Nickolous drew in his breath sharply, then, without hesitating, disappeared over the edge into the darkness below.
“The warrior has awakened. The boy is no more.” Lord Moshat exhaled slowly, his grip on Timothy tightening as the little warrior tried to fling himself over the edge after his young charge.
“Easy, my young friend.” The warrior of Skye lifted Timothy to one side as he flung his cloak off, revealing himself fully to the gaze of the others. Knowing that the Old One and Orith would fulfill their destiny, he nodded at the forest warrior, his gaze momentarily locking with that of Gabriel and Chera before he, too, disappeared over the edge; the wolves following without hesitation in his wake.
“To the gateway. Hurry.” The words echoed faintly against the rocks before dissipating into silence as the Old One leaned over the edge, her gaze sweeping the darkness below.
Jerome longed to follow Nickolous but knew he had to see the Old One and Orith safely below. The sudden beating of wings startled him as Owen landed beside them, his golden gaze locking with that of the warriors.
“Go.” He motioned beyond the precipice.
“Go.” The words were softly spoken, brooking no argument. Jerome nodded as he plunged into the darkness, disappearing instantly.
The Old One let out her breath slowly as Orith guided her into a sitting position, his concern evident as he knelt down beside her.
“Are you all right?” Green eyes peered into black as he waited for her to speak.
“I’m fine; just tired.” Old eyes looked through him as he drew back, surprised at the strength that he saw there.
“Old One?” Owen peered into old-young eyes as realization dawned.
“Things are not always what they seem.” The Old One nodded as she withdrew the staff. Nodding to Orith, she smiled as he drew forth his staff. Both were glowing softly in the semidarkness.
“We will follow, but slowly.”
Owen nodded, understanding the other’s purpose—Nickolous needed time to reach the Flame. Glancing at his brother, he couldn’t help but admire the courage he saw there, for despite all the pain he had endured, his heart remained true.
“Timothy, we need you here with us. There must be a diversion.”
Timothy nodded, understanding. The Old One and Orith alone were strong, their powers ancient, but they were two. With Owen and himself to give aid, there was strength with arms. The four combined would be formidable indeed.
“Well, then, how long do we have?” Timothy looked up at Owen as he unsheathed his sword.
“There’s no telling,” Owen replied, his gaze scanning the darkness for things foul and evil. The air around them had changed; the atmosphere stifling as the stench of things unseen and dark swirled about them.
“They’ve found the way down,” the Old One spoke softly, as she calmly placed her staff beside that of Orith’s. Taking the two staffs, Orith raised them high above his head, his thoughts going to the sacred place of remembering. Bowing his scarred head, he searched for the words that needed to be spoken, for they were not his—
But the remembering of a race long gone.
“Hurry, my friend, for our destiny approaches more swiftly then we are perhaps prepared for.” Owen moved to stand in front of the Old One, his body shielding hers from the sight of the first of the creatures that scurried toward them, its eyes a phosphorous yellow. Its mouth working silently as it stared at them, blinking stupidly as the light flared from the staff toward it, enveloping it within its fiery embrace.
“Hold fast. There’s more,” Owen yelled as he took flight, his talons cutting a deadly swath as he bore down on the shadowy forms that skittered toward his companions. The light arching over and around him as he dispatched as many as he could while the Old One and Orith stood as one; their staffs now joined. Knowing what was coming, Owen flew low, his talons reaching out to grasp Timothy in a gentle embrace as he flew over the two elders.
§ § § § § §
“There will be more of them,” Orith spoke softly but still his voice echoed in the vast cavern.
“Those were only the scouts.” Owen exhaled slowly as he turned to face the others. “That was nothing compared to what’s coming.” The sound of small rocks tumbling from their unseen places caused them all to reach for their weapons.
Timothy looked around, his sword withdrawn, prepared for battle. They were still at the edge of the precipice, and he was still recovering from his unexpected flight. The power of the staffs combined was an incredible force indeed, but he knew better then to feel secure, for if they were attacked by a hoard of those dark things, even the staffs would not hold them all safe. There would be casualties.
The Old One drew her staff away from that of Orith’s, the wood no longer glowing, its surface now as dark as ebony. She drew in a deep breath. Turning at the light touch on her shoulder, she gazed up at Orith. His scarred face reflected only a little of the pain she knew coursed through him.
“Soon, my old friend. Soon.” She drew back so that she could look up at him then patted him gently as she turned away, her eyes dark and luminous, her thoughts now her own. The earth turned beneath them, yet they did not feel it, for it was a silent thing. As each day dawned and each day set, they watched it; not appreciating its beauty enough.
The Old One sighed heavily, turning inward with her thoughts. The knowing that was gifted to her race was coming to the fore as she drew in her breath, letting it out slowly, watching, as it was caught and held by the cooler air. Now vaporous, it hung seemingly suspended in midair.
She heard Timothy’s shouted warning and turned, moving swiftly even as the others started forward to her aid. Fingers reached out like tendrils to grasp her but missed as she turned her body around, the words rising from within her as she struck out, her staff connecting with the unseen. Whatever it was, it crumpled into nothingness as the air was pierced by its dying shriek.
