"What a mess," he breathed, "what a sad, sorry mess."
Vilma spoke, softly but clearly and Menoneth listened.
"This is not your fault, Menoneth. Let's get that straight first. You have been an excellent father to those two boys, your daughter and all the Guardians in Wandguard". It was obvious that Vilma was aware of the problem with Westroth, though nothing had been made generally known about what took place earlier at the confrontation between father and son. She was a perceptive and intelligent woman who had the gift of insight so it was hardly surprising, but still Menoneth felt exposed at the thought that yet another person was privy to his anxieties. On the other hand, it meant that he could speak plainly, without trying to cover for his son, and he welcomed the opportunity to unload his worries.
"Whose fault is it then?" he demanded. "Their mother died too soon, leaving me to raise them as best I could, and I have so many other responsibilities!"
"Yes, you have," agreed Vilma simply, "and you were appointed Lord High Councillor for a reason. You were, and still are, the best man for the job, and you have performed your duties admirably."
"But my son! Where did I go wrong?" he pleaded, shaking his head woefully.
"You didn't go wrong. He did," replied Vilma. "He was turned into a 'lo'. Is it surprising that some of the poison which circulates in the veins of that vile bug, the Akryd, contaminated Westroth? You should have expected it and kept a closer leash on him when he recovered. If you made a mistake anywhere, that was it," she finished.
"I suppose you're right. It's just that I was so relieved to have him back, I didn't, or couldn't see the changes in him."
"Jazlyn did," countered Vilma softly, "and she has become increasingly afraid of him of late."
"Afraid? Why? Has he attempted to harm her in any way?" asked Menoneth in anguish.
"No, Westroth is in love with Jazlyn and would not harm her. At least I don't think so, though the 'lo' in him might at some point. No. She has been afraid of his anger. He speaks incessantly of his hatred for the Wandmaster, and his own rejection by his father, as he sees it, in favour of the Wandmaster. It has become a kind of obsession with him and it endangers not only the Wandmaster, but all of us. He may be tempted to try to remove what he sees as an interloper, stealing away the affections of those he loves."
"Yes, he spoke of such feelings to me today," admitted Menoneth.
"Did he? Well that's promising. At least he's admitting it to you."
"What good is that?" asked Menoneth. "It doesn't take it away."
"No, it doesn't," she agreed, "but it does mean that it's out in the open and we can handle it better."
"I'd like to know how," queried Menoneth.
"I have a few ideas," said Vilma, and she leant closer to Menoneth and spoke for a considerable time laying out a plan which made Menoneth's eyes widen, his mouth drop open, and his heart freeze in fear.
"No, I will not allow it!" he shouted finally, standing and staring down at Vilma seated demurely opposite him. She showed no sign of being perturbed by his reaction, smoothed her skirts a little and said,
"We shall see. We shall see."
Chapter 11
Nya
John was unable to find any sign of Jet, and assumed he would be with Gill, Westroth and Menoneth. He wasn't going to find out anything much for now, that was clear, so he turned his footsteps towards the healery. He wanted to see Trevorin, and with all that had occurred recently, had not found the opportunity to spend time there. The welcoming blue light in the centre of the star-shaped layout of tunnels greeted him as he entered and he drew his wand out of its sheath and passed it through the glow, which emanated from the central blue gem in the arrangement of encircling white crystals. The wand and blue stone linked and John smiled at the feeling of peace and healing which entered him as this contact was established. It wasn't long before John heard Althea's swift footsteps on the stony passage floors, and turned in her direction with a warm smile, only to be greeted with a wan, sad expression, which told him he had been missed. It also told him that she more than liked him, and that he would have to be careful not to raise any false hopes in her. It was strange, he thought, that women found him attractive in his new capacity as Wandmaster and thought ruefully that none had showed much interest in plain old John Stone, clerk at Prowess and Dibbs. Well, not so strange, if you thought about it. Here he was 'someone', and in his old life he had been 'no-one', or at least that was how he had felt. It gave him a peculiar sensation to be thinking about his old life again, and he realized with some alarm that he hadn't given a thought to his body, lying in bed back in his small flat in the totally normal world of his suburban existence. How much time had passed since his last attempt at return, he did not remember, and he pushed the thought out of his mind, trusting that he was safe and sound. After all, he reasoned, 'If I were unwell there, I would be unwell here, wouldn't I?" He made a mental note to ask someone about that.
