasted blood on his tongue and hastily gave silent thanks to Ri that any sound must surely be drowned by the chanting.

Mulac felt physically sick. It was incredible enough that elves had ventured outside the Forest of Gar, let alone been taken captive by krills seemingly bent upon crossing Fah-y-Noor of all places. But he knew only too well the horrors that must be passing through their minds.  They would have been told, of course, that one of them was to be burned alive as soon as the chanting stopped, but not who. No wonder they looked terrified. Even so, the Nu-gen reflected grimly, whoever was chosen would be the lucky one.  The other would be made to watch, carrying sight and sounds in his or her head while the krills devised other hideous playtimes. Death, when it came, would be a blessed relief.

A fit of trembling came over Mulac. Now and then, in their travels, his tribe had chanced upon the descendants of those taken by krills for slaves. Most were hideously deformed and many spoke only gibberish. All had been used for sport, their lives spared only because it would have been kinder to let them die. Of these, only one had appeared almost normal and stayed with the tribe for several lifetimes. His name was Tol and he never spoke. One day, Tol disappeared without trace. Mulac sighed. He had liked Tol. They had become friends in spite of the fact that Nu-gen, by their very nature, did not easily form bonds outside the tribe. 

A picture of Bethan, called Beth, passed across his inner vision.  Mulac shook his head in disbelief. How could he indulge in personal thoughts at such a time?

Meanwhile, Irina fought off a growing nausea, and with difficulty since she had only ever tried on the occasional whim, attempted mind contact with Kirin. Help is near. I can feel a presence. But Kirin only moaned. To be bound hand and foot was a torture beyond all imagining for an elf. Her thought probe barely scratched the surface of his misery.

Suddenly, the chanting stopped. The krills, too, halted abruptly in their tracks. No one spoke. Nothing moved. Even the flames seemed little more than a pattern of sorts on the wall of mist closing in.      

Now, before it is too late, Irina screamed in her head to the same invisible presence, daring to hope that it might prove more than wishful thinking. The krills had grouped in a semi-circle and were closing in. It was impossible to tell upon whom their beady eyes fastened the longer, herself or Kirin. Please, she begged.

Mulac pulled the knife from his belt. To charge the krills would be madness. But what else can I do? His only hope of rescuing the elves turned on the element of surprise. He braced himself, and was poised to spring when he heard a sound behind him. He swung round, knife drawn, and had poor Beth pinioned to the ground in seconds. “You fool!” he hissed.

“I thought you might need some help,” she whispered, eyeing the blade at her throat with alarm. He promptly sheathed it, put a finger to his lips and gestured for her to stay put.

“If things go badly, return to Ricci and travel by way of the Dragon Hills,” he murmured. Before she had fully grasped his intention or even had time to peer into the clearing herself, he had gone.

It inspired Mulac to know Beth was watching. Uttering a bloodcurdling war cry, he ran into the mist exhorting his non-existent troops to battle. “Kill, kill, kill…!” he yelled. It seemed to work. The krills scattered, leaving a way free for him to reach the captives. Rapidly, he untied the male. But before he had quite finished, the elf let out a warning shout.  Mulac did not hesitate, twisting his body to confront the enemy. One of the krills whom he took to be their leader was about to spear  him.

While Mulac and the krill fought, Kirin hastily finished freeing himself and gave all his attention to Irina.

“Help him!” Irina cried but Kirin ignored her and continued to tug at her bonds. Meanwhile, more krills were emerging from the mist. For some reason, they did not attack at once but grouped around their leader. 

Mulac and Radik parried thrust for thrust. The Nu-gen knew he had to aim for the krill’s eyes. No knife could penetrate the protective scales.  Unwittingly, he allowed the krill leader to force him into making a turn so that his back was to the others. In seconds, he was grabbed from behind.  Radik rushed forward, the point of his blade at the Nu-gen’s Adam’s apple.  At the same time, he glimpsed a shadowy figure over the krill’s shoulder that leapt amd brought Radik sprawling to the ground.  Mulac lunged backwards with his foot, catching a krill off guard that was about to plunge a knife in his back and sending it flying. Others closed in. Mulac fought like a wolf. The stranger fought with equal vigour. Mulac, fighting off several krills at once, had no time to wonder who he was only to reflect, fleetingly, that he was plainly no elf. 

Things were not looking good for them.

Just as it seemed inevitable they must be overpowered, help came from an unexpected quarter. A series of what appeared to be bolts of lightning,  but could not have been because they did not strike from above and were aimed directly at the krills,  came from all directions. Instinctively, the krills fell back and spread out. The lightning followed them.  One by one, they dropped to the ground, screaming in agony. Some managed to pick themselves up and stagger off into the mist. Others lay dead or stunned where they fell.

