by Katy Winter
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“The devils!” ejaculated Quon, as startled as Saracen by such a sudden appearance. “Southern Grohols? Surely not?”
Three men stood quietly, their look across at Saracen respectfully friendly. They turned to Quon and genuflected.
“Maquat Earth,” they said, as one.
Quon went to each man, his hand held out which was warmly clasped.
“It was sensed you might need us, Maquat. Our Vene simply felt it and we know that time draws near for a reckoning on Shalah. It's been aeons coming but it's close now.”
Quon's smile embraced them. He nodded.
“Aye, it's true. I'm grateful to the Vene. I must have sent a powerful message quite unthinkingly. I was more focused on that mountain range.”
“A very long, arduous haul, Maquat,” murmured one of the Grohols, then he gave a deep, irrepressible chuckle. “Especially for ancient Maquats.”
“Well now,” responded Quon, his smile broadening. “May I know your names?”
“I'm Shan,” offered the speaker. He gestured at the others who stepped closer to Quon.
“I'm Clae.”
“I'm Flare.”
“Then, my friends, you're indeed most welcome. What do you wish us to do?”
Shan spoke again.
“Maquat, we'll get you round and through the mountains more easily and -.” Here, the Grohol hesitated.
Quon nodded encouragingly.
“Speak freely, young one.”
“We know of the curse of Lesul and her kind, Maquat, and that the Varen suffers from it.”
“Time on the Island neutralised some of it,” responded Quon, eying the Grohol thoughtfully. “There will be no further physical attributes of their kind.”
“Truly,” answered Shan dispassionately. He was silent for a moment then added, “But the other, though helped much, may lead the Varen ultimately to a form of madness.”
Quon nodded reluctantly.
“I know,” he muttered sadly. “I know, Shan, better than you.”
“Does he know this?”
“He does now.”
“We can also help him, Maquat, especially with the dreams and visions that presage so much. They must be a recurrent source of despair, especially when the Varen knows he's unable to halt what may come and through often being disbelieved as well - though not by you and the other Doms. Seeing premonitions so clearly, again and again, must cause him anguish. We feel, with our knowledge added to your own, we may be able to transform the curse into something of value to him. It may save his life as well as your own.”
Quon stayed silent. Shan looked long at him.
“Are we wrong in our understanding, Old One?”
Quon shook his head.
“No, Shan, your Vene is right. We've all helped the Varen in our own ways. Time on the Island assisted him most and the Companions know and support him. But it may indeed be time that more is done to help him, especially as he admitted to me the other day that the recurring flares of images, premonitions of sadness, grief and pain, are more frequent and intense. He struggles to push them from his mind because he says he knows, where most don't, that they're images of reality that draw closer.”
“Then he suffers, Maquat,” remonstrated Shan gently.
Quon moved restlessly.
“Sometimes I wonder if I did right to get him to Lesul.”
“The alternative would've been much, much worse, Maquat,” replied Shan promptly. “His suffering now is nothing compared to what it would've been if the writhling finally got him.”
The little man gave an eloquent shudder. Quon stretched.
“Just so,” he remarked. He nodded towards his companions. “You need to meet your fellow travellers. Come.”
The enlarged group of travellers reached the very base of the large range and wondered at the height and breadth of it. The Grohols simply ignored it and walked quickly along a narrow path at its base, before they began a steep descent into a gorge that got ever narrower with steep sides. It was decidedly claustrophobic. They all ended up having to walk single file with Jepaul, pipe to his lips, bringing up the rear. It was at this point that Shan said the horses could go no further. He assured the travellers other Grohols would rescue them.
Finally, the path disappeared. In its place was a hole large enough for a man to go through but no bigger. The file of men and woman came to a halt. Sapphire, at the front, looked down, an expression of surprised incredulity on his face.
“Are you proposing that we climb down into that?” he demanded indignantly of Shan.
Saracen came up behind him, then eased himself next to the outraged Dom and looked up at him with a slightly cheeky grin.
“That's so, Sapphire,” he agreed cheerfully.
“The hells, man!” exclaimed Sapphire in disgust. “You have big men here, Saracen.”
“Trust us, Dom,” put in Shan placatingly. “Maquat Earth does.” He turned to Quon. “Dom?” he asked.
Quon peered into the hole.
“I'll go first,” he offered, on a reluctant sigh.
“I'll be with you,” came a voice beside him. It was Jepaul.
Saracen went to the edge of the hole.
“Let me lead, Quon. Shan will follow us, then Clae and Flare can bring up the tail.”