"Ah, Althea," said John warmly, "How are you? Still running everywhere, I see." Despite herself, the clear, fresh face broke into a smile, and she flushed prettily.
"I am very well, Wandmaster. I hope you are too?" she queried "I am glad you were not harmed in the recent scouting incident. Others were brought here, but they had the benefit of your healing and needed only rest and recuperation."
"Yes, I was worried about Joceley for a while, and Jago, but I see they are up and about again now."
"Guardians are the worst patients! You can't keep them in bed, they are very badly behaved if you try."
John laughed, and felt the ice breaking on Althea's side too. He raised his hand to place it on her shoulder in friendship, but reconsidered, and reached up and smoothed his hair instead, noting the wistful look in Althea's eyes as she followed the progress of his fingers. John cleared his throat and asked,
"Do you know where I can find Trevorin?"
"Oh, yes, he's busy in the prisoners' wing; horrible place, full of those long thin people who speak through their noses." John's eyes widened. He hadn't considered that. Of course, some of the spindlies had been injured. He was now very curious to go to Trevorin and see up close some of these strange creatures who had hunted him so keenly in the hills.
He had been to the prisoner wing once before when he had faced the 'lo' which was controlling Westroth and remembered where it was, so he turned his footsteps in that diection and was met at the tunnel entrance by two guards.
"Honour to the Wandmaster," they chorused.
"Honour" returned John and then asked "Can one of you direct me to Trevorin? I want to see him."
One of the guards called down the tunnel to a third, who scuttled off to ask clearance for John to enter the prison wing. John waited patiently, once more impressed by the discipline of the Guardians who performed their duties so immaculately.
After a short delay, a voice was heard from within the tunnel.
"Allow the Wandmaster passage," and the two guards stood aside as John walked into the dim tunnel. He was met and escorted to something like an office, where Trevorin awaited him.
"Hello, Wandmaster, what brings you to our doors?" asked Trevorin with a smile, "Boredom?"
"No, Trevorin, curiosity," replied John. "I came to spend some time with you anyway, but when Althea told me you were in the prison wing, I must say, I was intrigued to see the prisoners at close range. It hadn't occurred to me that they would be in need of healing, but I suppose most of them are in here because of me. My wand must have done a lot of damage that day."
"Indeed, Wandmaster, it did, and from all accounts, saved your own neck and those of the Guardians who were with you. A strange series of events, I must say; and lots of unanswered questions still remain from what I heard at the Council Meeting." John did not reply, not wanting to raise the issue of either Westroth or Tyloren, and when he offered no response, Trevorin just smiled wisely and said, "Yes, let's leave that topic for another time when things become a little clearer." John nodded, and the
n asked, "What exactly are these 'spindlies', a separate race in the Realm?"
"Goodness no, Wandmaster. They are inhabitants of the surrounding villages, captured at a very young age and raised in darkness in the Mountains of Athrak. Their living conditions and diet make them long and thin, like plants starved of light and nourishment." John was horrified, and his face showed it. Trevorin carried on. "They are kept in dark, cold caves and fed only the meanest of diets of things that creep and crawl or grow in such an environment; bugs, mould, moss, and slimy slithersnakes which are the staple diet, being easy to rear and reproduce in dark cold conditions."
"Why don't they escape and go home?" asked John simply.
