Son Of Skye

by Thérèse Pilon

  “Who are you?”

  “Like everything else that exists in between the unknown places, I am.” The being answered as it slowly withdrew its hand from Nickolous’s arm. The prickling sensation that moved up his arm reminded him of the intricately carved armband that nestled against his arm.

  “So, you have the knowing.” The voice held approval. “Those dark of heart cannot enter here, for to them I am not what you see.” The figure changed as it spoke, becoming wraithlike, then more visible as Nickolous once again centered himself, trying to focus on what he was seeing. Dark skin shimmered with golden flecks as wide eyes set far apart in an elfin face studied him curiously from beneath finely arched brows. Her hair trailed in waves down her back, curling about a tiny waist—it reminded Nickolous of the leaves when they changed from their reds, meshing into browns and gold’s. He pulled back, startled at the intensity of her gaze; her emerald eyes reminded him of the forest. He drew in his breath sharply, the need to return to the others nearly overwhelming.

  “I must return to the place above.”

  “Yes, go now. There will be none to hinder you on your return journey.” The lithe form leaned forward, her elfin face inches from his, while the scent of cedar wafted around him as he listened to her words. “Remember what you have learned from the place of the dreamers, and take this advice with you on your next journey: Take nothing you see for what it resembles.” The lilting voice faded into nothingness. Nickolous looked around him. He was alone.

  It was as he reached the top of the stone steps that the realization hit him. The fragrance that had surrounded him since coming to this place, the pixie-like creature with the eyes that reminded him of the forest, her ability to be one thing to one person, and something else to another, the smell of earth and flowers that emanated from her. It reminded him of something beautiful, sad, and ancient. Suddenly feeling overwhelmed, he touched the armband, remembering the sensation that had coursed through him earlier.

  “Nickolous, it is time.” The flame haired woman stood outside the corridor, waiting.

  § § § § § §

  Nickolous stepped out from the circle into the group of waiting companions, the words of soft farewell echoing from the crackling flames that wended their way upward as the woman became transparent within the heart of the burning flames. The companions watched silently as the vision slowly faded into nothingness.

  “Here, sit down. There now, here’s something hot to drink.” Sarah hovered close by, her cure for all ills her herbal tea.

  Nickolous drank the contents of the gourd and then held it out for a refill while Jerome waited close by; his warrior’s training enabling him to be patient, his knowledge of the old teachings preparing him for what was to come.

  “Old One, the Woman of the Flame and the guardian of the warriors cavern, are they the same?” Nickolous had finished his drink but was still huddled by the fire, chilled from the dampness that seeped through the many underground passages.

  “Yes and no.”

  Nickolous turned to look into dark eyes that were fathomless. “Old One, the smell of earth and forest were everywhere. It was not like here.”

  “What does it tell you? Here?” The Old One asked as she touched Nickolous’s chest gently.

  “I don’t know. It’s almost as if there are places that the shadows cannot touch, yet those that protect the sacred places cannot leave, their destiny to remain forever there.

  “Yes, there is much truth to what you say,” the Old One agreed, one gnarled paw resting softly against the silver armlet. “But remember, for everything there is a time, and for some the turnings are coming to an end. Others, who have the ability to see beyond the gates that keep those confined, can, and must, go forth.” The Old One’s face was now inches from Nickolous’s, her gaze intense as she peered into blue eyes that were fathomless.

  “Remember, the beginning was just that. It didn’t mean things would not change, that each place of wonderment would not grow, and some of the growing would not be pleasant, but that is the way it is. Things cannot be changed once they have happened, but there are those who are gifted with a knowing that can help.” The Old One leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “All things that are gifted with the breath of life have a destiny, but that does not mean it is always fulfilled. We all have choices to make.” She stood up and moved away toward Orith, who was studying them intently.

  § § § § § §

  “Jerome, I need to talk to you.”

