Son Of Skye

by Thérèse Pilon

  “We are not defeated yet.”

  Startled, Jerome reached for his war club, only to watch in amazement as it flew from his grasp to land a short distance away; as he bent to retrieve it, a shadowy form slowly detached itself from the shadows.

  “Lord Moshat.” Nickolous inclined his head slightly, surprised that the elder would have left the safety of Skye.

  Lord Moshat strode quickly toward them as Jerome studied him from beneath half-closed eyelids. There was something familiar about this elder—a memory tugged at him from his youth; then broke free as he drew on those memories—

  A terrified youngster had wandered away from his clan and couldn’t find his way back while the day had vanished; in its place, the darkness had come, bringing with it the sounds of the night wending their way around him—over him—through him. He had closed his eyes, trying to shut out the fear that had threatened to overtake him; the need to flee overpowering his emotions, when strong arms had grasped him and lifted him up—he had not opened his eyes until his feet had once again touched solid ground.

  “It is good to see you after so many countless turnings.” The oldest of the elders of Skye stood before him, and even in the shadows of the darkness he knew that Lord Moshat was looking up at him; gauging him to see if he was worthy. He bent down slightly to catch the next words, spoken so softly that only he heard them.

  “It is good to see the stripling has grown to honor the forest and protect those who dwell beneath. It is good to know the gifts given were honored.” Lord Moshat pulled away, but not before Jerome caught the whispered; “To grow within is to grow without. The circle grows smaller, yet the light in the center survives.”

  Jerome nodded mutely. The big warrior was at a loss for words. After he had been returned to the forest as a youngling, he had many dreams and had seen many visions. The need to seek out those who could teach and explain had nearly consumed him, so great had the need become to be aware of the unseen ones that dwelt among them.

  As he stood before Lord Moshat, he was glad that he had sought out the things that had brought him here, to this place.

  “Nickolous; we must see him safely to the others. If Lord Nhon knew he was here.”

  Jerome nodded mutely. The knowledge of the truth the elder spoke, combined with the knowledge of the danger they were in lay heavy within his being. He hadn’t approved of coming this way from the beginning, but his warrior’s heart had trusted Nickolous’s judgment.

  “We must go. Now.” Jerome strode quickly ahead, not bothering to look back; knowing the elder walked with the boy, he trusted that Liege sensed their coming. Above him, the air stirred with the beating of wings as Owen soared above him; his eyes the mirror that reflected the night and those who threaded their way within it.

  § § § § § §

  “Chera, come inside.”

  “Where are they?” Chera turned her gaze toward her mate. “They should have been back long ago.”

  “Do not worry. Jerome will protect him and Liege won’t fail us. Come.” Gabriel nudged her gently. He didn’t want the Old One to worry. Both Orith and the Old One seemed a little frailer with each passing day.

  “Chera.” Gabriel stood at the entranceway, his tone firm. It was time to gather everyone together for the days dawning was but a few hours away.

  “The night deepens into a blackness that smothers.” Chera stood poised beside him, her stance reminding him of the Chera of old. He nodded assent; the urge to hunt now a growing hunger, he scented the air, seeking.

  “They come.” Chera looked at him, her expression guarded. “They are not alone. Tell the Old One and Orith to prepare.”

  § § § § § §

  The fire burned high, the heat comforting after the dampness of the night. Sarah had already prepared the tea, which was accepted gratefully, the need for spoken words not necessary as the hollowed-out gourds were quickly emptied then refilled.

  Nickolous leaned against the wall, exhausted from his journey; for now, he was content to draw in the welcome warmth from the fire. He watched as Sarah bustled about, making sure no one lacked food or a warm drink while Timothy stood close by, his dark eyes missing little as the silence that surrounded them deepened.

  Lord Moshat hadn’t been to this place since the time of the Ancient Ones; but the power remained. He turned his head, listening, glad that he had stopped here for a little while before returning to Skye. The earth beneath him beat out a steady rhythm that he had almost forgotten, and for a moment he contemplated defying the unwritten laws and staying…for these few stood against many.

  He sighed deeply, closing his eyes for a moment.

  “Lord Moshat. My Lord?” He opened his eyes. Luminous dark eyes peered up as Sarah knelt before him, her curiosity getting the better of her, for she dared what the others would not.

  “Was it you then, I mean, back at the cavern?” Remembering the unexpected visitor, and the crystalline tears that had fallen in such sorrow, she waited breathlessly, sure of the answer.

  Lord Moshat leaned forward, studying Sarah intently, her childlike innocence was intriguing.

  “Sarah!” Timothy was shocked at his sister’s behavior. Lord Moshat was, after all, an honored guest. The rest of the companions looked on, amused.

  “Hold.” Lord Moshat motioned Timothy back.

  “It’s all right, little one,” he said as he drew her close. Sensing her awe of him and her blind trust that he could help was nearly too much. He patted her arm gently.

  “Small one, there are many who hold the knowledge within—the decision to share a careful one. Each guardian holds a part of the knowledge within themselves—but not all. It wasn’t I you saw but one who holds the knowing of the before time and foresees the possible ending because the middle is not yet written.”

