Mamelon 2 - Chapter Fifteen

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“This is really not a good time,” Beth murmured self-consciously, despite the welcome distraction of Mulac’s growing passion.

            “True,” the Nu-gen agreed, “But we dare not go forward and there is no going back so…” He kissed her again.

“We cannot stay here, “she insisted in-between kissing him back with equal passion; this,  despite a growing awareness of the screams ahead having quietened to an eerie silence that chilled her, made her shudder all the more glad of his arms around her. For no reason, she glanced upwards and saw a flicker of light on the rock shelf immediately above them that seemed to grow larger the longer she observed it. Moreover it seemed to be performing a little dance as if issuing an invitation of sorts.

“Mark it well, Bethan motherworlder and fear it not, but follow.” Tol’s voice came into her head out of nowhere; she sensed a warning as well a benign edge. This was not a suggestion, it was a command.

“Are you mad?” was Mulac’s immediate reaction when Beth relayed Tol’s words to him. “Does this Tol truly believe we can crawl past Krills without their catching either sight or sound…or smell of us,” he added with a wry grimace.

“I’d trust Tol with my life,” Beth assured him.

“And what of mine? Do you expect me to trust him with mine?” Mulac demanded. They were barely whispering, but the harshness of his tone, in sharp contrast to the affection it had conveyed only moments before, caused her to push him angrily away. “I trust Tol and you said you trusted me,” she muttered between clenched teeth.

“You are even more beautiful when you are angry,” Mulac told her with a grin that caused her heart to slip several beats.

“Well, I am going to follow the damn light and you can do as you damn well please,” Beth retorted.

“Spoken like a true Motherworlder!” Mulac chuckled, but Beth was in no mood o be teased.

“I am a Motherworlder, yes”,  she reminded him, eyes flashing, “and don’t you ever forget it!” His hurt expression made her regret the words in an instant, but a native stubbornness persisted.  She turned her back on him and started to climb. Suddenly, the mountain went into one of its moods and began to rage and shake. Falling rocks tumbling and rumbling past her, Beth clung to a protruding root of some kind for dear life and closed her eyes. Almost at once, the mountain quietened again.  She looked up and was relieved to see the same weird light dancing on the shelf above as if nothing had happened. She glanced down to reassure Mulac.

The shelf below remained much the same except for a yawning chasm at the spot where she and Mulac had exchanged words of love and anger only moment before.

Of Mulac, though, there was no sign.

Beth, distraught, burst into tears.

“There is no time for tears, you must leave here now,” Tol’s voice whispered urgently in one ear while, in the other, she seemed to hear Mulac calling to her. She could not be sure, of course, was even inclined to put it down to wishful thinking, but hope was hope and she took it at face value. “Mulac…” she started to say,

“Mulac is a match for any mountain,” Tol assured her wryly, in a manner that reminded Beth of her father.  Not for the first time, she missed his solid, reassuring presence in her life. It cannot have been easy for him, she reflected. Both had seen them more than their fair share of tough as well as happier times. She had no memory of her mother who had died giving birth to her one summer solstice….

“This is no time to daydream, Bethan of Mamelon!” Tol gruffly but not unkindly interrupted her impromptu reminiscing and brought her back to the present with a nasty jolt.

Somehow, Beth found the strength to reach the shelf above where she lay for a time, physically and emotionally drained. The flicker of light kept dancing in front of her eyes; now backing away, now returning, now a gentle glow, now a harsh glare as if increasingly impatient for her to follow. Wearily, Beth began to crawl after it, on her belly since the mountains rocky entrails were such here that proceeding even on hands and knees was not an option. She did not look down as she passed way above where the jubilant krills were celebrating a rare victory over an old enemy. If it occurred to her at all that they had only to look up and might well spot her, she was past caring. Yes, she trusted Tol with her life, but did she trust him with the Nu-gen’s?

Tol, for his part, had gone as ominously quiet as the mountain.

…………………………………….

Galia’s moods fluctuated moment by passing moment; between despair at finding her way back to Earth blocked and euphoria at the possibility of finding her firstborn of Mamelon whom she had long thought dead; now fear for her children, now a rare satisfaction she had not anticipated at returning to a place her heart had never left despite its being in denial for more lifetimes that she cared to recall; now a calling out for revenge, now a need for closure, redemption even. Running helter-skelter through this maze of passions, she was loath to identify an increasingly sickening realisation that she had no idea what to do next or even which way to turn.

              Contemplating the mouths of several tunnels, she found herself calling upon Ri for help and guidance, something she had not done since a childhood she had put out of her mind for what in Earth history would be called centuries. Maternal instinct told her to follow Michal. That same instinct warned her against it. He must find his own way. I cannot, dare not interfere until the balance of time is right. So what, how, where…

            “Daughter, daughter, what have you done?”  Galia swung round to find her mother close by, the expression on the young-old face giving little away but veering closer to a smile than a frown.

            “I can’t get back,” said Galia flatly.

“Even as a child you had a talent for expressing the obvious,” the Magela murmured, permitting herself a rare, fleeting glimpse of a long-ago time when she and Astor has been almost happy. In an instant, though, she had collected herself. “You used to enjoy a hug in those days, I seem to recall.” She opened her arms wide. “It is I, daughter, no dream-self, but perhaps you are too old now…?”

Wordlessly, Galia flung herself into her mother’s arms; arms that closed protectively around her; arms that provided all the reassurance, strength, determination, hope, and resolve for which she craved, and more.

Etta was the first to open her eyes. Gently, she pushed Galia away. Time is on no one’s side, daughter, but we must make the most of what we have and what we know.

“And what do we know?”

“Yes, well, nothing and everything, my dear. Knowing nothing excludes nothing which, in turn, leaves us open to everything,” she added characteristically obscure and matter-of-fact at the same time.  “Now, come, for there is much to be done,” adding under her breath, “Not least, a world to save…if we can.” She did not look back, but chose to enter one of three tunnels without the slightest hesitation.

Galia followed, as much in awe of her mother now as she had been as a child, and no less trusting. At the same time, it came as something of a revelation to understand why she no longer felt intimidated by Etta.  She, Galia, was a mother, too, and with a feeling for magic that, if not yet fully realised, nevertheless made mother and daughter formidable partners in whatever this unique combination of past, present and future might hold.  Bursting with a new found self-confidence, Galia quickened her step. albeit with difficulty until the tunnel opened up and they no longer had to stoop. Alert to every danger, physical and otherwise, they continued in companionable silence, Etta marginally ahead and seemingly leading the way.