  The warrior stood facing the forest, his heavy war club by his side. He had left the cavern’s warmth and those inside, giving Nickolous and the Old One their privacy—he had needed to breathe the night air and hear the heartbeat of the forest. A few shrill whistles assured him that his warriors were still in place and all was well. Leaning back against the rocky wall, he had closed his eyes, weary beyond reckoning, his sudden need to absorb the sounds of the forest almost overwhelming.

  “Jerome?” Nickolous stood looking up at the big warrior; spoken words were not necessary, as the ability for Nickolous to speak within himself to the warrior became easier with each day that passed. Green eyes the color of the forest leaves gazed down at him as Nickolous returned the gaze knowing that everything he was thinking, everything he was feeling, was being felt by his friend.

  “You have seen things that others have only heard about through teachings, or as little ones when they were put to bed for the night.” Jerome rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he looked past Nickolous, to the forest’s edge. Although he appeared relaxed, he wasn’t. The stillness of the night was but a prelude to something darker; he could sense it.

  “I know. I know. Because I walk between the two worlds, belonging to neither, yet belonging to both I have the gift of the ‘knowing.’ Now, I have to learn to use those gifts,” Nickolous replied, his answer surprising Jerome.

  “The Ancients—”

  “Are what they are.” Nickolous closed his eyes as images assailed his memory, the scent of burning grass and sweet earth filling his nostrils as the warrior who had welcomed him within the sacred dreaming circle, once again walked within his memories.

  Unable to control them, Nickolous let the images pour forth, knowing that the warrior of the forest was sharing in what he was seeing, an inner part of him realizing that he was seeing things which hadn’t been there before. His attention turned inward as the two shared something which neither would ever forget.

  Jerome breathed in deeply, his very being vibrating with the realization that everything he had ever been taught—everything he had ever believed—was true.

  § § § § § §

  The winged watcher remained where he was; concealed, watchful, as Jerome and Nickolous dream walked together, a thing which was only gifted to a few; those who had earned the honor.

  The warrior was one of the forest people, old beyond reckoning; ancient in his own right; the ability to see into the darkest heart a gift from the Flame to those who protected the earth.

  The boy, a boy no longer, was still growing. His heritage was one of mystery; his mother a daughter of Skye, the ties from the world he had been born in a fleeting memory at best as he found his place among a race of beings struggling for independence.

  The winged warrior settled back to wait; he would remain where he was. There would be none to interfere in their journey.

  None.

  § § § § § §

  Lord Nhon waited patiently in the shadows, his dark cloak concealing him from any watchers as he pulled the hood low over a heavy brow so that only his red eyes glinted in the darkness. As the night watcher flew overhead, his wings brushing the tree tops seeking his quarry, Lord Nhon felt the others frustration and smiled beneath his covering as he crouched low to the ground, covering himself completely.

  Owen scanned the ground
beneath him as he glided above the tree-tops, his keen sense telling him that his quarry was watching him from below. Frustrated that he could not penetrate the darkened places with his night vision, he veered sharply to the left, his echoing cry a warning to those concealed in the beneath places where the light could not penetrate. Gliding soundlessly, he skirted the small valley, circling around to see if his quarry had moved. Once, landing on a nearby tree that was darkened and dried with age, he thought he saw a shadowy form running, then, it was gone. Breathing in deeply, opening his mind to absorb the night smells and sounds, he waited in the stillness as the moon crept out from the concealing clouds to splay her light softly upon the well worn paths within the forests depths. Great golden eyes widened as the white head swiveled slowly around while wings unfolded, stretched, and then went back into place.

  He waited.

  Almost directly below him, Lord Nhon covered himself completely beneath the voluminous folds of his heavy robes, for he knew the power of one known as Owen was increasing.

  He also knew that he had been foolish to have been caught out by himself; first by one of the forest guardians, and now a night watcher of the forest. Finding what he was looking for in a packet, he placed a small amount of the powdery substance in the palm of his hand. Clutching it tightly to his chest, he uttered a remembering from the before time, then, throwing back the cloak that concealed him, blew the gray powder upward while rising at the same time, his gaze locked on huge golden eyes that glared at him from the top of the gnarled ancient tree.

