§ § § § § §
Orith watched patiently as the Old One stirred the contents from the small leather pouch into the hot water, the steam rising as she pulled the pot off the fire. Sarah, refreshed after her sleep, was there immediately; gently taking it from the Old One, she placed it carefully on the flat part of a rock that had been hewn out for that purpose then stood back so that the Old One could pass.
As the Old One made herself comfortable, Orith remained where he was, silently watching while at the same time caressing his staff. Saying nothing to the others, he touched the wood where the sensation was strongest. The tingling sensation ran through him—a warning that they were being watched; yet at the same time a comfort, because they were prepared and protected. Then he, too, leaned back.
It would be at a terrible cost to whoever or whatever was out there to try and enter this night.
He closed his eyes but did not sleep, his grasp firm upon the staff that hummed gently beneath his touch.
The Old One bent forward, her black eyes gazing into the fire’s deepest depths, her mind focusing on what was behind the small flames that licked their way upward toward the small sticks placed crossways against the red-hot embers that glowed beneath. Her attention focused, she withdrew a small amount of powder from the worn leather pouch that hung at her side. Tossing it into the fire, she leaned back, inhaling the pungent odor that wafted upward to curl lazily around the ceiling, then she too closed her eyes. Sleep was an elusive thing, and so, like Orith, she withdrew to that other place that to which only their kind could journey. And like Orith, she also grasped her staff tightly to her, knowing that it would serve her well this night.
§ § § § § §
Gabriel raised his head, inhaling deeply of the scents wafting to him on the night’s breeze. Instantly he was on his feet, the fur along his back bristling as Chera scented the night wind, the soft growl emanating from deep within not a threatening one; rather a greeting of old friends as the low growl from inside the fringes of the forest begged entrance. The Old One, roused from that place where she had centered herself, opened her eyes briefly before once again closing them; even now she felt the pull of the Flame and knew the wolves would do what was necessary.
“We thought you lost.” Chera moved to allow passage to the black wolf who moved slowly into the fires shadowy light. The wolf bowed low before her, and she nudged him gently, urging him to rise, for he was not only the captain of the wolves but a trusted friend. As she drew back, she noted the partially healed wounds that crisscrossed his back, the fur patchy in some places, the scars a permanent reminder of battles past.
“The others? Where are the others?” Gabriel looked past Liege, to the forest beyond, his gaze searching as he waited for an answer.
“Gone. All gone.” Liege dropped his head in resignation as the soft sighing of the night wind enveloped them within its embrace; its passage amongst them a telling thing.
§ § § § § §
“The Flame rages against what it cannot escape, my Lord.” The shadow creature, a being as old as time itself, faced Lord Nhon across the room, its form as changing as the wisps of smoke curling up from the fire toward the ceiling. There was no heat from the flames, for the cavern was unnaturally cold; the feeling of desolation and foreboding nearly overwhelming as a deep moaning rose up, the echo writhing upward, to trail off against the cold stone that guarded against escape.
Lord Nhon said nothing, his expression guarded as he glanced toward the thick stone wall that separated the two rooms. Muffled sounds, low and keening, sounded from the other side as the walls vibrated with unheard sound. Lord Nhon rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his red eyes glinting in the partial light. He did not care to enter the other room, for the Flame hurt his ears with its incessant moaning, and he had other things to attend to this night. Blocking out the sounds from the other side of the wall, he went about his tasks as the shadow creature watched silently. Once, feeling the presence of the unknown, he rose, his gaze searching the hidden places within the cavern, his senses reeling as he fought the nausea that rose within him. Shaking it off, he shrugged, for he knew his adversary well. He had no doubt that, if he were to venture outside, the winged ones would be waiting.
“Lord Nhon?” Whirling, he caught himself, his expression guarded. It wouldn’t do for the creature to see his fear—
After all, he was who he was.
“What is it?” He glared from beneath heavy hooded lids, his red eyes mere slits.
The being before him met his gaze evenly. Searching. He lowered his voice. Even so, in the stillness of the cavern, surrounded as they were by rock that carried ancient remembering, it seemed loud.
Lord Nhon fought the urge to cover his ears, his mind focusing on the ability to shut out all but the immediate purpose before him.
“Three.”
“What?” Lord Nhon turned toward the being, his senses tingling.
“Three. As long as they are separated, there is no real danger. There must be a joining of power, and for that to happen, they must be together.” The being drew closer, and Lord Nhon looked at him as if it were the first time. There was nothing definable about the creature; there wasn’t even a face, really, where the eyes should have been, there was only a black roiling that was ever changing in its depth of intensity.
Lord Nhon pulled back as if seeing the creature for the first time; suddenly aware that the being could, if he chose to, look into the depths of his very being. Inwardly he shuddered, even as he closed his mind to the rising emotions welling up inside. When next he faced the creature, there was no indication that there had ever been any indecision on his part. His red eyes narrowed as he asked, “What have you seen?”
“Nothing. Everything.”
