Son Of Skye

by Thérèse Pilon

  “Yes,” Jerome agreed softly, his expression thoughtful, his voice nearly a whisper so that Nickolous would not hear. “I hope for all our sakes that tomorrow will bring my warriors.” He sighed deeply as he headed toward the forest’s edge; Gabriel watched him go, his own thoughts troubled. Throughout the long afternoon, even after the evening shadows had deepened into the dusk that brings the blackness of night, the peculiar whistles echoed throughout the wood until that was all the travelers could hear within their own minds.

  § § § § § §

  Nickolous had fallen into a restless sleep while the fire had burned low, leaving only a few glowing embers, as Sarah, curled against the Old One, slept fitfully; while Timothy and Gabriel kept watch, although both doubted that anything untoward would occur. As Gabriel watched the moon rise, his thoughts returned to a more primordial time, when the night wind had brought with it the scent of the prey and the pack had hunted as one. He sighed deeply. The only one constant these days was Chera. He nuzzled her gently; glad for her presence, thankful that at least this one thing had not changed.

  As the night deepened and passed, the white gray of dawn brought with it the rolling mist that crept along the ground, seeking, its damp tendrils curling lazily around anything that stood in its path. Jerome ignored the cloying dampness; well aware that time was running out. As morning’s dawn washed away the night, a faint answering cry responded.

  § § § § § §

  Caught in between the two places, neither awake nor asleep, Nick-olous reached out to touch the fragile, white, bell-shaped flowers that hung heavy with perfume; their thick vines wrapped tightly around the ancient trees. He drew his hand back, aware that something wasn’t right as the wind blew softly from the high places, passing over the gullies and valleys in between, the whisper of the wind as it fanned his cheek warning him.

  The winged warrior watched, aware that another pair of eyes watched also.

  § § § § § §

  Nickolous awoke covered in sweat. Rolling to his feet, he leaned against a tree for support, his heart beating wildly. He pulled back, startled at the touch on his arm. “Old One.” He let his breath out softly, relieved.

  “Come,” she said. “Come along with me. These old bones need to get some exercise, and besides—” Her grip tightened as she steered him toward the forest’s edge. “Jerome has heard from his warriors.” Dark eyes peered up at him, and her nails dug into his arm as she pulled him down toward her so that she was looking directly at him. “You must be careful, Nickolous. You are not the young boy you were on that moonlit night so many turnings ago. There is a power deep within you.” She lowered her voice so that Nickolous had to strain to hear her next words. “Go with your heart. Trust no one.”

  Nickolous looked at the Old One in surprise as she released her grip, as Sarah, excited and out of breath, rushed toward them, bursting with news.

  “Gabriel says to come quick.” Sarah pulled Nickolous along while the Old One hurried behind. Once, she stopped and looked behind her, the hair on the back of her neck bristling. Tilting her head slightly to one side, she listened, stilling her own heartbeat so that she could focus. There was nothing—nothing except Sarah’s chatter as she pulled Nickolous further ahead, and after a few moments of waiting, she hurried on, clutching the staff beneath her robe tightly, for even though she had seen nothing, and the birds that flitted from tree to tree were going about their morning business as usual, her keen senses warned her they were being watched.

  “Gabriel?”

  The big wolf, glad that the morning’s dawning was not seeing Nickolous leave with the warrior of the forest, greeted him warmly. “Jerome returns with good news: his warriors are but two days march from here. They will be positioning themselves along the way, for there are those who must guard other gates.” Gabriel paused, his nostrils flaring as the breeze fanned him; the scent was fleeting however; then it was gone altogether. He shrugged, knowing it would be a useless thing to send Chera out. Whatever it was would be long gone by now.

  “The others?”

  Gabriel turned to face Nickolous, his blue eyes fathomless; he sighed inwardly. So much to tell, but the telling? Would it be understood? “There are many doors to other places. You yourself have come through two of them.” Gabriel lowered his voice as Nickolous fought the prickling sensation that crept up along his arm.