  Owen prepared to lunge, his every instinct telling him that it was now or never, but before he could do anything, the form below him vanished; the fading image of Lord Nhon, smirking as he looked upward at him, then, nothing. Caught off guard, he lunged toward the now empty spot, hoping that the invisibility powder hadn’t quite taken affect. Grasping nothing but air, he made a few more futile lunges before giving up, knowing that it would be useless to waste any more time here. Grazing the tops of the trees, he soared away toward the waiting place.

  Lord Nhon waited in the stillness, the power of invisibility spell weakening as he fought to maintain control. Below ground, in his cavern, he was in his element, however, here, on the outside, it was a different matter. Finally assured that Owen was no longer a threat, he moved forward into the moonlit night, his thoughts on the task at hand. As he turned toward the darkened places, a shadowy form stepped in front of him, barring his path; the creature bowing low before him as they conferred in the language of the dark ones.

  § § § § § §

  Owen knew that as soon as he left, the way clear, Lord Nhon would retreat back to his lair. The Dark Lord’s followers were everywhere; their smell a clinging cloying thing that stuck to one’s nostrils, and hard to get rid of. Glancing down, he saw yet another form skulking toward its master’s path of return; it glanced up, wary; yellow eyes gleamed with a unnatural light that faded into nothingness as it scurried for cover.

  Looking upward into the starry sky, he drew in a deep breath, his thoughts on those who waited back at the sacred place and the sudden prickling sensation that moved up his spine merely another reminder that they were all in danger. Veering sharply to the left, he headed toward the others, the whoosh-whoosh of his wings echoing loudly in the silence of the starlit night.

  § § § § § §

  Waiting in the darkness, the winged warrior watched as Owen headed back toward the sacred place, then he too lunged skyward, his dark wings all but invisible against the night sky, his form indistinguishable as he veered into the low-lying cloud cover that swept across the horizon.

  Aided by the wind, Owen rode the currents as he swiftly closed the distance between himself and the sacred place where the others waited. Now and then, he caught a glimpse of the shadowy being that trailed him but was not concerned. He knew well the purpose of the warrior of Skye and felt safer because of it. Below him, the ruins of one of the ancient places lay, a grim reminder of the battles past. Peering straight ahead, he fixed his gaze upon the distant horizon and those who waited.

  § § § § § §

  The fire burned, giving little warmth to the two watchers as Nicko-lous rubbed his arms in an effort to dispel the goose bumps that rose in protest against the chill night air, while his companion grasped his war club tightly as he peered into the darkness—alert for anything untoward this night. Blocking out the chill that bothered Nickolous, grimacing, he rose stiffly; the need to move about almost uncontrollable as, turning, he caught the furtive movement off to the side, then, it was gone.

  “Jerome?”

  “Yes?”

  “There isn’t much time, is there.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

  “There’s enough.”

  “The others—”

  “They must remain here.” Jerome turned to face Nickolous, his gaze penetrating. “Gabriel and Chera will guard them. Timothy will make sure the Old One and Orith are kept safe until they are needed. Where we must go, we must journey alone. None will approach without consequences. My warriors will remain, and I seriously misdoubt that the unseen ones of Skye will also guard the passage this night.” Jerome lowered his voice so that Nickolous had to lean forward to catch the next words. “There are others who will guard those here. Do not worry.” He straightened up, indicating to his companion that he was ready to go.

  Sparing a backward glance at the cave that shielded those within it, Nickolous hurried to catch up to Jerome as the night engulfed them gently within its embrace.

  § § § § § §

  The Old One arose stiffly, one gnarled paw clutching her staff. Timothy, seeing her discomfort, went to her aid immediately, while Sarah stirred sleepily within the robes that had been hastily thrown down as a bed.

