Son Of Skye

by Thérèse Pilon

  “And More.”

  Nickolous nodded his head; understanding; his blue eyes scanning the area ahead of them, his thoughts guarded within himself for the time being.

  The Old One slowed her pace, waiting for Nickolous. Glad for his company on this journey, she argued silently with herself that they were in no danger here. The power of the three combined would surely hold the darkness at bay. Nevertheless, she felt the sudden bristling at the nape of her neck as she threw her ragged cloak back over her shoulder.

  Nickolous wondered at the Old One’s stance as he approached. Her staff, which was usually obscured beneath a voluminous robe, was now in full view. And it was, to say the least, a thing of beauty, having been hand carved by a knowing hand. As he drew close, the gnarled fingers loosened their grip and the staff went flying through the air as if it had a life of its own. Nickolous ducked as it went by him, its aim running true. Dark wings folded in unnatural death as the creature plummeted to the earth, its form collapsing upon itself as it crumpled to nothingness.

  By the time Jerome reached them, cursing himself because he hadn’t seen the thing, Gabriel and Chera had arrived, their senses tingling. As the Old One bent down to retrieve her staff, Nickolous wondered why the armlet he wore had not given any warning of the creatures’ presence. As he wondered at its silence, he felt the Old One’s gentle touch upon his arm, her words echoing within his mind.

  “Not yet,” they said.

  “Not yet...”

  15

  “Well, do we chance having a fire?”

  Everyone had turned to look at Sarah. Knowing she wanted to prepare a hot meal, Gabriel looked at Jerome questioningly, wondering if they could risk it. After all, it had been a long day, he thought, noting that they were well protected here, in this place.

  “We need not worry, my friend. This night, at least, we are safe.”

  Jerome turned at the sound of the familiar voice, his gaze travelling downward. Orith, leaning heavily on his staff stood before him; looking up. The warrior pulled back, startled, for he saw the exhaustion within the golden depths of the eyes that gazed up at him—

  Weary, Orith gratefully accepted the arm that Jerome offered for support.

  § § § § § §

  “Is everyone in position?” Jerome hefted his war club, once again testing its strength against one massive thigh.

  Chera nodded curtly as she emerged from the forests edge. Jerome’s warriors had blended in with their surroundings and could not be detected, and little was said as Owen glided soundlessly into their midst. Folding his wings to his side, he made himself comfortable, gratefully accepting the hot drink Sarah placed before him.

  It wouldn’t be until later—much later—when the dampness with its fine white mist that proceeds the night, curled about the forest floor; seeping even into the shadowy places that Owen would put the still partially filled drink down.

  Looking at the faces he had come to know so well, he began to speak of what he had seen and heard that day.

  § § § § § §

  The lone sentinel rose up on his haunches; sniffing. He hadn’t been to the lower places for untold turnings. There had been no need, for the dark one had left their depths a long time ago, returning briefly before leaving again. And yet—he turned his head at the sound, unexpected, but there. Pressing himself into the small crevice, he drew in his breath and waited for them to pass.

  § § § § § §

  Lord Nhon had sent the rest ahead. If there was trouble waiting, he wanted to be prepared. The caverns he had found were immense; their passageways reaching deep within the earth. Lord Nhon paused in the room where the bed with its tattered bedding was. It was obvious that if A-Sharoon had passed this way, her stay had been brief.

  The sentinel waited in the darkness long after the snuffling and snorting had ceased. His skin prickling at the remembrance of the things he had seen passing by, mere inches from where he stood. In the silence that followed their retreat, back to the outer world, he had remained hidden; hardly daring to breath as the footsteps of the two-legged neared his secret place and paused, their owner’s breath ragged and loud.

  Lord Nhon remained still, listening. Finally, when he could detect no sound, he raised his head, nostrils flared, trying to scent the unwanted intruder. He knew there was a watcher. He also knew there were many hiding places for one so small. With an exasperated sigh, he gave it over and began following the tunnel that would lead him from A-Sharoon’s lair to the outer world.

  The little sentinel let his breath out slowly, thankful he had not been discovered. Easing his way through the small opening in the rock, he was well away long before Lord Nhon turned the corner that would take him to the ground above.

  § § § § § §

  Nickolous listened as Owen told of the survivors’ struggle to reach the world above. Their tunnels, once a haven, had been filled with acrid smoke that strangled most of them where it found them. Those who managed to flee sounded the alarm—most, however, had found themselves trapped by the fumes and only a handful had made it safely to the outer places, scurrying to find cover from something they could not see; seeking out those who guarded the above places so that they might give aid. Once, during the telling, he had closed his eyes, trying to shut out the images from earlier that kept flashing through his mind. Jerome watched him closely; wanting to help, but knowing that he couldn’t until Nickolous sought him out.

  Nickolous opened his eyes to find the Old One watching him intently, her gaze unwavering as she reached out to touch his arm. Reaching out, he grasped her shoulder, squeezing it gently, his eyes searching her face. He knew there was something more to the telling, for a deed, dark and evil had been committed against the smallest of the innocents.

  “Look to the center, “ the words were whispered. Nickolous pulled away from the Old One, realizing it wasn’t she who had spoken—his gaze raked the circle of friends; searching.