Timothy blinked against the flash of light, his senses tingling. He leaned forward. Concentrating. There, in the shadowed corner, just beyond his vision, something moved. Something that did not wish to be seen—
Orith.
Timothy had not spoken the words aloud, merely thought them, but Orith had heard and had moved with surprising agility to his side.
Orith peered into the darkness, his night vision heightened by their danger. The form moved farther out from its place of concealment but remained in shadow. Orith focused, his green eyes boring into the darkness, ripping away the cloak that held the intruder in its safe embrace, while the Old One held her staff in front of her; its white light arcing upward to reach out with long tendrils to caress the intruder.
Timothy blinked against the sudden light, as did the rest of the companions.
“You.” The Old One let her breath out slowly, her staff tingling in her grasp as it recognized one of its own.
“Old One. Orith.” The figure moved easily toward them, his tall form identifying him as he threw back his hood. Owen breathed in deeply of the scents surrounding them as the Master from the hidden forest joined them. Amazed that another of the Ancient Ones had left his haven to risk himself, the companions could only stare; the words they were going to say falling off into the sudden silence.
“There is no difference between us, my friends. The circle elders bowed to the wisdom of the elder of Skye; for now, we all traverse the path that leads to the Flame.” The elder from the hidden place held out his hand for the Old One to take, and she did so gratefully. The distant sound of rocks cascading down the steep rock walls caused them to hurry in the direction the others had taken.
§ § § § § §
Liege stood, silent and still, waiting. He was close; he could sense it. The fur raised in a ruff along his back as he scented the air. Nothing. Undeterred, he moved quickly to stand in front of what appeared to be a so
lid wall of rock. Behind him, the little ones, the earth dwellers—the smallest of the earthen clans—waited. Not knowing what to do, in desperation, Liege flung himself against the barrier, which held fast. He knew they were there—knew they were alive and waiting. Frustrated, he sat back, wishing Nickolous were here.
“Wait.” The words carried through thoughts to the wolf as the earth dwellers moved forward. It was they who had waited guarding the entrance. Waited for Liege to come and free those imprisoned behind the cold grey rock.
The largest of them, an elder, bent and withered by many turnings, touched the wolf gently. Looking down, Liege watched as a multitude of the little ones gathered at one spot and began digging away at the base of the rock wall.
Surprised at how easily the rock disintegrated beneath their small claws, he looked closer and, as the little ones moved away, began digging until he hit something hard and sharp; his claws catching on the jagged edge of rock that peeled off in small shards, causing tiny cuts which stung; he pulled back, shaking his forepaw in disgust.
The eldest of the earth dwellers moved forward. Placing himself in front of Liege, he bent his head, concentrating. Liege pulled back, surprised, as thoughts formed within his mind. There was a weakness here, at the base of the rock, but more help was needed. He nudged the little earth dweller gently. Leaning against the cold, grey rock, he pressed the side of his face against its moldy dampness, listening;
from the other side came the reply to the unasked thought.
§ § § § § §
“No!” Lord Nhon leaned against the table, scattering the parchment as it tipped precariously to one side. Crumpling a piece of yellowed paper, he flung it into the corner, then turning, righted the table and its contents. He had returned to the cavern frustrated that he could not find a mere halfling and now this—
“Are you sure?” His gaze fixed on the messenger who at this moment was wondering at the wisdom of being there. There was an underlying scent of danger lingering in the dankness that permeated the stale air and something more.
Death.
The creature peered into the gloom and saw.
“Remove it.” Lord Nhon caught the barest flicker of anger in the creature’s stare. It would not do for these creatures to start thinking for themselves! Dismissing the thing with a wave of his hand, he turned away, his keen hearing telling him that the thing obeyed his command; removing its dead comrade.
So, they were still in the lower caverns, were they? Red eyes glittered in a gaunt face dangerously as Lord Nhon picked up the crystal flask. Turning it from side to side, he stared at it thoughtfully, his mind undecided. Some things should not be rushed; the timing critical to their success; or failure. He held the flask up to his face as the contents encased within the crystal rolled together, blending, before settling back.
No…
He turned away from the cavern’s entrance. He still had allies to call upon. He paused briefly as a thought, fleeting, crossed his mind then just as quickly dissipated. Shrugging off the feeling, he hurried to the center of the cavern where the fire had died down to glowing embers. Stirring the center of the fire, he knelt down, blowing softly until the flames stirred, awakening.
§ § § § § §
“Hold.” A-Sharoon let her breath out slowly as the creature, pressed closely to her side, waited for a command. From their place of concealment they could see Liege and the earth dwellers as they leaned against the cold grey rock that would not give. Exhausted, tired, they waited for their strength to return to themselves so the tedious task could begin again.
A-Sharoon knew what lay behind the walls, imprisoned by the Lord of Darkness and by she, herself. The distant sounds that carried through the silence stirred her with a feeling she hadn’t felt before. Moving out of the shadows, she pushed the wolf aside, the earth dwellers needing no such urging as they parted to clear the way.