With another deeper sigh Quon watched Saracen lower himself into the hole then disappear. He waited. A voice, deep and distant, called him. Gingerly, and with Jepaul's assistance, Quon followed Saracen. Those gathered about the hole heard a gasp and faint yelp as the Dom vanished, then they heard a reassuring voice.
“Follow, Jepaul - all of you. Come!”
It took some deep breaths from the largest men there before they complied. The two Grohols, somewhat entertained, waited until the last Companion had gone before they too went down. Flare was the last. It was he who found a foothold that enabled him to carefully and slowly pull, one tug at a time, until a cover of dense sod closed off the hole and all was blackness.
The travellers found themselves in a huge network of tunnels familiar to Knellen, Quon and Jepaul, but quite alien to the others. To their surprise all could stand quite comfortably upright, though the tunnels, other than where they became junctions and opened out, were narrow which necessitated a single file once more. No one was talkative. Each mused as the pace at which they were moved was briskly steady. Grohols might have been small individuals but they were energetic, very fit and moved with noiseless agility and speed.
Several times Saracen and Shan halted and suggested food and drink be consumed, these stops always at junctions so the travellers weren't cramped and the artificial light that lit the tunnels was brighter. They walked for a day before they reached what the Doms thought was some sort of outpost in the Grohol domain. There was plentiful food, a wine unfamiliar to most and long padded benches with comfortable cushions and pillows. Beautiful hand woven blankets were at the end of each.
The Grohols showed the travellers where the ablutions were, then disappeared. Quon thankfully sank onto a bench, finished what was on his plate and in his chased cup, then, with a contented sigh settled back against piled up cushions. Without conscious thought he went deeply and restfully asleep. Jepaul crossed to him, lifted a couple of the blankets, removed the still clutched cup and carefully spread the coverlets. As time passed, all became drowsy, found a bench and fell back, Jepaul the last to settle.
This became the life of the travellers over the succeeding weeks. The Grohols were communicative but imparted little information about their progress. Since Quon seemed happy, the Doms and Companions took their cue from him. It was only late one day that the file halted but not at a junction. Saracen turned back to Quon behind him.
“We're at the ancestral home of the southern Grohols, Dom.”
“So I see,” responded Quon looking curiously round the smaller man. “It's very like your own home, Saracen,” he added as an observation. “You'll feel re
al joy to be here.”
“I do,” returned Saracen. “But as you know, Quon, you can't come into the city. You're all too big. Will you tell the others that from here they must stay close and make no attempt to stray. That would cause offence. Shan tells me that quarters are set up for all of you beyond the other side of the city.”
Affably, Quon acquiesced. He passed the warning to Jepaul and told him to make sure it was passed very clearly to the others. While he waited to hear back that all was understood, he looked out and over to the city that twinkled with myriad bright lights, gems and sparkled with crystals. He felt, in a way, he, too, had come home. Once Jepaul spoke again to him, Quon tapped Saracen on the shoulder.
“All's well, Saracen, and understood.”
“Then follow.”
Their somewhat erratic course had them keep to the left of the city but they could all see it clearly and appreciation was on the faces of all the travellers. Jepaul was delighted to be back and Knellen, always stoical, felt a sense of unexpected pleasure creep over him at once again being with people he'd come to profoundly respect. Skirting the unexpectedly large city took time and Jepaul judged it was night by the time they were stopped at a crossroads that suddenly loomed up in front of them.
Shan beckoned everyone round him.
“Just ahead of us are your quarters. Please feel free to roam any part of the area around you, but we respectfully ask that you don't go beyond this crossroad as there are many Grohol around here about their business as well as children. And,” he added with his endearing chuckle, “most of you are quite large.”
“So we are,” agreed Sapphire genially. “We thank your people for allowing us to come here.”
“We're honoured Dom Water.” Shan turned to Saracen. “Be with us, brother. We wish to hear of your travels.”
He gave a quaint bow to the others and, with Flare and Clae, disappeared. Saracen pursed his lips.
“I'll help sort quarters and food, Quon,” he offered, “before I join them.”
“No,” came the definite response. “Go with them, Saracen, and rejoin us whenever you wish.”
Saracen eyed him dubiously, then he smiled appreciatively and was gone.
The travellers settled themselves very comfortably over the succeeding days, in such a way that the Doms had to laugh at Javen's observation that he felt he could happily remain where he was indefinitely. The Doms knew that the Grohols, inextricably bonded with Quon, had a purpose behind their hospitality.
“They are generous hosts, Ebon,” Javen said one morning.
