Wandmaster

by Valerie Kramboviti

  "She's alright for now and if we do the job we set out to do, we can hope to get her back again. If we don't succeed, her position won't be worse than ours, so I suggest we try to make haste and not delay any more."

  Jet was the first one to accept the logic of what John said, and also the first one to believe in his recovery.

  "Honour to the Wandmaster! Spoken like a soldier, and one with spirit at that! I agree. Let's move out. On your feet guardians of Wandguard, our Wandmaster is in need of you!" Jet's endorsement was just what was needed to raise morale and confidence, and there was a loyal chorus of "Honour to the Wandmaster" before the bustle of activity as the guardians formed ranks and led off. Their informal relations as they journeyed, linked to John's disgrace at Kinguard had meant that the formal greeting "Honour to the Wandmaster" had seemed inappropriate and had been allowed to drop. Now, it fuelled their loyalty and gave them solidarity once more with their Wandmaster. It quickened the blood and their mingled voices raised their spirits and sharpened them.

  They set off. This time John was in the leading group with Gilladen, Honeth, Mandrik, Joceley and Maylene. Jet fell in beside John.

  "You had us worried there, Wandmaster." John grimly gave him a hardened grin, and then replied, "Sometimes it takes a shock to bring out the urgency of a situation. Anyway, what I want to talk about now is strategy. The whole plain of Athrak is crawling with spindlies, lo's and some kind of hunting animals like huge dogs, not to mention, of course, the Akryd!

  And Ataxios knows we're coming, so there's no element of surprise for us. What plans have we got?'

  "You've seen them?"

  "Oh yes. I've seen them all right. And it's not pretty. The first time I've ever seen a walking nightmare."

  "How many?"

  "Too many for us. I would hazard a guess at about five hundred spindlies, about a couple of hundred Lo's and 50 or more of those hounds. The Akryd herself has a Lo contingent of around 50 and they surround her, keeping her in their midst with long rods, working between them to direct and contain her."

  "And Ataxios?"

  "Dressed in some kind of insect mask and totally covered in black. He's really enjoying himself, and can't wait to make a Lo out of me."

  He's standing on a high plateau overlooking the Plain of Athrak from the West, a ruler surveying his fighting strength. He's not very happy at the moment, as I paid him a visit a short while ago and made him a little nervous." The armsmaster of Wandguard scrutinized his Wandmaster for signs of instability for a moment, but his well-practised eye found none.

  "Hmm," he mused, "so Ataxios is more interested in you than in keeping hold of the crystal trove. That might be useful to us."

  "You mean hand me over in trade?"

  "No, he wants both you and the trove, but we might be able to distract his attention by waving you under his nose while we try to effect an assault to get the trove from the Temple of Athrak."

  "Bait, then, not a trade."

  "Yes, but bait that will not be caught."

  "How can you be sure?"

  "Nothing is ever certain, but good strategy can sometimes outplay numbers and the best of plans, and anyway, you seem to be able to look after yourself in ways I can't begin to understand."

  "I hope you're right."

  "Talking of a plan, though, we really ought to think of a way to get the Akryd out of play, and then she won't be able to turn anyone into a lo."

  "How easy is that going to be?"

  "Let me talk to Menoneth. He's met this 'beauty' before and might have spotted a weakness." With that, Jet dropped back and entered into conversation with Menoneth, and John trotted on with his companions. The scout group, Zak and Tye returned from time to time and reported. The way was clear, and having crossed the high pass over the thundering falls, they were now heading down into the Northern approach to the Athrak Mountains. The going was easier, more craggy than steep and they had guides who knew the terrain very well having often scouted into Athrak. There were secret and accessible ways through the peaks that had been passed down from guardian guides of old and were well known, and courtesy of Maplin, well charted.