  He knew that if he raised his sleeve, the armband would be nearly translucent in its wild beauty—that if he looked more closely, he would be lost in the depths that swirled within the intricate carvings that covered the silver metal.

  He chose not to look.

  “The guardians of the gates are many. They guard these places with not only their physical strength but with their hearts as well.” Gabriel drew in a deep breath, careful to mask his emotions. He did not want Nickolous to know how perilous their situation was. “If a guardian loses himself to the darkness, if he betrays the sacred trust of those Ancients who chose him from the beginning, the strength and purity that guarded against the darkness of the heart will become a thing of blackness. The guardian, a son of the light, will himself become a thing of ugliness. No one will want to look upon this being without fear and loathing.”

  “These beings—how are they different from A-Sharoon and her scurrying things?” Nickolous asked.

  “A-Sharoon was born to the darkness. She has never known the good. She has never known love, kindness, or compassion. She is. The good of the world has always…will always.be at odds with her kind.” Gabriel nudged Nickolous gently.

  “What of the ‘Fallen’?”

  “The Fallen? Let’s just say that the difference between the two is opposite.”

  “Opposite? I don’t understand.” Nickolous gripped his arm where the band rested to still the burning sensation that was creeping up along his shoulder into his neck.

  “Whereas the battle between good and evil has been fought since the dawn of time, even before the beginning, the outcome was always the same. Either we win or A-Sharoon wins. Either way, it’s only for a time, and then it begins again. When a guardian falls, it’s different.

  All the knowledge, all the light that protected the weak and the innocent, becomes a power within the power.” Gabriel’s voice trailed off as Nickolous watched him thoughtfully.

  The tingling sensation was lessening now, and he removed his hand slowly from the armband. Gabriel watched him through narrowed lids, the big wolf glad that the boy kept the bracelet hidden from prying eyes. Nickolous stared beyond Gabriel to the forest, his thoughts racing ahead. Something was bothering him. Gabriel watched him intently; waiting for the question he knew was to come.

  “Lord Nhon was once more than what he is now, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  ‘Which gate did he guard?” Even as he asked the question, Nickolous dreaded the answer he knew was to come.

  Gabriel looked at him with sorrow-filled eyes. Even though he himself had not yet come into being at the time of the telling, he knew the story well. He and others like him had been chosen before they had even drawn breath to protect against the day that the unspeakable would occur. Gabriel sighed deeply. “The gate to the Light of Truth. The gate of the Living Flame.” Gabriel turned aside, his sorrow clearly visible.

  “There are those among us, older than the others, who remember Lord Nhon when he was a being of truth.” The Old One spoke quietly, taking up the thread of the story, her face upturned in the day’s bright light.

  Nickolous looked into her eyes, but she wasn’t looking at him; she was seeing something else. As she began to speak again, her voice low and melodious, Nickolous found himself walking with her, back to a far away time of her youth. As the story unfolded, a woman, long auburn hair blowing gently in the wind, watched from a mist-shrouded place where none below could see.

  “Lord Nhon was a be
ing of pure light, there, from the high places.” The Old One motioned toward the towering mountains, their tops obscured by thick white clouds. “Anyway, even though I was very young, I remember when the darkness came and settled over the land for a time. There was no day, just the endless night as we huddled, frightened, in our homes, as the storms raged all about and the lightning flashed in the mountains beyond.”

  “How long did the darkness last?” Nickolous asked as he peered thoughtfully into the distance, studying the far away twin peaks nestled together; yet even from this great distance towering over the inhabitants in the valley below.

  “How long?” The Old One’s brows furrowed thoughtfully as she rubbed her forehead gently, remembering when she was a youngling and the details of that terrifying time. “Let’s see—” She closed her eyes against the memories that threatened to pour forth. There were too many—and so she went to that still small place within herself that was the gift of her kind: to sort through and chose.

