Son Of Skye
Page 3
A shriek rent the air as the shadowy form leapt toward the opening, straight into Chera, who was returning from her night’s hunt. Wherever it had been heading, it never made the journey, for Chera was in no mood to show mercy this night. Her silvery-gray eyes narrowed as she tossed the thing aside carelessly, her gaze fixed upon her mate.
“Well, I guess there’s no need to ask where that thing came from,” Sarah commented dryly as she held a tattered piece of leather to her nose to mask the pungent odor that suddenly permeated the cavern. She wondered silently what the rest were wondering: why hadn’t someone smelled the odious creature long before it was seen scrambling toward the entrance?
Gabriel knew by Chera’s stance that not all had gone well on the hunt, and he waited silently, knowing that what must be spoken of between the friends this night would forever change how they looked upon one another. “And so?” Gabriel faced his mate across the fire; waiting.
Everyone turned to stare at Chera as a sudden chill pervaded the cavern, causing the fire to flicker wildly; while the shadows splayed against the earthen walls crept up and out seeking as Sarah crept closer to her brother, Timothy.
Owen, the eyes and wings of the night, shuddered violently, as if he had already heard the words that now tumbled forth from Chera’s mouth.
“The Living Flame is gone. Stolen by one who dares to think he can use the light to aid the darkness.”
Sarah sobbed uncontrollably as Gabriel and Chera, Owen, Orith, and the Old One stood, speechless, unable to say anything, except to marvel that their world still continued. it was Owen who caught the Old One as she fell. Carefully placing her inert form upon a makeshift bed, he touched her wizened face gently.
“Rest, Old One. Sleep the sleep of healing and dream the dream of renewal,” Owen murmured softly, before turning to face the others who stood, silent and watchful.
“Is she.” Sarah hastily wiped at the moisture on her cheek as the tears continued to flow silently.
“No. She only sleeps the sleep of dreams. This is her kind’s most powerful gift. Be thankful she is with us in this darkened time, for if her heart were black and full of misdeed, we would have even more to worry about.” For the first time in a long time, Owen felt a renewed hope, for it was not often that the Old Ones could call upon their hidden gifts. Seeing that Sarah and Timothy did not understand, Owen hastened to explain that there were times when some of the Old Ones could journey to those beyond places of mist and imagery and draw those they needed back with them. This was such a time.
“So then, all is not lost. There is yet hope?” Sarah asked, her big brown eyes glistening.
“Yes, Sarah,” Owen replied. “There is hope.”
“What about the Flame of Living Breath? Has it been extinguished, or does it languish in some dark place surrounded by evil?” Gabriel asked Owen as he arose from his cramped position beside the Old One’s inert form.
“The Flame survives, as it must. They cannot destroy that which they cannot understand,” Owen replied, much to everyone’s surprise. “However, we must prepare for the worst and hope for the best. The guardian of the gate must have help. Those of us who can must go to that sacred place and help guard against further damage. Once there, I am sure that we will learn more about the dark dwellers’ intention.”
“By dark dwellers, I assume you mean A-Sharoon and He who dwells beneath the earth in the darkened places?” Timothy asked as he moved quickly about the cavern, gathering supplies that would be needed for the journey.
“Yes. For many years, there were rumors of a dark one who practiced the dark secrets. But as we were never confronted with more than rumors, we never bothered with him. Believing that he was a harmless hermit, our concerns were for what A-Sharoon was up to.”
“A mistake we intend to remedy,” Gabriel growled in irritation, suddenly restless, the need to be on the hunt once again strong within him.
“What about the Old One?” Chera nudged her mate gently, sensing his concern and discontent. His compassion for an old friend and his need to protect the guardian’s gate was nearly overwhelming.
“Do we move her?” Gabriel nodded toward Owen, waiting for the big owl to respond, for he had studied the old writings in his youth.
For long moments, Owen stood, staring down at his old friend thoughtfully. Although it pained him greatly to leave her behind, he knew it would slow them down to take her. Besides, wherever she was walking at this moment, her steps must be sure and the way back clear. Decisively, he made up his mind.