  Sarah looked at him, her expression confused. Lord Moshat stood, and when he spoke, it was to them all.

  “There is no riddle, for the words I speak are true. The end is not yet written, for the middle is not yet set. Lord Nhon should not be here, but then again, neither should I.”

  He smiled in the half light.

  “I decided to even things out a bit. The gate I closed will prevent any more dark shadows from coming through. They don’t belong here. They belong to their own realm; their own time. Even the Daughter of the Night flees this festering sore. Even she has seen the darkness that shrouds the land as an unwelcome thing that threatens her existence.”

  “A-Sharoon brought this evil to us, and now she hides from what she has done.” Chera paced the length of the cavern, her frustration evident.

  “The evil was already here, Daughter of the Forest.” Lord Moshat spoke gently as he stirred the coals at the outer edge of the fire. “It would have only been a matter of time before ‘That One’ made himself known, for the darkness is an insidious thing that gathers power as it goes.” He lowered his head and closed his eyes against the sudden sensation that pervaded his senses.

  “It’s forbidden that one such as you help those of the forest clans.”

  Lord Moshat kept his eyes closed, knowing that only he was hearing the words. He clenched his fists, wondering how Lord Nhon could peer through the living rock as his thoughts turned outward, seeking the speaker. There was nothing; and so he turned aside, his features concealed by the shadows; his decision made. The Fallen’s powers were even greater than he had realized.

  “I must leave, for the time grows short and my own warriors grow impatient.” He drew the heavy woolen cloak about his shoulders, wanting to leave as quickly as possible, before something hap-pened—on the off chance that Lord Nhon could channel his power through him to harm even one of these was unthinkable.

  “Wait.” Nickolous placed a hand on his arm. “Are they safe? Are they together?” Blue eyes met blue.

  “Yes to the
first. No to the second.” Lord Moshat placed a hand on Nickolous’s shoulder, the warmth was penetrating and comforting at the same time.

  “Your Mother waits beyond the misty places, her power to protect those within the necessity that holds her there. Your sister is safe elsewhere; her destiny a different path that calls her. She answers that call with a fierceness that will serve her well in the future—whatever that future may be.” He lowered his head as he drew the hood forward to conceal his features, then, nodding to the others, went into the night; the wolves following at a distance until, turning, he waved them back.

  Chera stayed awhile longer, even after Gabriel and Liege had went back to the others, her silvery-gray eyes searching the shadows for danger; then, satisfied that the elder was safely away, she turned and in a few minutes was back at the cavern’s entrance.

  § § § § § §

  Lord Nhon threw his tattered robe to the floor, grinding it into the cold earth as he hurled oaths at the empty air around him. The shadow being wasn’t there; which was a good thing, given the mood of the host. Anything that could be thrown was, and the broken shards were left for an underling to clean up.

  As the fire flickered, then caught, the flame burned low, the ice-cold chill pervading the cavernous room as Lord Nhon bent to his task. It was much later that, rising, he stretched wearily, the task done.

  “Where have you been?”

  The shadow creature was suddenly there, watching him almost warily, his attention on what lay in front of the ice-blue flames.

  “That meddling fool closed the gate.” Lord Nhon snarled. As he turned to face the being he hissed. “But then you would already know that, wouldn’t you?”

  “And what would I do to stop such a being? You who studied under him for so long know him better than I. Remember; I am here only to assist you. There are other gates. We will find them.”

  “We don’t have time!” Lord Nhon glared from beneath his hood, his eyes mere slits that glowed red in the dim light.

  “You fear what they can do.” The voice was tinged with surprise.

  “Only a fool would not fear such powers as they have. Together, combined, they will be formidable,” Lord Nhon retorted, as he picked up what he had been working on.

  “Ahhh, a new staff, and need I ask what happened to the other one?”

  “No. You need not!” Lord Nhon snarled as he turned away, one arm sweeping upward as he held the staff above his head. Twirling it round and round, faster and faster, until the high-pitched shrieking was nearly unbearable.

  “Enough.” Wheeling about, the being shot a nearly translucent web that struck the staff, knocking it out of Lord Nhon’s hands. Reaching out, the Fallen caught it in midair as the creature drew back, wary, watching, ready to lash out if need be.

  “Relax. The power of the staff is guided from within my own being. It is not as powerful as the one I lost, but who knows?” Lord Nhon shrugged his shoulders and then turned away, leaving the other to his own thoughts.

  § § § § § §

  “Lord Moshat is safely away.” Jerome bent low to enter, the small space not to his liking but the need for companionship greater. Besides, he needed to speak of things best not overheard beyond these walls. Feeling more at ease, but not entirely, he crouched beside the fire, motioning Nickolous close.

  Not much had been said during Lord Moshat’s visit, for Orith and the Old One had no need to ask questions; for what the Old Ones had taught had come to pass. True, they had no way of knowing everything, but that, too, would come in time.

  Nickolous grasped the armband, carefully sliding it off his arm. Turning to Jerome, his voice low, he whispered, “Watch.” Then, turning back to the fire, he turned the bracelet slowly over and over, the metal seeming nearly transparent against the flames that reflected back.