“You talk in riddles!” Lord Nhon snorted angrily, his temper flaring as he turned away from the creature. He was halfway across the room, yet he still heard the whispered words that were almost lost to the sudden sighing that permeated the cavern. The Flame, the heart of all living things since the beginning of creation, began to scream; the sound nearly unbearable for it, too, had heard the whispered chant of the shadow creature. Lord Nhon pulled his robes tightly about him as he whirled around, an unaccustomed chill creeping up his spine, his mind pushing the fear back as he asked the question; knowing the answer.
“Where is he?”
“The Warriors. The Ancients. The Seven.
Lord Nhon released the glass vial he was holding, the crushed shards biting deeply into the palm of his hand as the remnants fell to the earthen floor at his feet. Wordlessly, he clenched and unclenched his hand, not bothering to stop the red liquid that seeped between his fingers.
§ § § § § §
Jerome stayed slightly behind Nickolous, his view so breathtaking that for the moment it seemed that it was just him and the forest that had created him and there was nothing, had never been anything else before.
Not even that which had followed after.
He watched as the path they traveled widened and once, sparing a backward glance the way they had come, and was not surprised to see that the pathway had closed—even a place as ancient as this needed to keep its secrets, he supposed, as he bent slightly to avoid the low-hanging branches of a gigantic willow tree. As the branches touched him, whisper soft and sweetly scented, he stopped, his warrior’s intuition telling him that this was where he was to remain.
Nickolous was aware that Jerome had remained behind, but he was not concerned. He too, knew that the rest of this journey was his and his alone to make. When next he looked, the forest was in shadow, so thick was the canopy of intertwining limbs overhead.
“There was a time when all things were like this.”
Nickolous turned around as the speaker stepped out of the shadow that concealed him, into the light.
§ § § § § §
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“Old One, there is the sound of thunder beneath our feet,” Sarah said as she crept closer to the fire; its warmth pulling them all toward it as the dampness seeped through the cold gray rock that surrounded them.
“There’s nothing to fear,” the Old One replied. Adjusting her robes about her; shivering slightly, she moved closer toward the flames that licked upward.
Chera and Gabriel stood at the caverns entrance, while Liege, exhausted, rested nearby. His journey back to them had been fraught with many dangers, and the knowledge that only he had survived would stay with him until the day his own life force was extinguished.
“Hush, child,” the Old One said, as she patted Sarah’s shoulder gently, trying to calm her as Orith moved toward them, his slow gait a concern to the Old One.
“Come.” She motioned to the fragrant boughs of cedar beside her.
As Orith lowered himself carefully down beside her, the tremors beneath them lessoned.
“The Flame calls.”
“And the son of Skye answers; he just doesn’t know it yet.” Orith finished the sentence, his grip firm on his staff. The tingling sensation did not alarm him; he turned to face the Old One; the elation he felt showed upon his scarred features as he patted her arm gently. Saying nothing more, he leaned back, grateful for the warmth that crept around him. Sighing deeply he nestled into his robes, the crackling of the logs in the fire comforting—but not for long.
§ § § § § §
Liege stirred in his sleep, restless and exhausted; the journey that had brought him here had been at a terrible cost; the lives of many lost in the darkened places that harbored deceit and evil. Wherever they had gone, the wolves had seen it—a festering sore that would not heal. There were so many who had followed the shadow creatures.
They were legion.
Liege opened his eyes; then slowly closed them again; his midnight black shoulders shaking as he fought the images racing through his brain. In this semi-state of sleep, it was as if he were back in battle, the howls of rage and pain tearing at him as he watched the others being devoured by the inky blackness that had pervaded the clearing where they had taken a stand.
The swirling darkness had come out of nowhere, a twisting turning writhing mist that held disembodied voices and images of things that darkened and faded as they changed into things even more terrible to behold; they had tried to fight back, striking out at the nothingness that enveloped them. The battle had lasted mere moments and, at the end, only Liege had been able to throw himself out of the shadow’s grasp. When everything had stopped spinning, and the world had righted itself, he was alone. Anguished, he had searched for something, anything, that would tell him that there were some who had survived.
It was not to be.
Finally, exhausted, he had tracked the others to this place; however, his rest was anything but peaceful. In his mind he could hear the howls of the others, cut abruptly off as if a door had closed; shutting off their cries and in his heart he grieved.
“Liege.”
The call came from a distance and, in his sleep-induced state, Liege had to fight the urge to slip further into oblivion, but the voice was persistent; the speaker familiar. Rising up on stiff legs, he turned to face Chera.
“Liege,” she said; her tone soft and low. “We have need of you, can you seek out Owen?”
The big wolf shook his head. He would try.
§ § § § § §
“The gate must be closed!” Lord Moshat leaned against the table for support as he looked at the messenger. He drew his thick brows together in a frown, the crinkles in the corners deepening as his eyes narrowed. The messenger stood against the door, his expression unreadable. The shadow being was dangerous, and the Fallen must not be allowed to bring any more through. These creatures belonged in their own worlds; not here with them. The balance must be maintained.