“Timothy?” Owen turned toward the two large mice that had been with them since the beginning.
Timothy stepped forward. “I’ll stay and guard the Old One while she’s on her journey.” Timothy didn’t hesitate in his reply, for he knew his mission was just as important as Owen’s.
“I’ll stay with my brother.” Sarah had stepped forward to stand beside Timothy, her gaze fixed fondly on the Old One who lay so still beneath the shabby coverlet. They were all in this together, for better or for worse, and Sarah had resolved a long time ago to do what was necessary without complaint—even so, she shivered inexplicably as the wind blew through the myriad of connecting tunnels.
Everyone hurried to their tasks as the cool breeze caressed them with unseen fingers. Long after it had retreated, back up the tunnel, each one of them were left with sharp prickles running up and down their spine.
“I’m sorry that we must leave you here unprotected,” Gabriel apologized to Timothy and Sarah. He didn’t feel comfortable leaving them here, in this place, alone, but he knew he had no choice. Their journey could not wait, and if the Old One could not guide Nickolous to them, then they would have to find another way. Looking back now, Gabriel realized they had misinterpreted some of the old writings: that the battle in the clearing of light turnings past had not been the battle that had been foretold. Rather, it had been a test of their strength to face what was to come, and the boy, so quickly forced to become a young man in a time and place so foreign to him, was gifted with the “knowing.”
Gabriel sighed; weary to the center of his being, as Timothy nodded, silently acknowledging the big wolf’s concern for him and
Sarah. Strangely, he had no fear of being left here in this place. To him it was simply a resting spot, and as soon as the Old One awakened, they would continue their journey to whatever fate awaited them.
Sarah, on the other hand, did not share her brother’s philosophy and had agreed to stay for different reasons; the foremost reason being her fondness for the prone figure before her. She had no wish to leave the Old One behind, unguarded; so with that in mind, she hugged Owen and wished him well. As the big owl stammered his surprise, Chera found herself suddenly enveloped in a hug and Sarah’s large brown eyes peering into her own. “Safe journey, my friend.” The big wolf nodded, acknowledging the whispered words as Sarah turned to face Gabriel, who stepped back warily, muttering something unintelligible beneath his breath. Sarah laughed, surprising them all, and saluted the great silver wolf.
“If it’s possible, if we can, we’ll send one of Jerome’s warriors to guard the path and guide your footsteps to where we wait. Orith will already have heard the news, so he will not return here but will follow us.” Gabriel stood a moment longer at the cavern’s opening looking back; then, with a decisive nod, turned, and with Chera at his side, loped effortlessly into the deepening day. The beating of powerful wings could be heard as Owen took flight, his duty to search the darkened corners and pathways of the forest floor.
§ § § § § §
Timothy pushed the covering aside and stepped outside into the early morning’s dawning. The sun had set, the moon had risen, and another day had dawned since they had been left. Still the Old One slept; her breathing even and undisturbed. Shielding his eyes, he peered into the damp mist that swirled about him. There. He was sure of it now—something was o
ut there.
Sarah moved nervously about in the cavern as she waited for her brother to return. As she bent to place another log on the fire, she found herself staring into a pair of narrowed, yellow eyes.
Timothy wheeled about as Sarah’s screams filled the air, the sheer terror in her voice unmistakable.
§ § § § § §
Sarah and the changeling stared at each other from opposite sides of the cot where the Old One lay, still in a deep sleep. Long, jagged teeth protruded from the creature’s foam-flecked mouth as it clawed the air threateningly, its yellow eyes narrowed to mere slits as it prepared to change form.
It was in this state that it was most vulnerable, and Timothy, remembering all too well past experiences, took advantage and thrust his sword toward the thing. As it fell to the earthen floor, an eerie cry filled the air, as the changeling, not mortally wounded, but now enraged that it had been challenged, rose to its feet and charged yet again.
