"She comes! She comes! The Akryd, stealer of souls!"
Vilma was standing at Melindra's side, and took her sister's hand. She closed her eyes and allowed her head to flop and shortly afterwards, opened them again and spoke above the shrill notes still issuing from the tall gaunt woman at her side. "Menoneth, sound the alarm! The Akryd is abroad, and evil is approaching fast." As people began to run in panic out into the night, Menoneth shouted orders to Jet to restore some order and muster the Guardians for action, and then turned back to Vilma, who was looking round the hall, searching for John. With dismay she realized that he was not there.
"Where is the Wandmaster?" she demanded of all those still left in the vicinity, and only Marny, rooted to the spot in terror, could venture a reply.
"He is outside somewhere, with Jazlyn," she said simply. Menoneth and Vilma exchanged glances, and Menoneth asked the next obvious question.
"And where is Westroth?"
"He left a little while ago," again volunteered Marny. "I don't think he was feeling very well."
Menoneth blanched for a moment in a mixture of anger and tension, but then flew out of the hall in search of his men. Over his shoulder he gave the shouted command.
"For pity's sake stop that woman from wailing and keep Marny safe!" and then he was gone.
Outside in the cool evening air, Menoneth cursed under his breath as he hurried off to find Jet and set emergency procedures into operation. "Why hadn't his scouts reported any unusual activity?" he wanted to know. Seeing Jet firing orders at the Guardians to prepare defences, he yelled, "Jet, why was there no warning? Where are our scouts?"
"Those who have been out report nothing untoward, My Lord. I have sent out a fresh group who have orders to sweep the area and to go farther afield this time, but it appears that Melindra may have foreseen an event which has yet to unfold." Menoneth relaxed a little at this, but didn't like being caught unawares, and was still in a highly agitated state, mostly due to the cries of Melindra, which had been deeply chilling and still sounded in his head.
"Have we located the Wandmaster yet, or Westroth?" he demanded.
"No, My Lord, no sign of either of them or Jazlyn, I'm afraid."
"I am putting them all on report when they turn up. Do you hear me? All of them! They have no right going off like that and putting themselves at risk, and everyone else with them!"
"No, My Lord," agreed Jet.
A group of Guardians came running up to Jet, out of their colourful shirts and back into uniform, swords buckled on and ready for action.
"Armsmaster, where do you want us?" asked one of them, who Menoneth recognized as Ethan.
"To the towers!" shouted Jet. "We need you there to watch the perimeter!"
"At once," replied another Guardian, but Menoneth intercepted.
"Not you, Honeth, I want you to find my son Westroth," said Menoneth. "You are a friend of his, aren't you?"
The young man flushed a little and looked troubled before answering, "We used to be good friends, but he … hasn't been talking much recently."
"Don't take it personally Honeth. He doesn't talk to anyone lately," said Menoneth quietly and held the young man steadily in his gaze. "Do this for me, will you Honeth?"
"I'll do my best, My Lord," he answered.
"Do better than that. I really need to find him. You could start at the house. He may have gone there if he wasn't feeling very well."
Honeth hesitated a little, and then ventured, "I believe he has been drinking rather heavily this evening, sir. I hope he hasn't passed out anywhere."
Menoneth let out a long slow breath between his teeth, and then said simply.
"Find him, Honeth. Just find him." Jet, who was listening said, "Take Maylene and Josh with you, and stick together!"
The evening air was cool and a gentle breeze lifted the tresses of Jazlyn's hair as it lay on John's shoulder. They had strolled quietly through the trees at the edge of the clearing around the hall and then had taken a little pathway tunneled by overhanging branches, which formed a pleasant roof of softly whispering leaves overhead. John had never been one for romance, mostly because he had been bashful around women as a rule and also because he had never been in anything like a close relationship before. He found he was enjoying the tantalizing excitement of being alone with Jazlyn, which promised to become so much more. At the edge of his consciousness, there was a niggling little presence, which was not the wand, but he dismissed it as nerves and squeezed Jazlyn tighter in an attempt to vanquish it altogether. The whispering darkness was punctuated with the rhythmic call of a hoot owl, which only served to heighten the atmosphere and John could wait no longer. He whirled her around without warning and brought her into his arms, searching for her lips with his own and pressing her to him urgently. She responded to him, and the heat rose in both of them, pushing all other thoughts out of their heads. Shared colours flashed before their eyes, and coursed through them in streams and all thought of propriety fled.
