“It never was mine to keep,” he said, his tone gentle. “Take it.”
Nickolous carefully opened the book, noting as he did so the ancient script. At first glance, the writing was indecipherable. He tried to hand the book back; “Orith, it’s no use to me, I can’t read the sc—” he began, and then stopped as Orith spoke; his tone broking no argument.
“Look at the script again.”
Glancing down at the opened book, Nickolous was surprised to see words where before there had only been markings he hadn’t understood.
“What you need to understand shall be provided when the time comes. Use the knowledge well.” Orith had let the hood that nearly always hid his face slide back over his shoulders.
Nickolous found himself looking into eyes the color of dark amber, and for a moment their gazes held; each one trying to communicate things unspoken in words. Slowly, Nickolous turned away, his heart heavy; for each had heard the other, and Nickolous felt Orith’s weariness. The great white snowy owl was older than most of them had guessed and he was tired.
“There is learning for every step that is taken through the turnings of one’s life, young one.”
Nickolous turned toward the speaker. The guardian of the gate stared thoughtfully after Orith’s retreating form. Nickolous nodded, acknowledging the other’s presence; glad to see that the wounds that had looked so terrible but a few days past were nearly healed.
“I remember that day,” he spoke quietly so that the others wouldn’t hear. “In fact, if I remember correctly, there were two of you: alike—yet not alike.” He took a deep breath; exhaling slowly. “You know, I dreamed of that place for months; it still haunts me.”
The guardian didn’t turn to look at Nickolous, but each knew the other was listening. “The heart that burns deep within the Flame weeps,” the guardian spoke slowly. It was hard for him, this thing called talking. His turnings had been spent guarding the eternal; there had been no need to speak. Then the unthinkable had occurred. He bowed his head sadly; the Flame was no longer his to keep. He was glad Nickolous remembered that day when he had helped him safely through the mists that guarded the high places; he turned to look at this stripling who offered his world an unseen light to burn away the darkness. Blue eyes looked into his soul. Emerald eyes as old as the forest itself looked startled as a knowing surged through the guardian. With a sharp intake of breath, he stepped back. The Ancients Knew… Exhaling slowly, he moved away, satisfied.
Still unsure of what had just taken place, Nickolous watched as the departing figure sought out Jerome, and taking him aside, said something. The big warrior looked thoughtful for a moment, as if he were weighing the words that had been spoken. Having made up his mind, he nodded assent; while a series of whistles, low and melodious, filled the air. A slight opening appeared in the circle, and before anyone could stop him, the guardian of the gate slipped through.
§ § § § § §
“What do you have to report? Speak!” A-Sharoon whirled around, catching the guard as well as the messenger by surprise. Her staff sent them both flying. “Speak!” Towering over them both, A-Sharoon’s eyes glittered with a coldness that made the guard sidle sideways and the messenger cower beneath her glare.
“They are still at the gate; protected by the warriors of the forest.” The words that poured forth were hurried as the creature bent lower until its face was level with the earthen floor; not daring to look up until it was given permission to do so.
“And the Other—”
Lord Nhon stood within the doorway, his red eyes glittering. “Yes, what of the Other?”
A-Sharoon turned at the sound of the hated voice; while the guard tried to shrink even further into the shadows, away from its cowering comrade, as Lord Nhon entered the cavern. A-Sharoon faced him in the gloom and dankness, made even more so by the Fallen One’s presence.
“Did you hope to deceive me, woman?” Lord Nhon growled, his voice feral as he glared at her from beneath his hooded cloak.
A-Sharoon stood, tall and proud; unflinching beneath the other’s gaze. “I think, my Lord—” She bowed her head slightly, her tone mocking. “Our association is at an end.” Turning, she strode purposefully away, her movements self-assured and graceful.