Sarah stood mesmerized as the glowing eyes held her in their embrace. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her brother leaping toward her and something else; but it was all in slow motion, and she couldn’t seem to move fast enough as the roaring beast flung itself toward her and the one she guarded.
5
Nickolous wakened with a start. Sweat dampened his brow as his heart thudded heavily within his chest. He’d been dreaming—again. He shook his head wearily as he threw back the bed coverings. It would be much later that he would look back on that awakening and think it odd that he had never noticed the unnatural cold that morning. Nor the distant howling which seemed to reach through the mists thin coat of concealment, so that the seen and yet unseen could observe and were observed by realms not yet known by most of living kind.
“Nickolous.” The sound was barely a whisper.
Nickolous was halfway down the winding staircase when the first draft of cold air hit him. Shivering, he hurried down the stairs and grabbed a heavy woolen sweater, which had been draped haphazardly across the bottom railing the night before.
“Nickolous!” For a moment, Nickolous stood frozen in time as the voice, stronger this time, carried with it the owner’s identity.
“Old One?” Nickolous hardly dared breathe the words as he started toward the opened door, only to find Leah there ahead of him. She, too, had awakened to the sound of someone softly calling her name.
Together they both stood, peering into what appeared to be the early morning’s dawning but wasn’t. The moon, incredibly full and round, hung like a giant obelisk in the jet-black sky, made even more so by the mist’s frothing, swirling, semi-transparency. Nothing else could be seen but the unending white stuff—Nickolous turned his head slightly to one side, listening.
The soft keening of the wind swirled about the two as they stepped out of the house into the arms of the mist, which embraced them damply.
“Where are we?” Leah’s voice was lost to the wind’s sighing. Her brother leaned down so he could hear the barely audible words.
“I don’t know.” He had to cup his hands together and yell into his sister’s ear. Leah looked up at him towering over her, his piercing blue eyes so like—
A vision of the huge wolf, his blue eyes flashing, appeared before her, and then it was Chera’s voice calling her. There was an urgency to it that could not be mistaken or denied. Leah’s heart thudded painfully within her chest as Nickolous’s face came into focus.
“What?” Leah’s voice cracked with emotion as she shook her head to clear it.
“I said,” Nickolous was nearly yelling as he gripped Leah’s shoulders tightly. “I said, I think we’re lost. I can’t see the house or the river. We should have reached the fence that borders Aunt Erlin’s property by now. Something’s up, and I’m not sure we’re going to like it.”
“Nickolous…”
The voice was so clear and so close that Nickolous turned his head, expecting to see a pair of warm black eyes set in a familiar wizened face. There was nothing. Nothing except the frothing whirling fog that curled lazily about him, and when he looked back, his hands grasped empty air.
“Leah?” Nickolous spun around, his breathing ragged, his gaze searching.
There was only the thickening mist and the wind, with its high singsong sound as it blew through the foliage against his face, to answer him.
§ § § § § §
Emptiness. Wind. Rain. A fog-like shroud that surrounded him and clung to him like a living, breathing thing. Nickolous shivered in its grasp as he breathed on his ice-cold hands, trying to feel some warmth. He had no idea how much time had passed since he had stepped away from Aunt Erlin’s house into this seemingly empty void he now found himself in, and surprisingly, he really didn’t care. He did not fear this place, for he knew it well. Taking a deep breath, he strode ahead, toward a faint gleam of bright light shining in the distance.
§ § § § § §
Leah held her breath as the snuffling sound came closer. As thick as the fog was, something had been tracking her since she had been separated from Nickolous hours earlier. At first she had wandered aimlessly, afraid of the unfamiliar sounds that spun around her as the wind rushed about; at times nearly suffocating in its intensity, at other times carrying with it the distant howls that seemed to be guiding her. Now, she only wanted to escape the seemingly unending mist that chilled her, and the unknown thing that followed her.
