‘It’s finished May,’ whispered Gideon placing his warm hand over Mayan’s, ‘It’s ok, it’s done,’ he whispered again as he wiped a tear from her wet face. Thaddrick was still speaking as she turned and clung to Gideon tightly, once more closing her eyes and quickly becoming reabsorbed in Thaddrick’s story.
‘In exchange for the memory orb, leniency was offered to Astin and he accepted, this at least gave him a chance for life, he was offered a place on the exodus from Arotia and he accepted. Themos was able through Astin’s treachery to plant a hidden link in his mind and through this link; he was able to read the mind of Astin’s master. A dangerous, tentative connection, barely there and although unable to influence the Gatherer actions, information via the link enabled the Council of Mages for the first time to capture and hold all the known sympathisers and infiltrators within the castle, the deed was kept silent by using one of the last precious spell crystals. Then the council sent another envoy to the Gatherer, this last with just one message.
‘We offer surrender,’ it said. Arotia was to be handed to the Gatherer and his followers in a ceremony to be held at a place of his own choosing. Théoden and the council knew this was the pivotal point in their plan, a last ditch attempt to save if not themselves and their planet, at least part of their culture. This plan, so simple in its conception had to work. Their hopes centred on their enemy being reliable in his vanity, in his absolute certainty that he was the victor.
To vast relief, the Gatherer, drunk with ambition and elation at his final triumph accepted the terms of the surrender and with arrogance, he himself demanded the handing over of power to take place in the Chamber of Justice, at the heart of Parton Castle, a fitting place he believed, for a new ruler to begin his reign.
This had been a moment of joy, tinged with infinite sadness for Théoden and his fellow mages, for the plan to work and the Demon’s spell to be countered, the ceremony had had to be in the great chamber. The balance needed was great indeed; Théoden hugged his beloved wife and infant son goodbye, knowing he would never hold them again.
‘We’ll meet again my loves,’ he said, ‘we’ll meet on the ‘Journey.’’
Mayan let the tears fall from her eyes as she watched the woman bravely holding her son and kissing her husband goodbye. There was such love between the two people Mayan could feel it, it almost broke her heart to see the beautiful woman let a single tear fall as the man gently stroked her cheek with his finger. She reached for Gideon’s hand knowing he was seeing the same things and hoping Gideon could feel the love she felt for him. She could have stayed there watching the couple but the pictures changed once more, as Thaddrick continued to speak.
‘The Gatherer arrived at the appointed hour with the majority of his vast army left outside the castle walls in the remains of the once beautiful stone city. He rode with his entourage of mages through the gates, amazed at how much of the city and its castle had survived the constant earth tremors. Taking great lungfulls of the magically cleaned air, he rode on toward the heart of the castle and, he believed, his destiny.
The enormous circular room built entirely of grey stone and crystal, had so far managed to withstand the constant explosions and rocking of the earth. Large glass panels adorned the walls around an outer walkway where stone columns supported a vast crystal ceiling; this filled the room with light, both natural and reflected, making the vast hall seem infinite in its proportions. Magic was a tangible thing here in this hall, the Gatherer’s skin tingled as his blood responded to the magic he could feel in the very fabric of the air.’
Varan gasped aloud, his mind in a whirl; the pictures Thaddrick was drawing in his mind were images he was as familiar with as his face. The tattoo Gath stripped from my back had depicted this place, the rock carvings I made in my cell... all a crude attempt at copying this... this chamber. Varan shook his head to clear his thoughts as Thaddrick continued unaware of his confusion.
‘The Gatherer, looked about him and found what he sought, he locked eyes with the leader of the Council of Schools, Théoden. The man was standing across the vast hall with his family, one hand holding his wife who looked from where he stood as if she had been crying, she held her infant in her arms, Théoden’s other hand rested on the shoulder of a young man who stood beside him. One of Théoden’s reclusive older brothers, whom the gatherer had never seen but knew all about from spies, was standing to the other side of the boy, he was almost hidden behind a pillar mumbling to himself and scribbling into a book.’
Listening to Thaddrick’s words, the vision remained real and the company watched as behind their eyes the drama continued to unfold, they could almost feel the thoughts and fears of the people in the great hall. Mayan shuddered, as her perspective became that of the Gatherer himself.
Themos, the Gatherer smiled, he had sent a spy to take that particular individual. Quickly as he tried to reach the man’s mind a light headed feeling suddenly enveloped him, then disappeared as fast as it had come. No… nothing, Astin must have been unsuccessful, he thought, strange though… he stared hard at Themos contemptuously; unable to believe Astin had failed, he had until now believed Astin had orchestrated the surrender. The old fool is still mumbling, he thought as he caught sight of Themos staring at him.
