Moments later, two silver wolves took up their places on opposite sides of the shattered doorway.
There would be none to follow.
“There, the path narrows, and beyond that is the doorway to the Flame.” Nickolous held the staff high, its light reflecting off the walls down the long darkened corridor. Gabriel stood beside him; his senses tingling; Chera, flanking Nickolous on the other side, felt the subtle changes around them as the unseen ones watched from their hidden places.
“Go.” The words were whispered.
Silently the journey was begun, the blue-white light from the staff reaching out, grasping and melting the shadows that danced in front of them.
“Lord Nhon,” the Old One muttered beneath her breath as she labored to keep up. Behind her, Orith followed, his focus on the others ahead of them; the need to reach their destination overpowering the fear that he kept pushing down. He was getting old, he thought. Too old. Wearily he pushed his hood forward, concealing his features as he kept ahead of Jerome, the forest warrior’s own silhouette masked by the shadows wavering light.
“We’re at the end of the corridor.” Lord Moshat stood beside Nick-olous as the watcher from the hidden place flanked him on the other side.
“Everything is not as it seems.” The Old One pushed forward, her brows furrowing as she pressed herself against the wall in front of them. The sensation coursing through her was one of darkness. It was a trap. Before the companions had a chance to react the wall simply disappeared, and they were surrounded by darkness so complete that the light from the staff was smothered.
26
As the darkness pressed down, Nickolous struggled to bring his arm up, while around him swirled the unimaginable. Inwardly he shuddered at the brush of wings against his cheek, the knowledge of what was behind the feather soft touch spurring him on. The ability to draw on the strength the Ancients lent coursing through him as words, remembered, poured forth.
“Orith. Old One. Where are you?” Owen called into the darkness, his ability to see hampered by the unnatural blackness that pressed against him making it nearly impossible to discern friend from foe. Disoriented, he struck out blindly, his senses guiding him as he struck something.
“Owen!” The Old One rasped beside him as she grasped him, pulling him off balance.
“Down.” The words were hissed as she pulled him to her.
As he fell something brushed past him, soft tentacles caressing the side of his body. Almost immediately, he felt the pain as the acrid smell of burning skin assailed his senses. The Old One, recognizing the odor and what had caused it, wrapped her body about that of Owen, at the same time drawing the ancient words forth from that hidden place of her kind.
Almost immediately, Owen felt the power flowing through his body as the burning sensation ceased. Recovering quickly, he pulled away from the Old One, his concentration now on the assailants above him. From beside him, the Old One poured all of her remaining strength into focusing on what she must do.
As the Old One battled alongside Orith, Owen flew high, out of reach of the fanged ones that sought to pull him toward them. Power flowed through him and over him as something unidentified coursed through the caverns with a sudden rush of sound; unheard by the dark hoard that poured forth from the hidden places, their intent to destroy the companions before they reached the Flame.
“To me!” Nickolous held the staff above his head as streams of white-blue light shot out from its tip, dancing along the jagged rocks above them, the shrieks of agony echoing in their wake—seeking out the darkened places where the unseen ones had hidden, waiting.
Orith, struggling against something he could not see, broke free of the unseen thing that gripped him; hurtling forward to be grasped by the Old One, her gaze fierce as she focused on what was taking form in front of them.
“There.” Nickolous steadied the staff as it writhed with a life of its own. Impatient, it seemed, to pour forth what was needed to defeat the enemy.
“You must direct its power,” Lord Moshat spoke, his voice carrying above that of the storm that raged about them. Shrieking forms leapt at them; snarling and growling as they sought an opening to reach their quarry. Gabriel reared back as something lunged at him, narrowly missing him as Chera leapt high, her aim true; the big wolf shuddered involuntarily as the stench of anger and desperation grew, but now there was a new scent being carried through the air. Fear.
Gabriel growled softly as Chera, her muzzle stained red, joined him, while above them the air swirled; no longer warm, icy tendrils reaching out to caress.
Lord Moshat shivered as the Old One, her aged body reacting in kind to the sudden change reached out to Jerome, the forest warrior lending his strength now to that of the others. Thoughts poured forth between the companions as abilities fused.
Gifts lent, acknowledged, and strengthened by the wisdom given by the elders of Skye.
Orith blinked against the brilliant light as his body shuddered from the power coursing through it.
Before him, before them all, Nickolous changed as the light from the staff engulfed him, slowly spreading out from his fingertips to embrace those who gathered about him; their one thought to protect him.
“No. Do not try to speak.” It was the elder from the hidden place who spoke, the words riding softly above the swirling light.
“Ride with it, but do not let it overpower you. In unity lies strength. Understand it. Share it.”
The sudden calm wasn’t nearly as nerve shattering as the screams from Lord Nhon’s chosen.
§ § § § § §
The warrior beckoned to the circle where six others waited; the sweet scent of the burning grass reaching upward and out, permeating the air about him.
Understanding, he still stood in that place with the others, as well as here, with the Seven—Nickolous entered the circle. The mists frothing and swirling about him to take him back—
Back to when it had begun.