Mulac and the stranger exchanged glances, instinctively understood one another and ran back to the bemused captives. Mulac grabbed Kirin’s arm. Seeing that the stranger had seized Irina’s hand, he gestured for them to follow and ran back to where Beth was waiting with baited breath.

Beth ran to the Nu-gen and flung her arms around his neck. Suddenly, he felt her tense against him. “Mick!” she shouted. He heard an answering cry of joy as she pushed him away with such force that he stumbled and almost fell.  Recovering his balance almost instantly, he swung round in time to see her caught up in the stranger’s arms. Mulac caught his breath sharply. How can this be? His comrade-in-arms was yet another motherworlder.

Another sharp intake of breath, this time from Irina, caused Mulac to take in the bedraggled elves. The male looked merely relieved. The female, on the other hand, was observing the two motherworlders embrace with a strained expression that was not, he suspected, entirely due to recent events.

“I am Mulac,” he introduced himself.

“I’m Mick.” Mick stuck out his hand while keeping one arm around Beth, “and these are Kirin and Irina.”

“Huh, Nu-gen!” snorted Kirin.

“He means, thank you for saving our lives,” said Irina. Kirin had the grace to blush, but said nothing.

 “Are the others with you?” Beth was asking Mick when a slight figure emerged from the mist.

“Show’s over, I see. Well done, young Michal! I’ll say!” He pointedly avoided any allusion to the Nu-gen.

“Ricci…!”  Briefly forgetting that he blamed him for everything, Mick broke free from Beth and ran to greet the cone headed little man.

“It certainly has its uses, this thing you left with me!” commented another voice somewhat dryly. A tall shadow stepped out of the mist and took on a familiar shape.

“Pers…!” It was Irina’s turn to express relief and delight as she ran into her brother’s open arms.

“This is my friend Pers,” said Mick. “Irina is his sister,” he added, and then, “The elves will take us to the Purple Mountains.”

“What do elves know of what lies beyond the Forest of Gar?” Mulac snorted conmtemptuously. “I am the leader here.”

“It is this druid thing that leads us, I’m thinking,” said Pers and eagerly handed the puli back to Mick. “It slept in my hand. Suddenly, it woke and began shooting fire. I could not control it.”

“Probably just as well,” commented Mick dryly. He barely gave the puli a second glance, however, except to note with relief that it still let out its guiding light. He tensed, nor as this entirely down to any prospect of the krills regrouping or sending for reinforcements. He had seen the way Irina looked at Beth. Thrilled though he was to be reunited with Beth, and still on something of a high after the skirmish, he sensed they were in for trouble of a very different kind.

Beth’s instincts told her much the same. It hadn’t taken her long to grasp that the elf girl had her eye on Mick. But Beth’s immediate concern, too, was something else altogether. “Where’s Pete?” she wanted to know.

“He’s not with you?” Mick closed his eyes despairingly. Irina moved as if to comfort him. Beth beat her to it. Briefly, their eyes met. Beth was more galled than shocked at the hostility emanating from the elf girl, and unhesitatingly, sent out warning signals. Concerning Mick, at least, both women understood each other perfectly.

“We must move on, and quickly,” declared Mulac.  No one argued but followed him into the mist. His sharp eyes had missed nothing. He had heard of pulis. They were said to be as unpredictable as the druid power that created them. Strange, indeed, that a motherworlder and an elf should come to possess such a thing!  Yet stranger things lay ahead, he suspected. Could it be that a druid power was abroad again in Mamelon?  His grim expression gave way to an ironic smile. What else, he wondered, has Etta neglected to tell me?

Kirin took Irina’s hand. “We have to trust this Nu-gen, I suppose.”

“He’s the least of our problems!” Irina retorted, but had the good sense to keep her voice low.  Ahead, she could make out the two motherworlders with their arms around each other. An irrational temper brought bile to her throat, but she managed to swallow both and even managed to throw Kirin a reassuring smile. For his part, Kirin was happier with his lot than he had felt since they first began this impossible journey. They were destined to fail, he was sure of it.  But that was nothing. Just to be with Irina was…Everything.

Mulac drove them hard. Nor was it only the prospect of running into more krills that continued to haunt him, urging haste. The obvious closeness between this Michal, called Mick, and Bethan troubled him more than he cared to admit. What does it matter? he kept asking himself, occasionally muttering aloud between clenched teeth. In vain, though, the Nu-gen sought to deny his feelings.

To be continued