  The tumbling streams they met as they traversed were good providers of cool clean water, and they found a place with low shrubs and a few slender trees, where they were able to rest and eat some of their supplies. After the drama of the pass, the break was welcome, as was the food; and spirits, which had plummeted with John's collapse, now rose as he munched hungrily in their midst and gave every impression of being unaffected and unafraid. In fact, the truth was that John was beyond fear now. He had to accept that his life had been divided into two realities, and that this one was an adventure unlike any he had ever heard of. He had power here. The wand, when in his hand, gave him magical abilities. He could make light and colour work for him and his past life couldn't compare in terms of excitement with that. Nothing in his 'life before the crystals' had electrified him in the way that this separate existence had. In the Realm he had known passion, fear, anger, challenge and danger to name but a few of the extremes of emotion experienced. What did it matter if he never went back to Prowess and Dibbs and his little house in the suburbs? Could such a dreary reality now contain him?

  It mattered if he died, he mused, or even worse, became a ‘lo'. Yes, even a dreary existence was better than death or slavery. For a moment, a piece of cheese remained suspended on its way way to his mouth as he considered this, but then he bit into it with resolve. "That is not going to happen," he said out loud as he chewed.

  "What is not going to happen, Wandmaster?" asked Maylene, who was sitting close by.

  "Guess," he chewed, and stared hard into her eyes. She flushed under his gaze, the truth being that she had always liked him, and he smiled as he read her thoughts.

  "Well, you and me for one thing," he smirked, "but apart from that, there is a small matter involving the Akryd, and Ataxios's plans to give me an extra head."

  "You're not my type anyway, too scrawny, and you certainly won't be with one of those creepy white faces between your shoulder blades, so looks like there's no chance for us two," she teased, and then turned serious. "All the same, I would hate to see anything happen to you."

  "Don't worry Maylene, I've got some very good bodyguards!"

  He stood up, packed away the remaining food, and walked to the stream to drink. This was a signal for all the others to pack up their things and prepare to move off. As the journey once more began, John swore that he would do whatever it took to get Jazlyn back and get rid of Ataxios once and for all along with his precious bug. At the back of his mind was the nagging question of why, with the long history of Wandmasters who had entered the realm from John's ancestral line, was there still an Ataxios? Why hadn't any of his predecessors managed to rid the realm of the obnoxious presence, and was he, John, likely to succeed where they had failed? Was it all just a theatrical performance, the roles changing from time to time, but the plot, the beginning and the end staying the same? Whatever the answer to that, this particular adventure was all his and he would have to play it out in his own way.

  Evening was closing in and Zak and Tye led them into an area with many sharp standing rocks, flat faced, grey-green and smooth, which stood like a garden of spiky cactus plants pointing up at the sky. The rocks afforded shelter from the wind, which was cold and persistent and they could, in small groups, squat down behind them and become, for prying eyes, all but invisible. Out came the supplies again, and they were much less now than they had been two days before. It didn't matter, John decided, and thought ruefully that he might indeed die, but it probably wouldn't be through lack of food.

  Honeth came and sat beside John, and the two men munched companionably side by side. John allowed his eye to rove over the countryside, which stretched out below them in the evening twilight. The rock they had chosen was one of the outermost, and they had an unobstructed view.

  "Do all of these peaks have names?" wondered John aloud, and pointed
at one quite close. "That one ought to have, at any rate, if you look at it carefully, it's like an old man with a beard lying flat and looking up at the heavens."

  "That must be Daridus," chewed Honeth. "I've heard of it, of course, but never seen it up close, and that one yonder, if you look at it closely is like a young girl with flowing hair and long skirts, see it? That must be his daughter Narielle. Beautiful, eh?"

  "Yes, but what's the story, were they transformed or something?"

  "No, they were born from the earth, and set to guard over it. They watch and feel the changes in the stony bones of the realm."

  "Even the rocks and mountains are alive?"

  "In their fashion, yes. But you're in more of a position to know that than me. To me, the crystals are just stones but they work for you." John mused over this, and drew the crystal wand out of its sheath.

  "I've never seen that up close before," said Honeth, "It would look magical even if you didn't know that it was."

  John gazed at the wand in his hand, a multi-coloured icicle of striated crystal, each new band of colour blending into the next. Honeth was right. John held the wand at arm's length and pointed it directly at Daridus, catching the last rays of light.

