Mamelon 2 - Chapter Twenty-One

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

In Lunis, City of Moons, Ragund, the Dark Mage gazed into the seer bowl and rubbed his hands with glee. “Fools, they have entered the tomb, but they will not exit!  Let them try magic and they will see how Ragund can match spell for spell. There is no escape. Already, the Sea of Marmela courses the veins of Mamelon once again. Much will be purified by the remains of our once abundant plant life along the way, and who better to control its replenished reservoirs but its supreme Ruler. So, the Spring of Life is a myth, eh? Fools, they do not suspect, and will never know the truth of it. The secret of eternal life will be mine, mine, and mine alone! He gazed critically at gnarled palms outstretched as if bestowing a blessing, “And youth, that also will be mine again. Mine and one other….” He ran to an adjacent suite of chambers and proceeded to hammer with his fists on the main entrance door, crying excitedly, “Shireen, my love, my life, come!” She would often ignore him, he was used to that, but on this occasion he became angry. “Shireen, come, I have need of you!” he called again.’

            Again, there was no response.

            “Shireen!” he fumed, “Come, I command you!”  But nothing, only a curiously ominous sillence…. 

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            “What is that noise?” Shireen asked Radik, “It sounds like…”

“Water, it is water!” the Krill leader shouted ecstatically and performed a lively jig until a contemptuous sneer from his companion brought him to a sharp, sheepish, not to mention ungainly halt. “So, what now…?”

Shireen hesitated, uncharacteristically unnerved. The mad, rushing sound was becoming louder. She had not divined this. I must return to my true self at once or I shall drown here. She closed her eyes. I must not panic, there is plenty of time. Without sparing g Radik a passing thought, she concentrated all her life force upon the dream-self left to its own devices in Lunis, City of Moons. It was a simple, straightforward exchange she had enacted without the slightest difficulty more times than she cared to remember. Whether or not her dream-self would be of any help to Radik, she had no way of knowing, although she genuinely hoped so. She would miss Radik if he drowned for she had plans for them both. Oh, such plans…

The Here-and-Now, however, was neither the time nor the place to speculate. Eyes tightly closed, Shireen willed herself back to Lunis. Her will, though, was thwarted. Her eyes flew open of their own accord. What, the…?

It was Radik who spotted the kikiri first. Shireen saw where he pointed and gasped in disbelief, releasing a ghastly cackle of mixed emotions that unnerved even Radik. This cannot be. No, no,  no, it is impossible. No kikiri ever sought out or confronted its creator. It is a bad dream, nothing more. She closed her eyes again and concentrated on the dream-self pacing the richly carpeted floor of her bed-chamber as if sensing something was wrong, terribly wrong.

The kikiri drew near, an expression of malignant intent in bead-like eyes, the only animated aspect of its skeletal face. Yet, its very existence should have denied it so much as a flicker of emotion even under extreme provocation.

Help, it has help, but from where, and from whom? Swallowing hard, Shireen struggled to allay a growing terror and make the exchange. In her mind’s eye, she made visual contact again with her dream-self easily enough, but that was all as any attempt at entering it and thereby initiating the exchange proved fruitless. Attack, she decided was the only alternative left open to her. Even as she braced herself to do battle, the sound of water, roaring now like a charging lion, homed in on them ever closer.

“What shall we do?” Radik, too, was engaged in a battle royal of his own as he began to panic, an act of last resort unheard of among Krills since the beginning of time. Frantically, he looked to Shireen, but she was preoccupied with the kikiri, so he took the only possible course.

Radik began to climb.

Shireen summoned all her powers and confronted the approaching kikiri with a look that would have made an advancing army turn tail and run.

The kikiri did not falter.

Straining to sustain the presence of magic and focus directly it on the kikiri that had once been Arissa, she of the bloodline, Shireen felt her energies begin slowly but surely to ebb away. She will absorb me! “No, No, it cannot, must not be!” she screamed, “Fiendish thing, how is this possible? Who are you? Kikiri you seem, kikiri you are, but there is more to you than I created. What are you? Who or what aids you that dares to challenge me?”

“Who dares, wins,” a mocking voice whispered in her ear. At first she thought it was Tol, but realized her mistake almost at once. A truth, long dormant in the minds of any in Mamelon for successive lifetimes, suddenly dawned. In that same instance, the kikiri entered her body as if it were passing through a door.

