Thursday 12 January 2017

Mamelon 2 - Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN




At the Wright’s home in leafy Tonbridge Wells, three shadowy figures stood solemnly and close together in the master bedroom.  Gail and Tim Wright held hands while Etta the Magela joined them in mind and spirit if not in body. Together, they pooled ages-old powers that had been both blessing and curse since birth.
Tim Wright struggled to project his alter ego across time and space to reach Mamelon in his role as Timon, Holy Seer. Gail, it seemed, for her part, could not get beyond towering ramparts of ancient stone that seemed impregnable.  At her side, Etta willed her daughter, at considerable cost to her own well-being, to focus on the son whom she was frantic to save.
Gail, feeling all but drained of her natural senses, somehow managed to rally, the more so as support from the others flooded into her and gave her the strength and vision to command a gap in the far distant wall through which she was able to enter.  At the same time, she was aware of other, less friendly forces, hovering at the edge of her mind and threatening harm. Yet, there was, too, a hint of something or someone else to which she could not even begin to put a name so did not try, but knew instinctively ‘it’ was on her side.
She found herself in a huge cavern and soon spotted the druids and the makeshift litter on which they carried the inert figure of Michael Wright or Michal as she must think of him here. This proved less difficult than she imagined as Gail felt herself being absorbed into the entire Mamelon ethos and mythology as if she had never been away. I am Galia of Mamelon, she silently repeated to herself several times before it became unnecessary because now she was Galia of Mamelon.  Her thoughts flew to Calum, her firstborn, and her heart skipped several beats. Hastily, she concentrated on Michal.
“Speak not of Calum,” Etta had told her sharply when she had tried to raise the subject with her mother. “Don’t even think of him. Dark powers have acute hearing. “No one must suspect he lives or not only Calum but all of us risk losing everything. Everything, daughter, everything, she repeated.” A single glance had warned Galia to drop the matter instantly and resist asking even one of the many questions on her lips. 
Galia took several deep breaths. For now, it must be her firstborn Motherworld child to whom she must devote a single minded care and attention.
She followed the druids through a maze of passages that took them ever deeper into the mountains. Finally, they paused for rest. The two Robed Ones carrying Michal laid the litter down. Almost at once, they made a circle and she was almost overwhelmed by the concentration of power that descended upon her like a raging flood.  Gasping for breath, she rallied and hurried towards the unconscious Michael, praying that, between the three of them, they could keep her warded from druid mischief. As yet, there was nothing to suggest the Robed Ones were aware of her presence. Dear, Ri, let it stay that way.
At the litter, Gail of Tunbridge Wells, now Galia of Mamelon, concentrated wholly upon the young man she must think of as Michal or he would not respond to her powers nor would they have any effect anyway on any protective wards the druids may have placed around him. In vain, she summoned every ounce of will power to restore the still, pale, figure on the litter to a state of consciousness, at least to the extent that he might become even faintly aware of her presence. She sent a stream of familiar images into his mind, but to no avail. Soon exhausted, she began to panic. There was no telling for how long the druids would be distracted either by their own rites or her magic. Should they discover and challenge her, she was even less certain how she might fare.
It was on the cusp of Galia’s hope and despair that Michal opened his eye.
“Mother?” he groaned. Gail heaved a sigh of relief, not only that he was awake but at his way of addressing her. Michael only ever called her, Mum.
“Yes, Michal.it is I. No questions, we do not have time. You are in the company of druids that mean you harm, and I have come to take you to a safer place.”
Michal sat up and gave his mother a fierce hug while observing The Robed Ones over her shoulder. “How long before they...?”
“My guess is, not long.” She told him bluntly. “We need to go now.  Can you walk?”
“I think so?” Gingerly, Michal swung his legs to the ground, took several steps, and would have fallen heavily if his mother had not caught him.”
“It’s no good. I am too weak. You must lend me of your strength, Mother.”