Ebon stretched and yawned.
“Aye, they are. Nor do they ask for anything in return.”
“Yet they offered help and brought us here. Why?”
“Probably something to do with Jepaul. Quon said it was before.”
“They've only watched Jepaul. He's not been among them.”
“Too large,” murmured Wind Dancer on a laugh. ““He's one big fellow.”
“Is Quon with the Vene at the moment?”
“Yes,” responded Jepaul, appearing at that moment. “He's spending quite some time with him.”
“About Knellen?”
Sapphire looked searchingly at Jepaul who puckered his forehead in thought.
“I think so. Knellen has had the Grohols in his quarters many times now and though he's been remote at times, he seems, overall, to be more relaxed. I know the Grohols work with him about his foresight because Quon told me Knellen's learning, with him and the Vene, to try to make his curse more useful rather than merely a burden he must carry.” Jepaul paused. “I hope they do. It's always troubled me to know Knellen carries it.”
“I don't think any here would argue with that, Jepaul,” agreed Belika, her hand out to Jepaul. “Knellen's one with us. His burden eased will benefit us all.”
“Aye,” sighed Jepaul, sinking down beside her, his face turned to hers. She stroked his hair and tenderly kissed him as he fell back into her arms. The Doms and Javen looked at them indulgently and went on with their discussion.
“And Quon? What do he and the Vene talk about?”
“Patience,” answered Wind Dancer. “Earth will tell us in time.”
The conversation continued, but mostly about what happened next. Jepaul's staff showed no life. And the days passed. Three days later Quon joined the others, his expression thoughtful but his eyes clear and untroubled.
“It's time we moved on,” he stated firmly, then a twinkle lit his eyes and the reluctant smile dawned at the raised eyebrows of enquiry.
“What prompts you to say that so definitely?”
Quon eyed Wind Dancer.
“Just a feeling in my bones,” responded Quon reflectively. He rubbed his nose.
“Me, too,” added Sapphire. “There's a new and sudden sense of urgency. Do you feel it, Ebon?”
A nod was his answer. Jepaul looked away, then turned back to stare down at the staff that lay idly beside him. It was flaring. The others watched it in silence. The staff now began to show a faint trace of the runes along its shaft that fluctuated but grew stronger as Jepaul lifted the staff to contemplate it more closely.
“Quon,” began Jepaul uncertainly.
Quon sharply turned his head at the tone of voice.
“Young one.”
“Quon, the staff speaks to me.”
The Doms looked at each other.
“So, at last it speaks,” murmured Wind Dancer. “After all this time, it speaks to its own. What does it say, Jepaul?” His voice was markedly gentle and reassuring.
Jepaul sat abruptly, the staff still in his hand. The Doms watched him stroke it as if he responded in a way he'd not done before and no one was prepared to break the long silence. It was only when Jepaul laid the staff, dull now, on the ground, that anyone spoke. It was Quon.
“Jepaul?”
Jepaul went to him and sank down beside him.
“It calls me, Quon.”
“Where, young one?”
“To Castelus.”
Quon sucked in his breath and the Doms again exchanged glances. Knellen frowned.
“Why Castelus?” he demanded. “That's where Jepaul's troubles started.”
“And yours,” reminded Sapphire dourly.
“Clearly, it's time,” argued Ebon. “Jepaul's not the child of Castelus. Nor,” he added, in an amused tone, “are you the Varen of Castelus either, Knellen.”
“But why Castelus?” queried Sapphire. “Why not your home state, Javen? Or any other we've passed?”
“Because it's where it all began,” murmured Quon. “And it's where the beginning of the end has to start. I've suspected this for a while and we have to move. You know what I saw in Jamir, all of you, don't you?” Heads nodded. “Maybe he's more the Nedru than others. I don't know. I think your Mythlin may be the same, Knellen.”
“So do I,” came the stern reply, Knellen's expression grim. “What about the shard, Quon?”
“Oh, I think you should hand it to him personally, Knellen. After all, he gave it to you.”
“My pleasure,” came the answer. No one, looking at the Varen's countenance, could doubt there was a reckoning that had to come.
“The Vene also suggests,” went on Quon, drawing attention away from Knellen, “that it shouldn't be too long before Cadran joins us. Does that trouble anyone?”
“He's young,” growled Wind Dancer.
“Not as young as I was,” returned Jepaul. “And he's been very thoroughly taught over those years so isn't as vulnerable as I was.”
“True,” acknowledged Wind Dancer, with a wry twist to his lips.
“And you've all taught him,” added Jepaul. “Quon?”