Etta saw no reason to alert her daughter to the presence of a kikiri guide. Galia, like most of Mamelon, was distrustful of kikiri, Etta among them. This kikiri, though, was unlike any she had ever encountered; for a start, it projected itself so faintly that it was all even her sharp eyes could do to keep track of it. She suspected this was but one of several images. Clearly, it was dividing itself. To assist others, she wondered? Whatever, the Magela sensed no malevolence here, only in the spell that kept the poor thing from assuming its natural form. Try as she might, though, she was unable to penetrate the layers of dark magic attached to it. “Ragund,” she hissed under her breath so Galia would not hear. The kikiri, however, seemed to tense briefly, as if acknowledging a threat worse than death.

As they approached yet another bend in the ever winding stream of passageways, Etta froze. Galia, caught unawares, stumbled into her. Etta cocked an ear while signing to her daughter to stay silent and perfectly still. Someone or something was just ahead, so close by that she could hear that someone - or something – breathing…

……………………………………

As the ledge on which he had been poised to follow Bethan to the shelf above began to crumble and sent him plummeting, Mulac opened his mouth to call out to her. He was, however, unable to make a sound. It was as if an invisible hand was held over his mouth forcing him to keep silent.

“Walls have ears,” said a voice in his head. But fear not for yourself or for Bethan,” the voice continues reassuringly. .

“Tol…?”  Mulac adopted mind-speak without even thinking about it although he had never attempted it before. His suspicions were quickly confirmed.

“Yes. But ask no questions, Nu-gen. The time for questions and answers will come soon enough.”

Mulac, unharmed. went sprawling on a bed of red sand. Instantly, he felt it move.

“Fear not the Kurzl, it means you no ill. On the contrary, it will take you where you need to be. Rest now, for you will need all your strength for the battles with dark forces that lie ahead.”

“Battles…?” Mulac was more curious than alarmed. But there was no answer. Mulac sensed the other’s absence just as he had sensed his presence. Infinitely weary of trying to make sense of the impossible, he made no attempt to resist falling fast asleep on the sea monster’s back.

……………………………………

Beth continued to follow the light ahead that would occasionally do a little dance as if willing her to relax. “As if…” Beth remonstrated with it, worried sick about Mulac and wondering if she would ever see him again.  Moreover, she hated being alone. Where was the damn light taking her, and why? What did it mean that she was a Keeper, and what had her father to do with any of this. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced she had glimpsed his dear face even as she and Mulac thought they were falling to certain death. Furthermore, she was convinced her father had saved them. But how, why...and, oh, but I must stop thinking Earth or Motherworld and think Mamelon.  I must. Yet, how can I when both keep coming together as if part of the same whole just as I, too,  am Berth and Bethan…?

She paused and sat down on a small but significant boulder that offered a straight choice of clambering over or squeezing past. The dancing light had disappeared around a bend just ahead. Beth sighed, close to tears. I don’t deserve this, I really don’t! She stamped her foot on the rock floor and laughed for recalling how she had done much the same once as a child when confused, anxious or wanting her own way. Her father would invariably sit out her little tantrum and proceed as he saw fit, rarely giving in to her but always in such a way as she would feel foolish while, at the same time, less confused, anxious or wanting her own way. She had trusted her father implicitly just as she trusted Tol. As for the dancing light, it was less a matter of trusting it than its offering as good a course of action as any in the absence of an alternative.

Letting rip with a long, deep sigh of frustration, self-pity, and apprehension all rolled into one, Beth-Bethan let herself indulge in a good old-fashioned sulk. Not for long, though, did she stare at the uncompromisingly stony floor of Ri’s mountain and contemplate her fate.  She could almost hear her father whispering in one ear. Get a grip, girl. You’ll get nowhere fast sitting on your backside and feeling sorry for yourself. The stinging rebuke - imagined or otherwise - was all the encouragement she needed. In an instant, she scrambled to her feet, choosing to climb over the boulder rather than attempt squeezing past and risk being pinioned against a wall of rock with no hope of rescue.  Worse, was the thought of Mulac suffering a similar fate. I must find him. He is alive. I know it, I feel it. He will be relying on me. Dear Ri, help me. There is no one else…

At the bend, she froze. A sixth sense told her that there was something or someone other than any dancing light on the other side. Swallowing hard and blaming both a hostile environment along with too vivid an imagination for fostering a growing terror, she rounded the bend in a spirit of defiance that had the desired effect of killing it stone dead. Whatever it is, if anything, I’m a match for it, she was in the process of convincing herself when she came face to face with Etta.

……………………………………………

 Mick-Michal ran headlong into pitch blackness with no clear idea of where he was going, only that he needed to get as far away from the druids as possible. Incredibly, he neither fell nor even stumbled once.  Down tunnel after tunnel, he ran; now at full height, now having to crouch low; now passing through a cavernous mouth of rock, now in a mossy hall emanating a grandeur worthy of a child’s fairy tale.

Eventually, he stumbled, fell headlong into a bed of red mud and lost consciousness. When he opened his eyes, he was at once relieved to discover that he was alive and not a little disconcerted to find himself looking into the searching gaze of the Nu-gen, Mulac. Only briefly, though, was the Motherworlder in him reminded of Beth’s attraction to the surly Mamelon tribesman. Gratefully, he accepted a flask if vinre. Although the heady wine made his head swim, once it cleared, intelligent thought became less of a hardship than it had been for some time.

“Where am I?”

*On the back of a sea monster heading for Ri only knows where,” Mulac told him. The surly expression lit up with a wry grin of which Michal had no recollection whatsoever.

“Beth…?”

Mulac’s expression clouded over only a fraction before the grin became what his companion read as a reassuring smile. “She is safe.”

“So where is she?”

Mulac shrugged. “I do not know. I only know that she is safe, and will be ready to play her part when the time is right…as will you and I,” he added cryptically.

“But where is she,” Mick insisted, “and if you don’t bloody know, how can you be so damn sure she’s safe? As for playing a part, what does that mean exactly?  A part in what, how, when…?”

“I have no answers to your questions so you might as well rest more and try to sleep. I sense we will need all our strength in events to come. Perhaps they will answer our questions. Oh, yes, friend Michal, I have much the same questions, and a need for answers greater even than yours I am thinking.  For now, though, we can but wait and see where the Kurzl take us, and then do whatever it takes to survive. Fear not for Bethan…” He proceeded to try and explain about Tol and mind-talk to his sceptical companion.

It constantly came as a surprise to Mick just how much of his Michal persona he had taken on. Even so, he remained adamant it would not take him over completely. Even so, the Nu-gen’s explanation, for all it was far-fetched and unbelievable, somehow rang true. Either that or he was too fatigued to argue. Whatever, he chose to take Mulac at his word and grab some sleep. Suddenly, something the Nu-gen had said hit home. “Did you say we are on the back of a sea monster?”

