No—she would not—could not—she turned in the darkness, stumbling against the jagged rocks; trying to shut out the remembering as she fell; the smell of earth and mold clogged her nostrils as she struggled to rise. Muttering beneath her breath, she lit a candle, the flame flickering as it struggled to burn; the cavern so tightly sealed that there was barely enough air to keep it from dying. Summoning her strength, she pushed against the lever imbedded into the slime-covered rock; cursing her brother for abandoning her to this terrible solitude, with not even her followers to keep her company.
Angrily, A-Sharoon pushed the lever up and out while uttering the incantation that only those closest to the earth heard. The earth trembled as the rocks around her cried out their protest while the earth heaved beneath her feet.
Rising, blinded by the sunlight that streamed through splayed fingers pressed against her face, A-Sharoon swayed then, catching herself, swung around. Ever mindful of the fact that Lord Nhon was still searching for her, she sought refuge in the darkened places, deep within the forest, hardly daring to pause even as she drew in deeply of the fresh air—a welcoming change from the foulness she had breathed in the closed chambers that now lay in ruins below her.
She had made her decision.
The amulet. It had been passed down through the darkness of eternal memory to those who guarded its secrets. A woman’s weapon, its use was forbidden by all others except a Daughter of the Night.
A-Sharoon was next in line.
§ § § § § §
The little earth dweller moved slowly, careful to avoid anything that would alert the woman to its proximity; its duty—to watch and see if the earth kept its secrets. Not knowing why the Daughter would have emerged from her hidden lair after so short a stay it drew further back, into the dense foliage and when A-Sharoon had disappeared into the dense underbrush, it knew she was returning to her lair.
§ § § § § §
“Wait.” Jerome stood still—listening. Tilting his head to one side, he centered himself; the soft, almost inaudible sounds were coming from beneath his feet.
“She returns.”
“We need not fear her in this battle.”
“The Other?”
“The Other spoke the truth. The Flame calls to her in its distress. She will not see it extinguished. I think,” Nickolous said, turning to face Jerome, “that even she, with her dark heart, sees the truth in the
Flame’s freedom, for with its freedom she gains her own.” He stayed where he was, looking up at Jerome, a peculiar look on his face.
“She regrets!”
“What?” Jerome snorted, the sound loud in the silence, hardly believing his ears. “She is of the darkness. Born to it. How can she regret?”
“You cannot have the light without the dark. Even you and I have a dark side. We all do. The difference is that we control it. For some reason, I think that even she realizes what she has unleashed and wishes to have things back as they were. Perhaps the Flame has touched a part of her that is unknown to our way of understanding.”
“Whatever happens, there will be no truce between us. When this is over—if we still stand—we will still be enemies.”
“So, we exchange the greater for the lesser.” Coughing into a ragged piece of leather, the Old One stood there, looking at them both. “Now,” she commented dryly, “is not the time to stand there wondering at A-Sharoon’s motives. Whatever help we have, take it with the knowledge that all things return to their proper place. Lord Nhon was unforeseen. He could destroy time as we know it. A-Sharoon now realizes this. The Flame always knew this. Now, are we going to finish our journey or not?” She sighed wearily. Muttering beneath her breath, the Old One turned from them and returned to where Orith waited.
Nickolous watched her go, his expression one of amusement.
“Well, on that note, we had better continue on.”
§ § § § § §
Gabriel leapt ahead of Chera; veering sharply to the left, he plunged into the dense underbrush. A strangled cry was heard, then silence. Behind him, he knew the others followed. Jerome’s warriors were spread out, creating an outer circle to protect those on the inside, while his duty was to find the stragglers that evaded their grasp. Hearing a noise he looked up, Liege stood there, his breathing ragged. The big wolf had been sent ahead to scout. Gabriel growled, the sound low; inquiring.
“The warriors are there. Just as the legend foretells; they sleep.”
Gabriel let his breath out slowly. They were so close. He turned his head as a new sound assailed him and then relaxed as Owen flew low, his wings brushing against the treetops, while above him, Gabriel focused on something unexpected but welcomed. The great Eagle soared high above them on the warm air currents, expending little energy as it saw what they could not with its keen eyesight. The wolves relaxed, knowing for whom the great bird watched.
“It would seem that we pick up reinforcements as we go,” Liege commented as he fell into step beside Gabriel.
“Perhaps,” Gabriel replied thoughtfully as Chera caught up to them. She, too, had seen the great bird of prey and was visibly relieved at its presence but, like her mate, was wary.
“See. There. The great bird watches.” The Old One stepped carefully around a fallen limb, at the same time absorbing the power that the forest offered. Drawing in deeply of the scents that assailed her, she turned dark eyes on the two who walked ahead.
“While we may gather others about us, do not be deceived, old friend, as to their intent.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Orith replied, his tone thoughtful as he reached out to push a low hanging branch out of the way.
“The Three Fallen Ones, were they once like you?” Nickolous asked, his fingers stroking the length of the white staff idly, wondering at the way his fingers fit into the grooves as if it had been made for him. Jerome, noting this, didn’t answer right away. Instead, he continued on, his concentration on the path before him. It was some moments before he spoke, and when he did, his words were measured, the tone low, words spoken from a memory of a childhood telling.