As they lay in a springy bed of dry leaves, Jazlyn gently tracing lines and circles across John's chest, the ‘otherness' once again entered John's mind, and this time he didn't ignore it. He sat up suddenly, and reached for his wand sheath, abandoned some time ago on the leafy ground. He knew instinctively where it was in the dark, and was responding to its call when he made to grasp it. What he wasn't expecting was the hand he found already upon the wand when he tried to pick it up; a long, thin-fingered, bony hand whose strength surprised John almost as much as its presence. There was a struggle, and John strove desperately to keep hold of the wand, but took a kick in the stomach, which winded him badly and forced him to let go of the precious object. Jazlyn, hair loose and lithe-limbed in the night, was on her feet in an instant and joined the fray. Her guardian training came to her aid and she launched herself at the disappearing back of a barely visible shape making off between the trees. The shape tried to throw her off but she wrapped her legs around its waist and gripped tightly while clawing with her hands at the face and keeping her own head well tucked in and as out of range as possible. Strangled grunts, and nasal yelps issued from the combined bodies of the two forms which wrestled there, and John, who had recovered sufficiently was soon on the scene, clutching his stomach and cursing. He heard Jazlyn give a cry of pain, and then heard the thud as she hit the forest floor, thrown off by the thief, and as her voice whimpered and groaned gutturally at a place somewhere near his left foot, his anger rose within him and he felt for the wand with all his will.
Like a beacon, the wand flashed into his mind, and he aimed himself in a long rugby tackle at the source, not knowing what he was leaping into and uncaring. He caught two knobby ankles and brought his quarry down face first, but then received a kick in the head, which temporarily caused him to relinquish his grip. Mad with rage he roared and came to his knees again as the figure he was manhandling also attempted to rise. John knew he had to catch the thief and retrieve the wand, if only to help heal Jazlyn, and though his head was pounding, he once more threw himself at the figure and pinned it to the ground with all his weight. The body beneath him squirmed and fought, trying to turn and force John off him, but keeping one long arm extended and out of reach. John sensed the wand and frog-hopped higher up the back of the tall, gangly and awkward shape till he could reach the outstretched arm with two hands and grabbed the fingers, forcing them painfully to open and to release the leather straps they held.
He had it in his grip at last, and with a yell of triumph, drew the wand out of its sheath and raised it above his head. Its strength pulsed down his arm and he managed to stand, the wand giving off a confusion of light and colour, which showed the now cowering form on the forest floor clearly. A spindly of course. It had been obvious from the first contact, but John was taken aback when a voice wheedled out of the mouth in a nasal plea of
"No hurt Nya!" John was still in a state of extreme agitation and his one thought was to find Jazlyn and tend to her.
"Get up
you skinny bastard!" he roared, resorting to language he knew but had seldom used.
"Get up now. Do it!" he screamed, and kicked out in anger.
He shoved the spindly form roughly before him and set off back the way he had come. Nya offered no resistance now the wand was once again in John's possession, and allowed himself to be directed. John was able to find Jazlyn's crumpled form, pale and still, lying in a glade of grass. She was not moving, and he dropped to his knees at her side, taking her hand and trying to see her face in the light of the wand. She was very cold, and he thought for one terrible moment that she was dead, but as he held her hand, she made a slight sound and he lifted her gently into his arms to warm her and hold her close to him. Nya stood some distance away whining softly. "Nya not want to hurt. She hurt Nya. Nya want to hold wand is all. Only that."
"Shut-up Nya!" and John started to work with the healing blue colours all around Jazlyn, calling them up and applying them in strength. After a short while, the soft, dark eyes opened and looked up blearily into his.
"Did you get him?" she whispered "And did you get the wand?"
"Yeah. Got them both," he answered, "but don't talk now. Save your strength."
"Mmmm," and then "I'm cold." John cradled her in his arms, warming her with his body, unsure where their clothes were and unwilling to leave her side to go look for them.
As he peered around in the growing light, more desperate than hopeful, he was surprised to see a shuffling Nya approaching with a heap of clothes in his arms, which he dropped wordlessly at their side. Though he was still incredibly angry about the attack, John was grudgingly grateful and set Jazlyn gently down in the dry leaves in order to reach for the clothes. She looked so frail. In the end a body is just a collection of moving parts and there is little so humble. He felt only remorse and guilt at having caused Jazlyn to become weak and, throwing a shirt over his own bare chest, he set about dressing her. Like a small child, she tried to assist by offering arms and legs and wriggling into her clothing, and pretty soon she was covered and warmer, managing to sit up a bit and smile.
