Son Of Skye

by Thérèse Pilon

  § § § § § §

  A-Sharoon waited in the darkness, her senses alert for anything untoward; a sense of foreboding lay heavy within her. Where was he? She paced impatiently back and forth, the waiting nearly unendurable. How she wished that she had never involved Lord Nhon in any of this. She sighed. It was too late now. She threw up her arms in resignation knowing that when her brother chose to communicate, he would; beyond that, there was little more that she could do. Clutching the amulet tightly, she closed her eyes, reciting the words deep within so she would not forget. Feeling the power surge through her, she smiled in the half light, the shadows cast by the cold flames set within the circle strangely comforting.

  “Have a care, sister. Even you are unschooled in the power of that which you hold within your hands.”

  A-Sharoon whirled around, her eyes glittering. “Where have you been?”

  “I have been doing what is necessary.” The disembodied voice was all around her as she turned about, dark eyes searching for what was not there; her voice, when she spoke, dripped of sarcasm, the words bitter against her tongue.

  “And did you accomplish anything?”

  “Have a care, sister.” The voice held an underlying menace to it. A-Sharoon started to say something then thought better of it, her concern now for herself.

  “And?” The question was directed at the empty air that whirled around her, seeping through the fissures within the rock. She waited in the stifling silence for an answer.

  “Enter into this only if you must sister, for it would be unseemly for those born to the darkness to battle another like yet unlike themselves. Let the one who walks between worlds do what he must; there will be other opportunities. If you must use the amulet, direct its powers to Lord Nhon.” The voice lowered, and A-Sharoon stiffened as her brother used a tone she had not heard since she was a young child.

  “Remember this: the one born of light who turned to the darkened places is no kin to you or me—let things go back as they were—” The words of farewell faded as A-Sharoon crossed the length of the cavern in long strides that carried her outside the caverns entrance, to gaze upward at the night sky.

  The moon hung round and silvery white just behind the treetops that stood close together; entwined tightly against each other, their heavy limbs cast shadows against the rocks as the wind pressed against her. Looking to the east, the slight lightening of the sky promised morning wasn’t far off. A-Sharoon moved back; pushed by the force of the wind she stood just within the cavern’s entrance; her face deathly white; her long, slender fingers stroking the amulet clutched tightly to her breast. Only when the moon had crept further down, hidden from view by the great trees that guarded the entrance to the valley, and the rosy hues that signaled the days new dawning began to streak the eastern sky, did she retreat back to the confines of her dark cavern, her expression thoughtful.

  It was there, in the darkest corner, an incantation was cast, and the grinding of stone upon stone reverberated in the hidden places below; the rumbling reaching upward into the open spaces where the clans of the forest—the four-legged and winged—walked.

  § § § § § §

  Stretching upward, the little ground dweller scented the air, his long whiskers flicking back and forth as he turned slowly around. Dark eyes, wide with disbelief, scanned the valley below, seeking the source of the disturbance that had stirred him from sleep and sent him from his den; eyes that could peer into the darkest corners sought out the hidden places, and stopped where the entrance to A-Sharoon’s cavern had been. A few more small rocks tumbled down, then silence. The entrance was completely hidden from prying eyes, the occupant within safe from any enemy who might seek to enter from above.

  A few moments later, small feet beat out a rhythmic tattoo against the earth in the tunnel below until the sound was picked up, and passed on until it became the heartbeat that joined the below places to the above.

  § § § § § §

  “What is it? What do you hear?” Gabriel, alerted by the low rumbling, had sought out Jerome. The big warrior knelt down; placing a hand upon the dry earth, he let the sensation pulse through him as he listened.

  “A-Sharoon takes refuge within the living rock. There will be no interference from her. It is as we were told.” Jerome rose slowly and turned to face the silver wolf, his voice resonating throughout the little clearing as he spoke. “The Daughter has no stomach for this fight. Although we must still be on our guard, our worries have just lessened a bit. The little ones will watch her. Their eyes and ears miss little.”

  “The dawn comes, little comfort to those who hide within their forest homes, thinking an army goes out this day,” Gabriel mused thoughtfully as he looked to the eastern sky. The rosy hues were creeping upward; dawn mere moments away.

  “To the sacred place, my friend.” Jerome loomed above the silver wolf; his need to say more suddenly failed him as he looked into the blue eyes that, like his own, had seen so much in the turnings that had brought them here; to this place. He sighed deeply.

  Gabriel nudged his stalwart friend gently. He and he alone knew of the secret things that burned within the forest warrior’s breast; although they were not born of the same family, they were brothers nonetheless. It mattered not what was on the outside, for inside they were the same.

  § § § § § §

  Nickolous stood just inside the entrance of the cavern; watching the sunrise; his emotions within as changing as the hues that surrounded the sun as it climbed higher, while the moon, paling, receded into the azure background.

  “You’re wondering if you’ll see another dawning such as this.”

  Nickolous looked down at the small form of the Old One. Reaching out he drew her to him; her presence had a calming effect that he welcomed, for their journey together had been fraught with danger and learning. He closed his eyes against the emotions that welled up within him. Knowing that he had to rely on his own abilities, what he had seen, what he had been taught, all would come to nothing if he did not focus.