  § § § § § §

  The earth smelled of dried flowers and rare incense, a smell which was not altogether unappealing to the senses. The heavily robed figure moved further into the earthen room that contained a circle of stones placed carefully there turnings ago, while the long tapered candle held in the small hand was used to light the others placed in iron holders wedged tightly into the rock. Carefully, so as not to disturb the placement of the stones, a small bundle of dry wood was set in the center and lit. The flames fanned quickly into a fire that dispelled the dampness and warmed the cavern, so that the woolen cloak the woman wore was soon discarded in a corner, her slight form now bent to the task at hand.

  § § § § § §

  “Lord Moshat.” The messenger rose quickly as the elder entered the room.

  “Nickolous?”

  “He and the others are at the sacred place.” “Excellent.” Lord Moshat’s brows furrowed, deep in thought. He turned to face the messenger. “Is there any sign of the Other?”

  “None, my Lord.”

  “The sentries we placed in the hidden places, they’ve seen nothing?”

  “There has been no sign of the dark one since he revealed himself to the Daughter—she is somewhere within the Dark Forest.” The messenger lowered his voice. “There are those who watch and wait.”

  Lord Moshat sighed wearily, suddenly feeling older than his turnings. Dismissing the messenger, he settled himself into a chair and, opening the documents that were before him, studied the words written in the ancient language of the Ancients.

  § § § § § §

  Letting his breath out slowly, Nickolous relaxed, wondering if he would ever get used to this. He wasn’t sure who had spoken, or, for that matter, what—what he did know was that his senses were tingling—that he was becoming more aware with each passing moment of other things that before had escaped his notice.

 
The Old One was sitting propped against a rock, her eyes half closed, watching. There were things at work here that were beyond her abilities to interpret or understand, and so she waited.

  § § § § § §

  Jerome shifted his weight carefully, not wanting to alert any of the unseen to his presence. Standing outside the entrance of the sacred place, he straightened to his full height; stretching his cramped limbs. As much as he enjoyed the others company, it felt good to be outside where he could feel the breath of the forest upon his brow and hear the little ones—those who were left—as they treaded their way through the forest. Leaning forward, he tensed, alerted to the strange sounds that suddenly pervaded his senses. Something else walked the night—something long forgotten—something not within the confines of his memories but the blood memories of his forbears.

  A quick glance toward the fringe of the forest confirmed that his warriors were in place, their presence invisible to most but not all. The sudden piercing cry cut through the night’s inky blackness and within moments the warning calls had changed to a trilling that warned of danger.

  Brandishing his war club, Jerome started toward the shadow beast. Intent on diverting the thing from the cavern, he didn’t see the other one creeping up behind him until it was almost too late; the movement, caught out of the corner of his eye as he turned, one massive arm swinging at the thing to divert it.

  With a scream that echoed through the forest, the beast lunged sideways and in an instant had darted toward the opening, only to be met by Gabriel, his roars of rage drowning out the creature’s own strangled screams of frustration.

  As Chera leapt past her mate, the high-pitched keening cry with its wail of emptiness drew her inexplicably forward; while the night beasts, cloaked within the safety of the shadows, closed about Jerome and his warriors.

  § § § § § §

  “No.” One word. The speaker was tired and weary, but the tone brooked no opposition.

  “But Jerome and the others, they need help,” Nickolous protested, his hand on the dagger that Timothy had given him.

  Orith’s gaze never wavered; his voice had a hard edge to it as he replied. “There is no need for any others to risk themselves this night. The warriors of the forest have walked these woods longer than us all; they know what they deal with in the darkened places.” His voice was tinged with regret. “We cannot help. We would only hinder the others who protect us, and you.” He paused, weighing his words carefully. “You cannot risk yourself; you are inexperienced; too new to the gifts you have. We are protected here. The dark ones, it is said, cannot gain physical entrance, no matter what happens out there.”

  “Then why are the others out there, risking themselves if we are safe in here?” Nickolous asked, angry because he felt so helpless in the face of something he didn’t understand.

  “Some things must remain unchanged.”

  “And that’s the answer. That’s all?” Nickolous asked, his gaze locked on that of Orith’s.

  “There are few sacred places left; so few that they must be protected from those who walk with the dark ones, those who dwell beneath, protected by the shadows. The legends say darkness cannot dwell here, but if something with a dark heart were to slip through—if a watcher were distracted for one moment—there is always the possibility the sacred place could be breached.” Orith paused, then:

  “I have learned through the turnings to take nothing for granted. There is a delicate balance to everything, and I believe that if the circumstances are just right, one moment of negligence can cause the balance to tip, and not always in the direction we would like things to go.”

  Nickolous remained thoughtful for long minutes as he thought upon the words that had been spoken.

  § § § § § §

  Jerome flung the last of the shadow beasts away from him while Gabriel, winded but unhurt, stood guard at the entrance to the inner cavern. As Jerome turned toward him, his brow heavy with sweat, Chera returned; her muzzle stained red; a deep gash ran from her shoulder and across her ribs, where she had been clawed. Seeing the concern in her mate’s eyes, she motioned him back as she headed toward Jerome, the look in her eyes unmistakable.