Just as he was standing at last reaching for his own leather trousers, he heard noises behind him in the trees, and into the clearing burst Gill and a group of guardians. John was able to pull on his pants in the nick of time, which was a blessing as he was not keen on being the butt of yet more jokes about being caught with his trousers down. Gill called back over his shoulder
"It's them!" and then turned to take in the scene, his practiced eyes scanning the forest clearing. Todd, Zak and Tye came up behind Gill and also surveyed the situation. John noticed that their swords were drawn and that they seemed very agitated.
"Are you two alone here?" questioned Gill. John swept a look around the clearing. No sign of Nya. The spindly had gone; silently, unobtrusively, gone. He could have left at any time, it occurred to John, and in fact he had chosen to stay and even helped them. John's feelings were very mixed, but most of all, he felt stupid and inadequate. He had almost lost Jazlyn's life for her, he had allowed their assailant to escape, and he had come very close to losing the wand. He opened his mouth to speak, but Jazlyn was there before him.
"We were attacked by that spindly Nya! I thought he was safely under lock and key at Wandguard," she continued, "He stole the wand and knocked me senseless." She was angry and back in charge of her senses if not her tongue. "What idiot let him get free?"
"Stole the wand?" gaped Gill "You lost the wand?" he yelled first at Jazlyn, and then stared in disbelief at John.
"No, thankfully we have a Wandmaster worth his salt," continued Jazlyn. "He saved me and got the wand back."
"What in all crystals were you two doing out her alone anyway? Don't you realize the danger that you put yourselves in, not to mention the wand? Lord Menoneth has instructed you both be put on report."
Here, Jazlyn had no answer, and opened her mouth to fire back a retort, releasing nothing but a huff of breath, after which she screwed up her face into a frown.
"Todd, Tye, get out there and track this Nya creature," ordered Gill. "I will get these
two back to Lord Menoneth or my life won't be worth living. Zak, come with us."
John, who had been staring silently at the ground, looked at Gill thoughtfully and said,
"Nya won't be far away. He is drawn to the wand and he's clever. He won't be caught unawares like we were. No, if you want Nya, you'll be wasting your time tracking him. He will come to me, you'll see."
"That may be so, Wandmaster," said Gill with cold correctness, "but with all respect I must perform my duty as I see fit." Turning to Todd and Tye, he said "There's no need for me to tell you how things stand. Be careful and bring back information. There are worse things abroad than this spindly by all accounts, and I don't want to see your ugly faces coming at me under a couple of lo-heads!"
Both John's and Jazlyn's heads shot up to Gill's face with a questioning look, but his only reply was to turn about and head into the trees from whence he had come. With no answers forthcoming, the couple exchanged glances, and walked into the forest after him, slower than any of them would have liked, but unavoidably so. They had been through quite an ordeal due to Nya, and were physically drained. Besides which, John was still harboring a deep disquiet about the whole situation, not least his own part in it and the failings he was still blaming himself for, which made his feet leaden. Somewhere in the deep jungle of his mind was the knowledge that on some level, all this, the whole preposterous situation, was just an illusion, but it was a convincing one, and for the present, his only reality. Zak, who was bringing up the rear, tried to keep pushing them on so as not to lose sight of Gill, but soon gave up and shouted to his captain to slow down instead. They made their way laboriously through the undergrowth and stout tree trunks, making hard work of the relatively short distance back to Kinguard.
Chapter 19
Floodgates Opened
Through the tall black marble portals leading up from the underground lair of Ataxios, the ranks of his fighting force filed out. In orderly regiments, his foot soldiers the spindlies lined up, their weapons honed and dangerous in their long reach. Then there were the 'lo's'; male and female miscreants, each with the hideously distinctive, chalk-white features so feared and familiar throughout the Realm. Their assembled strength was in the hundreds, but more were needed. Captured too young, and they did not reach maturity; they had to be spawned into when their human form was in its prime, for they ceased to grow when the transformation took place. They were chosen for their physical characteristics, their height, strength or agility, and apart from a degree of thickening of the skin and musculature, they remained unchanged. They needed to be supplemented and replaced continually, and for this purpose, forays were regular; whenever the Akryd was ready to spawn. From time to time, Ataxios would weave some magic over a 'lo' that he could make good use of, take Gnath for example, he just went on and on and Ataxios had granted him the gift of speech. He would do something similar for this new young Wandmaster when he caught him.
