Wandmaster

by Valerie Kramboviti

  On descending the slope, he had entered a copse of trees, into which he had seen the figure disappear, and on hearing a sound at his right and slightly behind him, he had turned with a smile of welcome, and Westroth's name on his lips. But it wasn't Westroth at all, it was a spindly, who had quickly and easily overpowered Tyloren and half-dragged, half carried him out the other side of the copse to a clearing where a company of the gangly things were gathered around a tall black cubicle. There was some disagreement about what to do with him, Tyloren remembered, but the big spindly who had captured him had insisted on putting him inside the cubicle. Surprisingly, Tyloren could feel think-talk from the spindly, and tried to appeal to him, but he met Tyloren's eye with a scornful glance and snorted a nasal laugh before pushing him inside. From then on, things went from bad to worse. The box was pitch dark, and totally insulated. Tyloren could neither hear, nor see, nor sense anything outside apart from the bumps and jerks of transport as he was wheeled along over rough terrain and he was unable to connect with thought to Vilma, or indeed to anyone. Then at some point, the box had come to rest, and Tyloren had hoped that the door would be unsealed, and that someone would appear to talk to him, even to mistreat him, just so as to be able to get his bearings, and to know where he was and what he was up against. But there was nothing. No sound, no food, no light. There was a supply of water in a tank within the closet, which he drank sparingly, as he didn't know how much of it there was or how long he would be in the box, and hour by hour, he had felt his body becoming weaker.

  He turned over in the bed and a small moan escaped him as he recalled his hunger, his despair and the sapping of his physical strength. Time had gone by, but he had no idea how long. All was darkness and silence. Sensory deprivation. Eventually he passed beyond despair, and into his mind, came a quietness; a state in which he sought to find light in the darkness, and he had resigned himself to die, trapped in his own private nightmare, from which he could not awaken. His mental faculties had heightened, bright crystalline lights and colours played in his head, and he retreated from his physical predicament by turning inwards and in that state he survived the last days, hours, he didn't know how long, until, in the midst of a huge emptiness, he was suddenly aware of a burst of power, and the door to his cabinet being sprung. In an extremely weakened condition, he had taken his chance and staggered out of the box into an incomprehensibly unguarded room, through heavy black doors, which slammed behind him and the rest, as they say, was history.

  Panic gripped him once again as he turned over in his bed, and he opened his eyes and found some comfort in the warmth of his blanket, reassuring himself that he was no longer hungry, cold or isolated. Homely warmth spread through him and he sighed, becoming aware of sounds outside his room, kitchen sounds! Family sounds, children's voices and the rattle of plates. A herbal tea smell wafted through his door to him and he sighed, yet again in contentment.

  "Tyloren," came a voice in his head. "Tyloren, I can feel you are better." A warm feeling of concerned friendship enveloped him and he responded.

  "Vilma! I am much restored now. I have been fortunate and am in a safe house for the time being."

  Vilma and Tyloren communicated as much information as they could briefly and Melindra's vision disturbed Tyloren greatly, while Vilma was very wary of Tyloren's host family, but intrigued at the same time. They severed the connection, and Tyloren stretched and rose from his bed, attracted by the sounds and smells of breakfast.

  The scene in the kitchen was bizarrely ordinary. Mother was at the fire preparing flat bread on a stone griddle, and eggs in a pan, and the three boys were sitting at the table, the two youngest ones squabbling over the jam pot. All appeared very normal, except for Lenora's appearance. To her boys, of course, she was just, 'Mother', or 'Mama', as they called her and her expression was all human mother-love. A wide smile split her angular face as Tyloren entered, and the children edged further along the bench against the wall, to make room for him at the table. At once, a plate, some fresh baked bread and the jam pot appeared under his nose, and the children watched him from under interested eyebrows as he set about eating. A cup of steaming herb tea appeared instantly, and Tyloren thought he was in paradise. "Mam says you're a priest of the crystals at Wandguard," piped up the middle son, Jared, by name.

  "Yes, that's right. I was High Priest of the Temple."

  "What's a temple?" asked Tolly, with jam around his mouth

  "It's the place where the crystals are," explained Jared.

  "Like Mahoo's cave?" asked Tolly.

  "Yeah, but bigger," explained Jared to his younger sibling, making a large outline in the air with his sticky fingers.

  Braedon, the eldest of the three, and around 17 years of age ate quietly and listened. Tyloren saw the beginning of manhood in his features, and the introversion that goes with it. Braedon, feeling Tyloren's eyes upon him rose from his seat, took his plate to his mother, and then excused himself and left the house. Lenora watched Tyloren's gaze follow her son out the door and explained.

  "He's older, you see. We have explained a lot to him," she said

  "He knows what we are, and he understands our danger."

  "What's dangerous, Mama?" asked Tolly, eyes widening with the suspicion of fear.

  "I am, if you don't finish your breakfast and go wash your face!" she replied waspishly, and the little lad pushed the last of his breakfast into his already bulging mouth and sucked his fingers loudly, one by one while struggling to chew at the same time.

  Jared and Tyloren laughed, and despite herself, so did Lenora.