Even above the lion’s roar, Radik heard the awful shriek, and looked down from where he struggled to find a foothold. What he saw made him lose his grip and caused him to tumble into the torrent of water that suddenly erupted from the entrance to what he assumed must be the Tomb of the Creator. Even as he thrashed out and tried to save himself, he saw Shireen literally evaporate before his eyes. Where she had stood, there was no sign of her or the kikiri. A strong swimmer, he went through the motions but accepted it was useless even before he succumbed to the drag of the current and lost consciousness. 

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In Lunis, City of Moons, Ragund used magic to enter Shireen’s apartments, something they had each vowed never to do at the very start of their relationship. Even so, he had attempted it once, but had been able to penetrate a succession of well-placed wardings. She had always conceded he was the greater mage while he had to acknowledge the extent of female cunning beyond his comprehension. “We make a fine pair,” he had told her more than once. “A fine pair, indeed,” he murmured aloud as he continued to search.

Is it hers… he wondered, this hand, as cold as ice, pressing against my heart as if trying to warn me? “Warn me of what, of whom?” he demanded aloud of a painting of Michal the Great and his consort, Galia, hanging upside down on a near wall.

But the painting made no answer and Shireen no appearance.  
    

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            Members of the little gathering in the tomb-like gut of the mountain carefully avoided meeting each other’s eyes as they sought a clue to their survival, wrestling bravely with hope, fear and despair in turn.

“Can you not use magic to get us out of here?” Ricci pleaded with Etta,

The magela shook her head. “I have tried, but it would appear the mountain has no fondness for magic since it thwarts me at every turn.”

 Ricci sighed and lapsed into a deep sulk.

Beth searched her mind for Tol, but he was nowhere to be found. Calum instinctively understanding the reason for her tenseness, said nothing so as not to distract her. It had occurred to him also that Tol might aid them.

Irina’s imagination returned her safely to the succulent evergreen that was the Forest of Gar where she and Heron walked hand in hand, gazing adoringly into the very eyes each now avoided.  She sighed. Having never been in love before, the irony was not lost upon her that a tomb was not the best place to acknowledge her feelings. Besides, she had no way of knowing for sure if Heron felt the same way. Even so, his hand in hers was reassuring and she had no intention of letting go.

“Daughter, daughter, have you really no idea of how we can escape this place?” Etta tugged gently at Galia’s arm.

“Mother…?” Calum and Mick exclaimed simultaneously, “But that makes you…”

“I am your grandmother, yes,” Etta agreed, a stiff smile relaxing, thus returning her briefly to her old, ageless self.

“Oh, my goodness, but this is no place for family reunions, I’ll say” Ricci commented to no one in particular.

Meanwhile, Calum experienced a sharp, excruciating stab of pain that made his head swim and vision blur. One hand lifted of its own accord; he had no control over it. The other hand remained in Beth’s tightening grip as she, too, experienced a mind-blowing sensation beyond human understanding.  Somehow, Calum’s hand in hers had established a live connection of sorts other than with her…but with what or whom, she could not, dare not even guess. Terrified, she managed to stay calm, sensing a weird affinity with whatever forces were at work, and that they required her to stay calm if only for Mulac’s benefit.  Calum, not Mulac, she corrected herself over and over, and it helped.

The right arm above Calum’s head swung violently to the left with such suddenness that he almost lost his balance, stumbling as he swung on his heels, saved from falling only by Beth’s surefooted stance and tightening grip on his left hand until its knuckles turned white. At the same time, he could not restrain a yelp, much like an animal in pain, as his forefinger almost jumped out of its socket and hit the roof. There it remained, stuck, as if pointing, But at what? His vision began to clear. He spotted a large square panel that no one had noticed, presumably because it was only a shade lighter than the others. Instantly, his vision cleared altogether although it took a few moment before he realized he had regained control of his arm. He continued to point, however, his fingertip identifying the panel. “Can you see it?” he called to the others.

“See what?” a chorus of mystified voices answered him.

“I see it,” Beth said in a voice so alien and strained, she might have been a stranger in their midst. As it was, she felt herself in the grip of something horrible, as if her body had been invaded by some alien presence. At the same time, she thought she heard a familiar voice in one ear and sensed the presence was telling her it meant no harm, and she must not panic. Instantly, she relaxed.