  “Jerome comes while the others prepare; as must we.” Orith stood beside them, his staff held out in front of him.

  The Old One nodded; her own staff now in full view as Nickolous acknowledged the pulsing of the silver armband. Although it remained covered, he had no doubt of its power.

  “We are ready, then?” Jerome asked; pleased to see everyone prepared for the journey. His own duties called to him as he turned to one of his warriors, his head bent slightly as he spoke; the words inaudible to those watching. Nodding, the warrior called to the others as, one by one, they parted, each heading toward a predetermined destination.

  Nickolous watched them go, his mind on his own duties, then he too turned aside to busy himself with what was necessary.

  § § § § § §

  “Why? Why do I have to stay behind?” Sarah stood facing Gabriel, her stance defiant.

  “Little One, you will be safe here. We have much to do and others to watch over,” Gabriel replied, his tone soothing as Sarah stood her ground while the others looked on, amused.

  “Oh? And I suppose I can’t do anything to help?” Sarah retorted, her voice betraying her anger as she looked at her brother for support. Timothy remained where he was, saying nothing; knowing it would be useless to argue with either Sarah or Gabriel.

  The big wolf shook his head from side to side exasperated with the little female standing before him. “Sarah,” he said, nudging her gently. She didn’t budge, but remained where she was, glaring at him. “Orith and the Old One are in great danger, and Nickolous even more so. Your heart has great courage, and you have borne great responsibility, but you must understand—you cannot go—”

  Sarah stared into Gabriel’s eyes, her emotions evident to all who watched.

  Nickolous encircled her shoulders and drew her close, for he had a great
fondness for her. His own heart aching at the sight of the tears pooling within the liquid depths of her eyes, he turned her toward him and cupped her face gently as he whispered something in her ear that only she could hear.

  Sarah tilted her head to one side, her expression thoughtful; then, sparing a glance at Gabriel, she nodded. “Very well, I won’t argue anymore; I’ll stay here and wait for your return.”

  “I’ll remain also.” As much as it pained him, Timothy felt obligated to stay in case Sarah needed him.

  “No; you most certainly will not!”

  Timothy drew back in surprise at Sarah’s outburst, shocked that she would refuse his protection.

  “It’s all right, Timothy,” she said as she hugged him to her fiercely; releasing him, she stood back. “You must go. They,” she motioned to the others, “will need you.”

  “Sarah.” Timothy looked down at his sister, not knowing what to say. Deep down, he knew that she was right. He also knew that she would be safe, here, within the living rock that surrounded her. Once he and the rest of the companions were gone, there would be no need for any others to gain entrance; for it was, after all, a sacred place. He hugged her tightly—letting his breath out slowly, he turned, and without a backward glance, followed the others into the mornings light.

  21

  “Is all in readiness?” The form bent low over the strewn pieces of parchment that were spread haphazardly across the table. The candle with its spilled wax flickered erratically, yet this did not seem to bother the reader as he poured over the ancient incantations; his eyes seeing everything, yet his mind focusing on what needed to be done.

  “Yes, my Lord.” The creature bowed low before its master.

  “Where are they?” The question, not unexpected, still caused the messenger to stiffen in anticipation of its Lord’s displeasure, should the answer given not suit.

  “They have left the sacred place, their footsteps covered by the warriors of the forest; their passage guarded from above by the winged one called Owen. The wolves go in front cutting a deadly path for those who seek to impede their journey to the place of the ‘Three.’”

  The silence grew as Lord Nhon studied the parchment laid out in front of him. The news the messenger brought was not unexpected. He rose slowly to his feet, aware the messenger watched him warily.

  “Go. Wait outside with the others. We will attempt to intercept them at the place of the joining.” Lord Nhon dismissed the messenger with a curt nod before returning to the table.

  As the footsteps receded down the long passageway, he found the document he sought, and with a long drawn out sigh rolled it up; tying it with a piece of leather. Concealing it beneath his robe, he rose, his attention now riveted to the sealed passageway before him and what lay beyond it.

  § § § § § §

  It was a hard thing to do, this thing of not moving—not thinking lest the thoughts be heard. To those who watched, there was nothing to indicate that the prisoner was poised to strike at its tormentors, the need for freedom nearly unbearable, the pain of confinement excruciating. Where once the fire flared there was nothing save the tiniest glow.

  It was this sight that greeted Lord Nhon as he moved soundlessly into the room; his eyes narrowed into near nothingness as he gazed at the center of the room where the prisoner was.

  “No.” Moving quickly to the inner door, Lord Nhon placed his hands against the transparent wall that guarded the prisoner—the heart within the Flame flickered slightly.

  Waiting—

  § § § § § §

  The little earth dweller moved swiftly; silently; pressing himself against crevice and jagged edge as he moved around the waiting sentinels that guarded the doorways from above to the places below. The need almost overwhelming as he, and those who followed, answered the Flame’s call.

