by David Wind
Do what you must; I will take care of the rest. Mikaal went outside, where he found Charka and Hero grazing on the long grass. He stopped after a few strides to find a dead rabt laying on the ground and heard, above him, the flapping of Gaalrie’s wings, as she descended toward him, another rabt in her talons.
She deposited the furry body at Mikaal’s feet and landed next to him. Reaching down, he scooped up the large bird with one hand, lifted her to his chest and stroked her head. Thank you, sister. He received a rush of warmth from her before releasing her skyward.
Looking around, he sought a place to camp but realized the best place would be in the cavern, not outside in the cold. He called Charka, sending his aoutem an asking to bring Hero. Then he picked up the two rabts and returned to the entrance where he dropped them and went inside. Charka and Hero followed, barely squeezing though the narrow opening between the crystal and rock.
Outside, Gaalrie hovered above, watching and waiting. Mikaal sent a thought to Areenna’s aoutem. Scout, seek, hunt, he asked the bird while removing their supplies from the kraals.
Behind him, Areenna sat cross-legged, eyes locked on the crystal container holding the woman. She had been pushing at it since the moment Mikaal walked outside, trying to find something, anything to guide her. Thus far, she had failed.
With her frustration rising, she willed herself to calmness. There has to be a way! Knowing this as surely as she knew anything, she brought up the remembered visage of the Speaker of the Eight. She built her image as she had last seen her on the Island, with the long gray robe covering her snuck-like lower body, and the black face with the pale blue eyes glowing even though shaded by the folds of her cowl. Why have you sent us here? Who are they?
A shimmering mist grew before her eyes. The crystal boxes vanished. The image she had called forth floated before her. The sorceress’ hands, their long black fingers clasped together, rested across her chest. Patience, Child. Rest tonight, prepare for tomorrow. You will know more then.
The image faded. “Wait,” she cried aloud, but the Speaker was gone.
Prepare for what? Exhaling loudly, she stood and turned to Mikaal. He had spread their silks halfway between her and the cavern’s entry. Charka and Hero were inside, but not Mikaal.
She went out into the rapidly falling night and found him cleaning a rabt. She looked for Gaalrie but did not see her and sent out a questing thought. It took only a moment to join with her treygone, who was flying over water on the northern side of the mountain, seeking her own dinner in the last dredges of the gray-lit day.
She flew with her until Gaalrie spotted a small flock of seabirds skimming low over the choppy water. As Gaalrie selected her target and dove, Areenna withdrew from the aoutem’s mind.
Looking up from the rabt, Mikaal saw Areenna staring at the sky. “Gaalrie hunts.”
“I know. Real food,” she added with a smile. “What can I do?”
“Gather small rocks.”
“For what?”
“How else can we cook? There is no wood.”
“In the cavern or outside,” she asked, understanding what he needed.
“It makes no difference. There will be no smoke, except from the meat itself, only fire.”
She went near the entry, to where the peak rose from the plateau, and picked small hand-sized rocks from the ground.
Areenna made three rock-carrying trips into the cavern where she dropped them a few feet from the entrance. Then, as she arranged them into a pile for cooking, Mikaal joined her. He laid the rabts on the ground and studied the neatly arranged stones for a few seconds.
“We need two arrows and two large stones.” He built a mind picture of what he wanted to do. “The arrows are of acont wood, they will hold up to the heat.”
Knowing what she needed, Areenna went outside where she found two large rocks, which would be perfect. Then, using her mother’s lifting ability on the deeply embedded rocks, she drew them from the ground and moved them to the fire. By the time they were in place, Mikaal had the rabts spitted and was heating the stones.
Fifteen minutes later, with the kraals outside grazing on the grass, the stones were white hot and the rabts roasted above them.
<><><>
Two hours after midnight, when the Dark Master and his force reached the foothills of the mountain, and the trail leading to its lower peak, Roth, Enaid, Ilsraeth, and Timon stood at the prow of the large ship. “How many? Roth asked.