“I did,” Mulac responded with a rare laugh, “but fear not, and ask no more questions I cannot answer. I am thinking we should both get some sleep. I wondered why my eyes would not close. Now I know. They were watching out for you to come back into my life. Be sure, our destinies are joined, whether we like it or not. I think we will never be true friends, but we can at least not be enemies, agreed?

“”Agreed,” said Michal and shook the outstretched hand unhesitatingly.

As their hands made contact, both men experienced a sensation similar to what Mick could only describe as an electric shock from which he could not instantly withdraw but had to endure until it ceased as suddenly as it had flared. He said nothing. How could he begin to explain electricity to the Nu-gen. He tried to convince himself it was the result of recent tensions causing his body to be extra sensitive. His inner self knew better.  He wondered if Mulac had felt anything like the same experience of shock, but thought better of asking as it could only complicate matters further. As if there aren’t enough bloody complications, half questions and half answers flying around like birds of bloody prey! What am I doing here? I hate everything about this place. What is this hell-hole of a Mamelon to me anyway? Where is Beth? Where is Pete? He started guiltily upon realising that he had scarcely given his brother a second thought for some time. Oh, damn it all, I need to get some sleep. He closed his eyes as was asleep before he could even start to disentangle his Mick and Michal personas one from the other.

Mulac continued to observe his sleeping companion for some time.  He understood the shaking of hands to be a Motherworld ritual acknowledging a bonding of sorts. Nothing, had prepared him for what he had felt at the point of contact, flesh on flesh, or how the experience left him feeling now. We are bonded, this Motherworlder and I, as if we were flesh of the same flesh, brothers in mind, body and spirit. But how can this be? It is unheard of for Nu-gen to bond so even within the tribe. Bethan called Beth, too, affects me deeply. What is it I do not know and need to know? What can it be that Etta has never seen fit to tell me, and why? Who am I…?

He fell into an uneasy sleep, the last question, above all, continuing to attack every nuance of his being.

Mamelon 2 - Chapter Fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Ygor’s growing preoccupation with a fury directed at himself and his companions for letting Michal escape under their very noses was, perhaps inevitable, to prove his undoing.  The mystery perplexed him and Ygor was not one to be easily perplexed. He must have had help, but whose? The druid asked himself over and over. Not Astor for he would have sensed Astor’s presence, surely? Yet how can I be sure of anything anymore? Ragund…? he mused briefly, but rejected the notion out of hand. Ragund was a great mage, yes. Even he, Ygor, would not deny that, but great enough to overcome druid magic?  “No!” Ygor exclaimed aloud, and not for the first time the mountain rang with the force of his denial. Then who or what had come to the aid of young Michal, and how…?

Thus it was that, deep in thought, Ygor and his acolytes rounded the next corner to find themselves confronted - and outnumbered - by Radik and his company of krill’s; a small company it may well have been, but one that was armed and ready to greet their new guests with as much hostility as necessary.

Krills and druids had been sworn enemies for more lifetimes than Ygor cared to count. This thought flashed into his mind just as the first arrow flew past his left ear. Instantly, his innermost druid self took over and attempted an ages-old magic that would temporarily blind the enemy and allow them to escape.

To Ygor’s utter consternation and horror, his attempt failed.  He strained with all his senses to achieve what should have been relatively easy for a druid of his rank… but it proved impossible. This cannot be! Who…what…? But the mountain supplied no answer and a blow to the head rendered him instantly unconscious.

……………………………..

“Kill the druids except their leader. They will serve for several suppers, but he may well prove useful, Radik snarled.” He did not wait to see his orders carried out but retreated into his makeshift tent to discuss the situation with Arissa.  He was well pleased with himself. It had been a Krill bringing up the rear, not least because of an old injury, that had alerted him to the druids’ approach. Instantly, he had resolved to lay a trap rather than avoid them. Would the druids not sense their presence? The thought had crossed his mind, of course, but he decided to chance his luck anyway.

Radik’s recklessness had both surprised and exhilarated him. What chance Krills against druid magic? Yet, it was if some inner voice urged him, with increasing passion, to attempt the elimination of an ages-old enemy. Besides, his conscious self wasted no time reminding him that Arissa would approve, and while that in itself hardly mattered, it could only better the chances of their engaging in a very pleasurable time later. Arissa, he had discovered long since, never engaged in intimacy lightly. She was the most highly sexed female it had ever been his good fortune to encounter.

While Radik did not hold females in high esteem except for sexual pleasure, he had good sense enough to appreciate that Arissa was no ordinary female. She often had ideas worth listening to. All but oblivious to the piercing screams of Ygor’s small company as they were butchered, he thus sought out she whom he had come to think of as his consort. He was less than pleased to find her in the company of the imbecile elf who doted on her regardless of the fact that he, Radik, had raged at Pers’ blind infatuation on more than one occasion. Moreover, the Krill leader blamed Pers for releasing his prisoners despite the elf’s cries of protest. Who else would dare set them free?  At the same time, even Radik had to concede it was unlikely Pers would have found the nerve if only for fear of arousing Arisa’s displeasure. Why does she tolerate him?

Why, indeed? Arissa found herself wondering much the same thing although she had been flattered by the way the elf had leapt to defend her against a druid who had made the mistake of attacking her. She had no need of his help, of course, but appreciated it all the same, especially with Tol having disappeared shortly before the unsuspecting druids fell into the trap awaiting them.

It disturbed Arissa that the gentle giant had left the camp without her knowledge, but she did not doubt he would return soon enough, he always did. Even so, it was a constant source of concern to her that, devoted slave as he was, Tol clearly had a mind of his own, one which she had never succeeded in fully accessing if not for want of trying. Invariably, she would probe and come up against a wall; a not an entirely blank wall, but one she could not pass.  Ordinarily, this would have rung loud and clear alarm bells in her head, but she put it down to Tol being something of a simple soul, persuaded that any suspect wardings were neither calculated nor even intentional but simply the effects of a naïve consciousness. Radik had once challenged her assessment of Tol as being too crude to be true. His choice of words, however, more so even than the fact that he had dared challenge her at all, so enraged her that they did not speak for some time.  Once reconciled, the Krill leader had wisely kept his own counsel regarding Tol and avoided the subject thereafter.

“I don’t care what Radik says or thinks,” Pers was saying for the umpteenth time as Radik entered, I did not release the prisoners.” Arissa merely shrugged. He hated it when she did that as it invariably meant she was displeased with him. “Why does no one suspect Tol? It’s not as if anyone even knows where he has gone…”

True, Radik was inclined to agree, but said nothing. “We have their leader, and…” he flung the elf an accusing glare, “…Ygor had better stay our prisoner or heads will roll.”