  "I offer you my respect, old man of the mountain, pray tell me what you look for so intently in the heavens?" He delivered this as though it were an act on stage, because it seemed an appropriate way to talk to a mountain. Honeth sat, entranced, watching John, whose face had become alive with energy as he worked the wand. No answer came, and John hadn't expected one, but as the two men gazed into the distance, a mist formed like a small cloud over the craggy face of the old man-mountain where the mouth might have been, and they watched in fascination as the breath of mist moved across the distance toward them, stringing out over the hilltops. The wind was gusty, but it didn't disturb the cloud as it meandered its way nearer. As if swimming through the darkening sky, the channel of smoky cloud approached.

  Seeing the turn of events, and John's mesmerized face, Honeth decided not to wait for things to develop, and he darted off, searching behind the standing stones for Menoneth. He found Vilma and Jet, talking in low voices, their heads close together, and they looked up with a start when Honeth addressed them.

  "Erm, forgive the intrusion, Vilma, Armsmaster, but I am concerned about our Wandmaster." Jet jumped to his feet, feeling for his weapon, and Vilma was no slower.

  "It's not something you can fight with a sword; you'd better come though."

  "What are you babbling about, Honeth? Can't you just tell us what's up?"

  "Look!" Was all he said, and pointed at the approaching stream of cloud. At first they saw nothing unusual in the direction in which he pointed, and then Vilma gasped.

  "Daridus has awoken! Honeth, fetch Menoneth!"

  As Vilma and Jet reached John, the first wisps had almost arrived, and they had dropped in altitude, so that they were floating now just above the ground, and would surely envelop John at any moment.

  "Jet, just watch and listen, and don't let anything or anyone disturb us! Stay outside the cloud!" With that, she took a smooth step sideways and settled herself down beside John. He seemed unaware of her presence, but the cloud was not; it momentarily halted in its progress and seemed to hesitate. Vilma stayed still and calm, and the cloud resumed its progress, but it settled on John, leaving Vilma outside, seeming to pack itself more densely in order to form a barrier between them. She tried to move closer, and force her way into the cloud, but a long wispy finger extended itself outwards, solidly pushing her away. Daridus didn't want her, but John was engulfed in the mist of cloud, which thickened and effectively cut him off from all outside.

  "I am," spoke a voice to John alone, who was now enveloped in the yellowish mist. It was an aged voice, but strong. "I am the backbone of the way of all things." John was engulfed in the breath of Daridus, a sulphurous, uncomfortably warm breath, which made him heady and slightly nauseous. "You seek change in this realm, and this is both the way and not the way. All things are one and one is all things. Mountain becomes man, man turns to dust, and dust to stone. You and I and every other thing, living and not living, are made of the same rock. Change is endurance."

  John was awestruck, and clutched his wand in his hand, which in the swirling mist gave off flashes of light and sparks of colour in the midst of the breath of the mighty Daridus.

  "Ah, yes, you have in your possession a beautiful child of the mountains, like my Narielle, fair and strong." The wand seemed to hum and return the affection Daridus was feeling, passing on to its master the timelessness of the solidity of rock and crystal. "I know of your quest, because all things that take place on the fabric of this realm are mine to know. I judge not. Changes from state to state are inevitable and it little troubles me the how, the where, the when and the why. But, I read you, mortal, as I would read the stars that pass overhead, or the grasses that grow on my flanks, and you do not displease me."

  John was unable to speak, finding breathing difficult, but he allowed his heart and mind to speak for him. He joined with the crystal wand and allowed his awe, his sense of purpose, his courage and his hope to blend with the colours and light that surrounded him, and Daridus sighed.

  "No, you do not displease me. I will follow your quest, for you are like the ant that carries a seed many times its weight and delivers it to the nest for the benefit of the whole community. That is something I may not do, and it is good that you reveal yourself to me with your open heart. I can understand why the crystal children respond to your touch." With that, a loud, long hiss became audible to those surrounding John, and the steamy gaseous cloud, which cloaked him, rose and drifted off across the rocky distance into the north and towards Athrak.

