Nickolous forgot about the sensations prickling along his arm as he watched the apparition of the warrior fade—or was it an apparition? He wasn’t sure, but something familiar was tugging at him: a memory of misty places and an ancient warrior telling him of things meant to be, a timeless enchantment of legends that were more than legends, and winged warriors that were silent guardians.
Both Nickolous and Timothy were brought back to the present by the overwhelming silence that suddenly surrounded them.
Sarah, awakened out of a deep sleep, stumbled to her feet, grumbling irritably. The Old One, however, was awake instantly; her inner senses warning her of trouble. Grabbing her staff, she moved with surprising agility to where Nickolous stood, her eyes widening as she recognized that which rested upon his arm.
Nickolous turned at the soft touch on his shoulder. The Old One nodded, her black eyes unfathomable, for there were some things that one didn’t openly acknowledge, and so it was she turned away before he could see her face. She sighed deeply as she drew her staff back beneath the folds of her heavy cloak. Had the others been watching, they would have seen the slight glow before it was hidden from view. As it was, the Old One knew the staff would have to be kept out of sight until the time was right, for not even she knew how to unlock the bracelet’s secrets. What she did know, however, was that the staff, which had been passed down from the before times to her kind, had slept—until today.
Nickolous turned away, his thoughts now back to the present. For a moment it had been as if he could see a far-off place reflected in the silvery engraved depths of the bracelet that now seemed as if it had always been his. He had also seen what Timothy had not: the ornately carved staff the Old One carried was connected somehow to that which he wore about his arm. The Old One had moved away so swiftly that he was sure she knew more than she was willing to share just yet. Nickolous sighed deeply, wishing the others were here.
Jerome. Owen. Orith. Where were they when he needed their combined wisdom?
8
“Where’s Owen? He should have returned by now.” Jerome paced impatiently back and forth in front of the fire which had been lit earlier. In truth, he wasn’t as worried as he was eager to be gone from the place they had chosen to spend the night. There was a feel about this place he didn’t like. It was as if they were being watched, and as the moon rose, a great white luminescent globe in the star-studded sky, the feeling grew. He glanced to where the others were. If they felt what he felt, they weren’t showing it. Still.
He tried to relax; perhaps it was just his imagination. Everywhere they went, there seemed to be traces of A-Sharoon’s having been there before them.
§ § § § § §
Owen flew swiftly, gliding silently on the warm air currents as the dusk deepened; only using his wings when he had to. Even the slightest sound could be heard from below, where thin, bedraggled things gazed upward with drooling mouths and elongated faces, their narrowed eyes ever watchful for danger. Owen drew in a deep breath as the large shadowy creature on the ground below scuttled out of sight. He did not pursue it, knowing that it would be long gone by the time he swooped down to intercept it. Instead, he veered sharply eastward, the sudden unease nearly overwhelming him as Jerome’s whispered voice came to him.
“To us,” it said.
Owen flapped his wings against the night wind, all pretence of silence gone. The smell of something putrid came to him; then vanished. Not knowing what his friends faced, he gained height until he was hidden within the mists of the dark clouds that scudded across the sky, periodically blotting out the moon’s pale light.
§ § § § § §
Gabriel, his head high, scented the breeze that wended its way around him. He had slept but a short time, his senses awakening him, and although he did not sense what the big warrior sensed, he knew Jerome well enough to trust the forest warrior’s abilities to reach beyond where most others could not. Whether the danger had been there before them, or whether it was still to come, it did not matter. They would be ready. He moved cautiously to where the warrior of the forest stood. “What is it, old friend? What walks through the night?” Gabriel spoke softly so as not to awaken Orith, but there was no need, for the great white owl had awakened, sensing the unseen.
He blinked in the half light. There was danger. It was carried on the back of the wind to him along with the elders who spoke, their voices unheard by others. They were warning him. “We must leave this place. Now.”
