We'll forge a way,
Till the fated day
When we reach the battleground
When we reach the battleground.
Under starlit skies
Where the nightowl flies,
And the horn of Ataxios sounds,
We'll give our all,
Though we may all fall
On the green, green battleground,
On the green, green battleground.
By the Diamond light,
Of the wand so bright,
In the Master's steady hand,
We will thrust and clash
And our swords will flash
On the bloody battleground
On the bloody battleground.
We will free the light
Of the crystals bright,
In the Athrak temple bound,
Re-establish right
And repel the night
From the Dark Realm's sacred ground!
From the Dark Realm's sacred ground!
The song wasn't hard to learn or sing, and its marching rhythm raised the spirits of the guardians, John included. He knew what was expected of him and when he sung the words about "the wand so bright in the master's steady hand," he truly hoped he would be able to live up to the expectations it harbored. He wondered how long ago the song had been written and how many Wandmasters had failed before him. His own relative, William was encased in a crystal shroud in the Temple at Wandguard, having died in the trying, no doubt. Now it was his turn, and it was very possible that he would die too. How many of his ancestors had lost the battle, he could not know. Even so, he had no choice but to play out his role, a pawn in the hand of some invisible player, and take the consequences.
The song had helped take their minds off their tired feet, and they had reached a point now high up in the craggy peaks, where the wind bit and probed into every exposed inch of skin. Their brisk march had kept them warm, but as they climbed, they wrapped their arms around their upper bodies in an attempt to conserve the warmth they were generating and to prevent it from being sucked away from them. Then they heard a distant, low roar, which grew in intensity as they continued and was soon distinguishable as the sound of a large body of water falling. They were approaching the Fourways, and soon they would be at the highest point of their journey before making the descent into the Athrak plain beyond.
Together with the cold came the damp, which hung in the air in a heavy mist, spreading across the mountain peaks and forming low cloud, obscuring vision and clinging with clammy fingers to their bodies. They struggled on, following the lead group of Menoneth, Jet and Vilma, who showed no signs of flagging, until they reached a high narrow pass which forced them to proceed single-file, and out of necessity, the pace slowed as they had to concentrate on keeping their footing on the mist-slippery rocks. John was in the second group behind the leaders and was brought to an abrupt halt when he bumped into the guardian in front of him, who happened to be Honeth. Behind John, other guardians also stopped and peered around, wondering what the hold up was. It was then that John lifted his eyes and was astounded to see that he was standing on a ledge which ran above and around a high waterfall, and that below his feet was a sheer wall of water tumbling down in boiling white fury. The thunderous voice of the falls had been growing so gradually that it had become a familiar companion and they now had to shout if they wanted to be heard by their immediate neighbour. The majesty of the falls took John's breath away, and his heart swelled within him, giving him the certain knowledge that his journey had been worthwhile if it gave him nothing more than this. He slowly lifted his eyes from the dizzying, churning water below him and searched the distance as best he could through the mist-haze for signs of the barren black-lands of Athrak.
Chapter 23
Making Plans
Tyloren's recovery was remarkably quick in the maternal hands of Lenora and the family comfort of the home she shared with Loman and their children, and he soon found his attention drawn to the next inevitable stage of the developing pattern of events which was about to engulf the Realm. Urgency gripped him and he sought out Loman and Mahoo in an attempt to plan some sort of strategy in order to be of support and practical use to his Wandmaster and the force or Guardians with him. So few, he kept thinking, up against so many.
The Realm had never kept up large armies, as in the main its population was small and consisted of scattered hamlets of farming communities, who lived their lives peacefully, troubled only by the occasional raids of Ataxios's spindlies to kidnap young in order to swell their ranks. This, of course, was terrifying, and could have been reason enough to go to war, but it had long been the practice, and had seeped into the psyche of the inhabitants as being somehow unchangeable. Stories were told to small children warning them about being out too far from home, but the disappearances were generally of tots too young to really understand the danger, who had somehow managed to slip the attention of their mothers. On some level, it was tacitly accepted, almost as if this offering would confer on the remaining community some kind of immunity from anything worse. Parents consoled themselves with the thought that, at least their children were still living some kind of life elsewhere, and were not dead.
Only the Guardian forces had been kept up with determined effort by one or two strong family lines who had traditionally had contact with the chain of Wandmasters finding their way through the barrier between the two worlds and into the continuing story of the Realm. Vilma and Melindra came from a nomadic tribe known as the Wildlanders, and their warriors were fierce and cunning. When called on, they would lend their strength to Wandguard in battle and they were feared, even by the lo's and spindlies.
"The thing is this," explained Tyloren to his two new companions, "There is not much we can do to aid the Guardians on the battle field, but maybe we can organize a distraction for our host, the Lord Ataxios, which will draw his attention off them for long enough for our Wandmaster to complete his task."
"And what exactly is this task?" asked Loman solemnly, "Is he to destroy Ataxios, bring the Athrak Crystals into the light, or both?"
"Well, hopefully both," replied Tyloren, "But it's a tall order, of course."