“It is said that The Three were ancient warriors sent by the watchers of Skye—like us in form, but there the resemblance ended. Powerful shamans, mystic warriors, their knowledge combined out of a thousand beginnings and endings. They guarded the entrance to the eastern gate so that none could enter or leave. No one knows what happened, for it has been lost to mortal memory, but they finished their time here, and the forest clans buried them facing the entrance. Since that time, I and others of my kind have tried to live by the ancient code as we believe The Three would have it.”
“If they guard the gate, then how are we to get in?” Nickolous asked, and then regretted the asking as the familiar tingling began. Even as Jerome answered, he knew the truth—what he held in his hand, and wore on his arm was part of the answer; part of the key that would get them in.
He bowed his head, wondering how he was going to do this, and hoping he would not have to do it alone. Inwardly he drew on the vision granted to him by the Seven when he had entered the dreaming circle.
§ § § § § §
The mist had came; rising, swirling about them as they had picked their way carefully through the forest; the trail had tapered off and the going was much more difficult as Chera and Gabriel, joined by Liege, scented the air warily. The fog had come out of nowhere, and there was the feel of the unknown hanging heavy in the dampened air. Without a sound, they began the short journey back to meet the others.
Jerome shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was. Too surprised for words; he looked from Orith, to the Old One, then back again. Behind them, his warriors waited, just out of view while before him, Nickolous stood, amazed at what he had done. He had only thought about it, and it was there. Yet it was more than a thought. It was a need to protect those he held clo
se to him, for he sensed an ill wind rising, and it was close.
Jerome saw what Nickolous saw, and then it was a blur of translucent form and a smothering darkness that was impossible to fight physically, for it had no tangible form at which to strike out.
“Where did that come from?” Nickolous asked as he ducked low, the tendrils trailing behind the creature nearly touching him.
“Lord Nhon, no doubt,” Jerome muttered as the wolves rushed in; Gabriel standing shoulder to shoulder with Chera as Liege pushed to the rear. The blanket of fog grew thicker; wrapping itself about them; unearthly shrieks filling the air as something unseen passed overhead, its frustration evident. The shrill screeee-screeee of the Eagle blending with the war cry that was Owens’s was still ringing in the companions’ ears, even as the fog tightened its grasp about them.
The Old One nudged Orith. “The staff of Knowing; it breathes with its holder.”
Orith looked up, as did all who were gathered about. The staff had taken on the same translucency as the bracelet; the air charged with energy as Nickolous held the staff aloft, the white mist swirling about it—or from it—no one was quite sure.
“Hurry. The shadow being cannot be held off for long.” Nickolous turned to Gabriel. “How far to The Three?”
“Not far, and we are under the forest’s cover most of the way.” The big wolf tilted his head to one side, listening to the fury that raged above them. He wasn’t sure, but he thought that there was something else—something other than the faceless being drawing near. He growled, the sound low and menacing.
“What is it, Gabriel, what’s out there?” Chera nudged him gently.
Gabriel drew in deep breaths of air even as the tendrils of white mist began their slow downward descent to curl about him. The scent was hauntingly familiar; still, he turned to Chera, his look questioning. Silently she turned, disappearing into the mist, which by now was so thick the companions could easily lose sight of one another.
“Hurry!” Nickolous’s voice rose above the rest. The urgency unmistakable now, Jerome whistled, the pitch so high it was barely audible to all but those with the keenest hearing. He turned toward Nickolous.
“Where? Which way?”
Nickolous paused; concentrating. The staff was pulling him, tugging at him from somewhere deep within.
“Follow.” The words were whispered; barely heard, but the meaning clear as he strode swiftly away, into the deepest depths of the ancient forest. Without question, the others followed.
Only Gabriel held back; the need to protect a strong instinct which tore at him as he watched the others disappear beneath the protective canopy of trees. Above him, the beast raged as tendrils reached out, searching, grasping nothing but empty air. He ducked low as the creature searched about, once coming so close that he could have touched him. Gabriel shrunk back from the intrusion, instinctively knowing that to suffer this creature’s touch would be disastrous.
The shrieking had faded, yet the mist remained. Gabriel crouched low, waiting. Someone was out there, waiting; watching. The fur prickled along his spine, washing over him in waves as the feeling grew. Somewhere ahead of him there was a soft shuffling as something inched slowly toward him. Peering through the whiteness that now reached the ground, he saw Chera creeping toward him, her silvery-gray eyes speaking for her. Waiting ‘til they were nearly touching, Gabriel remained silent.
“There. Something walks in the light which once was confined to the darkened places,” Chera whispered, nudging him.
Gabriel looked at her, puzzled, then as realization dawned, shook his head in disbelief.
“Come.” He turned to her, the urge to catch up to Nickolous and the others now overwhelming.
§ § § § § §
Black eyes followed them as they disappeared into the dense underbrush. Then, stepping out, the figure peered upward, concentrating.