“Aye,” responded Quon absently. “Knellen?”
The Varen didn't speak for long minutes, then a reluctant smile came and he nodded.
“Jepaul's right, Dom. Cadran should be safe enough with us soon. Is this immediate?”
“No.“ Quon's head shake was definite. “It's just that the Vene thinks time draws close for an inevitable clash and Cadran, whether he wishes it or not, will be part of that.”
“Oh, aye, he will,” came the deep voice of Knellen. “Don't doubt it.”
It was a long haul to Castelus. Again, Ebon and Jepaul wandered casually into towns and cities. But, in time, they found themselves on the outskirts of Castelus. They saw groups of Varen who eyed them curiously but made no effort to approach. There was something formidable about Knellen as he rode, his mind preoccupied, that was quite discouraging to anyone. Quon suspected Knellen would soon challenge and deeply alarm his own.
Jepaul, too, had an aura about him that was enough to make anyone think twice about approaching him, and the Companions, toughened by travel and strengthened by time on the Island, also gave off an air of quiet menace that was hard to describe, even Javen and Saracen. And the Doms, rejuvenated and united, had an aura like Jepaul's, different about each individual, but no less powerful and intimidating.
It was as they approached the gates of Castelus that a challenge rang out. Not to anyone's surprise Jepaul answered it.
“Who are you and what do you want?”
Jepaul dismounted from one of the horses he and Ebon had acquired weeks before after leaving the southern mountains and Grohols. He led it forward.
“The Cynas and Red Council are expecting me,” he said in ringing, deep tones.
“We have no orders to that effect,” came the response.
“Haven't you?' asked Jepaul, starting to laugh. He turned to Quon. “Have you the shard, Quon?”
“Aye.”
Quon's face stayed expressionless. He drew the shard from his pocket and handed it, without a word, to Knellen. Knellen tilted his head.
“It's that time, is it?”
“Aye, it is. Use it, Knellen. Don't show your eyes.”
The guards at the gates, mystified, watched Knellen quietly stroke the shard. Slowly Jamir's visage was reflected, slightly distorted, in the shard. The guards heard the infuriated snarl.
“Varen!! Why aren't you clearer than this?”
“I'm here, Master. You'll see me soon.”
“Where?” came the growl.
“At the gates.”
“Show me!” This time the infuriated voice was disbelieving.
Knellen obligingly swung the shard to show the small band and the gates. There was a long silence. The guards put their hands to their heads, then instantly muttered to each other before they swung back the gates.
“Enter, Varen!” grated Jamir's voice. “Bring yourself and your travelling companions. Have you the boy?”
“Yes.”
“You know the way.”
They all heard the gloating in the Cynas' voice but again no one uttered what they were thinking. But they heard the sound of pain Jamir gave as Knellen, dismounting, deliberately ground the shard beneath his heel and kicked the fragments from him. The Doms gave him approving smiles as the small cavalcade passed through the gates. They heard them clang shut behind them. They watched as a body of men approached at a smart trot, their horses tossing their heads and the men astride rigidly erect. Quon glanced sideways at Knellen but the Varen appeared to remain unperturbed by the advance of his own kind and merely rode his horse in a more relaxed manner than the Varen who approached in such a business-like manner. They drew up quite abruptly when their horses were almost nose to nose with those who came through the gate and, as they surrounded the travellers, their eyes were focused on Knellen. The leading horseman spoke.
“You return to us, brother.”
Knellen kept his head slightly bowed but he rose in the saddle to respond to the salutation.
“As ordered by my Cynas,” he agreed.
“There's a bounty on your head, brother.” Knellen nodded. “Do you come willingly to face your trial?” Knellen nodded again. “So we need not fetter you?”
“No. I came willingly.”
The Varen eyed him broodingly. He pursed his lips then drew back his lips to show the pointed teeth in a half-smile.
“We regret the necessity to carry out this duty, brother, especially as you've clearly travelled far. Who are your companions?”
“Friends, brother, that's all. They are not aware of my function as far as I know.”
The Varen nodded and began to turn his horse.
“Follow!” he instructed curtly.
They had a leisurely ride to the palace. Quon noticed that Jepaul's face was unusually set. The Doms and Companions merely looked about with vague interest but appeared divorced from proceedings. They'd all follow Knellen's lead. Quon was unsure what Jepaul may choose to do or say but he, too, was relatively untroubled. Like the others, he recognised the young man's truly formidable power and the fears he'd held for Jepaul for so long were eased, if not entirely gone. He was, after all, still untried.