"We could help him by removing at least one of those tasks from his shoulders," volunteered Mahoo, "it has long been my wish to enter the underground kingdom of Ataxios and rescue the crystals. I should very much like to try, at least. Tyloren, could you find your way back in again?"
Tyloren's flesh crept and his mouth went dry at the memory of his desperate flight from hunger, thirst and darkness, but he could see the logic of Mahoo's thinking.
"I think so, and in fact I think the very rock of the mountains aided me in my escape, so I would hope to be likewise guided in my return if I were to attempt such a task."
"This time, you would not be alone, nor would you be without supplies," vouched Loman, and smiled grimly. Mahoo leaned his thin face closer to Tyloren and spoke softly and firmly, as he looked him in the eye.
"We can do this, you know. We three make a good team. We could enter the mountain lair of Ataxios himself, steal his precious crystals from under his nose and light up the battle field with their glow." The air hung thick with conspiracy as the three men drew up plans in the evening twilight. Eventually, Loman stretched and stood up, shifting the burden on his shoulders awkwardly, so that Tyloren once again became aware of its presence. It was funny, he thought, that when you knew someone well enough, difference became so unimportant. Tyloren did not immediately accompany Loman back to the family home, choosing to remain with Mahoo and share some herbs and a little quiet time in order to consider better the ‘feel' of the plan they were cooking up. It would either feel right or wrong, and he would know what to do and how to proceed. He was unsure as to whether he should share their plans with Vilma and Menoneth, feeling that the fewer who knew, the better. This he would also meditate upon. He seated himself in the now familiar alcove on his flat stone, and the little candle flam
es flickered to life around him. As he concentrated, he allowed his thoughts to consolidate and take shape, so that by the time he was ready to seek out food and his bed for the night, he was sure beyond doubt of his course of action.
The hidden valley at the foot of the chasm where Tyloren now found refuge was peopled by the race of slints, and these slender, childlike inhabitants went about their daily chores, and accepted their strange assortment of guests without apparent question. Mahoo was accepted as one of their kind, though his height was slightly greater than those who gathered around his abode in the evenings to listen to his tales and seek his wisdom. He was also alone in his colouring, his dark auburn hair and freckled skin making a sharp contrast to the black hair and berry-brown complexion of his companions, but he was their wise man and their seer, and they paid him due respect. His origins were unclear, and he did not volunteer any information about them; perhaps he didn't know. The slints took little interest in Tyloren, but had daily dealings with Lenora, Loman and the boys as they traded foodstuffs and crafted items between them. Lenora's jams and other delicacies were in much demand, and she was always making and cooking. The whole unlikely situation was so domestic that Tyloren felt he could almost have settled and felt at home there. But he knew that time pressed and that he would soon once more be in the cold, dank, fearful tunnels of Athrak.
Around Mahoo's fire a meeting was called, and the tribe of slints was represented by an individual of uncertain age, intelligent eyes and well-formed features, who listened more than he spoke, but nodded and agreed or disagreed in his fashion from time to time. His name was Tollaman. Tyloren was also there, as were both Lenora and Loman, and their eldest son, Braedon.
"We have come together in order to plan our next move, or indeed to decide if we should, in fact move at all," said Mahoo, "and I would like to ask you, Tyloren to speak to us this evening to tell us how you see the situation in order for us to better understand and come to a decision."
"I will try to be brief, and before I begin, I call on the wisdom of the crystals in all this Realm to enlighten our minds and clarify our thoughts," replied Tyloren, pausing to take a deep breath and search his mind for inspiration. He began to speak in an even tone, saying
"Like tides on the great distant seas, and like the seasons of our Realm, so the process of preparation for confrontation with Ataxios continues. Through many generations of our people and the comings and goings of Wandmasters, we have striven to live in peace. But our children are regularly stolen, our young men turned into lo's and the light of our world is dimmed by the evil of Ataxios who has hidden away the crystal trove of Athrak in darkness and thus robbed them of their power to light and cheer us."
At the mention of lo's, Tyloren saw Loman hang his head and shift the load on his shoulders. Braedon flushed red and shot an angry look at Tyloren, who was able to feel as well as see it.
"I am not speaking ill of your father Braedon," he said gently, "Know that I have found in him a friend and protector I never hoped to stumble on in my poor diminished condition fresh from the halls of Athrak, and I mean no criticism, but he is the only one I know who has managed to retain his humanity after the implantation. I honour your father, Braedon, and I do not speak of him when I speak of lo's but of the transformed and evil servants of Ataxios I have had the displeasure to meet."
"You are young yet, son," said Loman, looking at the youth beside him, "and you have had no contact with fully transformed lo's. Don't be deceived into thinking they are in any way like me. They have lost every vestige of humanity and live only to do the bidding of their master. They are no longer men or women but vessels for the housing of malevolent entities. They do not deserve even your pity." Lenora squeezed her son's arm and smiled at him.
"Spindly for a mother and lo for a father. Who can blame you for being sensitive about your family?" Tyloren carried on.
