Son Of Skye

by Thérèse Pilon

  “We found Owen, he’s a little shaken but unhurt.” Sarah came running, her brown eyes bright. Trailing behind her came Timothy and Owen, the white owl shaking off the dead leaves and broken twigs that clung to him as he walked stiffly toward them, grumbling something inaudible.

  “There are still a few hours ‘til dusk.”

  “I know, but at this rate we will still be in the open, unprotected.”

  “And the night will still have eyes regardless of where we shelter.” Chera spoke sharply as Gabriel looked at her in surprise.

  “What’s wrong?” He knew her better than anyone.

  She was worried about something. Instead of answering him, she strode ahead. Gabriel had to hurry to catch up; a backward glance at Jerome assured him the others were being guarded as he followed Chera to a small gully where they could have a few moments alone.

  They stood facing each other as the voices of the others drifted to them, barely audible above the softly whispering wind that followed them as they made their way warily to their destination.

  Gabriel, lowering his head, nudged Chera gently. “What is it Chera, tell me. The others cannot hear.” He nudged her yet again; then stood back, puzzled by her behavior. She was looking past him, as if he were not there. When she spoke, he hardly heard her, and when he did, he wished he hadn’t.

  “What did you say?” Gabriel shook his head, not believing what his ears had heard.

  “The Daughter of the Night has returned to her lair. Alone.” Chera turned to look at her mate.

  “How did you come by this information?”

  “Those of the earth. The little ones. The earth diggers.”

  Gabriel stood thoughtfully for some moments; his mind now on another thought that had been troubling him. “Chera, what about the others, those we sent ahead to clear the way?”

  “Nothing. There has been nothing.” Chera lowered her head. She was so tired; there was no end in sight. They were traveling blind, each step a guess, each clearing they entered a potential trap, and now this.

  A-Sharoon.

  At least when she was with Lord Nhon, the two were together. Separated, the two were even more dangerous, for they would never know from which direction the evil would come. Chera looked up as Gabriel stood over her, nuzzling her gently.

  “We were born to this. It is our destiny. Together we will stand, or fall, as the fates would have it.” Gabriel looked into her eyes. They had walked the same path for countless turnings, so attuned to each other that one often knew what the other was thinking. Chera rubbed her mate’s cheek affectionately, feeling foolish that she had let her emotions get the better of her. She sighed deeply. She must, she thought, have seen too many turnings, to be getting this sentimental.

  “We had better go, the others will be wondering where we’ve went.”

  “Yes, we’d better get back.” Chera gave Gabriel a playful nuzzle;

  glad they had taken some time alone.

  § § § § § §

  “What is it? What do you hear?” Nickolous could feel the hairs standing up along the back of his neck.

  Jerome placed a finger to his lips so as not to alarm the others who were now moving steadily, silently, along the forest’s edge. He peered down at Nickolous from his great height, his green eyes searching for something. A moment later, Nickolous was shoved roughly to the ground as Jerome swung his club in a wide arc, the dull thud as whatever it was, hit the ground a telling thing—

  “I guess I should be used to this by now,” Nickolous muttered aloud as he brushed at the moldy leaves and twigs that still clung to his clothing. Gabriel and Chera had caught up to them and Chera went on ahead to scout while Gabriel fell into step with the forest warrior and Nickolous.

  “Do you think there are more?” Gabriel asked as Jerome wiped his war club on the fresh grass, cleaning it before looping it loosely back at his side.

  “Who knows? There are probably others lurking about, trying to get close enough to hear, so they can report back to their master,” Jerome answered, then, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, said, “I find it strange that these are only Lord Nhon’s creatures that we have seen as of late; I can’t say as I’ve seen any of A-Sharoon’s loyal legions in a while.” He arched a black brow in Gabriel’s direction.

  And so it was he learned that the mistress of the night was back where she had been spawned, and grown into what she was now. Jerome shuddered at the thought.