Orith and Gabriel nodded in agreement. As they headed southward, they did not look back, which was a good thing, for the small clearing was suddenly filled with scurrying things, and narrowed slit-
ted eyes watched their departure hungrily.
§ § § § § §
“Out of my way!” A-Sharoon wielded her staff as squeals of protest echoed through the night. Drawing her heavy woolen cloak about her, she stood at the top of the knoll, looking down. “You!” She pointed her staff at her first officer. The crowd drew back, lest the creature had displeased their mistress; in which case, the further back, the better.
The officer stepped toward her but was careful not to get too close. Its association with A-Sharoon had been longer than most; simply because it had learned to choose the right moment to reveal certain things. “Your Ladyship,” the thing said as it bowed low in front of its mistress.
A-Sharoon waited, her white hands clasping the wooden walking staff. Her black eyes bored into those of her officer, looking behind their depths for deception; a fact her subordinate was well aware of and prepared for.
“There has been nothing untoward reported.” The sentry paused, gauging the woman’s mood. It stepped back, looking furtively about; ready if the need arose to flee. Then: “We are still waiting for the changeling to report back.” Its black eyes with their soulless depth managed to look up, its gaze now locked with the woman’s as it waited.
A-Sharoon remained where she was; silent. Her gaze never left the creature’s face, and the narrowed eyes that gazed back at her revealed nothing more than the words that had been spoken. A-Sharoon turned away, her long garments flowing about her like a living thing.
§ § § § § §
“So, what are we to do now.”
It wasn’t even a question. Lord Nhon said nothing, and A-Sharoon felt her anger rising. In the flickering light of the dimly lit cavern, Lord Nhon smirked in satisfaction at his ability to hold this haughty woman before him in her place. He turned his back to her, ignoring her, knowing she fought to control the urge to strike out at him.
“Well, are you going to answer me, or are your abilities grown so weak that I must take over?”
Lord Nhon’s whole body went rigid as he turned slowly around to glare at A-Sharoon.
Black eyes met his gaze evenly. Lord Nhon let his breath out slowly, determined to put this Daughter of Darkness in her place. “We wait.”
A-Sharoon stared at Lord Nhon’s retreating form, so angry she could not speak. In the long silence that followed, her breathing slowed, and her thoughts turned inward to a time before remembering, a time of growing and learning. She smiled to herself in the semi-darkness, and the half-formed words she was tempted to throw at the retreating form remained unspoken. Instead, she turned and retreated to her quarters, where she worked far into the night preparing.
Lord Nhon waited a little while before calling the sentries to him. “Watch her.”
The wolf-like creature nodded assent and disappeared into the darkened corridors.
§ § § § § §
“So, he thinks to undermine me, does he?” A-Sharoon flung her long hair over her shoulder as she knelt down to stir the embers of the fire. Taking some powder from a small flask, she threw it onto the glowing embers. A sickly sweet odor permeated the room as she fanned the embers into tiny flames, while her first officer edged closer to the door’s opening, unsur
e of what to expect. A-Sharoon straightened slowly and turned toward him, her expression unreadable. “Go,” she said, then added, “but not too far. I may have need of you this night.”
§ § § § § §
“Timothy?” Nickolous felt the wind brush his cheek, but it was more than that. It was a sighing that touched him from deep within; and he drew in his breath sharply.
Timothy turned to face him, at the same time inhaling deeply of the scents carried by the night’s breeze. “Shh.” Timothy touched the scabbard on his side, grasping the handle of the sword, ready to pull it out, but there was no need. The sudden appearance of Owen, gliding wraithlike and silent against the velvety backdrop of the starlit sky, was a welcome sight indeed to the weary travelers.
“Owen.”
“Nickolous.”
Silently they gazed at one another, glad to be in each other’s presence once again.