Here, the world was just beginning. The earth rose and fell beneath his feet. Her heartbeat strong and pulsing with hope. Nickolous closed his eyes. Emotions. So many. They rose up from within as he was filled with memories of what it was like when there was nothing but perfection and the trees grew straight and tall. Flowering with a beauty not seen in a millennium of conscious thought.
Time passed, and the world changed about him as he stood within its center. Now he watched as if from a great distance as the world darkened. Mists rose and swirled yet again as things changed. The two-legged—not four-legged—now held dominion over the rest.
And the darkness grew.
Within the center, where the young warrior stood, a sorrowing sigh arose as something stirred. The stench of decay creeping upward and out, clinging with a cloying sweetness that was suffocating as Nicko-lous struggled against the fear of the unknown. The wisdom of the Seven, a comfort as words, whispered in the ancient dialect of the ones who had been there since the world had begun, showed him what must be done.
§ § § § § §
Such sorrow. The Flame flickered against its prison as the Earth dwellers frantically pushed against the invisible wall that held it. From his place of knowing, Nickolous watched, helpless as first one, then another of the earth dwellers fell, crushed by the creature Lord Nhon had brought forth. But still they came—the little ones, the heartbeat of the earth; unafraid of what lay ahead.
Aided by the elders within the sacred circle, Nickolous felt the power rising as the knowledge, given to many, yet understood by only a few, flowed through him; into the others.
§ § § § § §
Lord Moshat drew on the powers of Skye. The guardian from the hidden forest lending strength to the powers of the elders beyond that realm where the veil had thinned; allowing Nickolous safe passage, and them, a glimpse of what before had been a mere telling; a
confirmation within of what they, and their forbears had always known. Beside them, the Old One gasped as she also recognized within herself the things she had always known.
But even with the knowing, there had always been the merest flicker of doubt. The seed within them all that caused indecision when they refused to listen with their hearts.
The howling above their heads intensified as the staff hummed; the white-blue light emanating from its center swirling around the one who held it, until he himself was held within the center of the light—
protected by the Ancient Ones from beyond the realms of knowing.
§ § § § § §
Lord Nhon moved wraithlike along the narrow passageways, certain of the outcome of the battle; confident in the powers of the shadow being that he, himself, had brought forth from the dark realms. He didn’t bother to pause when the first tremors beneath the ground began. Behind him, unseen, A-Sharoon stopped, her nostrils flaring as she let the sensations flow through her. Beneath her robes, the amulet stirred, the stone within its center awakening, seeking.
“Have a care, sister.”
The honeyed words washed over her as she drew in her breath sharply.
“Don’t interfere now!” The words were hissed as she searched the hidden places about her; but no, he wasn’t there. She shrugged in the darkness. “Stay where you are. In your own place; in your own time.” The words were whispered; even so, the answer echoed.
“There are many realms of darkness and light, dear sister. Have a care that you are not displaced out of yours.”
A-Sharoon clutched the amulet tightly, soothing it as she closed her mind to her brothers’ presence; willing the veil of the unseen to close between them.
“Owen. There. Above you.” The Old One flung the lifeless body aside to face yet another as Jerome, swinging his war club, cut a deadly swath toward Orith; the old warrior holding his own despite being wounded. Above him, Owen battled as Gabriel, and Chera fought off a changeling intent on reaching the bearer of the staff.
It was the changeling’s dying screams that carried through the passageways to Lord Nhon. The Fallen One quickening his pace until he was running; the incantations uttered as he burst around the corner of the cavern to face Lord Moshat and the warrior from the hidden place. With a roar that was heard above and below in the realms beyond realms, Lord Nhon flung himself at his old mentor. The cries of battle deafening as light and darkness met.
For turnings beyond remembering, Lord Moshat had known this time would come. As the fiery ball arched toward him, increasing in speed so that it was nearly a blur, he met it with an increased power of his own; the frozen shards splintering as they fell about those who scurried hurriedly out of the way. Time was temporarily suspended as the companions, caught within a vortex of spinning light, watched; helpless to interfere as the embodiment of all they had ever admired or feared, met.
The watcher from the hidden place reached out to Nickolous, pulling him back from the sacred circle. His call to the elders, the seven, heard. Whispers carried upon the wind that swirled silently above them had carried the message to the cavern where none dared walk unless invited.
Nickolous felt himself being pulled through the misty places. The faces of the elders fading as the veil closed behind him.
§ § § § § §
“Die.”
The words were hissed as Lord Moshat narrowly avoided the flying shards that shattered about him. Twisting around, blue-white light flowed through his body to meet the challenge thrown out by Lord Nhon. As the two energies met, voices, long passed into a time distant beyond remembering awakened, and the Fallen One paused as something buried deep within him stirred in answer. His body went rigid as he brushed the fleeting emotion aside as the voices stilled; no longer seeking for the answer had been given. As Lord Nhon straightened, his hood fell back, revealing a face that was terrible. Lord Moshat, seeing what had passed from the other, grieved, knowing that any humanity that had existed within the twisted features of the one who had once been known as Lord Nhon was now gone forever.