  Orith watched silently as the Old One stood at the entrance, inhaling deeply of the night air and those that were a part of it.

  “They’re gone.”

  Orith nodded as she turned to face him, her dark eyes gleaming as she tightened her grip on her staff, while pulling her cloak tightly about her thin shoulders to ward off the damp chill that pervaded the deepening night. Saying no more, she watched as Orith placed another log on the fire, and then helped her to find a comfortable place among the pile of robes to ease her weary body down. Timothy placed more wood close by so that no one would have to move into the shadows that the fires light could not displace, then he too sat down, his sword resting within easy reach.

  Outside the caverns entrance, Chera sat close to Gabriel, her shoulder brushing against his as they gazed up into the starry night. Both knew their purpose and, as much as they would have wished to go with Jerome and Nickolous, they knew they were needed here. When the time was right and everything was in place, they would be ready. The Flame that languished somewhere in the depths below them had reached out from its prison and somehow touched them all. Their thoughts twinning now, the two wolves settled down, alert for any danger, prepared to protect the Old One and the others at all costs.

  19

  The ancient warrior turned, beckoning as he did so to the two travelers. Nickolous looked up at him and nodded, grateful Jerome was nearby. Drawing in a deeply of the scents surrounding him, he entered the place where the watchers of the eternal waited.

  Nickolous stood, awed, at what was before him. Jerome stopped just behind him, automatically reaching for his war club; startled to find it no longer loped about his waist, he looked around, bewildered. Inhaling deeply, he exhaled slowly, his breathing gradually slowing until there was nothing left to distract him, only the scene in front of him.

  This wasn’t just a dream walk. Once again, two worlds had been bridged. Once again, something more powerful than what Nicko-lous could comprehend had reached out, pulling him through a veil that went beyond the powers that he had been gifted with. Looking around at the giant ferns and smelling the perfume
that wafted through the already sweetly scented air, Nickolous knew he wasn’t in the realms of the warriors of Skye, nor was he in the future and certainly not the present. He paused to glance back at Jerome, at the same time realizing where they were.

  The before time.

  Jerome shared the same thought. The ancient warrior of the forest knelt down, touching the earth reverently; grasping handfuls of rich dark soil, he let them run through his broad hands and trickle to the ground unheeded.

  He had dreamed of this place so long—this place of legend and dreams.

  They were in a passage, with water trickling from an underground spring, running over the rocks, which were slippery with moss and slime. Nickolous went down, hard, his knee taking the brunt of the blow as he struggled to rise. The warrior didn’t even glance back as Jerome bent to help Nickolous up. Limping, trying to conceal the pain, he continued on toward the light at the end of the passage that glowed blue-white.

  “Enter.” The warrior stood aside so that they could pass.

  “Jerome?” Unspoken thoughts spun about them, unheard; but heard. The warrior nodded curtly, beckoning them further into the cavern, and then they were there, with only the rock walls surrounding them, and beyond that—

  Both Nickolous and Jerome stood looking upward into an unending vastness of blue sky and distant mountains; their tops rimmed in white mist. To the right of them, water cascaded over rocky cliffs entering a small pool, which nestled at the base of the cliff. The smell of Oleander permeated the cavern, the white flowers hanging in clusters from stems that threatened to break under their heavy burden, while the wild honeysuckle, which clung to the crack’s running deep into the rock, added their own beauty. Deep red flowers hung down from slender stems as humming birds flitted in and out. Nickolous stopped next to a fern that was taller than he was, while Jerome breathed deeply of the air, absorbing the scents that stirred memories of ancient times.

  “Come. Time grows short.” The warrior stood at the edge of the forest; the oak trees within so gnarled and twisted that Nickolous could only gaze upon them in wonder. As Jerome fell into step beside him, the knowledge that this was the place from whence all things had began, humbled him as they stepped carefully onto the path that led into the deepest heart of the ancient place that had been there from the beginning.