“So, the Old One drew you back. We thought so,” Owen said as he acknowledged the others who crowded close, their thoughts unspoken but heard. “We found Leah’s trail; Chera guards the entrance. Jerome, Gabriel, and Orith are on their way to the guardian’s gate. There is no time to lose.”
“And Leah?” Nickolous gazed deep into Owens’s eyes; then nodded. The others looked at each other curiously but asked no questions. It was obvious Leah was on her own quest. “Well, then,” Nickolous said decisively, rising to face Sarah, who was about to say something. He put out a hand to silence her. “Ask nothing, for there are no answers right now. Our paths will cross with that of my sister, of that I am sure. She is safe. Do not worry.” He put an arm about her to assure her. He didn’t understand how he knew it, but he sensed that Leah was about to have her own adventure, and that they wouldn’t be sharing this one, but would come together again when this was all over. He smiled down at Sarah to reassure her as he looked at the others; he knew she was fond of Leah. They all were.
“Nickolous.” Owen was peering upward, into the morning’s early dawning. The stars were still visible but less bright, and the wind was picking up. The sudden cold gust of wind caused everyone to shiver.
“I think,” Nickolous said, his gaze meeting that of Owen, “that we had better leave—”
The big owl nodded assent; moments later, they were on their way, moving silently through the forest’s depths.
The watcher, well concealed from prying eyes, observed their departure, noting with satisfaction that Nickolous wore the armlet, but had the sense to conceal it as well. With the wind to aid him, the unseen warrior took flight.
Owen heard the whispering sound, but only the swaying branches, caught by the growing wind, greeted his gaze as he looked back. The Old One, however, glanced up in time to see the winged form high overhead. Then there was nothing. Grasping her walking stick firmly, she moved steadily forward, her mind more at ease now that she knew they weren’t alone.
Nickolous drew in a deep breath of fresh air, glad to be on the move again. He was anxious to see Gabriel and Jerome, for there was much he had to tell, as well as ask. Although he had made no mention of his mother, she was, nonetheless, not far from his thoughts. In the few months that they had been together, there were still so many things that were left unsaid and unasked. Nickolous sighed deeply as he remembered all that had passed between them; so much, yet so little in such a short space of time. Even as his mind went back to that day she had disappeared, he somehow knew that she was safe. Somehow, she had escaped A-Sharoon.
The shadowy form that stepped into his path drew him from his thoughts, and the loping silvery gray form was a welcome sight that almost overwhelmed him.
“Gabriel!”
The huge wolf nearly knocked him down as he rushed to greet his friend of adventures past. “Nickolous. My friend, it is good to see you.” The great wolf said no more, for he could not. Not one to show emotion, except to his mate, Chera, who even now guarded this young one’s sister, he was overwhelmed momentarily by emotions. He stood in front of Nickolous, marveling at how much he had grown since their last meeting as he looked deep into the startling blue eyes, so much like his own, wondering at what he saw there. But before he could say anything more, Jerome had lumbered up, his gait slow but steady, and Nickolous was being gripped in a bear hug that left him breathless.
Nickolous could not believe they were here. In his dreams, he had seen them—felt their presence—and wished he were here with them.
As Orith approached, his gait unhurried, his back hunched a little more then what Nickolous remembered, he drew in his breath sharply. It had been too long. Turning from Jerome and the others, he grasped Orith in a hug. He had missed them all and none more than the rest. Standing with them gathered about him, he felt the exhaustion wash away. And as he looked at each one, he knew there would be much to tell around the fire’s flickering light this coming night.
§ § § § § §
It would be much later before they would have a chance to stop. The day had deepened into the inky blackness of the night before Owen, tired and exhausted, returned with news that they were close to their destination. It would be wise, he said, to stop here, in this place, to rest and leave by the dawning’s first light. Later, as everyone rested by the fire, comfortable and content from the hot meal and warm drinks, Nickolous began his tale.