  “If she has taken refuge in the ‘Beneath,’ she is unreachable. Not even my warriors can cross the chasm that joins the two worlds safely. Oh, would that the warriors of Skye could aid us in this quest.” Jerome shook his head sadly at the thought of what lay ahead for them.

  “This is our battle. If we don’t fight for ourselves, we will never grow into anything more then what we are now.” Gabriel looked at his friend as he spoke. What he said sounded good, but was it the truth, or was it merely an interpretation of their own needs and wants? He paused thoughtfully for a few moments and then asked, “What do you suppose drove her to ground? Certainly not us.”

  The answer was simple, but not what the great silver wolf wanted to hear.

  The ‘Other.’

  Legend becomes truth. Truth becomes a hard thing to bear.

  14

  Whispers in the dark. Frightening eerie voices. Shadows, dancing on the wall.

  The little girl looked behind her, tripping over a rock and falling. Rising swiftly, she fled, oblivious to the pain for she had been taught to ignore such things. Running—always running, but she didn’t know from what—she felt wetness on her lashes; angrily she brushed at it; wiping it away. She rounded a bend in the darkened forest; ahead of her a rock wall loomed, ancient and forbidding. Sighing in relief, she ran toward it, disappearing into the tiny opening in its center; she felt the protective embrace of the earth beneath and welcomed the power that surged through her.

  A-Sharoon rose stiffly from her bed, her body aching from the exertion. As she splashed ice-cold water on her face, she suppressed the urge to throw something; angry she could not control the distant memories of a little girl who was always fleeing from something she could not see.

  Hours later, staff in hand, A-Sharoon strode purposefully toward the center of the forest; a host of small skittering things following behind her. As she passed beneath the low-hanging boughs of the ancient fir trees, she paused, her up-swung hand demanding silence as her dark eyes swept the open places for things unseen. Finding nothing, she continued on, unaware that the little ones—the earth diggers—beat out a steady tattoo beneath the earth, the soft thrumming carrying to those who guarded from above.

  § § § § § §

  Lord Nhon stood watching the Flame as it threw itself against its prison; long tendrils of ice fire reaching out and up, to seek an escape. There was none. As the Flame sank back to the center of its prison, a soft keening could be heard. Rising to a wail, the cavern’s walls shook as the being rose up; finger-like tendrils splayed across the top of the ceiling seeking entrance to the world above as Lord Nhon watched, his expression devoid of emotion.

  § § § § § §

  “There. Hear that?” Nickolous shielded his eyes with his hand as he looked upward.

  Gabriel stood, nostrils flared, scenting the wind. “Whatever it was, it’s gone now.”

  “No, wait.” Nickolous could feel the heat coursing through him. He closed his eyes, and just as quickly opened them. He had seen. He turned to find Jerome next to him. Words, unspoken but heard, passed between them; Jerome knew the place well, for not even his warriors ventured into that forest’s depths. The high-pitched calls brought his warriors to him, and as the circle closed about them, Orith and the Old One made their way inside along with the rest while Owen winged his way upward; his wings beating in silent unison, as golden eyes scanned the
ground below for things unseen.

  § § § § § §

  “Are you sure?” Chera stood next to Gabriel, looking at Jerome in amazement. The dark forests depths held things best not met by the living. They would be defenseless in there.

  “You know there are some things best left alone.” The fur on her back bristled at the thought of entering such a place.

  “We have no choice.” The Old One stood beside Nickolous as she faced the others.

  Orith, his face once again hidden beneath the hood that covered his scarred features, spoke softly. “Old One,” he said gently, his heart heavy, for he knew that where they were going was a place of dark deeds. Few who entered ever returned the same. He knew, for he had been there. Had seen, and still carried the scars upon his body. He sighed in resignation, knowing that to argue would serve no purpose.

  The Old One hurried to catch up; her thoughts reaching out to touch his. She felt his pain and knew of the ancient telling of that unknown place where evil had been spawned in that long ago time.