Ilsraeth, who had been searching the Master’s forces, opened her eyes. “A half a thousand at the least. More I believe. They wait two miles inland.”
“There are no ghazis waiting near the shore?”
Enaid shook her head. “The land is clear.”
Roth turned to Timon. “How close can you bring this boat to the shore?”
Timon studied the vista and pointed to an area to the right. “That spot is the only place where the water and land are almost level. I know not what lies below the water, but it will give us our best chance. It will take a strong wind to push this box of a ship to the edge of the land and get the bow upon it. We want no water-soaked warriors. The cold will kill them.”
“Can you and Ilsraeth give us the wind to speed us to land?” the Master Boatsman asked the women.
“Wind we cannot raise, but fill the sails with power we can do. And push with water as well,” Enaid said.
Turning from the others, Roth looked down at the deck. Noslen, Captain of the Sixes stood at the ready, awaiting Roth’s command. Roth stepped down the short ladder from the prow and motioned Noslen to him.
“My Lord?”
“Prepare the Sixes to lead. Have all our people ready. When this boat reaches shore and all are on land, we move. This gray night may or may not hide our approach, and the fight will be anything but easy.”
Noslen smiled. “Easy is not what we seek, Highness. Nor do I think those… things will find us easy to stop.”
“When we reach their main body, we will be heavily outnumbered,” he cautioned.
Noslen drew himself to his full six and a half foot height. He smiled. “Nevaens they are not. We will not fail you.”
Roth placed his hands on Noslen’s shoulders. “My concern is that you live to fight on.”
“I will do my best,” he responded.
Roth could not help but smile. “Of that there is no doubt. Prepare. We move with speed.”
Noslen offered a slight head bow, spun and headed toward the groups of Sixes waiting behind him. Roth rejoined the other three.
Reaching Enaid, he asked, “How many women of sufficient power do we carry?”
“Thirty-four. Seven of whom fought with us twenty years ago, in our last battle. I have had them work with the others. They are ready.”
“Good. Have them lined on the railings to aid the Sixes and protect our people when we land. Once this is done, we go.”
Enaid started off, but Laira stopped her. “We must go our way when we land.” As Laira spoke, Akassia and Trebor came to the bow.
“To what purpose?” Enaid asked.
To aid Areenna. The Eight… they charged us with this duty on the Island.
Wait until all our people are on land. When the fighting begins, circle around, stay as distant as possible, Enaid cautioned the three.
A quarter hour later, Enaid and Ilsraeth stood behind the sails and called forth their extraordinary abilities. The sails billowed and the huge ship lurched forward. Ilsraeth, containing the forces of their joined abilities, pushed on the sails while Enaid turned to the stern and called forth the divining, pulling the very sea itself up and against the wood of the stern, adding more force to their charge to land.
The ship lurched forward, moving faster than ever before while Timon held the wheel, guiding it to the exact spot needed to get the troops off the ship quickly. As the boat hurtled landward, an explosion of activity erupted as the captains called their fighters together.
Lined on the right side of the ship
stood thirty-four women of power, each ready to protect the forces of Nevaeh should it be necessary. The Six groups stood behind them, ready for the moment the ship touched land. Near the steps leading up from the lower deck, two hundred men and women-warriors prepared for battle. Rope ladders hung from the side of the ship and ropes meant for the Sixes hung between them.
Watching the land draw near and dressed in battle armor, as was everyone on the ship, Roth stood at the bow, his sword grasped tightly in one hand. He thought about the centuries that had flowed behind him and of how he knew this was the beginning of the end. One way or another, from this point on, Nevaeh would either survive and grow, or wither and become enslaved to the abhorrent rulers of the Dark Circle.
“Where are you?” he called aloud to Mikaal and the one person who held the ability to create victory with his son: Areenna. Two breaths later, all thought vanished from his mind as the ship rushed toward land.
Back off, Enaid told Ilsraeth when they were a hundred yards from the edge of the land. The sails fell flat, the powers pushing them gone, but the ship did not slow, rather, it sped forward. The sea, under Enaid’s control, propelled the ship onward. When they were a hundred feet from the edge of the rocky shoreline, Enaid shouted to Timon, “Left! Hard!”