"Many times have we been provoked by Ataxios and many times have we made moves to protect ourselves from his handiwork, but the balance has always been in his favour. This, I feel, is changing. With the coming of the new Wandmaster, John Stone, I witnessed a surge of power from the Wandguard Crystals that I have never seen before or even heard about. This young man is gifted with such strength that the light of the crystals becomes his very thought and acts out his wishes. It is remarkable to see, and for that reason, I believe we may have a unique opportunity to do something we have never done before, to defeat Ataxios and restore the Crystals of Athrak to the light. I also believe that it is not by accident I find myself here in your company, and that I have been put behind enemy lines, as it were, in order to play a part in fulfilling the potential in this new conjunction of events." He paused and looked hard at Braedon again before saying very softly,
"I can't think of better companions for blending in with the background in the tunnels of Athrak than a lo and a spindly, and I am going to ask your permission, Braedon, to lend me both your parents in this effort to repair our Realm."
The boy's head shot up and he looked from one parent to the other in disbelief. They maintained his gaze and he realized he had been brought to the meeting in order to be prepared to take over as head of his household if things should go ill.
"Mother, Father, are you really going to do this crazy thing? Think about it, we're safe here. We have a life beyond danger and we don't have to be involved in this, think about us! Think about Jed and Hal – what will they do if anything happens to you?"
"Braedon," said Loman gently, "Your mother and I have seen what Ataxios can do. We both, by the grace of some good force, managed to escape our terrible fates and we have lived this last period of our lives in happiness, bringing into the world three strong children, of whom you are the eldest. We cannot sit with our hands in our lap while there is a chance to change the fates of so many others who were not so fortunate as us and remain slaves and worse in the evil domain of Ataxios."
"But it's so dangerous. You could be killed, and then what? What will become of us?"
"If that's the end that awaits us, we must face it. You see, I also think it is no coincidence that Tyloren, your mother and I have been brought together at this time and in this place. I believe we have a unique part to play in the events that are about to unfurl and we cannot refuse. Should the worse come to the worst, we leave three descendants we are proud of, and the responsibility for passing on the lessons we have taught you will be on your young shoulders. We believe you are strong enough."
"No. I don't accept this! I'm not ready to lose you – either of you!" he yelled angrily and turning on Tyloren he said, "This is all your fault! Leave! Go back where you came from and leave us in peace! We don't want you here." He was on his feet, standing in front of Tyloren and pointing his finger in his face.
In a flash, Loman was grappling with his son, trying to turn him away from Tyloren.
"Look at me Braedon!" He commanded. Braedon struck out with his hand in anger and as Loman gripped his son's arm, the cloak slipped from his shoulders revealing the lolling head of the Lo attached thereto. The hideous whiteness of the face and the sick-eyed smile, which spread over its slavering mouth, was shocking. It had taken on life in the heated exchanges, and Loman choked back a cry of anguish as he struggled to overcome his emotional outburst and regain his calm. The head emitted a screech, which unsettled everyone there, and Lenora with tears in her eyes, leaped to her feet and ran to her husband's aid. Loman made an attempt to grab her hands and prevent her, his own head being bowed to his chest as the implanted thing between his shoulders gained strength and fought for control but she swept up the cloak from the dust, throwing it over her husband's shoulders to blind the monstrosity rooted there, and wrapped her long arms around Loman's shoulders to pin his arms to his side, calling to him.
"Come back, Limya, come back to us!"
Loman, hearing his wife's pet name for him began to thrash about less, and slowly his own face, contorted by his struggle with his lo half and beaded with sweat, began to
calm as his movements normalized and his breaths became longer and deeper till he won his own personal battle and sighed heavily.
During all this, Loman had Braedon's wrist in a vice-like grip and the boy's face had blanched to almost the same colour as the Lo head on his father's shoulders. Horror was written in his eyes and when he could eventually free his wrist, he stood, rooted to the ground, unable to move, and then he sank down in a heap on the floor and hugged his knees close to his chest.
"Do you see now? Do you understand?" Loman inquired of his son in a strangled voice. "You have never understood what I fight every day of my life. You may have seen my ‘traveling companion' from time to time when I was not careful enough to hide it, he smiled ruefully, and pushed his thumb in the direction of his shoulders, "but you have never known it's evil as I do, and I hope you and your brothers never will. It is for you that your mother and I want to go; for you, your brothers and for all the others like you in this Realm. Somewhere, this has to stop!"
Mahoo, who had been silent during these events, sat thoughtfully with a grim look on his face, and he now spoke, so that all eyes moved in his direction, and in this way, the intensity of the feelings was diminished.
"I too, Braedon, have wondered about the wisdom of the proposed plan," he said calmly and thoughtfully, "but I am now sure that we have no option but to do it – whatever the cost."
"That's easy for you to say," said the youth with a shaky voice, quieter now but still not entirely pacified, "They're not your parents."
"True," came back the reply, "but I remember my own parents, and had they asked of me a thing of such importance, I would have heeded them. You are young yet, and wisdom has not had time to mature your thinking, but you must learn to accept the greater wisdom of others until it does, and not least of all that of your parents who do this partly for you and your brothers, so you will have a better tomorrow. And if you are too close to them to be able to see that, then I ask you to respect my judgement in this." In a last reaction, Braedon tossed his head in the direction of Tyloren standing at his shoulder and said,
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