Son Of Skye

by Thérèse Pilon

  Nodding to Jerome, Nickolous waited while the big warrior called everyone to him. When all the warriors were in place, creating a semicircle so that the three were within that circle, they closed ranks.

  Nickolous looked about him—at the solid mass of warriors—seemingly now ancient oak trees that surrounded him. Knowing that Lord Nhon would soon be upon them, he turned to the others. Bending down, he grasped the Old One in a tight embrace, then, nodding to Jerome, watched as the warrior effortlessly pushed aside some boulders, revealing a hidden place big enough that whatever was placed there would be safe. Intent now, he gently picked the Old One up, placing her inside the hidden place. He waited while Orith followed. Although Orith was not feeling the passage of time like his companion that went before him, the scarring to his body had taken its toll. Looking up, he nodded as Owen swept down, the rush of his wings whispering as they folded inward against his body.

  “Keep safe, my brother.” Orith looked away, so filled with emotion that he could say nothing more.

  Owen could only nod as the boulders were placed back upon themselves, carefully, so that the Old One and Orith would be safe.

  “We will be back…” The words were whispered against the cold, gray stones.

  22

  “The power of the three must be combined!” Lord Moshat paced back and forth; agitated, he whirled around, grabbing his cloak.

  “My Lord. You cannot mean to go back. Things must unfold in the way they were meant to. We have already broken our own laws repeatedly to help those of the forest clans. The boy must find the

  _ ??

  way.

  “Do not quote what is written within the ancient runes to me!” Lord Moshat turned angrily toward the speaker. “It was I who wrote them; I and the others who have gone before me.”

  The messenger looked down at the floor, ashamed he had been disrespectful to the elder. When next he looked up, he was alone.

  § § § § § §

  Clouds frosted at the outer edges with silver skirted overhead as the Eagle balanced itself on the dry limb of the dead tree. Turning its head from side to side, it watched the figure below as it moved stealthily along the hidden path, stopping every so often to listen. Launching itself into the air, the Eagle soared high, disappearing into the canopy of clouds that hid it from view.

  Lord Nhon looked up as the Eagle soared out of sight. Shrugging his shoulders, he continued on, his confidence growing. He had not wanted to intercept them in the cavern, for there was ancient magic there. There was bound to be an awakening if the peace within the earth was disturbed. No, it was better this way, and if the shadow being had done his job.

  Lord Nhon stopped as the distant cry, familiar and tugging, reached him. Beneath his hood, red eyes flashed, and as the cries died, choked off and stifled, a hand raised, clenched, as words known only to a few spewed forth from lips taut with rage.

  § § § § § §

  Hurrying, A-Sharoon slipped into the shadowed corridor that ran the length of the canyon. She could feel Lord Nhon’s presence and knew that, if he could, he would reach out to try to destroy her where she stood. She drew in deeply of the damp air as she slid the lever that pushed the heavy rock back into place. There were many such places as these.

  She smiled to herself in the half light.

  Search as he might, the Fallen One would be hard pressed to find them all.

  § § § § § §

  Nickolous knew that Orith and the Old One would be safe, but still he hesitated. Jerome, seeing the flicker of indecision upon his face, spoke his thoughts aloud.

  “They are as safe in there as anywhere. When the time comes, things will unfold as they must.”

  Nickolous stared straight ahead, his thoughts on what the warrior was saying. It was hard to leave them here, unprotected; while they waited for a battle that could sway either way.

  “The Ancient’s protect their own. Nickolous, you know that.” Jerome knelt down while, around him, the warriors of the forest tightened the circle.

  Nickolous looked up at Jerome, at the wolves, then past them to where the warriors were. He saw beyond them, into the wooded places. He saw A-Sharoon, shadowed within her place of concealment, saw Lord Nhon, the Fallen One. He saw. Back to the beginning; before greed had darkened the Fallen One’s heart and poisoned his soul. He saw the Flame in its place of concealment.

  He saw what the Eagle saw, he knew where the Fallen was, and he knew that he would be prepared for him.

  “We must get inside; Lord Nhon comes.”

  “But how.” Gabriel stood looking perplexed, for before them stretched a solid wall of rock, certainly nothing to indicate an opening.

  “The entrance lies not within your sight, but beneath.”

  Jerome drew his eyebrows together in a frown. “But The Three—”

  “Point the way.” Nickolous finished; turning, he removed the bracelet to gaze intently within its depths. Within the intricate carvings, there was a map. He turned to the others.

  “See.” He pointed upward, shading his eyes against the sun’s glare.

  Following his pointing finger, Jerome saw it first. As the sun had risen with the days new dawning, the warriors’ shadows had crept slowly toward one another; now they were almost touching, and in a few more moments.

  Jerome drew in his breath sharply. The others saw it, too. In the same instant. In the same heartbeat.

  Gabriel and Chera growled softly, their keen hearing picking up the sound of something approaching. A little beyond them the warriors of the forest tightened their circle, the movement so subtle it was noticed only by a few. Jerome exhaled slowly. Lord Nhon would have to get through his warriors first, and that would give them enough time to gain entrance to the caverns that lay below their feet. His senses told him that Lord Nhon had little desire to fight them in the sacred cavern.