Moving swiftly to the wall, A-Sharoon felt along its center ‘til she found what she sought. Then, running her hands across the breadth and depth of it, she stood back, her arms spread wide, her lips forming words that the eldest of the earth dwellers had never thought to hear again.
Knowing instinctively what to do, and unafraid of this woman for the first time in their long remembering, the little ones joined their thoughts and minds to that of A-Sharoon, while Liege stood, transfixed by the seeming apparition before him.
§ § § § § §
Nickolous stepped over the debris strewn about the caverns floor, carefully, so as not to disturb anything as the companions moved silently behind him.
The little flyers were gone.
Nickolous listened to the heartbeat within himself as the bracelet turned luminescent against his arm; the staff answering with its own warmth as the light dispersed the dark shadows that threatened to follow in their wake. They were close. He could feel it. The Flame called with a silent fierceness that drew him unerringly onward; toward it and whatever fate awaited them.
“Lord Moshat?” The elder had moved forward, and Nickolous looked at him questioningly.
“The caverns run deep into the lower depths, and the unknown is unspeakable for those lacking the knowledge to understand.”
Nickolous held the others gaze with his own; his understanding of himself an awareness that no longer frightened him. Acknowledging the elder’s concern for not only himself but the other companions as well, he was surprised nonetheless when the other reached out and clasped his shoulder in a firm grip.
“There.” The elder gazed past him, seeing what the others could not.
“Old One.” Nickolous let his breath out slowly, relieved to see the Old One and Orith safe and seemingly well.
“See; the worlds within worlds began to unite.” Lord Moshat nodded at the travelers.
“It’s the elder from the hidden forest.” Gabriel nudged his mate in wonder as the last of the companions came into view.
Orith pulled the Old One to him while Gabriel and Chera stopped their journeying to stay at a distance; while the elder of Skye and the guardian from that hidden place silently greeted one another. Neither one was surprised that their paths had crossed once again.
Nickolous turned and faced them; his thoughts bridging and filling a void that had remained veiled to most since the beginning of remembering; the veil falling from him as he remembered who and what he was—the darkness no longer holding him captive as he struggled to understand what lay beneath the shadows of his forgotten memories.
As the elder’s hand slid from his shoulder, he looked into the others eyes and saw himself, mirrored deep within the depths of another being. Letting out his breath slowly, he turned away.
He understood now. Turning, he faced the companions, his stance telling them he had changed yet again. Gone was the child. Gone was the boy; before them stood the man. Changed, yet unchanged; his very presence speaking thoughts beyond words as he held the staff aloft.
The Old One nodded to Orith as they brought forth their own staffs. Wordlessly they held them out toward the one staff that glowed with a translucency that was nearly invisible to mortal eyes.
“The power of The Three lies not within our tired bodies but within the staffs themselves,” The Old One whispered as the wind found them; swirling about them in a cold fury even as the light temporarily blinded them.
Nickolous reached out to retrieve the staff as it flew from his grasp, unerringly toward the other two, then he, too, bowed to the fury that engulfed them.
§ § § § § §
Lord Nhon watched in silence as the flames swept upward, arching against the ceiling; returning to their center, the low hissing emanating from deep within. The shadow being had been powerful, but in the end unreliable. He turned toward the form that grew within the depths of the ice cold flame and, as the two separated, watched as the flame withered into blac
kened coals. His concentration now on the being before him, the low hissing, at first nearly inaudible, steadied itself as it sought to center itself in its new surroundings. Sensing Lord Nhon, it turned to face its new master, even as it changed yet again. Wraithlike, without features of any kind, primordial beyond remembering—thoughts passed like quicksilver between the two as the creature rose higher, the high keening nerve shattering as it hovered near the ceiling, scenting its prey.
“Go. Do not let them enter the chamber that contains the Flame.” Lord Nhon rose to his full height, trying to read the others thoughts as the creature stilled its movements as if weighing the command it had been given. Beneath his hood, Lord Nhon’s eyes glowed with an unnatural light as he drew deep within himself; seeking the power which would bind the being to him without thought to question his command.
“My Lord?”
“What do you want?” The words were hissed as Lord Nhon turned to the wolf-like creature that had entered the chambers unheard. For a moment more, the other-world entity hovered above them before disappearing into the darkness that surrounded them.
“Well, what is it. Have you found them?” The Fallen moved toward the feral creature as he spoke, his intent clear as to his intentions if the interruption had been unwarranted.
The beast moved back, wary. “They come, through the passages of the Old Ones.” The thing hesitated, then: “They do not travel alone.”
Lord Nhon made a strangled sound as he choked back his rage. Fighting for control of his emotions, he inhaled slowly; centering his thoughts. So, they had traversed the hidden places and were being aided by the warriors of Skye, were they? Well, it made no difference, for the die was cast, and the Flame would survive—or not. He shrugged; the first tremor struck him at the same time that the wind rushed through the connecting tunnels; carrying with it the whispering of things long forgot. As Lord Nhon fled down the chamber that led to the Flame, the sounds of battle followed him, spiraling down into the empty darkened places.
Son Of Skye Page 24