Lord Nhon regretted nothing and was beyond thought of anything rational save ridding himself of those who opposed him. His hatred blinding him to everything save the young man who stood before him, protected by the powers of the circle elders. Blood-red eyes, their black centers mere slits narrowed as the veil that protected Nick-olous slowly dissolved; the contact broken. His focus now on the one before him, he cast a rune spell to hold the others back, his intent to destroy this half-son of Skye.
“To me.” Nickolous held the staff in front of him, the humming sound reverberating off the rocks around him, the blue-white light flowing up and out of the polished wood as the power of the Ancients poured forth. Their memories flowing through Nickolous as their combined thoughts summoned the winds from the four corners; even as the darkness threatened to overwhelm his senses. Words, unbidden, rose from within and were spoken softly as the Fallen One strode purposefully toward him; his hooded cloak flowing behind him as he raised his arms; the power coursing through him as he loosened the dark fury within himself against the one who held the staff aloft.
.Its own power racing through the ancient wood that had lived before them all.
Lord Moshat and the elder from the hidden forest were thrown aside; the explosion ripping through the cavern. Jerome, as massive as he was, barely withstood the force of the blast; nonetheless, he was able to shield the Old One and Orith with his body, his massive girth saving them from serious harm.
Owen plummeted toward the Fallen, talons reaching out to grasp the robed figure. Dodging the outreached arms, he struck. Hard. The blow was returned in kind. Winded, the snowy owl fell; the darkness washing over him. As if from a great distance, he heard Nickolous calling and the strength offered was accepted as the great wings unfurled, the upward rush of air scented with power as Owen once again struck out at the Fallen One.
“Orith. Go to him.” The Old One struggled against the wind that clutched at her, embracing her with a stubborn tenacity to match her own. Turning about, she sought out a place between the crevices, and bracing herself against the fury of the unnatural wind made her way slowly toward it. Orith, seeing what she was doing, and knowing that she was safe, struggled toward Nickolous as Gabriel and Chera fought the dark ones who poured forth from unknown places.
“Owen!” The words were drowned out against the rush of sound as the Fallen One roared in rage.
A thousand turnings he had waited for this moment to face the elder whom he had once called friend and now the Halfling who dared think he could ever be a true son of Skye. As the Old One watched in horrified fascination, he began to change—
To grow.
Recognizing what the Fallen One was becoming, the Old One averted her eyes as she drew deep within herself, preparing; while the unnatural wind raged about her, intensifying; the elders of Skye and
Nickolous turned as one to face Lord Nhon’s wrath.
§ § § § § §
A-Sharoon inhaled sharply, her senses tingling as the fury of the battle permeated her senses. One hand went instinctively to the amulet that burned at her throat; the other silencing those who stood behind her. The urge to interfere, to sway the battle so that things would be as they were before, was nearly uncontrollable as she watched the Fallen and the half son of Skye prepare to do battle. Ancient murmurings stirring within them both as the Old Ones awakened.
The Flame called to her. A-Sharoon started forward, the incantation already cast from bloodless lips. The Fallen sensing her even as the half-son of Skye raised the staff high above his head, summoning the warrior’s vision within the living wood to guide him. What started as a soft growl became a roar as Gabriel leapt upward only to be swept aside by a force that reeked of untold turnings of dark magic.
The Daughter born to the darkness of the before time p
aused; the Flame calling to the stone nestled within the palm of her hand.
Forged at the time of the awakening of awareness, what were opposite now became kindred—seeking to find a balance. As the burning sensation became nearly unbearable, the stone threatened to ignite within her grasp.
“So, you would think to challenge me.” The words echoed within her mind as the force of the first fire ball bounced off her, her nostrils flaring as she ripped the stone from its chain, releasing it from the gilded backing that had held it prisoner for millennia.
§ § § § § §
Within the confines of its tiny prison, the Flame reached out; no longer tentatively seeking, it began to grow in size. On the other side of the prison, the earth dwellers drew closer, as the unseen wind began to move faster and faster in the small tunnel, fanning the stale air until it crept through the fissure nearly invisible in the rock.
§ § § § § §
Like a moth drawn to a light, the Flame and the wind sought each other out.
§ § § § § §
“Nickolous, protect yourself.”
The shouted words were lost amidst the cries of the injured and dying as A-Sharoon moved to block the Fallen’s path. Seeing his chance, Nickolous released the power locked within the staff, the blue-white light fanning out away from the wood and the one who held it; wraithlike tendrils wrapped around the heavily robed form who roared a challenge.
Striking out at what he could not see, fear and hope overtaking all thought, the lost son of Skye released all that was within himself—
Even as the Daughter of Darkness released the power that lie within the center of the stone; hers alone to command.
§ § § § § §
The power washed over him, nearly taking him, as the staff warmed in his hands, the armlet reacting to the ebb and flow of the pulsating power that threatened to consume his senses. Reaching out, Nickolous sought the unspoken help offered by Lord Moshat and the elder from the hidden forest as the first wave of darkness rolled over him. White Light surrounded him, creating a shield of power as Gabriel placed himself in front of Nickolous, only to be pushed gently aside.
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