Pers visibly flinched.

“My clever Radik,” Arissa purred, wondering at the same time how a bunch of Krills had managed to snare a company of druids, however small. Something is wrong, very wrong. For now, though, she kept her suspicions to herself. “Who is a clever Radik then?” she exclaimed, embracing the Krill leader and showering him with kisses, much to his obvious delight and Pers’ ill-concealed jealousy. 

“Never underestimate druids,” said Pers, “Ygor will only be of any use to you as far as he is prepared to be so.”

“Perhaps,” growled Radik, “you would prefer I set him free, ye who set such store by the freedom of others while content to remain enthralled by foolish puppy love?”

Pers winced at the jibe and looked directly at Arissa as if half expecting a show of support, but not surprised to find none, only profoundly disappointed as always. Will I never learn?  She cares nothing for me. I know this, and yet I cannot leave her. Why? Do I truly love her? How can I even ask myself that, and where is Tol?

“Nevertheless, the elf has a point,” conceded Arissa, addressing Radik without sparing Pers so much as a glance.

Radik shrugged. “We can dispose of him any time. Meanwhile, he may prove useful. There are forces at work that I do not understand. A master druid has to be a useful insurance against whatever power is working against us in this damn mountain.”

“Don’t count on it,” hissed Arissa. “For once, the elf has a point. Never underestimate a druid. If you are not careful, very careful, Ygor will see you dead long before you can spit on his grave. Better he die now along with his comrades than remain the slightest threat, surely?”

“I fear no druid scum,” Radik snarled, “and you may well be right, my sweet, but alive he may yet be useful to us. We will interrogate him later. For now, I have an appetite for making love to the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Arissa’s smile struck Pers as being more smug than pleased. She has the krill just where she wants him, but she does not care for him any more than she cares for me. The notion that the likes of Arissa only used others for their own selfish ends came as no surprise to Pers. So why do I stay? Why do I care for her so? Or perhaps I am meant to stay for some other purpose and my love has only ever been an illusion? The elf left the tent less so because he clearly was not wanted there than gravely disquieted by thoughts that had not surfaced his mind before although…Can they really have been there all the time? If so, why do they visit me now..?

Pers had the faintest sense of an unknown presence that vanished almost as soon as he became aware of it. Before he could quite collect his thoughts, he heard his name called and found himself approaching the druid, Ygor, even as he struggled to summon a show of self-confidence. Why do I get the feeling I am being undermined, and not by any presence with which I am familiar? Even as he thought it, though, he sensed ‘undermined’ was incorrect. Yet, he dismissed any notion of ‘support’ as fanciful. Whatever, it was disconcerting to say the least that he should even begin to question his pledged allegiance to Arissa. There is something curiously potent in the air, but what? Magic, perhaps? But when had he ever felt uncomfortable with magic? The elf shook his head, more confused than considerably less concerned than he felt was appropriate.

“Don’t shake your head at me, elf,” hissed Ygor. “You may not know it, but you are as much a prisoner here as I am if not more so,” he scoffed, “At least I know I am a prisoner while, you…you are but wet clay in the hands of evil doers.”

Pers confronted the druid leader with a semblance of composure he was far from feeling. Ygor had been bound to a rock, his physical appearance badly mauled while continuing to emanate a powerful presence. How, the elf wondered, had the druids been caught off guard by a company of Krills that barely outnumbered their own and would never, in normal times, been a match for them.

“Ah, but these are not normal times, elf, as well we all know,” said Ygor as if reading other’s thoughts..

“Have you come across my sister?” It was not the question Pers meant to ask, but the first that came to his lips.

“Irina is here beneath the mountain? Interesting,” murmured the druid, “She will be with Heron, of course, and who else, I wonder…?” Why is this news to me? Why have I not been aware of this? Something or someone is playing with me. Well, they will live to regret it. I am sure your sister is in good hands, which is more than I can say for you, my good elf.  He treated Pers to a patronizing smile that made Pers cringe. “Tell me. Surely, you cannot trust these Krill mercenaries or the witch whore, Arissa, who travels with them? Can it be that your elven senses play you so false that you are immune to all else but her beauty? He laughed as the elf’s bemused expression. “Oh, yes, I cannot deny her that although I suspect it goes but skin deep.  As for what evil lies beneath…”  He spat.

There was a time not so long ago that Pers would have struck out at anyone defiling Arissa’s name. On this occasion, though, he remained curiously unmoved. Nor did he feel in the least inclined to leap to his beloved’s defence.

“It is appropriate that you, a druid, should speak of evil,” Pers retorted, “It is all you know.” Yet, there was something about the druid, a ‘presence’ that, for all the elf could not help but find it very disturbing, was also oddly reassuring, as if the piercing eyes were  able to penetrate a deeper elven consciousness that has been suppressed and was starting to reawaken. Confused and upset, Pers began to move away.

“You are right to feel as you do, elf, for nothing is at it seems in this place. Only fools cannot trust their own judgement, but here…trust and judgement, I am thinking they are much as rock and hard place here.” But why, why, and what am I not seeing?

“Only a fool would trust a druid, that’s for sure,” Pers responded in much the same mocking tone as Ygor had used, “Trust is a precious thing, neither easily earned or given,  even to the inner self, and then only selectively and unreservedly or not at all.

“Wise words, elf. Unreservedly, yes. Selectively, yes. You speak of the inner self. And do you trust yours, elf? I suspect not. Nor I mine, I find, if the truth be told.  So where does that leave us, elf?  In a fine mess, I’d say, wouldn’t you?”

“You know nothing, druid,”

“And you know less than nothing, elf. Perhaps, between us, we can learn something?”

“Are you asking for my help?” Pers could not believe his ears.

“The day a druid asks aid of an elf has to be a dark day indeed,” was Ygor’s oblique reply.

“A dark day for you, yes,” Pers said quietly. “Whatever Radik’s plans for you, you can be sure it will involve torture.”

“And for you, elf,” murmured Ygor icily, “Do you honestly believe he and Arissa have anything less unpleasant in store for you once you have served their purpose?”

“Oh, and what purpose would that be?”

“You tell me.” Ygor fixed the elf with a searching look that forced Pers to turn and walk away, feeling sick, as if he had been violated.

Ygor watched him go with a self-satisfied smile. That he would make an ally of the elf yet, he was in no doubt.