  Nickolous looked up, then down. The shadows, carried by the morning’s sun, were merging; meeting in the place where the entrance lay buried.

  “How do we gain entrance?” Jerome knelt down, running a gnarled hand over the earth. At first he could feel nothing except the dirt, then, digging a little deeper, he felt the stone resonating beneath his touch. He looked at Nickolous questioningly.

  Saying nothing, Nickolous placed his hands upon the place where the entrance was; listening. Feeling the vibrations that rose up to meet his touch, he concentrated, while beside him the staff began to change, turning nearly translucent as he reached out to grasp it. Holding the staff, he gently touched the earth with it; beginning at the eastern point, then south, then west and, last, north. Standing back, he waited as the wind blew warm upon his face and the earth before him gave way to reveal steps leading downward.

  Without a backward glance, he disappeared into the dark, foreboding depths. A few moments later, the others followed while, from their hidden place, Orith and the Old One waited.

  § § § § § §

  Lord Nhon paused at the edge of the clearing, knowing that he was too late. Unbelieving, he stared at the solid wall of forest warriors before him then, turning, he signaled something as yet unseen to him. The air about the waiting warriors changed, bringing with it a putrid smell; a clinging, cloying thing that heralded the arrival of something dark and dangerous.

  The warriors tightened their circle, waiting.

  § § § § § §

  The cavern was dark, the steps slippery. Cautiously picking his way along, Nickolous held the staff before him, trusting his instinct. Jerome, bent nearly double in some places, wished to be at the end of this journey, while the wolves and Timothy followed closely behind. There was no danger here; just dampness and the unknown.

  “Wait.” Nickolous was standing upright in a large cavern; the staff had begun to glow, but strangely it remained cool to the touch, even as it turne
d white, illuminating the companions as well as the room in which they now stood.

  “What is this place?” Nickolous held the staff high so that there were no shadows to conceal things unwanted.

  “It was—is—a place of all knowing; a place of renewal.” Jerome turned to look around him.

  Once there had been warriors here. Once Lord Nhon had access through the chambers that led to the outside; Jerome knew now why the Fallen had tried to stop them from entering here. Once they gained entrance, he could not bar the way through the underground pas-sages—once the fallen guardian had walked these passageways, studying the writings upon the wall; a telling of ages past—once—but no more.

  The walls were lined with ancient weapons. He slid his fingers along the edge of an ornately carved sword, the edge still razor sharp after countless turnings beyond remembering.

  “What happened to them?” It was Chera who spoke, her voice breaking the silence; her thoughts mirroring that of her companions.

  “Who knows?” Jerome rubbed the accumulated dirt off his fingers, his gaze thoughtful. “These warriors walked in this place long before our time began. The weapons here were left for those who came after. The ones who protected the circle made sure there would be a legacy to follow.”

  “Except something happened, and they had to leave; everything was left exactly as it was. There has been no one in here since that day. The entrance was sealed, and the warriors that fell outside became the guardians of the cavern’s entrance.” Chera finished thoughtfully as a remembering of the ancient times, dormant, sprang forth—memories of those who had been here before—guardians—protectors. It was they who had watched over those of the forest clans while the four-legged and winged clans grew into what they were now.

  Nickolous tensed as the staff in his hand flared with a white-blue light, temporarily blinding him, the intricately carved silver bracelet burning into his skin with an intense knowing.

  “There.” He pointed to a pictograph etched into the rock. The others stared at the ancient painting, their expressions questioning.

  Nickolous turned to Jerome, his need to confirm with his eyes what his heart knew—knowing that what was on the wall was a map, drawn out for him and those who followed the path to their destiny.

  “What do you see?”

  Jerome peered closely at what was depicted upon the walls. It was a journey of a race of beings that had been here before he was even born—his first breath drawn. It was a telling of a people who had to leave but had left in their wake a confirmation, a legacy, of who they were and what was to come.

  Jerome pointed at the drawings. “I see the telling of an ancient race, I see what you see; each place where life is had a beginning.” His eyes widened as he traced the drawing with a finger. He turned wide green eyes on Nickolous.

  “We are all the same, just different,” he whispered into the dampness as the others crowded close to see what was written upon the walls.

  “So, this is why the Fallen does not want to fight us here. Better for him to intercept us then have us pass through the passageways where the Ancient ones watched and left a record for those who came after.” Timothy murmured softly, his mind trying to absorb what his eyes were seeing.

  “Look. Here and here.” He pointed to the etchings that were cut deeply into the rock. “The journey of the forest dwellers and how we came to be.”

  “They still watch.” Nickolous turned to face them. The staff in his hand was emitting a sound unlike any he had ever heard. So, too, was the armband. He instinctively raised his hand to cover it as his whole body became attuned to the vibrations.

  “We must go. Move nothing. Everything must be left as it was.”