  At that moment, the door opened and Loman appeared, blocking most of it with his bulk.

  "Ah, Tyloren, I'm glad to find you awake. When you have finished your breakfast, we must go to Mahoo. He is expecting us. We have plans to make, and from what I hear, time is getting short."

  "From what you hear?"

  "Yes," replied Loman shortly without volunteering any details.

  "I'll be right with you." And Tyloren, also in the possession of unsettling information from Vilma took himself off out the back of the house into the outside bathroom; a place shrouded by bushes, affording a wealth of water that gushed out of a rock face as a spring, and which had been directed to flow away through the vegetable garden, high with produce. The latrine area was some way off, so as not to contaminate the spring water, but was served by a narrow channel, which, in turn ran away into a small, but extremely lush wood.

  "Very civilized," he muttered cheerfully to himself as he turned to go back to the house to meet Loman.

  "Does that surprise you?" The question was posed by Loman's son, Braedon, who was glaring sullenly in his direction. Tyloren considered rising to the bait, but instead answered simply,

  "After being deprived of such creature comforts for quite a while, I am just delighted to find them available again. That's all." He kept his eye level and his voice gentle as he spoke. The lad coloured a bit, but offered no response other than to continue his own path to the latrine, and Tyloren left him to his privacy.

  Some way along the gorge from Loman's house was a well-trodden path that led through some light shrubbery to a cave entrance. From outside, a pungent aroma of burning herbs greeted them, and the entrance to the cave was hung with more strings of crystals, much like those Mahoo had been wearing when Tyloren first saw him. The crystal-hung curtains parted at their approach, and they were admitted to the cave by two of Mahoo's very small slint helpers. Inside the cave, the smell was even stronger, and Tyloren soon felt heady, and a little drunk, the herbs were probably some kind of hypnotic or hallucinatory drug, he thought, and swept his eye over the cave trying to ascertain where the source was. Tyloren was well versed in the enhancing power of certain herbs during meditation, and allowed himself to sink into their fragrance.

  Mahoo was seated in the depths of the cave on a ledge of rock, candles burning at his feet, and in niches all around him, so that Tyloren saw him surrounded in a warm glow. Beside
each candle was a large piece of crystal, which caught the dancing flames and played with them, sending echoes of light chasing off in all directions. Tyloren was entranced. Mahoo himself had his long red hair tied behind him and the only crystal visible on his person was a large blue stone at the center of his forehead, held in place by a circlet of leather. His face, now visible, was pale, slim and sensitive, and the words, which issued from his lips, were uttered in a soft, low, melodic voice.

  "I am very honoured to welcome you to my own small temple, Tyloren, priest of Wandguard," and with a wave of his hand, he indicated the cave.

  "The honour is mine," Tyloren bowed his head deferentially.

  "Will you take a seat and share minds with me?"

  "Again, I would be honoured." He looked around the cave, silently observed by Mahoo, and noted a similar alcove, in which a shelf of rock was set centrally, and he stepped up to take his seat, sitting cross-legged on the flat surface in the same fashion as Mahoo. He began breathing deeply and slowly in order to quieten his mind. As he took his third deep inhalation, candles of various shades and sizes sprang into flame around him so that his own space rivalled that of Mahoo, who nodded in approval at Tyloren and then closed his eyes and let out a long slow breath.

  "The world of reflections holds the mystery of what was, what is and what will be." Mahoo spoke in a slow, soft voice, and cast a sprinkling of dust before him from an indentation in the stone on which he was sitting. It scattered on the cave floor, and, like tinder, kindled a circlet of tiny flames. "The tree of dreams shows many images, some are truths, some are falsehoods, but all are possibilities," and he cast another sprinkling of dust, out of which grew the apparition of a tree in the center of the circle. At least, it had the shape of a tree, but its slender trunk was of twisted silver, which separated into elegant branches, on which hung stones of every hue whose colours captured the firelight. Tyloren, who thought he had never seen anything so beautiful, fixed his eyes on it from under half-closed lids, and felt great tranquility. Whether it was the result of the aromatic herbs, he couldn't tell, but as he sat transfixed, the colours swam into one another, creating a swirling prism, in the center of which, images began to form.

  Mahoo, suspended in the air, supported only by a cloud, and beneath him the tree of silver and coloured gems; Tyloren himself standing in the mouth of the cave he had found as he quit the dark tunnels of Athrak, his hand placed upon the bright crystal of its walls in fondness; a scene from his own Temple in Wandguard, his hands raised, and colours flying between the new Wandmaster and the old, encased in his wall of glass behind the altar. He saw then, in quick succession several things, which disturbed him; a spindly, furtively quitting a room in which a body lay on the floor in a pool of blood, the Wandmaster, spread-eagled, face down, receiving into his back, the spawn of the Akryd, as he struggled and squirmed to escape the lo hands that pinned him down; Ataxios, for it could be no other, staring out of a mask through eyes of black glittering glass, entering the Temple of Wandguard.