  John sucked in cool clean air, coughed his lungs clear and rubbed his streaming eyes. At the first opportunity, Jet, Menoneth, who had arrived in the meantime and Vilma plied him with questions,

  "What happened? Are you alright?"

  "What was that about?".

  "Yes, cough, cough, wheeze, yes! I'm fine, cough. Oh, my eyes!" The wand still in his hand, he touched it to the bridge of his nose, and wished his head clear. At once, a sensation like cool clean water rushed through his sinuses, his eyes, his mouth and throat, and he was refreshed. He stood, replaced his wand in his jerkin and gazed across at Daridus staring impassively up into the sky, and smiled.

  "It's nothing. Don't worry, I just had a little chat with Daridus!"

  "Merciful crystals, I thought you were being dissolved in that yellow smoke. You disappeared completely, you know!" said Menoneth

  "I was fine, really, Daridus's child kept me safe?"

  "Narielle? Do you mean Narielle was in there too?"

  "No, not Narielle," said John with a smile, cryptically. He saw Vilma and Menoneth exchange looks, and he think-talked to Vilma the picture of the wand in all its beauty within the cloud of Daridus, and she nodded.

  "I think I understand, Menoneth," she said, "and correct me if I'm wrong, Wandmaster, but Daridus wants us to know that every rock and crystal is a child of his."

  "Something like that, yeah."

  "And what else did you learn?" Vilma asked with a sidelong look.

  "That Daridus is not displeased with me."

  Chapter 27

  No Going Back

  In her sleep, Jazlyn dreamt that she felt the soft touch of John's embrace, and gave a small sigh as she made to turn over, but woke from her reveries to find her arms bound close to her sides and her ankles tied together. Her head hurt like it was being squeezed in a vice, her throat was sore, her mouth dry, and she was aware that she was in a predicament without being alert enough to know exactly what kind and how it had happened. Slowly she opened her eyes, and saw . . . nothing, and she was unsure if it was night time or if her eyes were covered. Being unable to see, she listened, and soon heard the shuffle of feet near her. A hand grabbed her chin and she tried not to show she was aware, allowing her head to be turned left and r
ight and then flop again. Then her head was tipped back, and water was poured into her mouth. She gagged, coughed, and involuntarily moaned, but the hand was insistent, and she was once again given water. This time, she swallowed, mechanically, and then flopped again. A whiny, nasal voice she had come to know well spoke to her.

  "Wandmaster's little maid must wake now."

  "She's still out cold, what did you give her?" At the sound of the second voice, Jazlyn's blood froze. She knew it even better than that of Nya. Slowly the memory of the events in the hills at Kavanagh Heights began to come back. Someone had grabbed her sword arm as she had been about to strike…… but she had no sword…… then she remembered it all, the magical light sword, and the feeling of the Wandmaster wielding it through her, and she remembered being poised to finish Nya off after bringing him down. Then someone had blocked her, grabbing her arm from behind, preventing her from striking.

  "It's special herb. They use on young ones when they take them for spindlies. Nya remember taste and smell. Head hurted, mmm, remember."

  "We could go much faster if she was on her feet." Yes! Now she was sure. And outraged! Though trussed up like a chicken and unable to see, she lunged for the second voice and rolled ineffectively onto her side mumbling into the soft grass under her face.

  "Wes, you traitorous….." her characterization lost in a mouthful of undergrowth.

  "She awake. Hmmm, she awake." She was pulled roughly and propped up against a tree. Then she felt fingers fiddling at the back of her head, and a blindfold was removed, giving her full view of Nya and Westroth, staring at her from squatting positions at her side.

  "You make a beautiful couple," she spat at them "I hope you'll be very happy together."

  She slurred her words slightly, and her eyes were droopy, but the venom in her was apparent, nonetheless.

  "Cut the sarcasm, Jazlyn," said Wes coldly, "you have to co-operate otherwise you'll make things very hard for yourself."