Lord Nhon watched her go, aware that with every step she took, she expected opposition to her blatant betrayal of their partnership. Red eyes glinted like small coals as his mouth twisted into a grin. He watched, amused, as her two cowering followers scuttled sideways, thinking to evade him and follow their mistress back to her lair. Had he been in a giving mood, he might have let them pass. But he wasn’t.
§ § § § § §
A-Sharoon kept walking. She hated the daylight, preferring instead the cover of night. Shielding her eyes with part of her cloak against the glare of the sun, she made her way into the deeper parts of the forest that had once been hers to rule. She knew she could not tire, for there were many hours of travel ahead. She drew in a deep breath; her coal-black eyes shone unnaturally as she walked faster, now and then reaching out to twist an obstinate branch out of her way. She’d been sent to earth, and earth was where she would stay.
Lord Nhon? She’d wait ‘til that one was destroyed; then, and only then, would she return to the world above.
A-Sharoon paused at the bottom of a moss-covered ravine, glad for some familiarity. This place she remembered well, for it was unusually steep, with large jutting rocks overshadowing the narrow gully where she stood. She inhaled deeply of the scents that rested here, and a part of her was glad she had returned home.
Whispers of things hidden in crevice and burrow, above and below, followed the passage of the Dark Daughter. Reaching the top of a knoll, she paused long enough to draw her heavy cloak about her slender shoulders; fastening it about her throat with an ornately worked pin. It was dark and dreary here. The canopy of trees was so thick overhead that neither sun nor rain seeped through, leaving only mold and rotting vegetation upon the ground. Most would have avoided such a place—A-Sharoon reveled in it.
§ § § § § §
“I want all the entrances sealed. No one is to leave without my permission. No one.” Lord Nhon threw more wood into the fire as he spoke, his thoughts on what was in the adjoining cavern. He knew A-Sharoon had somehow touched the thoughts of the Flame, and it surprised him that she had left while it remained in his possession. Then again, she alone could not wrest the Flame from him, for not even her changelings and shadow creatures were a match for him.
Lord Nhon stared into the fire, determined that even if what his spies were saying was true, it would make no difference. Rising, he summoned the captain of the guard.
“Do you understand?” Lord Nhon wanted no misunderstanding. The wolf-like creature standing before him nodded its head in answer, foam spewing from a mouth that couldn’t—or wouldn’t—stay closed.
“Loathsome creature,” Lord Nhon muttered beneath his rancid breath as he turned away.
§ § § § § §
“What are we to do now?” Sarah asked; resigned to the fact that they would be on the move again, she had already begun packing.
“We find Lord Nhon,” Gabriel replied.
“And then what? We just walk in and get the Flame, just like that, I suppose.” Sarah’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
Timothy tried to give her that “look” so she would be quiet, but it was no use. She would have ignored him anyway. She turned to Gabriel, her brown eyes flashing. “Why don’t we just wait here? If we send everybody away and leave ourselves defenseless, those smelly little growy things will come right away and attack us. No muss, no fuss. Lord Nhon will probably be right behind them.”
The Old One choked on her tea, trying not to laugh. Orith, too, hid a smile beneath his cloaked hood, as Jerome looked on, amused.
Gabriel, as usual, registered no
emotion. Chera, unsure of his reaction, stood between Sarah and her mate, for she had developed a fondness for her over the turnings that they had spent together.
Aware that she had spoken out of turn, Sarah nonetheless met Gabriel’s gaze unflinchingly. “Well,” she said, arching a dark brow as she crossed her arms. “I’m waiting.”
A low rumble came from deep within the great wolf’s chest. “Little one,” he said, using a low throaty tone that Chera rarely heard. With a start, she realized he was trying not to laugh. “Little one,” he said again, his voice more like that of the old Gabriel’s. “If all had your fire, there would be no need for warriors and battle.” He paused as his gaze held hers for a long moment. “They would return to their dark places to hide from the sting of your tongue!”
Chagrined, Sarah’s gaze fell to her feet. Knowing she shouldn’t have spoken so, she stood, drawing circles in the sand, for once at a loss for words.