Looking once more about him and ignoring the small sounds of warning in his head he continued into the vast hall. He stepped over the circular outer walkway, between the outer walls of the hall and through two of the twelve majestic pillars that dominated the space, as if they were legs reaching high into the air supporting the vast crystal ceiling, his eyes never leaving those of his defeated opponent. At the very base of each pillar stood a robed mage, head bowed and hooded, arms held across chests and hands locked between large sleeves. More of this defeated council, he thought.
At any other time, the Gatherer would have taken a moment to admire and gloat over what he considered was now his but always impatient, he moved to the centre of the room where a raised stone dais held a granite throne, encrusted with beautifully coloured gemstones. His entourage moved as one to shadow the Schools mages around the gallery. Although vain, the Gatherer was not a stupid man, he had taken precautions to ensure every member of his company was a battle mage. If this was a trap then he was prepared, his own Demon enhanced magic combined with the magic of his men was enough to know the outcome of any battle within these walls would still see him as the victor.
As the Gatherer walked the last few steps to the raised stone platform, the earth again began to shake making him stumble up the stone steps of the circular dais. Reaching forward to stop himself from falling completely, he placed his hands on the floor for support. The stone was surprisingly smooth and cool, the Gatherer let his fingers hold the cool polished granite as the quake continued to rumble from deep underground. Valeria, Théoden’s wife held her breath as the Gatherer seemed to stroke the stone beneath his fingers, the stone remained solid but an inch either way and the Gatherer would have felt the invisible and intricate symbols carved into it, entirely encircling the crystal and gem studded stone chair above. Another shake of the earth and the quake passed allowing the ceremony to continue. Standing once more, the Gatherer took his position on the raised dais to accept the surrender of Arotia.’
Gideon opened his eyes, he felt sick and his mind whirled, he held on to Mayan’s hand for support. He thought he could feel the earth beneath him shaking and the air turning to violence and death. Thaddrick continued to speak as he watched Gideon and his reaction to the story. Roidan moving quietly placed her hands over Gideon’s eyes encouraging him to close them once more and ‘see’ as Thaddrick spoke. Gideon’s lids closed and Roidan returned to her place behind her husband.
‘Théoden, watched by his silently weeping wife walked toward the Gatherer with the emblem of the schools, the circlet, its thick band of gold and powerful twelve sided diamond symbol held high in his hands and knelt upon the first step still holding the emblem high, his head bowed as if in defeat.�
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‘Théoden, place the crown upon my head yourself, it will show to the world your complete acceptance of me,’ said the Gatherer as he lowered himself on to the beautiful throne. Suddenly as he sat, blue lights in the stone dais surrounding the throne seemed to come alive through the deeply carved spell symbols, they swirled about him and grew in intensity. Within moments, a stone and glass cell with a small crystal atop it had surrounded the Gatherer and looking up he could see a second larger crystal suspended above that.
‘Treachery,’ the evil one screamed as the magic closed about him holding him fast. He screamed in vain as another, last fearsome battle ensued, the Gathersmen cut off from their master and lost without his supporting Demon enhanced strength behind them began to fall and everywhere skin itched as battle magic imbued the air.
The Gatherer screamed repeatedly in frustration as he realised Théoden and his mages had set wards on his cell, powerful protection spells against assault from the inside, captured by deception he raged, knowing the fault was his own. He could do nothing but watch in anger and intense frustration as his eleven chief followers fought and died one by one; he felt their loss of power keenly as each man fell to the embrace of death and appointment with the Demon. All around the castle, the invading army of Gathersmen began to waken from the compulsion spell as its source, the Gatherer weakened, weary and scared they began to crowd into the castle grounds looking for clean air.
Another earthquake began to rumble across the land in response to the abundance of spent battle magic, the floor of the cell along with the great room began to heave and buck, the crystal of the cell stretched and thinned threatening to break.
The quaking ground at last began to quieten once more amidst screams of pain and death, then a last massive contraction of the earth and the quaking eased. The Gatherer still held fast in his ornate cell noticed a tiny crack, a weakening in one corner of the crystal ceiling above his head, hope soared in his evil soul but fell just as quickly as the warding held.
The soft cries of the wounded and the silence of the dead became ominous and he could feel the dead souls swirling throughout the chamber, their secret onward journey not yet begun. From his warded cell, he watched as the fallen, both mage and Gathersmen alike were carried away quietly and quickly. Hate filled his black heart; he was incensed, captured by a simple trick.
Injured and holding a bloodied arm across his chest, Théoden stood with his back to the Gatherer, the emblem of schools still in his one good hand; he solemnly walked across the detritus of battle to his eldest son and gently placed it on his head. Kissing his wife’s hand once more he moved back to take his place at the base of one of the two pillars so recently defended by a schools mage. Not once did he look upon his vanquished enemy. To his left a second mage claimed the base of the only other vacant pillar, Théoden smiled sadly at his friend and as if a silent signal had been given, the remaining school’s mages began to chant, just softly at first, a low harmonic drone easy to listen to and almost intoxicating in its fervour.
