Son Of Skye

by Thérèse Pilon

  Good. The pupil was learning without realizing he was being taught.

  “There. You can hardly see them, but they’re there.”

  Jerome peered over the ledge as the others crowded close, their gaze following the light as it reflected back. Stairs, hewn by a knowing hand, followed the natural slope of the rock in a downward spiral. Nickolous looked at the others; fighting down his unease, he started forward, slowly, carefully easing himself over the ledge. The others didn’t hesitate as they followed.

  § § § § § §

  “What is this place?”

  The companions were standing at the bottom of a deep ravine while water swirled about their ankles. The Old One shrugged. At least it was warm. She turned at the touch of something being placed around her shoulders and looked up into Lord Moshat’s eyes. The elder smiled at her as she nodded her thanks for the gift; the feathered cloak was warm, and she had felt chilled. Squinting into the gloom, she made out the shapes of the others as they pressed close together. She drew in deeply of the air as it blew through the darkness, swirling around them and over them.

  “I think, Nickolous said, “that we are at the bottom of the chamber. Lord Nhon’s army will be looking for us up there, along the precipice.” He pointed up, back the way they had come; the staff lighting the way.

  “We had better use it to our advantage, then. At some point, those tracking us will realize what we have done and come after us,” Jerome urged, anxious to be on his way. His senses were tingling as he tried to peer through the darkness.

  The others agreed. In silence now, and as quickly as possible, they made their way along the bottom, careful to avoid making any unnecessary noise. Once, pausing for a rest, they heard the far off tinkling sounds of small rocks as they tumbled down the steep sides of the ravine, as the searchers scuttled back and forth, probing.

  § § § § § §

  “They can’t have disappeared.”

  “My Lord, we have searched everywhere.”

  Lord Nhon whirled on the creature, his face mere inches from its. “I would suggest, then, that you search again.” The words were ground out through clenched teeth as the cowering creature, terrified of retribution, nodded mutely.

  “Fools! Idiots!” Lord Nhon raged as he paced back and forth. Where could they be? The caverns ran deep, true, but there were only so many hidden places. He paused, his gaze resting on the rock floor he stood upon.

  Far below the Fallen One, the companions moved silently, the need for spoken words unnecessary as they hurried toward their destination.

  § § § § § §

  Out of sight, hidden behind a wall of ancient stone, A-Sharoon traced the outline of the amulet with a slender finger as she waited. Sensing that the Fallen was close, she had veiled herself so that she would remain unseen; the need to be near the Flame something she could not explain, even to herself. As the searchers moved around her, they gave no indication they saw her. She ignored the dampness, drawing from it as she waited in the shadows for the Fallen to make the next move that would determine the course of action she would take.

  Lord Nhon swung around, his gaze penetrating the hidden places for whatever had caused the unease that rose within him, the feeling increasing as he reached out, touching the walls in front of him. Listening to the pulsing of the earth around him, he pulled back.

  “I know you are near.” The words were low, measured, as Lord Nhon placed his own amulet against the living rock. Seeking what could not be seen.

  So, she thought to play a game of cat and mouse, did she? His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he moved away. He didn’t have time for games right now. He would deal with the mistress of darkness later.

  This time, as the footsteps receded down the darkened corridor, A-Sharoon did not follow.

  She had nearly been discovered this time. She clenched and unclenched her hands in the darkness, angry at herself for having been so careless, yet at the same time wondering how Lord Nhon had came to possess something as powerful as what she held tightly clenched in her hand. Hers was older, but not by much. Made by different hands, the purpose remained the same—to protect the wearer. A-Sharoon frowned, wondering.

  The amulet she wore was hers from the beginning. A birthright. What she had sensed from Lord Nhon’s amulet as it had slid silently over the stones, seeking, was different. Her eyes widened in the darkness.

  The red stone that nestled within the silver bed that held it prisoner was of Skye. It was not the Fallen’s by birthright, but by deception! Closing her eyes, she drew in deeply of the air that suddenly swirled around her as the amulet warmed her with its strength, recognizing its own.

  § § § § § §

  Liege followed slightly behind the others, his senses attuned to the nuances that rose and fell around him. The air was still down here; in this place of running water and moss covered rocks. More than once, he had nearly lost his footing as he had felt his way carefully along the slime-covered rocks as the others had moved ahead. More than once, he had paused to listen, his keen hearing picking up a far off distant sound that was hauntingly familiar.

  “Your brothers call to you.”

  The voice, unexpected, startled him as he shuddered at the memories of that day. A battle, fiercely fought, the casualties so terribly high. The far-off sighing drew closer, carried by something unseen, and in that moment the big wolf recognized it for what it was.

  “You must go to them. Free them. There will be none to bar your way. None…” The words fell off into the stillness as Nickolous reached out to touch him, the light caress something that he allowed from the young warrior—for warrior he was. Warmth coursed through him as Nickolous turned away, the faint glow from his staff lighting the way; back to the others.