  “What is it, Chera, what’s out there?”

  “I don’t know, but whoever, or whatever, it was has strength to be reckoned with,” Chera replied.

  Gabriel’s fur bristled along his back as he cast a long, searching look toward the forest beyond, so cloaked in shadow it was almost impossible to see beyond the first line of trees. Even the moon, seemingly nestled as it was between the treetops, failed to disperse any of the dark shadows that dwelt beneath its soft caress. He sighed deeply, his warrior’s heart weary from this long journey into what could only be a deeper night.

  “Was it the Other, Chera?” Jerome asked, hoping the answer would be no, even as the words tumbled out.

  “I don’t know.” Chera moved her head from side to side, still trying to penetrate the depths of the forest beyond. Sighing, she gave it up. Even her night vision was useless here in this darkened place of unknown things.

  “There is something out there… watching—waiting.” Chera was tense, the fur along her back bristling as the prickling sensation traveled up her spine. Gabriel moved closer, his senses picking up the unknown watcher, while Jerome gripped his war club, positioning himself in a warrior’s stance. Immobile, the three stood, unmoving, waiting in the eerie silence that beckoned the watcher to come closer and be recognized.

  § § § § § §

  Hidden within the darkness that surrounded him, the tall, heavily robed figure observed the three who guarded the entrance to the sacred place. It had been merely curiosity that had drawn him here, that, and the wails of those unclean beasts that followed the Fallen. He had been surprised when the she-wolf had sensed his presence; her strength remarkable for what he considered a mere creature of the forest. The encounter had been brief and luckily the shadow beast had crossed his path, leaving its sickly sweet odor behind, else the outcome could have been entirely different for her.

  Knowing the forest warriors reputation, he had no desire to engage one of these mighty guardians in battle, for this was not his realm—not his fight—not yet. Drawing his woolen cloak tightly about him, he retreated to a safe distance.

  It was of little consequence to him, this battle, for he would not interfere. Let the Clans destroy themselves. There had to be a balance in all things, and when it was over, and the balance was restored, then, and only then, would the decision be made if it were enough.

  § § § § § §

  “Chera?” Jerome leaned down to touch the silvery-white shoulder. “Chera, whatever it was, it’s gone now. The night deepens; we should go inside.”

  Chera nodded wearily, just now beginning to feel the aching, throbbing pain that coursed through her. Jerome was right. There was nothing there, and therefore no need for her to stay outside, for the night had a clinging, cloying, dampness to it that made her bones ache.

  “Oh, my,” Sarah said as she bustled about preparing water and searching for the healing moss that grew in the rock crevices to use on Chera’s wound. As Nickolous watched Sarah fuss, he became aware of something else. It was a knowing that he hadn’t had before. The Old One watched through hooded eyelids as he reached down, into her bag of herbs and deftly withdrew a small container of salve, its contents and healing properties known only to a few. Wordlessly, she watched as he went to Chera; his hands gentle and sure, he cleaned the gash and applied the salve.

  Nodding perceptively to Jerome, the Old One closed her eyes, holding her thoughts to herself; for she hadn’t reached the age she had by assuming the obvious was always correct.

  “That’s a nasty gash,” Sarah said; the stress in her tone unmistakable as she hovered over her patient; something she would not have done, nor would Chera have allowed, but mere
turnings past.

  Chera shrugged, amused at the Sarah’s concern for her well-being. The salve Nickolous had applied was soothing; the moss acting as a cushion against any undue pressure. She could feel the edges drawing together already. She spared a glance at the Old One, wondering what other magical potions she carried in her tattered leather bag. Stretching carefully, she laid down beside the fire, easing her wounded side to the glowing warmth. She sighed contentedly and closed her eyes.

  § § § § § §

  Nickolous leaned forward, drawing warmth from the flicking flames of the fire; his mind on things unasked. Accepting the gourd

  Sarah offered him, he stirred its contents absently; Jerome, guessing his thoughts, reached out and touched him gently. Lowering his voice so that the others could not hear, he asked, “What is it you wish to know?”

  The blue eyes that looked back at him were startling in their intensity. “I wouldn’t think that you would have to ask,” Nickolous replied, rubbing the sides of the gourd he held as if to draw warmth from the hot contents inside.

  “You’re wondering how we got here—to this place—when but a few short turnings past you were in your world with your sister doing things that now seem but a distant memory.” Jerome paused, drawing in a deep breath before continuing. “When you found yourself in a strange place with strange companions, you were a mere child, just beginning your journey into manhood—look at you now.” He leaned back to appraise Nickolous.

  “Yes. Look at me.” Nickolous raised his arm to reveal the silver armlet that lay nestled against his skin. He rubbed it gently, feeling as if it had become a part of him—had always been.

  “Something happened. I don’t know what, but it does seem like I was always here; the other place I walked as a child but a distant memory.” Nickolous leaned forward into the fires shadowy light, grabbing Jerome’s arm with a grip that startled the big warrior. Looking up into moss-green eyes, he seemed to be searching for something, anything, that would help him to understand the feeling’s that had begun to crowd in upon him.