Without hesitation, Timon spun the wheel left, turning the boat leeward. When the side was perpendicular to land, Enaid closed her eyes and drew up the water beneath the ship. The ship rose a half foot above the level of the land. Enaid did not slow the water; rather, she pushed the icy seawater over the land and when the ship was inland enough, set it gently on the ground.
As the ship settled on land, the Sixes, with perfect timing, grasped their single ropes and went over the side, sliding down the ropes even as the warriors behind them raced to the railing.
The instant the Sixes moved, Roth gave the command for his army to follow. Twenty streams of Nevaen warriors descended the ladders. Still at the bow, Roth forced himself to wait. As much as he needed to be at the forefront of this battle, he knew he had to wait to make certain there was no attack by any hidden ghazis.
Eleven minutes after they landed, the army of Nevaeh had formed its ranks. With the Six groups in the lead, Roth, Enaid, Ilsraeth, and Timon, went with them in a distance-covering jog.
<><><>
Shortly after daybreak and two hours after waking, Areenna and Mikaal were mind-joined and sitting before the twin containers. They’d been there for almost an hour, testing ways to unlock the secret of what lay floating within the crystal walls.
I am lost with this. I have no idea of what to do, she told him.
You saw the Speaker last night. She said we would know today. We must wait.
I like this not! Something is wrong, but what…
No sooner had her thought raced through Mikaal’s mind than his vision blurred. When it cleared, he was standing on the steep western mountainside. Coming toward him were fifty dark forms wearing armor and carrying swords and battle-axes. They were ascending quickly toward the lower crest… and toward them. As the scene unfolded and Mikaal watched the dark force reach the plateau and charge at the cavern, behind them, a black-robed figure moved slowly; the emanations, drifting so foul from it that even within the vision, Mikaal gagged.
The scene shattered and Mikaal broke the joining with Areenna and rose to his feet. He had five minutes at the most. He raced to where his armor laid and drew on only his upper armor, freed his sword and long knife and turned back to Areenna. She was running toward her armor too.
He grabbed her, held her by her shoulders and said, “No matter what, do not leave the cavern.”
Her head jerked back, her green eyes flaring. “I will fight with you!”
“You saw the Dark Master is with them. He controls them. You must hold him back while I fight his slaves.”
“Mikaal—”
—It must be this way. There is no choice. You must close the entry. Turning, he went outside. When he was ten feet from the crystal wall, he pushed the tip of his sword into the earth, slipped his knife into its sheath, and summoned his powers. As the heat roared to life deep within his core, he called to Areenna. Where are they?
Areenna closed her eyes and joined with Gaalrie. Her eyes flew open. They are here, now!
He turned back to the entrance and raised both hands. Areenna joined her powers with his and together they released their combined abilities. The crystal sheet screamed in protest. Colors erupted across the surface. The chiming of the crystal was ear shattering as it sealed itself, locking Areenna, Charka and Hero within.
Charka’s cry of anguish, at the separation, hit Mikaal hard. He had no choice but to ignore it. Mikaal turned to face the oncoming ghazi-slaves, pulling the sword from the ground but leaving his knife sheathed when the first of the dark mutations charged him.
As the ghazi neared, a sudden wash of power, alien and putrid, attacked his mind. Areenna, behind the crystal door, pushed her powers at him, surrounded him with her shielding ability and freed him from the Dark Master’s attempt at control.
Mikaal called forth his primary weapon. While his right hand gripped the longsword, his left rose, fire spewing from his palm. The first line of attackers erupted in fire, yet they did not scream; they kept charging until the fire disintegrated their bodies.
Behind them, more rushed forward, carrying their axes and swords high as they charged him. While he fought, he sensed Areenna was in battle as well, fighting the Master even as she held her shield over him.