This expedition was going to be different. For one thing, unlike the routine collection raids, Ataxios himself was going with them. With his presence inducing fear and his knowledge of dark magic, the balance would be overwhelmingly in their favour. The sniffers and their handlers would not just be hunting possible subjects, they would be hunting for one in particular, the new young Wandmaster, a strong man, who was linked to the out-crystal world, where some part of him still remained. Ataxios had plans for this young man when he was a 'lo'. He would use him to track down all the active crystals in the realm, burying them, covering them with darkness, until none remained. Maybe he would be able to use the link to the out-crystal world to expand his power, and direct the Wandmaster to do his will there too. The restoration of speech had given Gnath longevity for some reason, which would be another advantage if the same were true of the Wandmaster. Ataxios schemed from behind his mask as he surveyed his army. It wasn't a great army, but it was a
fearsome one. He would turn the Realm of the Dark Crystal into a black nothingness, where life would crawl on its belly,
It had been a night of frantic activity on all levels in Athrak. spindlies worked at fever pitch to ready and sharpen their weapons in the knowledge that they were going to battle. 'Lo's' checked their armour, and tended the sniffers which would go with them, and saw to it that they were underfed and irritable. The lo captains met in a large central chamber deep in the craggy underworld of Athrak under the leadership of Gnath. A very dim light was permitted when Ataxios was not in the vicinity, and a silvered suggestion of it reflected on the 'lo'-faces, white as bones, creating an eerie floating sea suspended like lanterns in the gloom, and a confusion of high pitched whines, interspersed with rhythmic ‘click-click' sounds filled the brooding atmosphere. It wasn't conversation, but it sufficed to instill in all of them the sense of ‘group' and imminent purpose. Gnath had reverted to the whine-click tongue in order to reach his 'lo's' and was aware of the insect-like swaying of his own lo-head during the exchange. Around him, others moved with the same pulsing lurch in a kind of primal dance, during which, a common consensus formed without the necessity for words. Each one of these captains would leave the hall with a certain knowledge of his role in the coming assault and that of his wider group, and it would be diffused from 'lo' to 'lo' spontaneously from that point on.
Ataxios had not been idle, either. Long hours had he toiled in the Temple of Athrak under the mountains, where no light penetrated. His voice had wailed and chanted black and evil spells, conjuring up demons of darkness, and these he had taken into his aura and absorbed for later use. He was angry and spoiling for a battle; and was relishing the thought of challenging the latest Wandmaster, who would be unworthy as they all were. His beautiful Akryd was ripe and full of spawn; pampered and cosseted by her workers, and it was time to take her out on to the plains to breed into a new crop of 'lo's'. How entertaining it would be if one of them were this new Wandmaster. The image played again and again in his head and as it once again entered his mind, a sickly smile spread across his slack mouth, and a throaty cackle issued from it in a spray of spittle. He ran his hand over the crystals on the altar, emitting from them an emanation of oily shades, which ran into each other and spilled over into the blackness. He could see them sinking to the ground like shadows of deeper darkness and the pools they formed lapped around his feet as he traversed the Temple floor. In the totally light-deprived environment of the Temple of Athrak, all the crystals were the same. Their qualities were imprisoned within them and they were impotent and under his sway, which was the way Ataxios liked it; dreams of doing the same to the Wandguard Crystals filled his head and it would be so much easier with the Wandmaster out of the picture, or even better, under his control. With the light shut off from the crystal trove in Wandguard, they would not only lose their properties, but their loss would infect the whole of the dark crystal realm, which once had been a bright place, bathed in scintillating light; reflecting off all the rock faces, part of every stone and pebble. Even the tall mountains had joined in the rejoicing of light and beauty and the inhabitants of the Realm had been insolent and carefree. Until the day that Ataxios had hidden the Athrak crystals from the light and caused the half-lit days, which now were the natural state of things. But it wasn't enough. He was tired of constant challenges and a succession of Wandmasters standing between him and the Wandguard crystals. It was time to finish the job; a dark, dank world was so, so desirable, and it would give Ataxios the freedom to move around the whole of the dark crystal realm without the curse of light or the stain of humanity ever touching him again.
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