  She opened her eyes, squinting upward into the bright light; grateful for the warmth that it brought to her aging body. “Yes, now I remember. The storms raged over the valley for twelve risings and settings of the sun. In all that time, we ate by candlelight, the food cold, nothing hot to warm us, only our parents’ arms about us to help us go to sleep.” The Old One’s voice was barely a whisper.

  “Why couldn’t you build a fire?” Nickolous asked.

  “It was summer, a time when we gathered the wood from the forest as we needed it. It was so sodden from the heavy rain and mud that washed down from the high places, it wouldn’t light. Even after, when the light came back to us, it was many sleeps before the chill left from all that rain dissipated from our bodies and our homes.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Lord Nhon had been defeated by those who guard from above. From that day forward, only those born to the forest guarded its secrets. The Flame remained, and Lord Nhon was exiled in the caverns below, the entrance guarded by the forest warriors and the Living Flame. But even in exile, Lord Nhon worked his dark magic. As A-Sharoon, spawned during the long darkness, drew her first breath in a cave far away, the once-great warrior planned his vengeance. It took many turnings, and we grew from younglings to what we are today.”

  The Old One paused, her breathing uneven, as if the remembering was becoming too much. It was some moments before she let out her breath slowly, calming herself, before continuing. “As we battled A-Sharoon those few short turnings ago, the storm she caused with her own darkness acted as a catalyst to free him from the protected place where he had been entombed.”

  “How was he able to capture the Living Flame? I mean, couldn’t it have consumed him or something?” Nickolous asked, at the same time feeling foolish for having asked the obvious.

  The Old One turned to look at the young man that walked with her, his brilliant blue eyes questioning and eager. She suddenly felt even frailer, thinking of the turnings that had passed. She shook her head as images of her childhood, followed by her youth and the place where she was now, crowded her thoughts. All that time. All spent on preparing for the possibility that two evils, each one unaware that without the other they would not exist, would come together, setting in motion a set of circumstances that could possibly turn the worlds of knowledge back into themselves.

  The Old One paused, suddenly aware that Nickolous was standing still, watching her. Those eyes. There was something familiar. She shook the feeling off. Impulsively, she reached out to grasp his hand. Whatever it was, she would remember when she was supposed to. Of one thing she was certain: there was no darkness in this young man. She thought of the question so innocently asked and laughed softly, for indeed, hadn’t they all wondered the same thing? Even she herself, a clan elder, one of the “knowing races’’ had pondered that one. The answers she received frightened even her. However, the answer was one they all had to face.

  “For more turnings than we can imagine, the Flame has existed, the power within the power, protected by the pure. Lord Nhon was ageless, near immortality, a gift to those who protected the light. The Ancients, in their wisdom, decided that this gift of near immortality would ensure the most trusted of the guardian warriors would protect the Flame with their very being. The turnings passed and the world changed. The guardians, concerned for the future, sought to commune with the Flame, but most failed in their attempt, except Lord Nhon. The warrior’s thoughts, once only concerned with keeping the truth, turned back to a time before the darkness, before the light, and the seeds of discontent grew. He and he alone now knew of things long unspoken of—protected.” The Old One’s voice trailed off; she covered her mouth to stifle the sob as Nickolous drew her to him to comfort her, sorry now that he asked the question.

  The Old One pulled away. Wiping the moisture from her face, she patted Nickolous’s arm reassuringly. “It’s all right. Even though some things are painful to speak of, they must be told.” She wiped her face again, trying to stop the silent flow of tears that coursed unheeded, down her leathery cheeks. “The Flame is many things. At different times, when the worlds are in distress, it changes. No. No.” The Old One had already perceived the question Nickolous was about to ask. “Fire and ice are akin. The form of the Flame remained, buried deep within the heart of it, and that is what the warrior waited for: the change. When the worlds shifted in their needs yet once again, Lord Nhon took the heart and imprisoned it in the darkness before it could consume him.”

  Nickolous hugged the Old One to him, feeling as if he had caused her distress.

