Son Of Skye Read online

  2

  After the battle between A-Sharoon and those of the forest clans, after Nickolous and Leah had returned to that far-off place they knew as home, the Old One and those of her clan who had survived decided to return to theirs. Along the way, their numbers had dwindled; as they happened upon others of their kind, where the prospect for resettlement looked good, many stayed on. By the time the remainder of them had made it home, most were so disheartened by the destruction that surrounded them, they had simply salvaged what remained of their possessions and dispersed to different areas where they could attempt to build new lives.

  The Old One, against the advice of her friends, had made the return trip alone. Everything had gone well until she had been caught in the eye of the storm. Cold and wet, she had taken refuge beneath a stand of ancient oak trees, their thick, sturdy branches entwined so tightly that she was kept reasonably dry and protected. Then, as the thunder rolled, and the lightning flashed, a shadowy form had appeared and briefly took shape.

  By now, Timothy and Sarah were holding their breath, waiting.

  Was it?

  Could it be?

  Timothy leaned across the table to gaze into ageless eyes, and the question went unasked as the Old One shrugged her shoulders.

  “Who? Nickolous? Or just the wishful imagining’s of an Old One who was cold, wet, and weary?” She patted Timothy’s hand in a silent gesture of understanding before leaning back against the padded backrest of fragrant cedar boughs that Timothy had made for her earlier. “Who knows?”

  The sudden knocking at the entrance of the opening caused them all to jump. Startled, Sarah turned, then, recognizing their visitor, laughed in delight.

  “Owen. We had not thought to see you so soon.” Timothy greeted the white owl warmly.

  Owen gratefully accepted the place at the hearth that was made available and leaned close, the warmth running through him. Glad to be back among his friends, he drank long and deep of the drink given him.

  As he returned the nearly empty gourd to Sarah, Timothy answered the unasked question. “Orith fares well.”

  “That’s good. I was worried about him, and the journey was hurried because of it.” Visibly relaxed now and warm, Owen met the Old One’s gaze evenly across the roughly hewn stump that served as a table.

  “We have only won a reprieve—if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  Owen smiled; despite the sharpness in her voice, he, better than anyone, knew her true heart. Laughing softly, he reached out to gently pat her shoulder. “Old One, it is truly good to see you again.” He leaned back, his expression now serious. “There’s more to come. I’m afraid we’ve only won a reprieve at best, as our old friend says. If we had destroyed A-Sharoon when the opportunity presented itself…well, what comes our way now would be much easier to deal with.”

  Sarah sniffed audibly, her silky whiskers twitching back and forth in agitation. Placing the hollowed-out gourd that served as a drinking cup down carefully, she gestured through the open door toward the mist-shrouded mountains. “And what of the others?” she asked, her large brown eyes narrowing as she grew angry at the thought that the forest clans had to face yet another threat, this one totally foreign and unknown. “Are we to wait around like children so that what little we have left will be taken yet again? Why, within all the writings and hidden lore, can’t one of the gatekeepers, or watchers, or whatever they are, find the daughter’s lair and end this once and for all?”

  “Because, little daughter, the time of the two centers to join the circle is not yet complete.”

  Sarah gasped as Timothy, sword drawn, leapt toward the open door, only to find Owen there ahead of him, barring the way.

  3

  Deep within the cavern, a blue-white light flickered, then sprang upward toward the ceiling where long, fragile fingers of ice fire explored its prison. Finally, with a shuddering sigh, it retreated back to the floor, receding into itself until it was once again no more than a glowing ember.

  After a while, when the echoing sighs had fallen silent, what appeared to be nothing more than a shadow within the deepest depths of the cavern began to move toward the barely glowing embers. There were no cautionary moves, for the fire’s keeper did not fear his reluctant prisoner; rather, he drew comfort from the creature’s sorrow in its unwanted confinement. Drawing a deep breath of satisfaction, he turned from the Living Flame toward the woman who stood behind him.

  A-Sharoon flung her heavy cloak carelessly on the earthen floor, heedless of the narrowed eyes which followed her movements with disdain.

  “Woman, what do you want here, in this sacred place?” The rasping voice seemed to reverberate throughout the cavernous room where the two of them stood.

  A-Sharoon looked disdainfully at the barely glowing embers, then at the scowling figure beside her. Her head raised defiantly, brows arched; she gazed down at the speaker, for she was a good deal taller than he was. Like two combatants, they stood thus for some moments, eyes locked, searching each other’s depths for signs of hidden thoughts.

  A-Sharoon broke the stifling silence; the words honeyed and soft. “i needed to speak to the master of the night. i need to know what progress had been made…that is, has there been any contact with our allies in the hidden places.”

  The red eyes that peered at her from beneath the hooded robe would have been enough to give anyone else pause, but not so the Daughter of Darkness. In her quest for vengeance, and by her birthright, all trace of humanity had been extinguished. Therefore, she was not about to fear a comrade of the darkness whom she secretly considered to be inferior, but nonetheless needful…for a time.