  Tyloren lost his composure and cried out, causing the images to cloud and blur, and Mahoo whispered urgently,

  "Soft, Tyloren, be easy and let the images flow!" With great effort, he stilled his mind again and the blur came back into focus. Two scenes followed quickly in succession; a world of darkness, rank and lifeless, where Ataxios stood with arms raised in triumph, and a world of light, where nature, dressed in its finest flowers and a rich diversity of greens more vibrant than anything Tyloren could imagine in this Realm of the Dark Crystal. Both images swam together and became a vortex of darkness and light, which swirled and twisted into a cyclone, to disappear, eventually leaving only the tree, its silver trunk and gemstone fruit, twinkling in the candle light before disappearing finally from view.

  A deep sigh of exhaled breath escaped Mahoo, and he opened heavy eyelids to survey Tyloren, still ensconced on his flat rock seat. There was little need to discuss what they had seen; the implications were obvious. Tyloren dearly wanted to communicate the pictures to Vilma, and as the thought entered his head, Mahoo nodded and closed his eyes once more, indicating that he understood and that he too, would like to be part of the link. Connecting was easy, the level of consciousness having been attained and the link was made. Vilma was impatient, and had to calm herself to receive the imprint of the new personage in the thought chain, wanting to send to Tyloren as swiftly as she could, the vision that had sent Melindra into a frenzied, wailing state of terror. The exchange of images took place, seeming to confirm each other and create a climate of imminent threat and enemy movement. Mahoo, who had communicated nothing but his presence and his openness to the two, suddenly interjected to link the Wandguard crystals, his own crystal tree, and then, a dark place in which the essence of crystals could only be sensed, not seen – where they were kept, hidden in the darkness in the temple of Athrak. He showed how they should be brought into the light, and then he showed them in their brilliance, brightening the half-light of the realm, and thus banishing Ataxios to his dark underground retreat, deprived of the Athrak Crystal Trove. He offered his help and that of his small-bodied slints, and of Loman. Tyloren, sensing Vilma's confusion at the image of a lo sent by Mahoo, imprinted on it the feeling of friendship, and her surprise and suspicion came back strongly, in a negative surge of panic. It took some doing to convince her that all was well. The connection was ended with cordial greetings and Vilma was soon off in search of Menoneth in order to tell him of the mind meeting with Tyloren and his new allies, Mahoo and Loman.

  Chapter 21

  Facing The Music

  Vilma arrived at the Manor House just as Gilladen, John, Jazlyn and escorts emerged from the copse of trees into which the young couple had walked, so carefree, the previous evening after the celebration. Taking in the tired and guilty expressions on their faces, and the determined one on Gilladen's as he carried out his duty, Vilma did not need explanations, and muttered under her breath as she sped to intercept their progress to the house.

  "Well, at least you're safe, if nothing else."

  "Maneera," said Jazlyn with a plea in her voice.

  "Head up, girl. Look your problems in the eye!" and she nodded in resignation as John looked on wordlessly.

  "Same goes for you Wandmaster."

  John grinned weakly, despite himself, but quickly lost his recovering humour at the sight of an irate Menoneth standing at the door of the Manor with a steely-eyed glare flashing in his direction.

  "You two, in here, now!" he demanded, turned his back and disappeared inside. Weary with lack of sleep and the night's adventures written on their faces, the two climbed the wooden steps and entered the house. Vilma followed them and saw them admitted into Menoneth's study, but she, herself was greeted with a door closed in her face, outside which stood Maylene, with her arms folded barring entry. She had not really expected to be included in the meeting, but she had thought it worth a try. Seeing her attempt run aground, she chose to accept it gracefully and to hover around within earshot if her daughter should call out for her. It was no surprise that it was not Jazlyn's voice, however, that reached Vilma's ears.

  Menoneth's voice resounded through the door and left no one in the vicinity in any doubt at all about his wrath over the events of the night. Explanations were offered in subdued mumbles by the two protagonists, but these were barely audible, short interruptions in the tirade, which Menoneth directed at them. John could never remember being so humiliated and repentant about anything in his life, and Jazlyn quaked, ashen white and fought back tears as she struggled to stay upright. When Menoneth told her he was removing her from duty with the guardians, she reached her limits, her legs failed her and she crumpled in a heap to the floor, the results of the attack she had sustained finally betraying her.

  Menoneth stopped in mid-sentence, and was stunned to silence as the face before him suddenly disappeared from eye-level and sank to the floor. John immediately picked her up, cradling her in his arms, and then his voice was the
one that roared through the door. It flew open and revealed a now subdued Menoneth standing in the doorway and Vilma was in the room and at her daughter's side in an instant, looking with concern into her eyes, which were rolled up under her eyelids when she prized them open. Together, John and Vilma worked, laying hands on the pale, troubled brow and the wand was placed on Jazlyn's weakly beating heart. Menoneth paced the room and continued berating everyone, still too angry to stop, though his tone had softened in concern and his face was showing signs of coming off the boil. He shot anxious glances at the healing taking place as he strode back and forth like a caged lion.

  John, in his anguish, turned on Menoneth, from his position on the floor.

  "You happy now? This what you wanted? Well you got it so now what? How would you feel if this was your daughter? Didn't you hear what I told you? She was knocked unconscious in the night. What are you trying to do? Can't you see she's hurt?"