Simultaneously, Mulac’s free arm fell to his side. “It’s gone! The panel, it’s gone! It was a way out, I know it. I just know it,” he repeated as if to reassure himself he had not been dreaming.  “What the…?” he started as Beth released his hand and left him feeling acutely vulnerable. The reason why then hit him with all the force and cacophony of a thunderclap. I love her. As Mulac, he had become resigned to loving the motherworld female. As Calum, he had been less sure, questioning not his feelings for her but any likelihood that whatever future awaited him could possibly include a Keeper. Now he was sure. Somehow, they would forge a future together. That it was not his decision alone quite escaped him for the moment. His elation was such that even having lost sight of the all-important panel could not dampen his spirits especially as her words hit home. “You see it?”

By way of a response, Beth brushed past him, placed both hands on the panel that stood out from all the others and gently pushed.

Nothing happened.

The others watched with bated breath as she cautiously felt for whatever was required to shift the slab. Come on, come on, MOVE, damn you, she pleaded silently. As if by way of a response, the stone slid away, the instant one fingertip lightly touched a button invisible to the naked eye.

Everyone looked up a vast, narrow, square chimney where, high above, a patch of reddish-blue sky was greeted with cries of relief and amazement.

Spirits easily raised, though, were just as easily dampened. “We cannot be expected to climb that!” Ricci stated categorically, and there were murmurs of agreement.

“Perhaps if you climb on my shoulders and take a closer look, you will have a better idea of what we face?” Calum suggested.

Beth wasted no time doing just that. The greater part of her body now within the chimney’s dark confines, she was able to make out grooves in the stone just wide enough to provide footholds. These, however, occupied only one side of the chimney. There were similar grooves, but more widely spaced on the opposite side. They would need to ease their way to the top with backs pressed to one side while their feet sought the grooves to further their progress. She sighed. The wider spaced grooves would provide occasional rest, it was true, but the task facing them was daunting to say the least.

“Surely, there must be another way? Can’t someone use magic? Isn’t that what you people do?” Ricci glared accusingly at first Etta and then Galia. It crossed his mind that elves, too, had magic, but even his own powers were greater than theirs so he paid them no attention.

“Do you think we haven’t tried?” Etta snapped, “Magic clearly has no place here.”

“So Galia and Mulac find an escape route by chance? I think not. You used magic, yes?” his expression plainly defying first one and then the other to deny it.

“Not magic, no…” said Galia slowly as if searching her mind for an explanation that was not forthcoming.

Calum helped Beth down, each appreciating the other’s closeness.

Beth was still getting used to this new Mulac. He was gentler, as decisive and authoritative as ever but more…considerate of others. Yes, that’s the word I want, considerate. Their eyes met as he swung her to the ground. She started, and quickly looked away. She had seen love in them, yes, but also fear. Mulac would have died before betraying any hint that he was afraid of anything or anyone. Only then did she begin to appreciate the enormity of his situation. If she was finding it hard to shake off Mulac, how much harder must it be for him? Concentrate on the matter in hand, woman, just concentrate. She was only too glad of the distraction, promptly followed her own advice and explained the task ahead. “There are grooves hewn into the rock on one side, shallow, but sufficient for a foothold. We will need to climb horizontally with our backs to the opposite wall where there appear to be well-spaced shelves where at least one person may rest from time to time.”

“Impossible, Ricci exclaimed, “It cannot be done. Even if we were to succeed without breaking our necks, what then? What goes up has to find a way down. Do I have to remind everyone that we are at the mercy of a mountain? If we cannot rely on magic to alleviate either ascent or descent, we might as well lie down and die now, I’ll say.”

“Perhaps, but we have to try,” said Irina.

“Do we have a choice?” Heron shrugged.

“We can do it, I know we can. The mountain is not finished with us yet nor is Mamelon,” Pete piped up with conviction, taking everyone by surprise for he had said little for some time and they assumed it was because he was so young and more easily frightened by what had been a terrifying turn of events by any standards. Intuitively, the red haired Motherworlder spoke up again. “I’m not afraid, and neither should you be. You’re thinking I’m just a kid and hasn’t a clue. Well, I’m thinking you are all old enough to know better. Where’s your spunk, eh?”

“Spunk…?” Fred required an explanation.