  Liege blinked in the half light cast by the staffs light reflecting off the walls on either side; unsure that Nickolous had even been there, he caught the whispered: “Go.” Moving quickly now, he went back the way he had came, stopping now and then to listen, his keen senses directing him to where he must go; the high keening, although still distant, was reaching a fevered pitch. Liege didn’t pause in the direction he chose as he hurried along the narrow corridor, trusting in Nickolous’s instincts.

  § § § § § §

  “We must hurry. Lord Nhon will soon realize which way we have taken.”

  “.And by that time we will have reached our destination,” Lord Moshat finished, looking upward as he measured Jerome’s immense height against his own, his thoughts on what a formidable warrior he was. Sparing a quick backward glance, he noted that Nickolous had dropped back to walk with the Old One.

  Lord Moshat bowed his head, deep in thought, while Jerome tried to measure his stride so that the others could keep up. Still, he worried about the two old ones. They grew weary; this he knew without being told.

  “Don’t worry. All will be as it should be. The Old One and Orith can do it.” Lord Moshat looked up at Jerome with his startling blue eyes. Sensing the unasked question that the warrior wanted to ask, he nodded his head, giving permission.

  Jerome weighed his thoughts carefully, choosing his words with care. Once the great bird of prey had aided them to protect her own, would she aid them again? What relationship to the warriors of Skye did Nickolous really have? He turned his gaze from the elder’s, clearing his throat as he debated the asking of things that maybe should remain unknown.

  Lord Moshat smiled in the half light. So many unasked questions these forest folk had, and there had been none to answer them—

  Until now.

  “Ask.”

  One word. Jerome drew in his breath sharply. It was enough.

  “He is of Skye.” It wasn’t a question. The warrior was seeking confirmation of what he already knew. The elder nodded, waiting, for he knew there was more.

  “How?” Jerom
e let his breath out slowly as he turned to face the elder.

  Lord Moshat studied the staff in front of him, wondering how much he should reveal. For turnings beyond count, the origins of his race had been kept secret, but that was before. His brows furrowed together thoughtfully as memories coursed through him. Ahhh, he straightened up.

  The Old Ones had known. They whispered the answers even now. He held the staff tighter, the words forming in his mind even as he uttered them out loud.

  “Nickolous’s mother was born to a dying race once of Skye; which was why her form was not quite the same as ours.” The elder flicked a midnight wing so the tip was revealed to the warriors gaze. Jerome nodded; understanding as Lord Moshat continued.

  “Like you, we too, waited for things foretold to come to pass. Unlike you, we watched through the veil that separates, unable to interfere with what was occurring in the mortal world where those of the two-legged clans dwelled. We watched as the girl-child grew, her abilities all but absent in a foreign land, her memories of who she had been becoming nothing but a vague remembering.”

  “Could you not draw her back?”

  “It was against our teachings. To have done so would have caused a further rift between our time and hers as she knew it. Things, once written, cannot be undone except by those who can affect the outcome by free choice.” Lord Moshat fell silent for a moment, his thoughts traveling back over the turnings.

  Jerome waited patiently as the elder reflected on the events that had brought them here. When Lord Moshat once again began to speak, the forest warrior was amazed at the emotion he sensed emanating from the elder of Skye.

  “The child that had vanished returned to us a woman, more powerful then we had ever supposed she would be.”

  “And her son?”

  “Nickolous is pure Skye. He merely needs to throw off the mantle of the human race that girds him to that other place.”

  “Easier said than done; what happens if he doesn’t?”

  “Then, my friend, there is no hope that the circle elders prophecy will be fulfilled. Nickolous must come to terms with who he is on his own, then, and only then, can he truly learn.” Jerome looked at the elder, his expression questioning.

  “And the battle to come?”

  The elder drew his brows together in a frown; exhaling slowly, the answer barely audible.

  “’Tis merely the awakening.”

  Jerome brushed at something that fluttered against him in the darkness; the brush of velvety wings against his cheek diverting his attention temporarily from what the elder was saying. The words seemed whispered as the air about them was suddenly filled with hundreds of small, flying creatures.

  “Bats! Follow the little winged ones, for they lead the way to the Flame.” The Old One, aided by Orith, had moved with surprising agility to stand beside Jerome. Her staff was glowing—a blue luminescent glow that lit the way of the holder.

  “Hurry! Do as she says.” The elder motioned the rest ahead and was not surprised when Nickolous took the lead.

  Far above them, atop the precipice that overlooked the chasm, the watcher, cloaked deep within the darkened shadows, followed their progress, his midnight wings drawn tightly against him. Tensing, he remained where he was as the sound of running feet reached his ears;

  the dark ones all but invisible as they sought out their prey.

  § § § § § §

  A-Sharoon waited in the darkness, her breathing steady; her hands still clutching the amulet. Lord Nhon had vanished into the labyrinth long moments before, the others following him into the distant places; as the silence grew around her, she wondered at the wisdom of being here. The amulet burned in her palm as she clutched it tightly to her, for it gave her a small measure of comfort, the knowing that if she chose to, she could destroy the dark one here and now.

  “Have a care, sister.” The words seemed to echo hollowly off the walls.

  Blood-red nails dug into white hands as A-Sharoon fought the urge to throw the amulet, and the memories that it evoked, from her.