For his part, Pers wandered to the edge of the camp and just beyond, sat on a shelf of rock and put his head in his hands. The druid is right. I can trust no one, including myself. So what should I do…nothing or something? Nothing would be safer, for now.  Something, has to be better, though,  but what…?”

Someone came and sat beside him. Startled, Pers took his hands from his face and looked up.   “Tol…! Where in Ri’s name have you been?” he asked before remembering the giant was dumb.

Tol’s colourless lips and grey eyes smiled. Instantly, Pers felt reassured and uplifted, which was a new experience as he had never felt at ease with the giant in the past. He turned slightly, all the better to follow Tol’s steady gaze to where Ygor, too, was watching him carefully, as if assessing his worth…

Pers felt a growing unease merge with a weird sense of nameless purpose. His chest began to tighten as if giant and druid had him in a vice-like grip. “What do you want of me?” he asked mutely of both.

By way of a riposte their silence spoke volumes.

Aware and not aware or what he was doing or why he was doing it, Pers went to Ygor and cut the druid’s his bonds free with the elven blade he always carried.

Some drunken krills nearby were celebrating an easy victory over the druids, but no one saw or heard a thing as giant, elf and the only druid left alive snuck off into the gloom.

……………………………

“It is Ygor and his companions.” Mulac murmured unnecessarily. Beth nodded as they lay low and heard rather than saw the druid company pass overhead where the track began to slope until she guessed it would reach their level just ahead.  Presumably, they had covered the distance by way of another of the mountain’s higher paths. More to the point, she mused, how had Tol known they were in such danger? Instantly, she corrected herself. By now, she should know better than to be surprised by anything the gentle giant said or did.

“You sensed their presence or do you have magic that told you of it?” the disquieted Nu-Gen demanded in a harsh whisper.

            As simply and briefly as possible Beth explained how Tol had warned her. Mulac’s response took her by surprise. He did not, as she had expected, question her ability to make contact with Tol via mind-talk but appeared to take it in his stride. Instead, he commented, “To whom, I wonder, does he answer, this Tol?  I suspect it not to Arissa. Clearly, he has a part to play in what brings you to Mamelon and places us on the back of a sea monster,” he chuckled humorlessly. “So who can he be, this Tol, and what his purpose?” he murmured, more to himself than to Beth.

            Beth could only shrug off the question she had put to herself time and again, the answer to which she could not begin to imagine. Mulac seemed to accept this and, much to her relief, seemed content to drop the subject; for now at least as they continued to lie low, watch and listen. The druids had barely turned the next bend when all at once the very walls of the mountain seemed to be screaming. Surprise, rage, fear, all these were let loose among echoes that assaulted their eardrums and made their blood run cold.

“Krills…!” Mulac murmured and put a finger to his lips as Beth started to speak. “Hush, Bethan, for walls have ears,” he mouthed. Beth fell silent although she doubted if any sound either of them made would be heard by either walls or living things for the sheer fury of blood curdling yells and frantic cries.

Beth-Bethan clung to Mulac. Ri knows, I have no love for druids, but even they do not deserve that Krills should feast upon their remains, possibly even while they are still alive. Ri, save them from that, at least.  A ghastly picture of what was almost certainly being played out not far ahead crossed her mind’s eye and caused her to shiver violently. 

Glad of Mulac’s arms around her, Beth still found time to wonder how it was that calling upon the god came so naturally to her. I am more Bethan than Beth. The more she tried to resist this truth, the stronger her conviction that it could not, should not be resisted.  Or reversed…?  For the first time, she confronted the possibility that she may not return to Earth.

Mulac’s comforting embrace tightened perceptibly. Had he read her thoughts, she wondered?  Did she really want to return to a life without him? But that question, she resolved to put aside until such a time as she might be forced to choose. Assuming, I still have a choice, Bethan of Mamelon pondered ruefully. Yet, I cannot, must not let go of Bethany Martin completely or…Mulac nuzzled her neck and the unfinished thought became lost as she raised eager lips to his and the shrieking walls fell momentarily silent.

Mamelon 2 - Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It seemed to Beth that they were falling for an eternity, she and Mulac, although she reasoned much later  it could only have been seconds in Earth time.

They landed close together on a solid bed of red sand where they lay gasping for breath until Beth confided that her motherworld father had visited her in a vision as if come to save her from harm. “It was him,” she insisted, “my dad, Gabriel Martin. He did not say anything, not so much as a hello, but I saw him as clearly as I see you now. But how, why…?” It makes no sense.

                        “This is Mamelon,” Mulac reminded her with a wry smile. I have been trying to make sense of it all my life.

“You called out too,” she told him, adding almost accusingly, “but not to me.”

“Ah, yes.” The Nu-gen’s usual deadpan expression, or so it seemed to Beth, reflected something of her own astonishment and disbelief. “I thought I saw…”

“Who…? Who did you see?”

“Galia, it was Galia of Mamelon, long-ago consort of Michal the Great when our world flourished, its peoples too. Yet, how could I know this?  I know nothing of these times or Galia, only what the legends tell us. Why, of all people, should I call out to Galia?”

“You were as terrified as I was…” Beth began but changed her mind and bit her lip before hastening to add, “…and there is no shame in that. Only, fear has been known to perform a magic of its own. I needed my father and he came. Perhaps you needed to call on the greatness that was once Mamelon to give you strength, help you believe that more than death would break our fall.”

“The Nu-gen’s smile broadened. “You are wise beyond your years, my Bethan. Either that or you have a very vivid imagination.”

They both laughed and felt the tension between them ease. For his part, Mulac could still not quite believe that Ri had brought them together again. Had not his heart assured him time and again that she was the love of as many lifetimes as he might see?  “Even so,” he pondered aloud, “Why should I see a face I have never seen, identify someone who is, after all, no more to me than someone in one of Etta’s stories…?”

Again, Beth bit her tongue even while reminding herself she really must get used to being Bethan again. The vision of her father had unsettled her. At the same time, and for no reason, but intensely all the same, instinct warned her this was not a good time to tell Mulac that it may or may not have been Galia of Mamelon he saw in his vision, but his passionate cry, still ringing in her ears, had been, ‘Mother!’ Had she misheard, she wondered? Could it have been Etta’s name he had all buts screamed?  She sighed, persuaded herself that it did not much matter anyway and resolved not to think about it again. Instantly, the incident was dispatched to the archives of her mind where it would remain until such a time as she might well need to refer to it again.

Mulac leaped to his feet and held out his hand. “Come, we cannot stay here. We must move on.”

“Where to?”” she wanted to know while accepting the proffered hand and hauling herself up to fall into his arms.

Mulac shrugged. “Ri knows. We must trust Ri. It is his mountain after all.”