The shadow creature swung around. Something was calling to him, something dangerous. Whirling about, it began a slow spiraling downward descent.
Looking up, A-Sharoon watched calmly as the tendrils reached out for her and embraced her. Even as she welcomed the embrace, words spilled forth from bloodless lips, and the air was filled with unspeakable things.
§ § § § § §
Nickolous kept moving, driven onward by something he could not control. When at last they stopped, they found themselves at the edge of the forest. Blinking in the bright light, Nickolous saw that the staff was no longer translucent; the mist no longer swirling about them. Concerned for the others, he turned; relieved that the Old One and Orith seemed to be all right, albeit exhausted from their hurried journey.
“There.” He pointed to a sheltered place ahead of them. Wordlessly, the others followed his pointing finger.
The Old One squinted, her gaze focused. She knew without being told where they were. Ahead of her were the remnants of the three ancient warriors of a race lost to remembering. Long ago turned to stone, resting where they had fallen, their tomb the ground upon which they lay. Filled with unexpected emotion, she brushed at the wetness that rested upon her face as Orith hugged her reassuringly.
“Well, old friend, we have come full circle. Of all our paths we could have chosen, this one is the one that will see us to our destiny.” The Old One remained silent, taking in the spectacular scene before them.
Orith nodded; too lost for words; too awed by the legend that had become reality. He looked around him.
At the others.
At the resting warriors.
He turned, his gaze locked on that of Nickolous, who had removed the book he had gifted him with from its tattered covering. He watched as the pages, once undecipherable, appeared to be covered in words of understanding. He moved closer as Nickolous sat down, the staff that had once belonged to one of the Ancient ones now his. Wordlessly, he turned the book toward Orith, the passage clearly written.
One by one the others came to gaze upon the pages filled with words that were suddenly understood; while above them, the great
Eagle soared, its keen eyesight missing little. Turning its golden head from side to side, it gave one last cry, the keening sound carrying to those below it. Nickolous turned his head to look up as the bird swept sideways, drifting on the warm air currents that carried it back toward the hidden valley.
“He leaves to go back to his valley.” Jerome shielded his eyes against the bright light. Chera and Gabriel stood beside him, watching as the Eagle fell out of sight, below the treetops. Gabriel shook himself. The Eagle had called to him. Spoken to him. Chera nudged him, her body language telling him he wasn’t alone.
The wind blew soft and warm against their faces, while the pages seemed to turn of their own accord. Nickolous put out a hand to still their movement, his eyes widening at the place where they had stopped. Bending his head, he studied the words beneath the pictures.
At the Old One’s gentle touch, he looked up; her black eyes shone with affection as she patted him gently; her thoughts reaching him in the ancient way of the elders. “We have come full circle, you and I. Soon, it will be time for the fledgling to fly.”
“Old One, I am not ready.”
“Orith and I will guide you in, but the rest of the journey is for those who are warriors of heart.”
“And I am?” Nickolous looked at the Old One beseechingly, feeling as though he were sinking into an abyss of dark despair.
“Look inside, to that place where we all go.” The voice was soothing, and Nickolous relaxed for a moment, his thoughts turning inward, taking him to the place of the warriors—the dreaming place. His eyes widened in surprise at what he saw.
The Old One smiled.
Wisdom had many faces.
Nickolous let his breath out slowly, relieved. He understood now. Everything revolved in a circle, ever changing; the evolut
ion of things yet to be still evolving even as he thought about it. He smiled at the Old One as she struggled to rise. Then the others, Jerome, Chera, and Gabriel, crowded around them, their concern evident for the Old One who rose stiffly, refusing any help as she straightened her aching body, her staff aiding her.
Orith stood a little apart, waiting patiently. Soon they would face someone worse than the Daughter of the Dark Lord. Soon their numbers would dwindle, for they could not expect to come through this unscathed. He drew himself up, the motion painful as he straightened his aching body. The breeze that blew around him carried the scent of something putrid upon its back. Jerome saw him coming and moved aside so that he could draw closer to the Old One.
“Well?” The forest warrior looked down at Orith questioningly. Orith merely nodded his head, an affirmation that didn’t need to be spoken of aloud.
“The dark one races to his destruction…”
Nickolous stood holding the book aloft; its pages turning, flipping against the breeze that enveloped it, while he changed before them. His knowledge and understanding of the things he had seen, the remembering of the before times that abide within all living things reaching out, and up, to seek a new remembering.
Everyone stared in awe and admiration as the wind changed direction; coming out of the east, swirling about them to encase them within its safe embrace. Meanwhile the Ancient Ones, those who had gone before them, watched from their sacred place; as Nickolous, born of two worlds, one of man, the other, the whisperings of legends and dreams; the place where the imaginings of their minds kept them sane or not; accepted himself for who he was.
Taking his place among the watchers, one day to join them in their high place.
But not today.
Nickolous lowered the book. Slowly, carefully, he turned around, the staff held tightly within his grasp. Now his own, made for him at the beginning; it had waited for him; kept carefully by those who had seen. Who had known this day would come.
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