“I dare not, my son. I need all I have or I cannot stay even for the short while I am needed here. Empty your mind of all but the will to live, survive, and more. Journey far within, and further still. Let your very selfhood fly all time and space until it can reach out and touch the spirit with which you were born, and then enter. Let it mingle with the blood coursing your veins. Motherworlder, you may be, but you are of the bloodline no less for that. It will help you, save you, and shine light on you where there is only darkness.  But you must want it, my son ….want it, will it, acknowledge it, and then practise to use it well if any of us are ever to be returned to the reality of our first choice. “
“Choice..?” The word thundered through his brain.  “I have a choice?” The words sounded weak, feeble, and he barely recognized his own voice.
“Choose, Michal. Choose to seek, find, and learn to use or…” Suddenly overcome by an intense weariness, Galia, unable even to finish her sentence, sank to her knees. She could but trust her firstborn Mmotherworld child would reach such a place within himself where words were unnecessary and he would understand all she was trying to say, hopefully far more.
For his part, Mick-Michal found himself drifting on the very sound of his mother’s words; this made no sense until he, too, was overwhelmed by an awareness of his own breathing so intense that it hurt. His head began to throb. At the same time, he became dimly aware of another sound, a vaguely familiar one trying to find a way through to his inner ear. Suddenly, the lilt and lyric of the Okay Song burst into his head and blossomed like a flower, every note a petal opening up to some tawny dawn.  Now he was flying through the air across the wild, angry, wilting Mamelon landscape. At last, he touched down. A veil of mist began to lift. I know this place. Something brushed his face and floated to the ground. He bent to retrieve it, recognized its coppery hues and turned to find himself at the Fire Tree, Heart of Elvendom.
“Greetings, young Michal.” a soft, lilting voice reached his ears almost as if it had sprung from the Okay Song itself.
The figure of a man, whose features he could barely make out although his senses told him he was old, made Michal start. At first, from what he could tell, he thought it was Astor, the grandfather to whom had first been drawn but learned since to mistrust on a previous visit to Mamelon. How could I have forgotten? Memories of that visit passed like a twenty-first century movie through his mind. He tensed, grew wary, and then relaxed completely. This was not Astor, He was in no danger. The stranger meant him no harm, on the contrary. I can trust this man with my life.
I can’t see or hear you very well,” Michal thought it best to be honest.
“That’s because I am here, and am not here. I am as you find me, and not as you find me. I belong here, and do not belong here. We have much in common, wouldn’t you say?”
Michal nodded.  Excepting his mother, he had never felt as confused by or as comfortable with anyone in his whole life before.
“You have journeyed far, young Michal, and have further yet to go. But this is a good beginning. That is to say, as much as any awareness implies beginning. Trust your senses and they will bring you to a good end. That is to say, as much as any awareness implies an end. It is not so, of course. But that is something else we can discover for ourselves or impose lesser alternatives of our own making. Go now, and tell your mother how we met by the Fire Tree, Heart of Elvendom, and she will be reassured. You are of her blood, young Motherworlder, part elf, and part druid for all you are but human. These parts of a whole, they will serve you well, my friend, but only if you choose to let them and are willing to trust magic over human instinct as and when the time is right”
“How will I know the time is right?” Michal was not sure he understood.
“You will know, and then it is up to you which path you take. Now, close your eyes and return to your mother for I fear her strength is failing and I must attend to it as best I can.”
The image of the old man began to fade.  “Who are you? How are you called?” Michal cried, “You know who I am. Surely, I may know who you are also?”
But the image had already vanished.
Like birdsong in a light, summer air, Michal heard once again the command to close his eyes, and did so only to be instantly catapulted into a blankness that was as uncomfortable as it was uninspiring. Hastily, he opened them again, and found himself gazing into his mother’s eyes; they looked troubled and anxious, but lit up like twin moons in a dark sky the second he gave her a huge, reassuring grin. “I saw an old man sitting by the Fire Tree…” he began but Galia put a finger to her son’s lips.