Release the shield! I hold my own, he added as one of the Master’s people burst through two burning slaves and charged directly at him. Although the creatures’ arms were afire, he swung the battle-axe at Mikaal’s head.
Mikaal turned sideways. His sword whistled through the air and met the oncoming soldier at the joining of the shoulders and neck, severing his attacker’s head. Completing the swing brought him to face the others moving toward him, slower now, more cautious.
The attackers spread out in a semi-circle, moving forward to encircle him. He released another stream of fire. This time it struck an invisible wall. The Master had rejoined the fight.
Areenna!
CHAPTER 30
When the crystal was sealed, Areenna could only stare at it. She exhaled loudly, closed her eyes and pushed herself to Mikaal. She joined with him to fight the Dark Master’s attack. Without thinking, she created a shield around Mikaal, freeing him to face the oncoming semi-human ghazi fighters.
Within seconds, the Master struck at her. She held him off and, in turn, fought back, all the while seeing the battle outside raging through Gaalrie’s eyes. The revolting strength projected against her was even viler than the power of the Black Witch. The force of the magic attacking her was the very essence of depravity, sucking out the light from her very core. Above all, she knew she had to occupy the Master to keep him from Mikaal.
Reacting to the vileness of the attack, she fought harder, bringing forth all she had learned from her mother, from Enaid and from every woman of power who had shown and given abilities to her. In doing so, she created a barrier so solid the Master of the Circle of Afzal stopped his attack.
In the pause, she heard Mikaal’s call to her and from Gaalrie’s eyes saw him surrounded by an ever-closing ring of the dark soldiers. “No!” she screamed and sent Gaalrie to Mikaal’s aid.
The moment she made the connection with Gaalrie, the Master attacked again, this time sending a terrible force at her. Although nothing physical could reach her, this was anything but. Like a fist slamming into her abdomen, the force struck hard and knocked her back. She landed hard on the rock of the cavern floor and slid another dozen feet, her head hitting the hard rock floor.
Pain spread everywhere. She cried out. Before she could rise, a giant unseen hand wrapped around her torso, its fingers squeezing the breath from her lungs. Her thoughts, already spinning from the fall, faded; she could barely take in a breath. Just before her mind shut down, she reached
inward and grasped a spark—the spirit of what made her herself— and called upon the powers the Master was suffocating.
Her powers responded instantly. She drew out Mikaal’s weapon first. Fire shot from every pore of her skin. The unseen hand jerked from her body. She pulled the flames from her and sent them outside, out past Mikaal, out past the charging mutations and directly at the Master.
In the same moment, Gaalrie struck the face of the soldier closest to Mikaal. When the treygone ripped her long talons across his face, his scream reached through the crystal barrier. Through Gaalrie’s eyes, she watched two black-armored fighters behind the fallen one, race over his pain-twisted body in an effort to reach Mikaal.
The Master raised both his black long-fingered hands and closed them into fists. The flames attacking him went out and his troops overran Mikaal.
Near her, Charka screamed in agony.
<><><>
Just before the first armored warrior reached Mikaal, Gaalrie attacked, ripping her talons across the man’s face. Blinded, the man fell screaming. Mikaal swung to his left and split open the armor and chest of another. He drew his knife and spun around. The circle of ghazi stopped short.
From behind came the rushing of feet. He turned just in time to catch the first one on the tip of his sword. He pushed up and pulled it free as another struck at him. The thing fell while Mikaal feinted at another onrushing warrior, sidestepped, and plunged the long-bladed knife into the man’s throat. He spun again only to find the others charging forward in a massive rush. No sword swung, no axe fell as they piled atop Mikaal, ghazi upon ghazi, crushing him until, mercifully, he lost consciousness.
<><><>
Even as the flames winked out of existence, she lost contact with Mikaal. She rejoined Gaalrie, who flew above the battle now and saw the armored mutants pile atop Mikaal. “No,” she whispered.
The Master struck in that moment. Not a physical blow but one directed at her mind. Like pincers, he drove at her, squeezing her head, trying to penetrate her mind and take control of her thoughts and body.