  § § § § § §

  Lord Nhon listened to the drumming that told him the Flame continued its life cycle. Not daring to release the last barrier to get closer, he stood, watching; his concentration on listening. Frustrated that he could detect nothing, he backed slowly out, his eyes watchful as he picked up the fallen parchment; his gaze darting around the room, seeking out the hidden places. He felt them—the little ones. Yet he could not see them. The sudden howling startled him; its closeness alerting him to danger as he wheeled about, his hand pressing against a hidden lever as he hurried to intercept whatever it was that tore at his being. It was not a physical presence that reached out to touch him in the hidden places. No; this was an intrusion of something that he could not see and could not battle alone.

  § § § § § §

  The little ground dweller let out a long sigh, unaware that it had been holding its breath. Long moments after Lord Nhon had left, it waited—waited in the silence that crept around it—waited as the shadows about it dispersed. Finally, timidly, it crept out; away from the walls dampness; away from the musty smell that spoke of untold turnings of darkness. It turned to look behind it at the others. They were there—hundreds of them. In the semidarkness they poured forth, their soft breathing filling the room with warmth as they gathered about the barrier.

  All had answered the call of the Flame. All had risked much to be here. After a time, the first of them, the one who had been the first to heed the voice that flamed within the deepest heart, inched slowly forward until the first threshold had been passed to the inner circle.

  A soft, high chattering filled the room. The Flame flickered and then sparked to life as the room brightened.

  § § § § § §

  “We cannot fight what we cannot see, my Lord.” The sentinel stood, breathless, his sides heaving, before his master. Lord Nhon flung his cloak over one shoulder so that his staff was exposed. The wood shimmered with an unnatural sheen beneath his gnarled hands as he caressed its length; the wood smoothing beneath his touch as the tingling sensation traveled up the length of his arm.

  “Come.” He pulled the cloak about him, drawing the hood forward so that his entire face was covered. As he stepped outside into the early morning mist, he looked up at the brilliant hues that streaked across the horizon and bowed his head; while those closest to him heard an uttered oath that promised this would be the sun’s last rising.

  Keeping to the hidden places, they moved forward; careful not to stray too far into the morning’s light, for they were lovers of the deepest darkness, and they chaffed beneath the warmth of the rising sun. The stench of unwashed bodies permeated the air, leaving behind the scent of death in its wake. The howling that had drawn Lord Nhon forth from the cavern’s depths receded into the distance. Its soulless echo imbedded itself into the essence of those living creatures that pursued it.

  § § § § § §

  “Chera; behind you!” Gabriel’s shouted warning was appreciated, but not needed as Chera wove in and out of the dense foliage. Those few who hid themselves within the forest’s emerald walls could not evade the wolves’ sense of knowing for long.

  Cutting off the creature’s snarled hiss of rage, Chera tossed it aside; her senses already telling her where the next intruder hid. Gabriel cut a wide swath of destruction as he swept to the sides of the tree-rimmed path, Liege following in his wake as the three of them took a heavy toll on Lord Nhon’s scouts. Behind them, the others followed.

  The Old One, Orith, and Nickolous were so cocooned within the circle that wound its way to the sacred place that they walked unafraid; trusting in the warrior’s ability to keep them safe.

  Jerome walked ahead, his warriors bringing up the rear—so many, yet so few—the big warrior smiled to himself. Their numbers might be small in comparison to the dark race that dwelled below, but there was no lack of courage amongst them. He swung his club; the whistling sound carrying through the air to warn others following; those ones who remained unseen, sheltered by the hidden places, that warriors of he
art walked the path to their destiny.

  “Jerome.” Nickolous whispered into the stillness.

  The warrior was there in an instant, bending down to gaze at the changing hues within the carved metal.

  “It shows the way to The Three. There; past the stand of oak trees, there is a valley we must cross where nothing grows and none of the clans dare enter. It is a place of nothingness. Not even my people go there.” Jerome frowned as he spoke. “It has always been barren for as long as I have had a remembering and those I have known that have passed before me. Our abilities to sense those who walk the ‘beneath’ are as nothing in this place of deadness we go to!”

  “Still, we will go.” Nickolous looked straight ahead, appearing more confident than he felt. Somehow, they would pass safely through this place of bleakness. Of one thing he was certain: there would be watchers guarding the passageway through to the other side.

  § § § § § §

  “They come, my Lord, and there are others; dark ones from the lower realms; their stench of evil precedes them.”

  The form remained slouched, the hood placed so far forward that the face was invisible. They were in the clearing. The Old One, ancient beyond remembering, and the other, young, untried.

  One was the student, the other the teacher.

  “None has dared to cross the valley since the beginning of the time of remembering.” The voice was neither young nor old. The speaker could have been male or female. The head stayed bowed as slender hands dug deeply into the earth.

  “What say the others, those of the earth; the little ones; and the warriors, the winged ones, who wait in the high places?”

  The young one, thoughtful, paused for a few moments, thinking, choosing the words carefully so that nothing would be lost in the words about to be spoken.

  “All say to allow them entrance.” He paused for a moment; letting the silence settle between them. Leaning forward, he stretched out a thin hand to touch the master then, straightening up, he looked around, taking in the view that others saw with their mortal eyes; their mortal hearts.