“It’s all right, you know.” Sarah looked up. The Old One was there, her wizened face bent close so that what passed between them would be unheard by the others. “Never mind child; you had every right to voice what the rest of us were thinking. Besides,” she sniffed loudly, her gaze directed at Gabriel, who was watching her, his expression now one of open amusement. “Sometimes we need to be reminded we aren’t the only ones with an opinion.”
Gabriel drew back his lips in what everyone supposed was a wolf’s grin. “Point taken.” He bowed his head slightly in deference to the Old One. “I’m sorry. It’s just that these are dark times. To stay would serve no purpose. It’s unprotected here, and we must find shelter before night comes. Trust me, little one.” He was now standing directly in front of Sarah, looking down at her. “You would not want to face those ‘smelly little growy things,’ especially during the hours between the darkness and the dawn.”
13
“There are still a few hours of daylight left.” Gabriel and Nicko-lous were standing a little apart from the others; watching as the guardians of the forest fanned out in the four directions; their duty to protect those following in their wake.
“Yes, but we need to reach a protected place that the eyes of the night cannot so easily see into,” Gabriel replied as the last of the forest warriors disappeared from view. He didn’t acknowledge the hand on his shoulder. He didn’t have to. Too-taut muscles rippled beneath his fur as he turned to face Nickolous. Inhaling deeply of the scents surrounding them, the knowing that tugged at him was almost too much. “You must stay close to Chera and the others. Jerome and I will stay slightly behind in case we are followed, although I think the opposition will block the path ahead to prevent us from finding the Fallen One’s lair.”
“Three.”
“What?” Gabriel stared at Nickolous, not sure he had heard correctly.
“Three. Three stones face three fallen forest warriors; their resting place the entrance to the Fallen One’s lair that leads to the ‘Beneath.’”
“Wait. Speak no more of this yet. There are eyes everywhere. Come.” Gabriel pushed Nickolous ahead of him, the fur along his back bristling as he signaled Chera to him. Sensing the sudden urgency growing within her mate, she moved quickly to his side, the others following suit as Timothy quietly unsheathed his sword.
Silently the little group moved forward; each one suddenly aware that this day was not safe, and that silence was their only protection.
§ § § § § §
Owen glided silently above his friends, his eyes searching the shadowed places for hidden things. Airborne as he was, he had no fear for himself—something evil moved through the sunshine on a day that held little warmth, and it was those who walked below for which he was concerned. Veering southward, he glimpsed something scuttling along a well trodden path; as he plunged to earth, he missed the large shadowy form closing in behind him.
§ § § § § §
Nickolous fell to his knees as screams not his own ripped through him. He felt, rather than saw, the unnamed thing closing in on Owen, the big owl unaware that death rode behind him on ashen wings; its purpose to destroy.
“Leave him be.”
“Old One, he is in pain.” Timothy’s sword remained unsheathed, but he felt powerless against a foe he could not see.
“Leave him be. Do not touch him. Protect him so he can protect our own,” the Old One rasped; her heart thudding wildly as she saw what the others hadn’t yet.
“Orith. Help me.” The commanding tone of her voice made Orith look up.
“Owen, behind you!”
Owen neither heard nor saw the frantic motions of those below. The creature was in the open, and he was headed straight for it.
“Oh, do something, please,” Sarah pleaded, her voice barely audible, but it was enough—Nickolous focused on the scene before him, his mind carrying him to the place above Owen, who was plummeting earthward, his concentration on the creature now trying to evade his outstretched talons.
§ § § § § §
“Careful,” the voice whispered, and Nickolous understood. The bracelet must remain hidden.
The cloud creature was much the same as the one that had spirited A-Sharoon away turnings ago, but it wasn’t one of hers. Power from a thousand turnings coursed through the entity that dwelt within.
“Help us,” the voices whispered.