  She patted his cheek gently with a leathery paw as if reading his mind. “I’m just getting too old and cranky for all this wandering about.” She smiled up at him, a thin, weary smile. “Come. I do believe that’s breakfast I smell. Sarah and the others will be wondering where we have gotten ourselves off to.”

  The others were waiting when they got back. Orith moved over to make room for the Old One as Nickolous eased her gently down on the mossy ground while Sarah, seeming to know what was needed, placed a padded pillow made of fragrant cedar boughs behind her back. Everyone sniffed the air appreciatively as the aroma of the hot breakfast wafted around them. Even Gabriel and Chera joined them, politely refusing the food offered, their company nonetheless appreciated while the clearing rang with laughter and small talk, something that everyone needed to take their minds off the last few days.

  Sarah had just finished tidying up and was about to serve tea when Owen returned from patrolling the forest, his long white wings folding gracefully at his side as he landed soundlessly beside Sarah, startling her, so that she very nearly dropped the tea she was carrying. “Owen!”

  “Sorry, Sarah. Ahh, something smells good,” Owen said as he drew in the scents around him.

  “Go on with you; there are leftovers there on the ledge.” Sarah hurried away as Owen inclined his head and took his leave, noting that Gabriel and Chera, accompanied by Jerome, were headed his way. Sighing deeply, he headed toward them. Breakfast would have to wait.

  11

  A-Sharoon paced angrily back and forth, her robes twining about her body as she turned this way and that, her black eyes glittering. In a fit of rage, she threw the vial of amber liquid at the cavern’s wall; then watched as the contents spattered the earthen floor. A putrid odor, like that of decaying refuse, filled the room, but she didn’t care; she was tired of being watched, her every move monitored and reported. They were supposed to be partners, she and Lord Nhon. She laughed into the gloom. The partnership was becoming more onesided with each passing moment. She was no longer in charge, and she hated it.

  Moments passed, but the shadowy figure remained where it was, its size and breadth filling the doorway’s opening. It had arrived as the vial had shattered, shards of glass flying everywhere, and had paused at the doorway to admire the black-haired woman’s cold beauty.

  A-Sharoon spun aro
und, expecting to see Lord Nhon’s smirking features peering at her from beneath moldy-smelling robes. But it wasn’t Lord Nhon who stood there; it was someone as yet unknown to her. Cold, bloodless fingers found the other vial hidden with the folds of her robe; and ever so slowly, it was withdrawn.

  “Stop.” The figure moved into the room. Ducking to clear the doorway, one hand threw the heavy woolen cloak over a shoulder, while the other gripped the hand that contained the vial.

  A-Sharoon gasped as the vial was wrenched from her grasp. “How dare you!” The words were hissed through clenched teeth.

  The heavily robed figure threw back his head and laughed; the hood slipped back, revealing his face to the shadows that surrounded them, darkly vaporous shadows crowding upon one another as if to see this newcomer. A-Sharoon stepped back in surprise. She knew this man; there was a familiarity about him.

  § § § § § §

  Jerome felt it first. The forest warrior trembled as if from a sudden chill, while the wolves looked uneasily about, instinctively knowing that there was something evil close by. Sarah, her eyes wide with undisclosed fear, grasped Timothy’s arm, while the Old One gripped her walking stick tightly to her. But it was Nickolous who felt it most keenly; the tingling sensation started at his fingertips and raced up his arm, only it didn’t stop there. As he moved away from the others, his whole body felt on fire, and as Gabriel rose to go to him, Orith stopped him. Like the Old One and Jerome, much of what he had learned had come from experience. A feathered wing brushed his scarred face ruefully. “Leave him be,” he whispered hoarsely, filled with emotion. “It begins.”

  “What? What begins that we already don’t know about, Orith,” Sarah asked. They had to strain to hear the answer.

  “Darkness,” Orith replied. “Darkness within the darkness. The One. Lost to the worlds beneath; hidden by the breath of the night—nurtured by the shadows.”