"They are kept caged and locked up when they are very young, until the diet and the surroundings begin to change their physical development, at which time they seem to forget they were ever anything but spindly-bodied cave creepers. At that stage they are moved to training areas and taught arms skills. They only see the light when they leave to fight or scout, and fear its warmth and their exposure to it. The dark becomes their mother and best friend, and they seek out the coldest dampest areas in their prisons here. We have had to move them from the more 'comfortable' cells, because the conditions were retarding their recovery. We have them in the deepest area of the healery, and have removed the lighting in the cells themselves, in an effort to make them feel 'at home'. One alone has responded to healing in what we would call a 'normal' way, and I was with him when you arrived. Would you like to meet him?" John nodded, thoughtfully.
"Yes, I would, very much," he agreed.
"Come on then." They walked a short distance to a door in the wall on the right, outside which was positioned a guard who stood aside for Trevorin and John with the customary "Honour!"
As Trevorin pushed the door open, John was surprised to see a spindly-man sitting on a slim bed, his hands on his knees, a blanket around his shoulders and the wide-eyed look of a cornered animal. His mouth dropped open when he saw John, and a high nasal whimper escaped his throat. He started to issue squeaky words, all but unintelligible, but Trevorin seemed to be able to understand him, and he spoke back to the strange being with patience and tenderness.
"Nya, this is the Wandmaster. He is not here to hurt you. He wanted to meet you and I want you to speak to him nicely". John stepped forward saying, "Hello Nya." But the spindly pressed himself further back onto the bunk, trying to hide in his blanket and sticking close to the cold stone wall, which seemed to comfort him. His mouth again opened and a series of strangled sounds came out. John tried to tune his mind to the creature, to aid his understanding of the words which were unfamiliar to him, made worse by the very nasal pronunciation. To his surprise, the spindly answered his probing by carefully but urgently saying,
"No think you at me e e e e e e!" The strange, elongated face was obviously contorted in fear, and John drew back mentally, looking to Trevorin.
"He can think-talk!" said John in surprise.
"Can he indeed?" he exclaimed, "Hmmm, that would explain a lot. Unusual, very unusual, but maybe that's why he has responded to his treatment easier than the others," answered Trevorin.
"Yes, Nya hears thinkings. Hears many things!" came the wheezy voice of Nya.
"Then you know I don't want to hurt you," said John, eyeing him levelly. Nya considered a moment.
"Wandman! Wand hurt Nya! Nya hurt Wandman!" and the spindly made a violent move in John's direction but Trevorin called in a commanding voice, "Nya! You must not. It will be bad for you if you do not behave!" The thin figure halted, squeezing its hands into fists, and John could feel his anger and the instinctive impulse to strike being slowly brought under control. As the spindly sank back once more into its blanket against the wall, John spoke again.
"Nya, I had to defend myself and my Guardians. I had to hurt you because you and the other spindlies were attacking us and I had no choice."
The figure did not answer and kept a sulky silence on the bed.
"Nya not talk more!" he said, and closed his eyes, withdrawing into an inner world of silence. John felt the barrier against his attempts to reach the spindly before him, and was impressed with the strength of resistance he met.
"Alright, Nya, I will go now, but I would like to meet you again another day," said John.
There was no flicker of response from Nya, and Trevorin turned to John and said,
"I don't think we will get anything more out of him today, Wandmaster. I think we should go now." John nodded, and with a last backward glance, followed the healer out of the door.
Trevorin accompanied him back to the main healery, and they looked in on a few Guardians with ailments which John attended to. When they had finished, Trevorin led him out of the Healery, but before he let John leave, he said, "Wandmaster, I don't know if Nya will be of use to us or not, and I haven't really spoken to anyone about him in detail because I am still working on him. He has made a little progress in returning to some form of humanity. His physical body is as healed as it can be by our methods, but I feel there is a person lurking in that thin form somewhere and I want time to find out."
"I understand, Trevorin. I won't speak about him, but I would very much like to meet him again at some point. Will you let me know when I can come again?"
"Yes, certainly. I, too, would like to see the effect you have on him with more frequent exposure; it could be very revealing," mused Trevorin.
They parted outside the healery, the two men going in their separate directions, each with his own private thoughts.