“Spirit, courage,” said Mick, “My little brother thinks we have lost ours.”

Out of the mouths of babes, thought Galia and would have given her youngest an approving hug had she not been otherwise preoccupied..

“The boy is right,” Heron agreed.

“We elves are good climbers,” said Pers, “I suggest Irina and I go first. Hopefully, the rest of you will feel encouraged to follow.

“Nu-gen, too, are good climbers,” said Calum, “and I will go last, if only to catch anyone who may fall,” he added with a grin.

“Not a good idea,” Heron was quick to point out. “Let’s face it. You are the most important person here. What if you fell and there was no one to save you?”

“I will not fall,” Calum protested. The two confronted each other, neither with any inkling they were related. Calum was the first to falter, forced as he was to acknowledge what still struck him as an unpalatable truth. Yes, I am the most important person here. He glanced at Bethan as if to contradict himself. No one but he discerned her answering nod, barely perceptible, but enough to tell him that, while she understood and sympathized with his dilemma, she agreed with Heron.

“The Foss and I will go first,” Ricci spoke up unexpectedly and with more confidence than he was feeling. “It makes sense,” he went on. “We are the smallest so likely to reach the top first. Once there, we may be able to assist any others. The chances are some of you will be exhausted by then.” He went to the chimney and peered into the imposing void. “It will not be easy for any of us. Not without some help…” he added silently, hoping Astor was aware of their circumstances and would oblige as only he could.

“A good idea, well spoken,” Calum agreed.

Meanwhile, attention was so focused on this exchange that no one noticed Etta take her daughter’s arm and draw her aside, whispering gently but earnestly as she did no. “We must leave, daughter, and leave now.”

“Oh, yes? You have a broomstick made for two, do you?” murmured Galia unable to resist resorting to sarcasm, the notion was too preposterous for words.

“I am a mage, dear, not a witch,” Etta responded with such indignation that Gail was hard pressed not to laugh.

“How then do we leave? We both know magic is impotent on this awful place.”

“Ours, yes, yours and mine, but there is another who is come to aid us all and might yet help us defeat that devil, Ragund.”

“You mean…?”

Etta hastily put a finger to her lips. “Never speak the name, child, for walls have ears, even in this dreadful place.  Ragund has only to look into his accursed bowl and chance to read our lips although I dare say he, too, shares our suspicions.”

“That may well be, Mother, but whatever he of whom we speak has in mind, it cannot involve me. I will not leave my children.”

And grandchildren, Etta mused for an instant, but had long since resolved to say nothing of Heron and Arissa’s parentage to Galia, for now at least. She wondered what had befallen the latter and had a bad feeling about her fate although there was something else she could not divine of Nadya’s daughter…something, almost…reassuring… although she could not fathom why it should be so. “It is for the sake of your children and all Mamelon that we must leave,” Etta whispered, a note of growing urgency in her voice to which Galia was not entirely immune.

“I cannot, will not leave, Galia repeated, “Besides, how…?”

Etta detected a curiosity in the other that would serve her purpose well. “We must give ourselves up to nothingness and he of whom we spoke will do the rest.”

“That’s absurd,” Galia retorted, but will noticeably less forcefulness.“Perhaps, but shall we try it and see…?”

“I can’t,” Galia protested, “I won’t…”

“You must.” Etta swallowed her mounting frustration and spoke calmly but convincingly, as only she could, “For your children, Galia, for Mamelon, and let us not forget a certain Holy Seer who waits patiently in the Motherworld for the return of his family.”

“Timon…!” It was then, incredibly, in that womb-tomb where magic had no place, she heard his voice in her ear as clear as Etta’s. Do as she says, my love, and put your trust in Etta or I fear our sacrifice will be in vain.”

“Alright, Mother, you win”. It was only on the very edge of Nothingness that one word found its mark. Sacrifice, what sacrifice? But the moment passed before she could consider its significance.  Nothingness was already swallowing her whole...mind body and spirit.

             “It is decided then,” Heron was saying, “Irina will go first and I will bring up the rear.

“Very well,” Calum agreed, “and where will you place yourself, Mother, and Etta?” He turned to where the two had been huddled together in conversation pitched so low that no one had paid any attention. His jaw dropped. The others followed his gaze and gasped in one breath.

 Etta and Galia were gone, leaving not a trace behind to testify they had ever been present.