Jerome stroked his chin thoughtfully as he stared into the blue-white flame. Reaching for a charred stick, he stirred the coals until they caught at the dry wood that had been gathered earlier. For as many turnings as he could remember, he had studied the teachings of the before times, when the worlds were growing, and the doors were constantly opening and closing. Some of those who visited those far-off places never came back, while the few who did return walked between the two worlds, trying to discover where they belonged. He closed his eyes against the vision. The path that Nickolous had been thrust onto was fraught with danger, and even though the winged warriors watched over him.
Sighing deeply, he turned his attention toward Gabriel.
The big wolf was standing beside Nickolous, his expression unreadable. He, too, was wondering about the relationship between the warriors of Skye and the young man who now stood before him. That Nickolous and his sister were not of the forest clans was clear enough. That their mother was of Skye was merely theory. The guardian protected her own; so obviously, there was a relationship between the two, but what? Gabriel peered into the fire’s flickering shadows, trying to find an answer.
Orith sat close to the fire, glad for its warmth. He, too, was thinking on the words that had been spoken as he glanced from beneath his heavy woolen hood at the Old One. She was older than them all by countless turnings. Her knowledge, layered deep within the wizened but still vital body, could say much about this night’s telling, but her face remained unchanged. He smiled to himself, knowing that for all their wondering, things would have to unfold as they were meant to.
“Well?”
Everyone turned their attention to Nickolous, for it was he who had spoken. Sarah had cleared away the remains of the simple meal, and as steaming gourds of tea appeared, everyone drew close to the fire, for the night had become chilly, and the fine white mist it drew with its presence permeated everything within its grasp.
“Jerome?” The voice was questioning.
The giant warrior shifted his position so that he was facing Nicko-lous; his green eyes gazed past him into the forest beyond. “I think,” he said, as he reached for another piece of wood, “that there are no answers for some things. That A-Sharoon bridged the two worlds, and that your mother was abducted, is very disturbing; however, I think there is more to this. A daughter of Skye would not be taken so easily, unless there is a reason for it.”
“What do you mean? Is it possible that the Daughter allowed this so that the Old One could call Nickolous safely here?” Timothy asked as he leaned forward into the fire’s fa
int glow.
Jerome nodded his head slowly although, deep down, he wasn’t sure if it was true. He glanced over to where Gabriel sat.
The big wolf was about to say something; then, thinking better of it, he remained silent. There would be time enough to wonder after they reached their destination. He rose decidedly to his feet. “The hour grows late. We must rest a little, for we do not know what awaits us on the morrow.” Gabriel nudged Nickolous gently. Although he wasn’t showing it, Gabriel knew that he was worried. “Have no fear, my young friend.”
Nickolous looked down into eyes that seemed as old as time itself. Nodding but saying nothing, he reached out to stroke the thick, silvery fur. “Thank you,” he replied, as the big wolf settled close to him.
Later, as Nickolous drifted off into a restless sleep, visions of mist-shrouded places in long-ago dreams haunted his sleep, while a young woman, his mother, stood, arms raised, calling the Eagle to her, long auburn hair flowing behind her, caught within the wind’s gentle grasp.
§ § § § § §
“Nickolous.” The words were whispered and urgent. “Awaken; time grows short.” Orith leaned close and shook him gently. Even as
Nickolous was rising to his feet, Jerome and Gabriel were rousing the others.
Nickolous gazed upward into the predawn, and it was a moment before he realized the reason for the urgent awakening. The stillness that surrounded him was absolute. Nothing stirred on a morning that should have been alive with movement. Nickolous turned at the sound of approaching footsteps, their gait slow and unhurried. The Old One stood there, watching.
“Old One?” Nickolous knelt down so that he was at eye level.
The Old One said nothing, her gaze turning to the shadows within the wooded forest. “Come,” she said.
Nickolous turned to follow, his senses tingling.
9
A-Sharoon strode angrily through the corridors of the cavern, toward the distant light—toward Lord Nhon.
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