Wandmaster John Stone was in a pensive mood. He sat in his chair in his room, closed his eyes and thought about all that had happened recently, going over the battle, the Council Meeting, his release of Tyloren, his talk with Nya, the return of Westroth and his own place in the events. It was a curious thing, to be the epicentre of so many occurrences, and he sighed as he accepted the fact that he was unable to alter his fate here in Wandguard. He had been here for, goodness knows how long now, and his world had been the plain, the guardians, his education, his training and his allotted task. He would, at some time soon, he thought, be called on to enter the very claws of Ataxios's domain and attempt to capture and purify the crystal trove of Athrak and put paid to Ataxios.
It had been a long time since he had really sat down and faced the inevitable, and he gave a rueful huff of resignation which bordered on a laugh as he contemplated the question of how ridiculous the whole thing would have seemed to him before he received the crystals through the post from William Stone. From that day, his life had been ruled by them; he considered the process of change he had slowly undergone before his first entry into the Realm, his obsession with learning about crystals, his new awareness of nature and the world around him. Now, looking back, he could remember with difficulty what it was like to be the old John Stone, and he tried to recreate in his mind just how uncomplicated his life had been. Admittedly, it had been mundane and monotonous, but it had been safe. With a little effort, John reconstructed in his mind scenes from his daily life of old, wandered round his little flat looking at his things, waited in the bus queue, chatted to colleagues at work in the modern, fluorescent lighting of his office, went shopping, watched tv, ate a lonely meal. It hadn't been a great life, but it had been his and he had been the captain of his own ship then, making decisions and choices which affected him alone. Now, he was being governed by a set of events in existence before his involvement with them, and he was called upon to be the catalyst in bringing about change. He was unable to shirk his role; he knew that. After his departure from the Realm the first time, he had ceased to consider that even a remote possibility; he was committed, and even if it led to his ultimate destruction here in the Realm with the inevitable consequences for his body back in the real world, he had but one choice, to walk the path before him to its end.
He felt trapped; the Realm, and especially Wandguard had come to feel very small. He had relished the freshness of the scenery and the change of l
andscape when he had gone into the hills with Jet and Maylene. It had lifted and revived him, until they had run into unexpected company. It was unlikely, he thought, that he would be allowed to go out again until he was called upon to go all the way to Athrak, and even then, he would be surrounded by Guardians, escorted and protected till the time came for him to perform his destined role and then it would be up to him, and him alone. It was a very unfair deal, he thought, and sighed to himself. But however he looked at things, he could see no other course of action but to do what was asked of him and hope it would turn out right and that he would survive in order to return home and pick up, if that were possible, the threads of daily life again. He would miss Jazlyn, of course, but she was not showing him any interest of late so he had lost any hope of a romance and he frowned as he remembered her running into Westroth's embrace only a short time ago after the temple battle.
His mind returned to his unwanted, probably impossible task in the Dark Crystal Realm. He had passed the stage where he panicked every time he permitted himself to see things in the grim light of reason, and now accepted the inevitable like an unpleasant chore which had to be managed and brought to a conclusion. He marvelled at his ability to look at circumstances with cool detachment and remain untouched by them and wondered if he was 'in denial', the catch phrase of so many movies he had seen touching on psycho-analysis. Was he simply not facing up to the truth, hiding in a safe world of make believe in which he was in control of his emotions when really, there was a deeper fear within him somewhere which he was refusing to face? His eyes still closed, he tried to envisage himself actually faced with Ataxios. He had seen him in a kind of vision when he had visited Vilma, and it was a sight which made the blood chill. The brooding evil which emanated from the image he had seen was beyond anything he had ever encountered. He thought for a long time. Did this man-creature have any weaknesses that he could exploit? He had talked to all his various tutors about this point and none of them was constructive or knowledgeable about Ataxios, all of them being too awed to get further than breathing the name with ill-disguised terror. There must be something; some way to damage and beat down the enemy. He sought deep inside his awareness for that key to unlock the way forward.
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