Lord Moshat fell silent after this outburst, for the past hours had seemed endless, the road ahead impassable. He drew in a deep breath and held it, before exhaling slowly, the sound not lost to the messenger, who stood, head bowed, waiting. Finally, Lord Moshat spoke, the words slow and measured, the inner knowledge of the risk he would take a secondary thing. The messenger drew back, masking his shock, but did not argue.
A short time later, under cover of darkness, without even the comfort of the moon’s silvery rays to light the way and masked by clouds that to mortal eyes would appear natural, two forms moved stealthily through the night.
§ § § § § §
Lord Nhon shuddered as the long-forgotten emotion washed over him; the shock he felt quickly turning to amazement. His companion looked up, puzzled, as the laughter echoed throughout the cavern.
“So, he would leave the safety of the sacred place to journey below—and for what—a boy who did not know what he possessed and the wood clans who fought a losing battle against what they could not hope to defeat?” He spoke not to his companion, but to the empty air around him.
For untold turnings, he had sought to draw that one from his lair, where his warriors could not protect him. Striding alone, into the night, he left the shadow creature to guard the Flame, for he had a score to settle.
A score as old as time itself.
§ § § § § §
Lord Moshat swayed slightly; the journey from the high place to the below had been difficult. The passage of time had brought with it the inability to move as freely as the warrior behind him, who watched, his eyes missing little, even in the darkness.
Chest heaving, Lord Moshat drew in deeply of the night air. Suddenly he stiffened, sensing the presence of an old enemy. With the merest of nods, he released the warrior behind him from his vigil. Absorbing the smells and sounds of the forest; drawing upon the strength of the elemental powers that surrounded him, he stood erect; no longer did age seem to affect him for this night he had been granted the ability to meet his former protege on equal terms. Not bothering to glance back, he continued on, the sounds closing in behind him as he neared the place he sought.
Owen flew; the wind’s current carrying him soundlessly over the rise, for he knew his path lay straight ahead; the sacred place not much further. He was fortunate to be downwind for if he hadn’t, the thing skulking on the ground below, in the shadowed places, would have sensed him first. As it was, there was barely enough time to swing out of range of the slashing claws as the creature flung itself upward, talons clawing at empty air.
Owen somersaulted as the creature lunged again, narrowly missing him as he righted himself. Catching his breath the great owl flew straight upward, until the foaming, screaming creature was no more than a small glaring thing, its narrowed heavy lidded yellow eyes mere pinpoints of glowing light in the clearing below.
As Owen began the downward plunge, the creature rose upright; where before there had been front legs of a sort, there were now leathery wings. The whoosh-woosh sounded incredibly loud in the sudden stillness as the creature became airborne.
One of Lord Nhon’s elite guard, it had been placed there by the Fallen One himself to guard its masters path; and it had no intentions of letting anyone pass as long as it held life within its being.
Prepared for the worst, hoping for the best, the two combatants struck each other with incredible force, the night pierced by Owens’s war cry as he flung the creature away from him, barely having time to recover before he was attacked again. Grappling, the two plunged earthward.
The winged warrior watched as the battle raged.
Owen shook bits of debris off himself as the creature sprang upward, its mouth opening in a scream as it lunged forward; jaws snapping, leathery wings with spiked ends reached out, trying to grasp its prey for the death blow. Its breath was foul, the sounds the open mouth emitted unearthly.
Concentrating on the space beneath the thing’s ribcage, Owen let it get da
ngerously close before striking out, his claws slashing through flesh and bone as the thing pulled back, too late realizing its mistake. Wounded, but not mortally, it scuttled sideways; then, glancing upward, caught sight of the winged warrior behind Owen.
The changeling wavered under their intense gaze as Owen drew in great breaths of fresh air; glad the thing was standing downwind; glad for the respite of battle, however brief. Glancing sideways, he nodded, acknowledging the winged warriors presence, yet puzzled as to why one of the warriors of Skye would reveal themselves so openly.
Before he had a chance to contemplate further, the wind swirled about him, bringing with it the sounds of the night—the howl of the hunter seeking its prey.
§ § § § § §
Liege scented the night wind and that which rode upon it, nostrils distended, his head held high; the fur along his spine bristled as a chill ran down his spine; ahead of him the sounds of battle grew louder. Topping the rise, he stood transfixed at the scene before him. Peering through the darkness he made out two struggling forms. Owen! As the two combatants fell apart, he drew in his breath sharply before letting it out in a deafening roar that momentarily diverted the thing’s attention. Leaping high, he quickly closed the distance between himself and the creature that turned to meet him; its attention now on this new adversary.
That was all Owen needed.
Too late the creature realized its mistake—too late it turned around to the sound of rushing air as the great Owl took flight, his talons extended.
20
Nickolous studied the figure before him thoughtfully; trying to absorb all that had been said. The warrior turned to face him; his arms crossed over his chest as he looked at him; his eyes reflecting nothing of what Nickolous knew he must feel. The warrior’s journeys were timeless, while his, were not yet written.
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