They walked in companionable silence for some time, content to hold hands, thereby reassuring themselves of each other’s presence while trying to forget the known dangers they has left behind and resist anticipating any that may lie ahead. Suddenly, Beth slipped and pulled Mulac down after her. At first they laughed and got to their feet again, only to have the sand shift under their feet and send them sprawling again.

Bath stared at Mulac in wide-eyed disbelief. “The mountain, Mulac, it’s moving!”

Mulac’s expression tensed before he shook his head, slowly as if in deep thought. “Not the mountain,” he said gruffly, “the Kurzl.”

“Kurzl..?”

“A sea monster that once inhabited a lake in the bowels of the mountain until the water dried up. It must have survived somehow, probably by eating Foss and…”

“Anyone else who happened to be passing…” Beth prompted with a rueful smile. “So what do we do, sit tight until it realizes it is carrying its next meal?”

Mulac grinned despite his growing anxiety for their safety. “Do you have a better suggestion?”

Beth shrugged. “Who are we to turn down a free ride even if we haven’t a clue where we’re heading?  I always did love Magical Mystery tours.” She caught his bemused expression. “Don’t even ask…!” They both started to laugh aloud then clapped both hands to their mouths simultaneously as the same thought crossed both their minds. Presumably even monsters have ears?

Why does it not toss us off its back and have us for breakfast or lunch or supper, whatever damn time it is? Beth wondered, mouthing to Mulac at the same time.

The Nu-gen shrugged. Perhaps it is asleep, he mouthed back, or…

Biding its time…  Beth shivered in spite of a stoic resolve that came from she knew not where.

Mulac shrugged again. Hopefully, it sleeps…

Now I’ve heard everything. A monster asleep on the move with its next meal on its back... Beth’s expression displayed a growing terror.

Mulac grinned. At least we get to stay together if only in its stomach…

Both put their hands to their mouths again to prevent bursts of laughter. Beth began to relax. It was true. Whatever happened, they were together. Could I ask for more? Beth tried to reassure herself. Well, yes, but…

It was Bethan, not Beth, who grinned back at Mulac. For his part, he was much relieved to see that she seemed less afraid although it did nothing to allay his own fears, not for himself but for her. I cannot lose her again, he kept telling himself over and over until he began to believe it.

So it was they continued their journey ever deeper into the mountain on the back of a legendary sea monster.

………………………………………

If Ricci had been delighted if a little bit in awe of being reunited with Galia, he was positively overjoyed to see Etta. He did not trust the Magela implicitly, but had always felt comfortable in her company. She could be devious, yes, but she was also incredibly kind. Wise, of course, but Etta also possessed that rare ability to reassure anyone in her presence that, come what may, everything would work out for the best in the end. At this moment in time, Ricci was particularly anxious to seize upon the latter.

“So what and where do we go from here, Etta dear” Ricci asked, fully expecting a positive response, “I have to confess I consider myself - ourselves - well and truly lost.” He was not disappointed.

“What we do, my dear Ricci, is remain calm and permit ourselves to think clearly without any emotional baggage getting in the way,” Etta responded, glancing pointedly Galia even as she spoke. “As for the where, I sense we must hasten to Dom-Y-Baba. If we are not needed there at this precise moment in time, my gut feeling is we soon will be.”

“Dom-y-Baba!” Galia exclaimed, “Why there of all places? I have heard they call it The Doom and is there not a sea serpent that feeds on whatever chances its way?”

“The Doom, indeed,” murmured Etta pensively, but quickly brightened, “yet we have no cause for concern, my children, serpent or no serpent. Ri is with us and this is His sacred mountain. He will watch over us and keep us safe. He will keep us all safe, you’ll see. Now, this is really not the time to stand around speculating. We have a long way to go yet.”

“Can we not use magic to transport us there?” Ricci asked hopefully.

“Certainly not,” Etta rebuked him, but with her customary smile so he did not feel in the least reprimanded. “There are forces abroad far greater than mine and some which even I have yet to quite identify. We must take great care and remember walls have ears, even for mind talk. So be on your guard, both of you.”

“So do you know the way to Dom-y-Baba, mother?” Galia asked innocently enough and was not prepared for her mother’s angry denial.

“How would I know the way? Would I ever visit such a place? Only a fool would go willingly to Dom-y-Baba unless the need was a matter of life and death. And before you ask, either of you, yes, our need is such. As for which way we take…” For once, Etta looked nonplussed.

“Follow the light,” said a voice out of nowhere. Not one of the three could prevent an instinctive jump while telling themselves they were merely startled and not in the least bit frightened.

“Look,” said Ricci pointing to where the tunnel forked just ahead. A beam of red light that might have come from a puli shone on the wall of the tunnel farthest from where they stood. “This is just so weird, I’ll say,” muttered Ricci. “I mean, there’s no one here but us so…” his voice tailed off in confusion. He looked to Etta for guidance if not an explanation of sorts, but the Magela was deep in thought and did not appear to notice.

“So let’s go then,” Galia finally announced, ignoring a skeptical glance from Ricci, “seeing as how we don’t really have a choice. Unless either of you have a better suggestion?” she added with a hint of mischief that reminded Ricci of the Galia of old whom he had once adoringly served. He sighed, nodding agreement and approval. “Are you with us, mother?”

“What? Oh, yes. You are right, of course. It’s not as if we are spoilt for choice. Indeed, let us follow the light.”

The three proceeded, Etta bringing up the rear which was perhaps just as well since neither Galia nor Ricci could read her fearful expression. Etta tried in vain to shift a coldness that had settle on her heart like a limpet despite the cave’s clammy heat. It was rare for a Magela to know fear, the kind of deep-rooted fear that makes the blood run cold. It was, though, how she felt now, certain she had recognized the disembodied voice. She had not heard it for many lifetimes and of its owner she was not in the least afraid. On the contrary, knowledge of such a presence in the mountain gave her greater cause for confidence in a successful outcome than she had dared hope. Even so, the voice warned her of great, imminent, danger even though it had not spoken of it; it held, not for the first time, the fate of all Mamelon in its deceptively dulcet tones.

Etta sighed, took several deep breaths, and hurried after the others.

………………………………………

In Lunis, City of Moons, Ragund the Dark Mage was also breathing deeply in order to contain a growing anticipation of success. The mirror that answered to his every command had shown him the Keeper and her Nu-gen lover at Dom-y-Baba. The Kurzl had awakened and at his, Ragund’s bidding, would take them where he, Ragund, intended they should go. Suddenly, though, the mirror clouded over like a curtain only to to reveal a new image, one he had not called upon for the simple reason that he had no knowledge of it.