  “What you have need to know of, you will know.” The eyes that now glared at her were no more than slits and the answered reply little more than a snarl as the figure turned aside; the rustling of heavy robes were the only sound to be heard as the hunched form moved slowly out of sight.

  A-Sharoon stood a moment longer before grabbing her cloak from off the earthen floor, and as she did, the blue-white flame, which had retreated into a small spark of near nothingness, flicked with the rapidity of an angered serpent toward her outstretched hand. Her reaction was nearly as quick—but not quite.

  The freezing effect, even through the unseen barrier that separated them, was only momentary. The flicking tongue of the flame had barely grazed the upturned palm through the shield that held it captive. As A-Sharoon nursed her tingling hand, a self-satisfied smile played about her blood-red lips. Kneeling down, she gazed directly into the flame’s flickering depths and was flung backward by the sudden blast of flame that shot upward, off the earthen floor, then just as quickly settled back within its center. Rising, A-Sharoon stood a moment longer, her pulse racing at the prospect of this new and unexpected ally.

  Outside the cavern’s entrance, the sentry on duty shivered in the damp humid air as the sounds of dark laughter crept upward from the hidden places, to seep into the outer world of the living.

  § § § § § §

  Timothy, sword drawn and already arcing upward, was flung backward, where he landed in a tangled heap at his sister’s feet. The Old One had risen quickly as Owen had moved to guard the unexpected visitor, her old eyes hardly daring to believe what they were seeing. In all her years of studying and seeking the truth of the before time, she had never thought to see the believed weaver of legends with her own eyes. Sarah, too, was staring in disbelief at the opened door and that which filled the breadth and depth of it.

  “Sorry, old friend,” Owen apologized as he helped Timothy up from his sprawled position where he had landed against the jagged rock. Meanwhile, the unannounced visitor had moved further into the cramped room.

  “Who—what—are you?” Sarah’s whispered question was surprisingly loud in the sudden silence.

  “I am that I am, just as you are who you are. I am that which
is feared. I am that which is revered. I am. I am the keeper of dreams. The legends you weave within your deepest memories, I hold for you, so that when the time comes, you may fulfill your destiny. That is who I am.” The regal head lowered so that they were eye level. The being spoke again as the hooded covering fell back, revealing a face so beautiful, yet so terrible, that it was hard to look upon without feeling joy and fear in the same breath. “I am who I am, but, like you, I am mortal.”

  “But the teachings.” The Old One was bewildered by this unexpected turn of events.

  The laugh that resounded in the silence was low and melodious. “The teachings? Old One: we who guard the gates are not immortal. There are many things which go on seemingly forever, but nearly everything has its time under the heavens. Those who guard from above ensure the continuance of the teachings of light to those below.” There was a gentle sighing sound as the being partially unfurled great black wings, and the next words were whispered.

  “My time approaches. Another must be found worthy of the quest. For many turnings I, and those most trusted, have seen to it that the balance was kept even. It is a sad day that comes when the balance is tipped to favor the night. Yet all is not lost, for another has been chosen to learn the sacred teachings, and it is he who will lead the darkness to the destruction meant for those who entrust themselves to the keeping of the light—and betray that trust.”

  The golden head bowed lower so that Sarah saw what the others could not: great crystalline tears gathered then fell unheeded down a face that was ageless. For a brief moment, Sarah gazed into old-young eyes, and she saw.

  Owen felt suddenly older than his turnings as an inexplicable sadness filled his being. The others felt it, too. The Old One sniffed loudly as she rummaged for a handkerchief amongst her tattered belongings. Sarah, her big brown eyes luminous with emotion, turned away as she fought to keep her emotions under control, while Timothy coughed self-consciously. When next he looked, it was to discover what the others already had—

  The visitor had vanished.

  Silence, complete and overwhelming, threatened to suffocate them as translucent tendrils of white mist rose up from the damp earth to caress their weary bodies. As the companions brought their emotions under control, a sudden understanding passed between them, even as the eerie wailing sound reached them—even before the wind, bitter and biting in its cold fury, swept through the little abode as if searching.

  § § § § § §

  “Mother?” Leah knocked gently on her mother’s bedroom door, waiting patiently for an answer. There was none.

  Nickolous, having returned from an early morning walk, had just removed his jacket and was closing the closet door when he heard his sister’s anguished cry. Taking the stairs three at a time, he reached the landing where his mother’s room was; the door leading to the bedroom was ajar. Inside the room, Leah stood, gazing in horrified fascination at the empty bed and the stain that lay dark and damp upon its surface.

  A-Sharoon—the word, unspoken, hung heavy between them as the tension in the room deepened; while Nickolous felt a darkness rising within him that was nearly overwhelming; for even as he centered his thoughts, he tried to look into that other place, his senses seeking. He blew out his breath slowly—there was nothing.

  When at last a cooler head prevailed, it wasn’t his, but Leah’s. “Nickolous?” Leah placed a hand on his shoulder, for she was determined to stay as calm as possible.

  Long moments passed before Nickolous’s breathing calmed enough to give way to more lucid thoughts. Yet even when it did, the anger was still there, along with the need to draw from deeper within. Somehow, he knew his mother was alive. That knowledge served to calm him further, but there was something wrong with the events that had brought them here; to this place, this day. Their mother was powerful in her own right—protected by abilities even her son and daughter could not yet comprehend. How, then, could this have happened?