The Gatherer remained a silent watcher in his opulent prison; although still held fast he began to itch again. His skin crawling almost unbearably, like a million spiders feeding on him all at once and he could feel incredibly strong magic as it was used against him, somehow it was being drawn from him and in a way he just could not fathom. He silently screamed in fury as he frantically worked on the tiny crack unnoticed, mumbling and chanting himself, loosening and unravelling the warding spells holding his own weakened power at bay.’
Varan and Sonal sitting close together at the table and so engrossed in the tale, added their own voices to the mages chant, a chant they knew, a chant they had learnt as boys at their father’s knee.
‘Outside his cell the chanting increased, the tones changed, building in intensity and volume until the vast hall was almost vibrating and the crystal ceiling began to resonate in reply to the music and singing of the mages. Inside the cell the air began to thicken, bright colours began to swirl and bend in front of the Gatherer’s eyes, pink swathes of silken air turned to red then purple. Yellow and green ribbons of colour began to dance and mingle with the purple, running like rivers of light and as his world spun, becoming lighter and brighter, then darkness began to gather in the very centre of the cell. A spinning vortex was born ever growing darker and denser in colour as it changed shape and took on the form of a hexagon, another appeared then another and another, until finally, as the world turned black around him the hundreds of hexagons tessellated and seemingly became solid. He felt changes within his own body and being, he began to expand and darken, he felt as if he was thinning out, that he was losing substance somehow, that he was becoming one with his cell.
Through eyes that were no longer eyes, he watched in astonishment as for the very first time he looked upon his soul as a tangible thing, black and evil. His cell expanded with him as the darkness held, fused into its hexagonal shape, it stopped briefly then grew again though it shimmered like a liquid, a deep, dark black velvety nothing. Still the singing increased, infusing his brain with unwelcome hope for Arotia. His fragile mind began to lose its grip on sanity as he tried to see himself as a man within the confines of the crystal prison and as the singing continued he found a certain peace, a ‘oneness’ with his insanity.
Suddenly the singing stopped, a complete silence filled him. Emotion for the moment suspended, he could still see the mouths of the battle hardened mages opening and closing, he could see the crystal ceiling above him vibrating and the enormous hanging crystal spinning, he felt nothing, could hear nothing, he had become one with the still, velvet darkness. He watched the scenes unfolding before him in the Chamber of Justice ardently, he could see scores of people gathering, pouring out of doors and corridors all leading to the chamber. Where have they come from? He thought dispassionately as the lines of people, all carrying boxes and crates, old, young, mage and novice alike gathered before Théoden. Théoden smiled fondly at the people before looking lovingly again at his wife. His voice, still held in thrall by the song faltered slightly before strengthening once more. From all societies and all lifestyles, Théoden had gathered these refugees, the last hope of a dying planet.
Thaddrick, Themos’s twin and Valeria, Théoden’s wife led the procession, his hand lightly on her elbow, her arms holding her small son tightly, as if she would never let go. Absently he watched Themos as he ran from the crowd and thrust something into Valeria’s hand; it sparkled as brightly as the tears coursing down her silent face. She walked past her singing husband with dignity and sorrow in every movement. Turning to look at him one last time she mounted the dais, and glanced toward her eldest child still standing on the walkway near his father. She smiled sadly and turned as she stepped toward what he, the Gatherer had become. Toward him, into him, through him…and disappeared!’
‘No...,’ Mayan whispered, as she watched the pair separate. She could feel the despair of the woman and the hopelessness of the man, Théoden as they realised they would never see each other again. With silent tears coursing down her face she felt Gideon squeeze her hand and she gathered the strength to remain within Thaddrick’s story.
‘In his altered form the Gatherer realised the people were not reappearing on the other side of him.
‘Where are you going, what’s happening?’ He tried to ask as the cortege passed through. There was no answer but suddenly wave after wave of strong emotion assaulted his peace, both hope and sadness, fear and joy. Fury overcame him once more, a new awareness of his situation.
‘I can still feel their souls Théoden Mage,’ he shouted noiselessly and fervently began again to work on the cracked glass he knew was there but could not see. He could feel the people’s pain of leaving; their terror of him, and their fear at going to an unknown place and their intense fear gave him strength. He became aware he had transformed, changed somehow into a gateway, a door, to where? He thought, knowing the mages were using his own powers against him. Inwardly he seethed;
how he hated them, the mages for their deception and the people of Arotia for their rejection of him.
The Tessellation Saga. Book Two. 'The One' Page 23