“Etta, Galia, together!” he seethed with rage. That fool, Ricci, was of no consequence, but Etta and Galia, mother and daughter, they made a formidable team. Here was a threat, indeed, to his well-laid plans. Between them, their magic was almost equal to his own... and with Astor interfering at every opportunity…a real threat, yes!. The mirror began to cloud over again, but not before Ragund’s sharp eyes spotted the puli light on the cave wall where it divided into several tunnels. His brow creased in a genuinely puzzled frown, he heard a sound, like a voice but not quite a voice, like nothing he had ever heard before, and yet he sensed it meant danger, great danger, of the kind any strong magic posed when working against another.

The curtain closed to leave the mirror yielding only his reflection. “So I was right, and Astor has help,” Ragund growled aloud, but what, whose…? Not those bastard druids, surely? No, they would not dare. It was way beyond Radik’s capabilities so he could rule out the krill leader. “I must know. I will not be thwarted, I will not!” he cried aloud, and stormed off to find Shireen. Making love to his beautiful consort invariably inspired him to higher thoughts which, in turn, inevitably led to a greater discernment of the status quo. Besides, he could not deny that sex was a pleasurable enough experience even as a means to an end.

“Shireen!” he called, and she was there in an instant, as beautiful as ever, yet not so. Ragund started, and then mentally reprimanded himself. For a moment he had thought to detect a difference in her, in the way she looked, a jaded - if only slightly - replica of his consort. Then she smiled. Shireen had a beautiful smile, one that radiated the very desire and desirability he had devoured since they first met and conspired to rule Mamelon together.  He embraced her.

Shireen reluctantly succumbed to his clumsy embrace. It was, after all, in her best interests to keep him sweet. It meant, however, dismissing the dream-self that fooled Ragund was inclined to summon on a daily basis while she enjoyed trifling with the Krill leader, Radik as Arissa. To perfect such a degree of interchangeability had taken several lifetimes, but it had proven well worth the effort. True, Radik, like Ragund, was a means to the same end, but unlike the Dark Mage, the krill leader was also an incredible lover. She permitted herself a light, self-satisfied laugh that she knew Ragund would easily mistake for the artless coquettishness he had always associated with her and with which she had ensnared him in the first place. Such a prize, Ragund, a Dark Mage, indeed, and for someone so clever, such a fool. The Tomb of the Creator would be rediscovered soon, all her senses told her this…and the secret of eternal youth will be mine, mine, all mine…! No longer would she need to rely on the body of Arissa that, as kikiri, would be left to haunt the landscape of eternity, a mindless, bodiless, spiritless ‘thing’.

Shireen laughed again and Ragund silently congratulated himself, not for the first time, that such was his power over her that this splendid creature had been his, all his, and only ever his since the very beginning of what had been, and always would be, a very rewarding if unequal partnership.

………………………………………

On what had once been the underground lake known as Dom-y-Baba, It was Bethan’s turn to sleep while Mulac kept watch, not least for any tell-tale signs of the monster’s immediate intentions towards them. She had closed her eyes from sheer exhaustion not expecting to sleep. Sleep it was, though, that overwhelmed here and into whose care she gladly if only temporarily committed herself.

It was a she began to awaken that she heard the familiar voice inside her head urging her to be alert. “Tol…?”

“You must wake, Bethan, Motherworlder, for you are in great danger. No, not the Kurzl. Despite what anyone tells you, the beast means you no harm. However, you must leave its protection. Druids are nearby and Krills await you around the next bend. Ygor is a force to be reckoned with, it is true, but he is merely misguided. Radik and his band of cutthroats, on the other hand, are under orders to use you for their own evil purposes…”

“Orders, whose orders, and what evil purposes other than a given predilection for sadomasochism?”

“I dare say no more. Walls have ears. You and Mulac, you must save yourselves for greater things than anyone knows. Now, wake and go. The sand is sound where you travel now, but delay and it will suck you under. Be sure to head for the farther not nearer shelf of the mountain or the quicksand will take you beyond even the reach of the strongest magic. Once at the shelf, you will need to climb higher.” The voice in her head went silent.

“Bethan…” Mulac’s voice floated down to her through the vacuum Tol’s voice had left. He sounded anxious. Beth opened her eyes. “You were restless, a bad dream perhaps?”

“I heard…” she began and thought better of trying to explain her relationships with Arissa’s servant. “We have to leave, now.”

Mulac stared in wide-eyed amazement. “Leave, and go where? Are you mad?

“Mulac, do you trust me?” She had risked standing up and was looking directly into the eyes she had so come to love. “Do you trust me, Mulac?”” she repeated.

His eyes met hers directly and did not waver for an instant as each sensed a challenge of sorts facing each of them. Mulac caught his breath. |It was not in a Nu-gen’s nature to do a female’s bidding, and yet…I love this female and she loves me. She would never knowingly see our love threatened or each other harmed. “Yes, I trust you,” he told her and meant it.

“Then take my hand and come with me to the farther shelf of the cave.”

“Why not the nearer one..?”

“There is quicksand.”

“You cannot possibly know that?”

“I don’t have time for this, Mulac. We don’t have time for this. There are krills waiting around the next bend and we may not be so lucky next time…”

“But how…?” Mulac spluttered.

As he spoke, a bend in the river bed came into view and caught his attention. Beth turned and followed his gaze. We have to go now, Mulac, NOW.”

The urgency in her tone was sufficient persuasion for Mulac to seize her hand and as one they stepped warily off the sea monster’s sand-covered back and began crossing to the farther of the shelves that punctuated the mountain throughout.

Once there, recalling Tol’s instructions, Beth began to climb to the uppermost shelf which, being close to the cave roof, meant they had to squat as there was no room to stand.

“You are mad,” Mulac accused her but with a twinkle in his eyes that told her he was okay with that. She responded in kind while wondering what amused him most, her own behavior which must, at the very least, appear odd to the Nu-gen, or his own for doing as she, a female, had asked. Before she had time to speculate further, however, they heard first noises and then voices coming from the shelf below.

“Someone’s coming!” she whispered.

“I hear,” he murmured. “Be silent and lie flat. We dare not make our presence known until we see who our new neighbors are.”

They peered over the shelf edge. Both caught their breaths. The old adage, out of the frying pan into the fire, crossed Bethan’s Motherworld consciousness as Ygor and his druid acolytes came into view.

Mamelon 2 - Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

Ricci had mixed feelings about resuming his natural form. Tired of being a snake and failing to become a bat, it seemed the best option although even that proved difficult.  Relief, though, was short-lived as he realized he was lost. This is ridiculous. I can’t be lost. My sense of direction never fails me.