  Drawing in a deep breath, Nickolous met his sister’s questioning gaze. They both sensed what the other wanted, as they had once before, in that far away place of legends and dreams, and their purpose was united. Within an hour, the bedroom was cleaned and all traces of any struggle erased.

  Although not spoken of aloud, it was agreed that Aunt Erlin, as well as the household staff, all of whom were on vacation, must not know what had transpired in their absence. Even though the house would remain virtually empty for the next few months, it was important that, to outside appearances, everything remain the same.

  The entire house had been searched from top to bottom for clues. The fact that nothing had been found further confirmed the suspicion that other-world forces had been responsible for the sudden disappearance of a mother who had just been getting to know her children, and they her. The recent happenings cast a pall over the old house and its two inhabitants who restlessly paced the width and breadth of the house’s massive grounds, their minds seeking answers, their eyes searching.

  The fine mist that heralded the night was falling damp and thick upon the earth long before Nickolous and Leah gave up their search to seek the warmth of the fireplace in the den of the well-lit house.

  4

  Intense and searching, icy tendrils reached out as the wind shrieked, seeking, while the forest warrior shuddered, his limbs twisted in agony.

  The small, loathsome creature glared upward at the guardian of the gate. Yellow eyes narrowed to mere slits on the elongated face as the feral creature snarled a warning to those gathered about. With long strides, the woman swept through the snapping, howling throng, her staff sweeping in a wide arc, sending anything in its path scurrying for cover.

  “So, great guardian, where is your power and strength now?” The silky soft voice purred as the bearer of the staff drew herself up to her full height, which was imposing, to say the least.

  With a sharp intake of breath, the watcher in the woods withdrew further back into the dense foliage that concealed him—the woman turned her head, listening.

  In the taut silence that followed, even the wind stilled its aimless wandering as the woman’s piercing gaze swept the open spaces and probed the forest’s depths. Finally, satisfied that no intruders lurked nearby, she returned her attention to the Ancient One; guardian of the Living Flame.

  The guardian, one of the forest warriors from before the times of remembrances, sighed deeply; his large frame shuddering against the vicious attack while his trunk-like legs glistened, dark and wet with the tears of the elements of life.

  The unseen watcher shuddered as A-Sharoon used her staff to bruise and tear; but still the forest warrior stood, tall and unwavering, while the unnatural wind swirled about, causing havoc wherever there was something to be tossed or thrown.

  The light, brilliant white, temporarily blinded her as sudden heat seared the staff. Dropping it, A-Sharoon flung an arm up to shield her face as the wind whipped about her, hot and humid. Then, the white light vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

  Unseen eyes watched in voiceless silence as A-Sharoon, coughing and choking from the nearly unbearable heat, recovered her composure and knelt to retrieve the intricately carved staff. Shaking the staff furiously skyward while muttering incantations, she withdrew back to the shadowy depths of the forest; her small army of loathsome things closing ranks to ensure none followed the secret path their mistress took back to her lair of darkness. The smell of that which is unclean lingered long after they had departed.

  And still the watcher in the woods waited.waited in the stifling silence that precedes the passing of that which is evil. And when the forest birds tentatively began to sing, and the smallest of the four-footed clans began to scurry about, he approached the guardian of the gate. But even then, he did so cautiously. Gentle hands caressed the grievous wounds until the great limbs no longer shuddered in pain.

  As the forest warrior, tall and pr
oud, gazed down at the winged healer who had risked much by revealing himself, an unspoken understanding passed between them as the two stood, their thoughts now one, the parting no more than a silent acknowledgment. The winged one turned away, eager to be gone from this place of sorrow, for he felt in part responsible for some of it. He had arrived too late to thwart the dark one’s plans.

  The Living Flame was gone—stolen by a creature so low, once one of their own kind, that the guardians who watched from above had been caught off guard. Realizing their complacency, they had tried to intercept the ancient dweller of the earth’s hidden places but had been too late.

  With a last backward glance, the weary traveler drew his midnight wings about him as the hidden winds once again swirled from the sacred places, blowing that which is unclean away. When the dust settled, there was only silence—that, and the forest warrior who remained standing; a mighty sentinel still, guarding the broken gate, which lie scattered in pieces around him.

  § § § § § §

  “All the more reason we have to go to the above world for the boy,” Gabriel replied, his tone brooking no argument as he watched the small flickering fire; the flames reflected eerily in his cobalt-blue eyes as he turned to face Owen.

  Owen looked thoughtfully at those gathered about in the hidden cavern. “We may not have to. There may be another way to bridge the two worlds and bring Nickolous to us, for he feels our presence here as well as there; in that other place. If A-Sharoon is not stopped, it could affect all the worlds that bridge the essence of being. We will not be the only ones affected by the perfidious acts of this Daughter of the Night.”

  Timothy paced the cavernous room angrily, his long silky whiskers twitching in agitation. “We can’t let that happen. There must be a balance—”