“That is good, very good, but we are running out of time. You must go Michal, and go now.”
“Are you coming with me?”
Galia shook her head. “I must return to the Motherworld. Believe me. I can help you all from there, far better than if I were to remain, even if that was an option which it isn’t,” she added ruefully. “Go and find your brother. He is with friends, and they are your friends too.”
“But I have no idea where he is or Bethan either.”
“Use the puli, and it will guide you to Peter. As for Bethan…” Galia sighed. “She is safe. Mulac will see she comes to know harm.” For now, she added silently.
Michal’s serious expression brightened considerably. “Mulac may be Nu-gen, but I trust him with all my heart.”
“There is more to Mulac than you know…” Galia began before realizing what she had said and clapped a hand to her mouth to prevent all she longed to say. Yet, what can I say and how would it help to tell you Mulac is your brother, Calum? Dear, Ri, what am I thinking? Minds, too have ears. I must go, now, before I ruin everything. “Go, my son, and know that you and your brother are much loved by parents who are sorrier than you will ever know for burdening you with Mamelon’s past, present, and future.” She gave Michal an impassioned hug, kissed him on the cheek, and was gone before he even realized it, vanished just like the old man.
Still feeling slightly dazed, but much stronger, Michal felt in his pocket for the small, flat stone shaped like a triangle that had been a parting gift from La-Ri, the elf queen. Instantly, it pointed in the direction its owner trusted he should follow.
Moving away from the druid circle and into one of several tunnels leading ever further into the mountain, Michal discovered to his amazement that he could not only run, but also faster and lighter of foot than ever before.
Galia watched him go and managed not to cry if only because it would further drain her of those innermost resources she was relying on to see her safely back to Tonbridge Wells. It came as no surprise that she felt no inclination to stay except for her children. She had hated Mamelon once, and she hated now, even more so because it threatened her children. All my children... Will I ever see Calum and Nadya again? How they must hate me for abandoning them?  But I thought you were dead. Astort said…
But there was no time for regrets or recriminations. Gathering all her willpower and struggling to establish mind contact with Etta and Timon, Galia  prepared herself for the journey back to the Motherworld and the Gail Wright persona she had long since adopted and grown into just as she might have grown into a new pair of shoes until they fitted perfectly.
Her mind reached out. Again and it again, it reached out, but found nothing and no one, only a vast emptiness across which her inner eye could see no way to cross unaided.  She began to panic. Help me! Timon, Etta, help me! But her cries fell on deaf ears. Her heart sank. For now, at least, there was no discernible way back. In desperation, she tried Astor. Father, help me. If you ever cared for me at all, help me now. Again, she received no response.  She thought she sensed a presence of sorts but could not determine its nature, only that it meant well and might even be trying to help her, but it was barely a flicker and was quickly snuffed out like a candle. She considered the analogy. Had the candle ben snuffed out by accident or design?  Someone is working against me, but who? She shivered despite the clammy heat.  For it had to be her old enemy, Ragund.
No longer did Galia resist the tears welling in her tired eyes as she confronted her greatest fear, one that had haunted her far, far, longer than she cared to recall.
Suddenly, through her tears, she saw a dear face she had not seen for more lifetimes than she cared to count. “Calum!” she tried to call out, but no sound came from her lips. The image remained. though, but wore an expression of distress and fear. She struggled to send positive, reassuring thought waves, and seemed to sense a response, but could not be sure. 
As suddenly as it has appeared, the image vanished, and there was nothing left to hold on to but her innate identity as Galia of Mamelon, consort to Michal the Great. She was unprepared for the rush of adrenalin that coursed her veins. Yet, had she not old scores to settle? She owed her children that much, and her murdered husband. Bracing herself for whatever may lie ahead, she heaved a huge sigh that conveyed mixed feelings, but primarily one of fierce anticipation.

Galia of Mamelon had come home.