  Jerome drew closer; his attention caught by a reflection within the silver grooves that had been etched at the beginning of the turnings, made by hands that had known what was written of that time that was now coming to pass.

  “The Flame shows the way,” Nickolous whispered breathlessly as he moved closer to the fire.

  “There. See that?”

  Jerome bent nearer to see the reflection that danced against the light; hardly believing what his eyes saw. He had been so blind! The answer had been in front of them all the time.

  “The bracelet is a beacon that guides the way. It will guide us to the three sleeping forest warriors and to the way in.”

  The Old One and Orith nodded knowingly. The path was set; the way in clear. The bracelet was more than an ornament—

  It was a guide.

  The Old One closed her eyes, for she had to rest. Only part of their journey was complete, and the night was melting away into the predawn of the morning. She yawned, settling against the backrest that Sarah had so carefully made for her, and dozed off.

  Orith made to rise, then, thinking better of it, settled back. Let those younger prepare for the dawning’s light, he thought to himself as a gnarled paw patted him gently. Looking over at the Old One, he nodded, and then he too settled down for a sleep that was devoid of images to startle him into wakefulness.

  “Guard the bracelet well. No one else must know you have it. No one.” Jerome leaned closer, his gaze searching; trying to impart the need to not speak aloud of things that might be overheard.

  “It’s too late for that” The voice whispered.

  Both Nickolous and Jerome looked at one another.

  Then at the others.

  The Old One and Orith were sleeping; as were Timothy and Sarah, while the wolves were outside; their preference to be in the night air, for the cavern had grown too warm for them.

  “Who are you?” Nickolous asked; his head bowed as he concentrated, trying to locate the source.

  “I am who I am.”

  “Are you a friend?”

  “For now—yes.”

  Jerome concentrated; he could feel the unseen presence. It was close by.

  The warrior drew in a deep breath before exhaling slowly. A shiver ran through him as the realization of whom the voice belonged to hit him. Then the voice was blocked out as Nickolous spoke; his words breaking through the concentration.

  “Jerome; we need to listen.”

  “What.” Jerome looked at Nickolous with incredulity; forgetting his desire to not speak aloud. Quickly recovering from the shock of what he had just heard, he turned a startled gaze on his companion.

  “What are you thinking?”

  Nickolous placed a finger to his lips, as Chera peered in; her gaze questioning. Nickolous smiled at her and, seeing the reassuring look on his face, she withdrew her head, and it was just the two of them again.

  “I’ll ask it one more time. What are you thinking? Nickolous, are you mad?” The warrior’s voice was low, measured, as he stared at his companion, hardly daring to think that he had heard him correctly.

  “No, I’m not. Lord Nhon is not only a danger to the woodland clans, but he is also a danger to A-Sharoon and anyone else who walks the land. We must trust no one—but use what we have to our advantage.”

  “There can be no alliance with something so dark and evil, Nicko-lous,” Jerome replied; the warrior shivered, despite the warmth cast by the fires flame in the center of the cavern.

  Nickolous, not sure of how long they could block out the “Other S” thoughts, or, for that matter, if they had; chose his words carefully. “Our world shrinks as we talk, and a new day dawns; with it the unknown of ages past. What we saw and learned serves no purpose if we don’t see what is in front of us, Jerome.” Nickolous’s voice was anguished as he lowered his head. When he looked up, Jerome saw the answer, there, in the fathomless depths of eyes that had saw so little—yet so much.

  The big warrior nodded. Wisdom wasn’t
something that always came with age; and innocence wasn’t something that you could dismiss when it was combined with the latter. He sighed.

  So be it.

  Nickolous turned his thoughts outward to the faceless voice draped somewhere within the shadowed places, so that they might hear its words.

  “I will not interfere with anything you chose to do; neither will A-Sharoon. You need not fear our either of us in what is to follow; beyond that, when everything is done, I will make no promises—in everything, there must be a balance.” The voice faded away into the silence.

  Nickolous let his breath out slowly; unaware that he had been holding it.

  “Well, at least we know wherein our danger lies,” Jerome muttered as he moved a rock absently out of his way with his foot. Sweat beaded his brow as he wiped at it; mindless of the fact that it only beaded up again. “We must prepare. Trust no one, and use our instincts.”

  He rose to go, and he was partway out of the cavern’s entrance when he turned; the far-off trilling carrying faintly through rock and earth. “My warriors call; I must go. I will leave Chera and Gabriel to guard the entrance. Nickolous?” Jerome’s voice softened as he looked at his young companion.

  “Yes?”

  “Try and get some rest.” The warrior smiled; despite the worry, he knew things would turn out the way they should.

  Nickolous leaned against the wall; the coolness that seeped out a temporary relief from the heat from the fire. Crossing his arms over his chest, he closed his eyes, wondering what the days new dawning would bring; then, like the others in the cavern, he drifted, his slumber broken by dreams of mystical places; outside, the soft trilling of the forest creatures had began.

  On a grassy knoll a short distance away, Jerome and the others watched in silence as the eastern sky began to lighten; the warrior posting his warriors in strategic places where they could remain unseen.