Yet, having arrived at another fork where the tunnel branched off in not one, two or even three but four directions, Ricci was forced to concede he had no idea which he should take. He sat down and thought hard, willing his peculiar senses to inform him of the way forward. Those same senses, however, remained peculiarly dormant.  Oh, well, there’s only one thing for it. He rose abruptly, closed his eyes, and swung round on his toes like a spinning top, one hand outstretched and forefinger pointing. Shakily and a little dizzy, he stopped just as abruptly and opened his eyes to see where the finger was pointing. He uttered a gasp that was more like a yelp of surprise to discover he was pointing not at any of the four tunnels but at the last person he expected to see there or anywhere. “Galia..! But how…why…?

“Yes, Ricci dear, it’s me. I have come from the Motherworld to aid my children. As for whatever other purpose, only time will tell, and very glad I am to see you too!” 

To Ricci’s delight and some discomfort, she proceeded to embrace him in a big hug. Her touch, her smell…it was almost too much for poor Ricci who adored this woman he had once served so faithfully and thought long dead. Reluctantly, he wriggled free and bowed low. “Your Majesty…”

“Not Majesty any more Ricci. Not for a long, long, time and never again. So let’s dispense with the formalities shall we? You may call me Galia, just as you used to sometimes. We were friends, weren’t we?” Ricci nodded, lost for words and still struggling to contain his feelings. Oh, joy! But what an unexpected and incredible turn of events. I’ll say! “Well then, friends we are again. Oh, Ricci, it is so good to see you!” She hugged him again, Ricci savouring every precious moment, almost convinced by now that he was not dreaming. “Now, Ricci dear, which way do we go?”

As she moved away, Ricci noticed that his forefinger was still pointing outwards, and as it so happened, directly at one of the tunnels ahead.  “That way,” he mumbled, his confidence at once restored by a radiant smile from his queen, for his queen she would always be no matter what happened. This time, I will not fail you, my queen, he told himself, and instantly believed it to be true. It was therefore with increasing confidence that Ricci led the way along the narrowest and lowest of the tunnels. 

Ricci, being small, was able to move with ease and speed, but Galia had to bend her back and her progress was slow, not least because it began to ache considerably. Ricci would press ahead, wait until she caught up and go on alone again. Eventually, the tunnel opened up and Galia was able to stand erect. “Thank goodness for that. Now, shall we take a rest and decide on our next move?”

Ricci nodded, wondering what on earth their next move should be as he had glimpsed another fork in the tunnel around the next bend. Astor would know, of course. Why, oh, why, is Astor always somewhere else when you need him most?

“Tell me Ricci,” Galia began hesitantly, what news is there of my children?” Ricci gulped. He had been dreading the question, and half hoping she would not ask it while realizing it would have been on her tongue all the time.

“The Motherworlders are safe as far as I know,” he muttered.

“That is good to hear, but you know I speak as Galia of Mamelon, too, Ricci, not a Motherworlder. It is confusing, I know. Believe me. I am as confused as anyone. I never thought to see Mamelon again, and Astor told me my children were dead or I would never have left.”

“So how is it you were able to leave at all?” Ricci felt compelled to ask. “Did you find Time Gate?” Galia nodded pensively.  “That was lucky. I’ll say!”

Galia smiled to cover her embarrassment and shame. How could she tell her old friend that Timon, her lover, had broken all the laws of the old religion and conjured up a Time Gate purely for their own selfish ends? I will tell him, I must, but not now, not yet. “Nadya, she is well?

“You know then that Calum is dead?”  Ricci murmured, playing for time.

Galia opened her mouth to protest, remembering just in time that she must not speak or even think about her Mamelon firstborn. She feared the latter demanded more willpower than she possessed. Even so, she managed a brief nod and pressed her lips tightly together.

Ricci was moved by her obvious distress and could only marvel at her self-restraint. They had been close, mother and son. “I know nothing of Nadya,” he admitted, “but she has two children of her own…”

“I have grandchildren?” Galia gasped. Her face lit up and its solemn expression softened on the spot.

Ricci nodded. “Nadya married Kris, a builder. They have a son, Heron and a daughter, Arissa.” Ricci swallowed hard and resolved to say as little as possible about the bitch, Arissa. Heron is known to your Motherworld sons and their friend, Bethan. I do not know if they are aware of the relationship although I doubt it unless Astor has explained…

“Astor has explained nothing, not even to me,” Galia told him more sharply than she intended.

Ricci winced involuntarily. Was it anger, bitterness or both that gave her voice an edge sharper than any blade? That there was no love lost between father and daughter was legendary. Did this present him with divided loyalties, he wondered? He instantly attempted to shrug off the question, but it continued to nag at him. He contrived a philosophical shrug. At least there was no question as to whom he would choose. It would be Galia, of course, and as for whatever consequences... Ricci shivered.  Oh, but why go there unless or until I have to? Even so, he had the distinct impression that someone had just walked over his grave.

Galia instantly relented, and her voice softened. “Astor has his work cut out trying to protect Mamelon from dark forces,” she conceded, adding ruefully, “It would appear that Ragund is an all but equal match for him these days.”

“Not to mention that she-wolf, Shireen.” Ricci made no attempt to conceal his hatred for Ragund’s consort.

Galia merely nodded, her still beautiful face wearing a troubled expression that cut Ricci to the quick. She saw his distress, guessed the reason for it, and gave him a radiant smile. “Don’t look so worried, Ricci. Ragund and Shireen are no true match for my father whatever they may or anyone else believe. Besides, there is a greater force for the good at work here too, I am sure of it. But don’t ask me what as I really have no idea.” She gave a light laugh that eased the tension between them to the extent that Ricci felt instantly reassured and even managed a grin that was not altogether forced.

“It has been my sense, too, for some time,” he admitted, “but I cannot begin to put a name to it except that, whatever it is, it is working with and for us rather than against us.”

Galia opened her mouth as if to say something, thought better of it and said nothing. It would not do to raise false hopes. Besides, I could be wrong, so wrong, and yet… She pushed the thought aside, not daring to articulate upon it even to herself while, at the same time, allowing herself to hope. Subsequently, her flagging spirits rallied to fly higher than they had been since her return to Mamelon.

Ricci gasped.  Mistaking, delight for fear, Galia swung round, ready to do battle.  Her relief knew no bounds.

“You are right to hope, daughter, just as you are also right to keep your thoughts safely hid from prying ears,” said Etta the Magela, her voice a murmuring lilt that reminded Ricci of waves lapping against a shore, her white hair piled high and young-old face lit with genuine pleasure if tempered with other, darker concerns.