  24

  Liege picked his way carefully, the big wolf wary as he edged through the musty corridors and shadowed places that concealed those who watched from their hidden places. Yet, there were none to bar his way, and it was only after he caught sight of a small, brown form as it moved swiftly back into shadow that he realized why.

  The watchers. The little ones. The eyes and ears of the earth. Liege let his breath out slowly, relieved.

  § § § § § §

  Lord Nhon paced back and forth angrily as he waited for the sentry to return with news. Once he was certain his quarry was beneath him, he had sent the best of his assassins to intercept them, hoping that it would end there—but knowing it wouldn’t, because nothing could be that easy.

  He had once been one of them—a watcher of Skye—a guardian—

  He knew what he faced.

  “My Lord?”

  The Fallen turned; startled, so lost was he within his own thoughts.

  “Yes, what is it?” Pushing back the hood that concealed his face, he studied the creature before him, his red eyes with their black pupils glowing even in the half light.

  “The Caverns below, we searched, there are many.” The creature’s voice trailed off as Lord Nhon darted forward. He was furious, his rage uncontrollable as he struck out blindly, the need to punish overwhelming.

  The shrieks of terror rent the air, echoing off the stone walls before fading into the dank dampness of the cavern.

  Flinging the limp form from him, Lord Nhon drew in deeply of the air around him. Fools! He was surrounded by fools! The wind whirled about him unnaturally as he clutched his cape to him, his red eyes searching for the source of the sound reverberating throughout the cavern.

  The winged ones—those who flew in the darkness, their incredible senses guiding them as they listened to the sounds that reverberated through the shadows carried by the night.

  Lord Nhon drew in deeply of the air around him, scenting it deep, listening for more; his own keen senses now picking up other sounds as he hurried down a long, winding corridor, his staff glowing to light his way.

  A-Sharoon watched as the Lord of Darkness moved swiftly away, toward the secret place that held the Flame. Black eyes glittered in a face unnaturally white as red droplets of liquid seeped between her fingers as she opened her palm, slowly, to gaze upon the amulet nestled within.

  Silently, without hesitation, she followed. Ahead of her, Lord Nhon paused briefly, his nostrils distended like a feral beast as he smiled in the half light. So then, he would fell them all in the same place. It mattered not to him.

  Darkness or light, it was all the same to him.

  There could only be one master to rule the night.

  A-Sharoon knew he felt her presence but was not afraid, for she, who had been born to the darkness, feared little. She also knew Lord Nhon had no knowledge of what she concealed within her palm, so it mattered not. Her choice had been made.

  The Flame called to her, and from the depths of the darkness that reigned within her and before her, something had awakened. Not sure of what it was, she hurried forward, this new feeling that struggled forth not entirely unpleasant.

  § § § § § §

  “Wait.” Jerome pulled Nickolous back. There was something ahead of them and, even though the little watchers—the winged ones—flew above them guiding the way, his warrior’s training cautioned him as the prickling sensation rolled up his spine. Lord Moshat swung his staff upward, commanding the darkness to dissipate that they might see what lay in the darkness beyond them. Behind him, the Old One paused, her own staff clutched tightly within her grasp.

  The wind shrieked about the companions as they gazed down into the chasms that lay below them.

  “There must be another
way.” Nickolous blinked against the sudden light as the others crowded around, disbelief upon their faces. Lord Moshat had stepped back and now stood a little apart from them, his keen eyesight scanning the area about them as Nickolous turned about, his gaze searching. His penetrating blue eyes met those of the elders.

  “Listen.” Jerome motioned the others to be silent. The distant sound of water rippling over moss sodden rocks sounded faintly in the distance. Gabriel inhaled deeply, his keen sense of smell seeking the direction they must go. Chera nudged him gently even as she leaned over to gauge the depth of the chasm that was seemingly endless.

  “There.” Chera leaned over even further as Nickolous knelt down beside her. The Old One and Orith moved back to give them more room. Small rocks tumbled down the sides as Nickolous held the staff over the ledge, while behind him Lord Moshat drew himself up to his full height as he listened. The high-pitched keening in the distance was growing louder.

  Everything is not as it seems. The words echoed in Nickolous’s mind as he drew on the thoughts the Ancients had shared with him, and from deep within himself, words, not his, poured forth as the Seven, from within their sacred place, gave aid.

  The air was suddenly filled with chanting that came from a hundred places as an untold number of voices sounded; reminding the companions of who their ancestors had been; the sudden light blinding, forcing the companions to close their eyes against the images that assailed their senses as words, whispered, became images, and the images, memories.

  “Jerome.” Nickolous motioned the big warrior closer as he leaned over the edge. Lord Moshat stood behind the Old One and Orith, his staff poised above their heads, the light blue-white and comforting. Timothy, aware of the protection the elder offered moved closer, his senses warning him to be cautious, yet he was curious nonetheless.

  Orith nudged the Old One gently. Like the elder of Skye, they had no need to see with their eyes what their hearts already knew. Each gazed at the other in understanding as the light from Nickolous’s staff flamed white. The sudden flame arched upward, to spiral downward into the depths below.