§ § § § § §
Nickolous approached the cavern warily, every sense alert for danger. The crude leather covering at the entrance flapped gently as he paused, unsure as to whether the wind or someone inside was the cause. Too, he was suddenly aware that he was not even carrying a weapon with which to defend himself. Yet the indecision was fleeting, for the sudden scream tore at him with a remembrance of loyalty beyond thought of self. As he burst through the doorway into the darkened gloom, the shadowy form that threatened those within rose to its full height to face him.
Nickolous stood frozen as the thing wavered. Narrowed yellow eyes shifted from the intended victims to the newcomer, while the smell, which had begun to permeate the room, was incredible. Nicko-lous well remembered this kind of adversary, and a deep sense of foreboding and helplessness threatened to overwhelm him. He was unarmed, and this beast was nearly invincible.
Then a feeble groan from something beneath a tattered blanket caught his attention; that, and the brief glimpse of a beloved face pulled at something deep inside him; something forgotten, but apparently not lost. It was the ability to call for strength from the land of mists, high in the mountains covered in snow and cloud, a place of awe and wonderment; of mythical legends and dreams—the home of winged warriors, and a guardian that protected her own.
Nickolous drew himself upright to face the creature, which moved from its hunched position as it flexed razor-sharp claws. As it turned, it transformed, even as it leapt toward him.
Timothy threw himself across the cot, pulling Sarah with him in an effort to protect her. As he fell, he threw his sword at the outstretched hand that reached out and unerringly caught it.
In one fluid motion, the sword was grasped, and swung with deadly accuracy. Although not a killing blow, it was accurate enough to cripple, if only temporarily. “Get out!” Nickolous yelled as the creature shook itself, trying to rise from its fallen position on the cavern’s floor. “Take the Old One with you. Run to the forest and hide!” Nickolous shouted as he advanced toward the beast, sword raised.
Timothy scooped the ragged bundle up in his arms, while Sarah, still dizzy from her fall and frightened nearly out of her wits, nonetheless managed to follow her brother outside. As they fled toward the relative safety of the forest, the weather-beaten leather flap covering the entrance fell haphazardly back in place; while the wind whirled about them, drowning out the sounds that emanated from deep within the depths of the cavern.
§ § § § § §
Timothy laid his burden down gently in a moss-covered grove surrounded by towering oak trees. The mist, damp and clinging, still surrounded them, but it wasn’t as dense here, for it was shortly after sunrise, and the light from the morning’s soft dawning traced patterns through the fog, slowly dissipating it. As Timothy rose from his kneeling position, a thin, leathery paw shot out from beneath the torn and tattered blanket. Startled nearly out of his wits, he fell back; knocking over Sarah.
“Nickolous. You must help him.” The Old One had risen to a sitting position; her talon-like nails digging painfully into Timothy’s forearm. Brown eyes met black; having spent her strength, with a soft sigh, she laid back and slept.
“She sleeps the sleep of healing.” Sarah placed her hand gently on her brother’s shoulder as she spoke. “Go. We will be safe here, in this place.”
Timothy ran, pulling the small dagger from its leather sheath, silently acknowledging to himself that it would be nearly useless against such an adversary, even as he withdrew it; nonetheless, it would be better than nothing.
§ § § § § §
Nickolous sidestepped as the creature lunged. Weakened and not yet able to shape-shift, the thing was enraged. It shook its head from side to side, bellowing its rage as frothy foam flew everywhere. Nickolous wiped the stuff disdainfully off his clothes; his eyes locked on the beast as it prepared to leap. Taking a deep breath, he stood, waiting.
6
“Lord Moshat, the boy calls.”
Rising with some difficulty and aided by an ornately carved wooden staff, Lord Moshat removed a small, hand-carved, wooden box from a drawer. Placing it in the opened hand of the messenger, he commanded: “Go with all speed. Do not be seen by the forest dwellers if at all possible.”
“And the bracelet?”
“Leave it with the boy. With the passage of time comes knowledge, and only the chosen one can unlock its secrets. Go now and protect the path he must walk, but let him discover the power within himself through his own means and experiences. Go.” The last words were whispered into the shadows cast by the mornings early light. “May the shadows cloak you my friend.”