  “But the weapons, to leave them here.” Timothy’s voice trailed off as Nickolous spoke softly, his voice carrying to the others by an unseen breeze. “This is not the time to wield the weapons of light.” Nickolous leaned closer to Timothy, the rest of his answer whispered as the staff glowed brighter.

  “There will be others.”

  Carefully and in silence, the companions moved along the corridors, the dampness chilling them as each step took them further into the earth. Finally, reaching a place where the cavern branched off in three separate directions, they paused, unsure of which way to go. It was Chera who felt the first breeze as it rippled through the darkness, finding them.

  “We must go that way,” she said, her face turned upward, inhaling the warmth it brought with it.

  § § § § § §

  Breathing deeply, the little earth dweller moved forward, its companions following as they moved as one, pushing against the barrier that kept the Flame imprisoned. Inside, the Flame flickered, then grew, the brightness nearly too much for them to bear as they pushed against its prison.

  The barrier held.

  Finally, the first of them, the one who had led them here, stopped, his senses alerting him to a far-off sound. Someone was coming. Scattering, they hid in the small places where they could not be seen, preparing for what was to come.

  § § § § § §

  Lord Nhon strode angrily through the dense forest, knowing that he had failed in his quest. His hands clenched and unclenched as he fought down the rage that threatened to choke him. Knowing that he must regain control, he breathed deeply, composing himself. More than a quarter of his army had already been decimated, while A-Sharoon had destroyed one of his shadow beings.

  He had underestimated her power.

  He had underestimated her.

  Throwing a backward glance over his shoulder, he moved swiftly to push the heavy, stone door aside; inwardly cursing himself for not having had the foresight to see this coming.

  “You cannot stop the prophecy or alter the course of its destiny.” Lord Nhon whirled around, his staff raised, its ebony darkness starkly visible even in the subdued light.

  “You!” He hissed through clenched teeth. “What are you doing? Why are you out here?” He glared at the shadow being.

  “Why would I wait for my own destruction?” The creature turned to face Lord Nhon. “The earth echoes with the footsteps of the Old Ones. They have risen from their sleep and come to aid the Flame.”

  “Bah! That’s impossible!” Lord Nhon snorted in disbelief. He flung his cape aside as the rush of warm air hit him.

  “Already the boy turned man calls the Ancients to him. Even he, with his innocence and youth, does not know yet the power he holds within himself!” The shadow being moved slowly upward as it spoke, putting more distance between itself and Lord Nhon—away from the cavern and what lie deep within its depths.

  “Where are you going?” Lord Nhon shouted as the creature began to dissipate in front of him.

  “The earth moves beneath your feet. Can you not feel it, Lord Nhon?” the being asked as it rose higher. There was nearly nothing left, it was now so transparent. A leaf swirled slowly down to rest at Lord Nhon’s feet as the whispered words echoed within his mind:

  “The army rises. The Ancients awake. By your own hand, you have unleashed an awakening that could change the course of things as we have known them since our awareness of the beginning. You should have known better. In all things there must be a balance. Draw your dark ones to you… those that are left.”

  The words died away as the sudden stillness alerted Lord Nhon to his own danger. Pulling the lever that released the rocks to fall against the opening, he strode angrily away.

  § § § § § §

  Lord Moshat moved cautiously, concealment being necessary even as he hurried toward the sacred place. As he approached his destination, he called to the watchers—the others.

  The time of the awakening was upon them.

  It was time to put away the old laws. It was time to face one another so that each race could draw strength from the other. He sighed. It was the
sigh of one who has seen too much and grows weary. Ahead of him was the grove where he knew the others, like and unlike himself, waited. As he passed beneath the emerald-green canopy, he heard the whispers following him and knew he would not return this way.

  § § § § § §

  The little earth dweller drew in his breath, waiting. The sound of stone grinding on stone reached him as the sounds echoed around him and the others. As the footsteps, soft and nearly inaudible, drew closer, he shrank even further into the crevice, hoping that they would remain undetected. The footsteps paused and then faded into the silence. The little watcher let his breath out slowly, relieved.

  The wind, unseen, touched the case that held the Flame within its prison. Splaying itself across the barrier it searched for a weakness within the shield, anywhere where it might enter.

  The Flame flickered higher as the second of the elemental powers sought entrance.

  § § § § § §

  “I tell you we can no longer observe in silence what could be our own destruction!” Lord Moshat paced angrily. The watchers, gathered from the four corners, listened in silence. To break their own laws was unthinkable.

  What does it concern us, this matter of the forest clans and the one who walks between?” One of the watchers asked, his face concealed within the voluminous folds of his hooded cloak.

  “Do you not think we have our own realms to see to? Of what concern is it to us what transpires in the realms that are held in the ‘Between?’”

  There were murmurings of assent as the others nodded their agreement. Lord Moshat shook his head, incredulous at the attitude being displayed. They had not always been watchers. Long before that, in the beginning, they had been like those of the forest clans. Growing in knowledge, reaching out to grasp the truth, eager to learn; to achieve the knowing that one day would earn them the right to be a watcher. Now here they were, dismissing the danger that lay at their own doorsteps, waiting to spill inside.