Owen, sensing movement behind him, veered sharply, his talons narrowly missing his intended prey. Caught off balance, he plummeted to the ground, his fall broken by a mossy incline. As he tumbled over and over, he was vaguely aware of thunder roaring overhead and thought it odd that such a thing would occur on such a sunny day.
Nickolous knew instinctively that the creature was in a lot of pain; forced to do a bidding that was beyond its control, lashing out, hoping the agony would lessen if it did as it was commanded. But it never happened, and it remained a prisoner within itself.
He raised his arms and threw his head back. “Tell me what to do.” The plea, unspoken, echoed and was heard.
“Guide him.” Lord Moshat commanded from his high place, concealed from the clans who lived below.
The warrior of Skye, who watched, unseen, listened to the elder’s words and nodded assent.
§ § § § § §
Silvery splinters of light shot through the gloom as the cloud creature writhed in pain. Again and again, the silver bolts hit it, passing through it, leaving silver threads in their wake, until they were interspersed throughout the shadowy mass.
Nickolous fell back, exhausted, not quite sure what had just happened, but Jerome knew. The forest warrior had sensed the change and had been prepared for the sudden darkening about them. Only he had seen the winged warrior, enveloped in the shadows it had created as it soared skyward, the slight trembling of the leaves on the nearby trees the only indication of his passage amongst them.
“Thank you.” Nickolous bowed his head, his hands clasped in front of him. He was trembling from the sheer power racing through him, and he was cold—so cold.
“Owen. Where’s Owen?” Sarah’s voice roused the little group. Shielding her face with her cloak to protect against the swirling wind, she made her way to where she had seen him fall. Timothy, realizing what she was doing, raced after her, his sword still drawn as the Old One rose stiffly from her kneeling position, her black eyes searching.
“Look,” she said, peering upward into the sky.
Nickolous rose unsteadily to his feet, his senses slowly returning to normal. The sky had cleared, and the cloud creature was no longer writhing and twisting like a thing gone mad. The silver threads had thickened, and it looked more like the kind of cloud you would see on a balmy mid-summer’s eve when the sun was setting, her rays glinting like a child’s prism turned to the light.
“It’s at peace with itself. You have freed it.” Jerome fell silent and, as he watched, the
creature began to move slowly away.
“There was another. I felt his power aiding me; guiding me—” Nickolous turned his attention to Jerome. “What will happen to it? Will Lord Nhon be able to force it back to the way it was?” Nickolous asked as they stood watching it move gracefully eastward.
“I doubt it. Lord Nhon’s promises turned it dark; then, when it wanted to turn back, it was too late, and he held it fast with a power that threatened to tear it apart.” Jerome turned to face Nickolous, amazed that he didn’t realize what he had done. The gifts he possessed could restore what was, or destroy the darkest heart, and he didn’t even realize he held the key.
“Where will it go? Are there others like it?”
“Yes, they once belonged to one of the races of Skye’ rarely seen by those of us below except when they have become dark warriors for the likes of A-Sharoon and the Fallen One. Why?” Jerome had turned to look at Nickolous, sensing something he had missed before.
“It was screaming. I could hear it. In here,” Nickolous said, pointing to his head. “And here,” he continued, pointing to his heart. He stood staring thoughtfully at the departing creature. “It was as if a thousand voices were calling, asking for help. I wonder,” he mused, more to himself then to the warrior of the forest.
“What is it? What were you wondering?” Jerome prompted gently.
“It was as if there were others calling, asking for help.” Nickolous turned to face Jerome, his blue eyes searching. “Are there others, like that one, asking to be freed from the darkness? Jerome, answer me!” He reached out and grasped the warrior’s trunk-like arm. Just as quickly letting go. He had seen.
There was no need for them to speak words. In one moment Nickolous had seen those lost to the shadows. They were legion. Jerome knew—had always known. Nickolous looked into green eyes that reflected the emerald color of the forest back at him.
Wondering…
§ § § § § §
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