  Shuddering at the thought of entering such a dark place did not appeal to her, but she knew that if that was where the Flame was, then that is where they would go. She gripped her staff tightly beneath her robes, drawing upon the strength that dwelt within the carved wood, hoping that when the time came, there would be enough of them to break the ring that imprisoned the Flame.

  § § § § § §

  “I do not think that it would be wise to spend the night within the circle that guards the darkened forests depths.” Jerome had pulled Gabriel to one side, slightly away from the others. His dark brow furrowed thoughtfully as he peered upward into the early evening sky. The pinks and gold’s mixing with the more subtle hues that came together as the sun, tinged red, nestled softly within their midst.

  “There’s still a few hours before the moon rises. If memory serves, there should be a cave concealed in the side of that sloping gully, there, in the distance. If we can reach it, we will be well protected ‘til morning’s light.”

  “And what of Lord Nhon and those who do their dark lords bidding?” Gabriel asked, his voice little more than a throaty growl at the thought of being that close to Lord Nhon and his legion of followers.

  “Once there, we will be protected against the prying eyes that seek. It will be the one night we can rest in safety, for it is a sacred place. Protected by the guardian, it was used as a sanctuary in time of need,” Jerome replied.

  “I know the place. It will serve us well this night.” Orith said no more as Jerome moved to make room for him. As they returned to the circle of friends that awaited them, a companionable silence hung between them; each one of them reflecting on the memories of the past and how they knew of the place that awaited them.

  § § § § § §

  A-Sharoon pressed herself in between the crevice cut deep within the rock and felt her way through the inky darkness until she reached a deeper, more spacious room. The smell of rotting fungus permeated the dank air that seeped in from outside. Feeling her way along the wall, A-Sharoon ignored the slime that came away on her hands as she sought, then found, a lever built into the jagged rock. Uttering a curse, she flung the crumbling pieces of rock to the floor and, using her long fingernails, turned the small piece that was left until it clicked against an ancient mechanism placed there countless turnings before.

  The room was as she remembered it. For long moments she stood, drawing deeply on the fragrance of lingering scents that reminded her of things past. As her dark brooding gaze swept the length of the room, she smiled. Nothing had been touched. Everything was as it had been left so long ago. Finally, content that none had discovered this place in her absence, she begun what was necessary.

  The fire burned for a long time in the dampness of the earth beneath. Yet even with the dampness, it fanned itself out and grew—growing until the shadows splayed across the walls and ceiling as if in wonderment of their freedom; after having been confined for so long a time beneath the nothingness of the cold gray ash of a forgotten fire pit, encircled with forbidding stone.

  A-Sharoon stood, watching, pleased with herself beyond measure. When the flame had reached its peak, she removed a vial containing a silvery liquid from her belongings. Stirring the contents into the round iron pot, her voice, clear and cutting as the crystal vial she held, rose to a shivering trill as the cavern reverberated with new life.

  § § § § § §

  The small sentinel stirred, its long sleep disturbed after countless turnings by something thought long gone. As it moved cautiously through the maze of underground tunnels, the sound became louder, the words being spoken, clearer. The fur bristled along the little one’s back as it gained entry to the dimly lit cavern and observed the woman; intent upon her work, her long black hair flung carelessly over her shoulder as she bent to her task. The incantation cast; one dark brow arched questioningly as she glanced around the cavern, the slow drip-drip of the water trickling down the slime covered rocks the only sound that echoed against her senses.

  Later, back within the safety of its own burrow, the little watcher began to beat its own message against the hardened ground.

  § § § § § §

  The fire had long ago died down, and not even embers remained, yet A-Sharoon stayed where she was, her thoughts far away. She had been aware of the ground dweller’s presence but had ignored it, knowing that before the sun set the whole forest would be alerted to her presence amongst them. She didn’t care. Let the fear rise and grow. It mattered not. She was home. Let Lord Nhon think he had won and that the Living Flame was his.

  A-Sharoon knew better—she had touched its heart, and for one fleeting moment had heard the voice from within the center speak. Words spoken for her alone to think on and decide their worth.

  As she sank wearily upon her bed, sleep came swiftly, and for once the dreams did not haunt her.

  § § § § § §

  The steady drumming against the hardened ground beneath his feet crept upward to the world above and burst forth like thunder, echoing against the driving wind. Lord Nhon caught himself, whirling about to stare at the Flame as it tore forcefully at its prison, comprehension dawning as his eyes narrowed, glinting blood red.

  Spreading his arms in an arc, he muttered an incantation and watched as the Flame slowly settled, back to the center it held within itself. A soft fluttering sound, like the beating of hundreds of tiny wings filled the air as he turned toward the caverns opening.

  “Away.” The words were whispered into the darkness. Then Lord Nhon flung his arms open, shouting into the emptiness that surrounded him.

  “Away.”

  § § § § § §

  Owen flew against the updraft of wind that threatened to pull him off course, away from his intended destination. Powerful wings stroked in unison as he pulled slowly forward, every wing beat bringing him closer to the others who waited somewhere below.

  Even as the great owl struggled to reach the others, there were those who made their way toward another destination. Hidden within the shadows that moved naturally throughout the day, they inched slowly forward; ever mindful their presence must not be detected. Those who were able to moved underground, the caverns used long ago by their kind a safe haven to breed the darkness that made them feared. Aware of this, Owen pushed himself to the limit. It was just before dusk that he spotted Jerome and the others a short distance away.

  § § § § § §

  “Is it much further?”

  Jerome stroked his chin thoughtfully as he looked down at Nicko-lous. “Soon,” he replied; his emerald eyes narrowed as he studied his charge from beneath deeply furrowed brows “What is it? What troubles you?” He knew Nickolous well enough to know he sensed something, else he wouldn’t have sought him out, away from the others. Or rather, the warrior thought wryly to himself, the Old One wo
uld not have motioned the others back. It always amazed him that her senses were so acute, that she knew before he himself did when Nickolous needed him.

  “Something moves beneath the earth; something dark and terrible.” Nickolous spoke so softly that the warrior had to strain to catch the nearly inaudible words; Nickolous wasn’t looking at him; his unusual blue eyes were riveted on something in the distance—as if he could not bear to let the warrior see what he was seeing.

  Jerome stopped mid stride to look at his companion; placing a big bronzed hand on Nickolous’s shoulder, he turned him so that they were facing one another. Lowering his voice so that the others could not hear, he asked, “What is it? Are we in danger?”

  “I don’t think so, at least not yet,” Nickolous replied; his voice trailed off as he once more looked away, unable to meet the warrior’s intense gaze.

  Jerome felt a sudden pain and realized that he was feeling what Nickolous was feeling. Pain. Intense. Hurting. Not for himself, but for the little ground dwellers; those of the smallest of the earthen clans who dwelled beneath them in the hidden places. Jerome reached out to once more to touch Nickolous thoughts and was nearly blinded by the intensity of the emotions that rushed through him.

  “Are they….?” The rest of the question went unasked as Jerome saw what Nickolous saw. The knowing was almost too much to bear. Hundreds—thousands—Jerome turned his face away so that no one would see his distress.

  “What do we do, Jerome, how do we stop this?” Nickolous asked as he tried to banish the images from his mind, at least temporarily.

  Jerome looked down at him sadly, his warrior’s heart heavy with the knowledge that there was nothing he alone could do, or for that matter, was there anything Nickolous could do. He looked away, toward the distant horizon, the forests shadows hiding the sacred place.

  “Come,” he said to Nickolous. “There are eyes and ears all about us. Come to the sacred place. It is there we will talk of these things.” He paused for a moment. The words were breathed out softly, as if they were for him alone.