As John watched the heavy form of the lumb break through the rope bridge and tumble into the chasm, he felt first relieved, and then concerned. He was at least safe, but what remained of the bridge was in tatters, and he could not get back to his companions, nor could they reach him. He had effectively been isolated, and he strained his eyes to see what was happening back on the far side of the bridge. He saw movement, and sought Vilma in the confusion, receiving a thought message that all the guardians were still in one piece, with a few cuts and bruises, but that there was no way to close the gap between themselves and him. A feeling of frustration passed with the thought, and John ruefully had to accept that they had been out-maneuvered, and that there was nothing they could do about it. His task was to carry on and he sighed deeply, feeling the full weight of his task on his shoulders. With a raised hand of farewell, and a feeling of deep foreboding he set off, now totally alone, toward Athrak and Ataxios. The rest of the party would have now to descend to the river valley and skirt it till they found a crossing point, which would delay them substantially.
At times he walked briskly, at times he ran, and the sound of his feet hitting the ground, his breathing, and the pounding of his heart were his only accompaniment as he negotiated the uneven terrain, all his attention focused on his footfalls in order not to sprain an ankle, or end up sprawling in the dust. These immediate distractions served to help John push out of his mind the enormity of what he was called on to do. He realised that he was little more than a biological machine, and that he was no different from any other sweating, panting, fearful, mortal biological machine; the mechanical left-right, breathe, of his progress could have belonged to any living creature. It could have belonged to any young soldier facing battle with a gun in his hand and orders to follow, not knowing if he would be forced to kill or be killed himself. It could have belonged to the hare or the fox that hunted it; now it was him, John Stone, Wandmaster in the Realm of the Dark Crystal. Ataxios had laid his plans well. The battle on the Plain was the first line to the Wandmaster, with plans to make him a lo and to take control of him and the crystal wand, and thus the trove in Wandguard; but in the event of his escape, the way had been laid with secondary measures designed to bring him to the mountains of Athrak. It seemed to John that Ataxios was determined to bring an end to his life in the Realm, and if that happened, he knew that he would also die in his 'real' life. In fact, his previous life was now the fiction he couldn't really believe in, empty of Jazlyn, Guardians, Athrak, Ataxios, the Akryd and the crystal wand.
As he ran, he tried to summarise the various changes he had accepted in his 'life' since he arrived in the Realm. He had been surrounded in this dark crystal environment by Guardians, sworn to protect him against all dangers so he could fulfill his apparent 'destiny' and bring the missing crystal trove out of the dark of Athrak and into the light. He had been given a magic crystal wand of great beauty and power with which to bring about the feat. His transformation from normality to heroic took place gradually and the residual John Stone of old had got slowly less and less substantial, so that he now felt that it was no more a real part of him than the shadow that followed him on a sunny day.
The sound of his pounding heart deafened him with every step and the Athrak mountains were closing in on him. He halted, breathing with difficulty and placed his hand on his heart as if he could stop it thumping, but the blood was rushing in his head and his body was on auto-pilot, providing the fuel for the road ahead, adrenaline forcing every process into over-drive. Slowly it became easier to breathe, and he lifted his head, stared at the mountain before him, discerning a sheer face with a gaping dark cave entrance, which should have had a sign over it saying 'Enter at your Peril', but which didn't need it, because it was so obviously the entrance to the passage-ways under Athrak. 'A means to an end', he thought, 'but what end?' It was contemptuous that there were no guards outside. Anyone wanting to enter could be sure he wouldn't get out, and the lack of security just rammed that message home. Ataxios wanted him to enter and the lack of guards was an insolent invitation from the spider to the fly.
It had often occurred to him that he had gone completely mad and was out of touch with reality, and he would have been able to believe this entirely, except that there was ONLY the here and now, and as he looked around him, there was nothing that suggested either a dream or a hallucination. The dust and sweat on his brow were real and so were the outlandish clothes and boots he was wearing, and most of all the wand. He drew it out and gazed at it, and it seemed to hum and vibrate in his grasp, emitting an array of colour which enveloped his hand. Colour coursed through him and warmed him, comforting and cajoling him; "I am with you," it said. "You are safe in my care." He embraced the familiar feeling of contact and felt the answering of his own personal colours to the call to trust and believe. He sighed.
'What choice do I have?' He replaced the wand in it's sheath across his chest, and shook his head in grim resolution. Then he raised his eyes, kept the cave-mouth in view, scanned the horizon for movement and, seeing none, trotted on to the inevitable, whatever that was going to be. But the secondary voice in his head kept shouting against the seductive voice of the wand, 'No! You have a choice.' Once more he stopped in his tracks. The entrance was nearer. He looked around. 'Would a fly knowingly enter a spider's web? If I had been pushed to the edge of a precipice, would I jump? Only if what was behind was worse than that ahead,' he thought. He looked behind him but there was nothing to be seen – nothing at all; so why put himself in obvious danger? No. There must be another way! Oh, it was so frustrating arguing with his own better judgment and losing!
He realized that he was both hungry and thirsty, so he took himself off the track and found a rock to lean against, and sat down to think. His pack of food was very light now, but there was still a chunk of bread, a little cheese and some kind of dried fruit, all of which he washed down with a swig of water from his flask. Immediately, he felt better and he scanned the entrance to Athrak. 'How can I get in, find Jazlyn and retrieve the trove without walking into a trap? He thought. As he pondered over the problem, he saw movement at the cave-mouth and he threw himself flat in the dust, raising his head to watch. A group of spindlies were leaving the cave and heading along the path in his direction. They were armed and were about 12 in number. His heart skipped a beat as he realised that they would pass by him and that he was visible from the road where he lay, and also that if he moved, he could attract attention. What to do? What to do?
The wand guided him; it was part of him. He 'blended', like a chameleon, finding he had the ability to change his colours and become one with the rocks around him. Even his clothing faded and blended so that he was as grey-brown as his surroundings, silent still and immobile. He was able to watch, having closed his eyes to narrow slits in order to hide them, but able still to observe. On came the spindlies, and leading them, the very familiar form of Nya.
In his stony form, John felt no rage, felt no desire to pursue Nya or to react, nor did he allow his thoughts to betray him, because here was a spindly who could think-talk. As the group passed by, Nya slowed, his long neck straining left and right to catch maybe the scent of something, a hint of something unseen, and all the time, expelling unguarded thoughts, mental pictures, scenes.
Then the group passed and hurried off, so John 'unlocked' his form and relaxed into soft flesh again. He had more knowledge now of how things were in Athrak from Nya's stray thoughts. The spindly had a wand? He had stolen it from Ataxios, from the Temple Trove by stealth and Nya, already surprisingly strong, was much more dangerous now. Was he fleeing Athrak? Was Ataxios weakened by the theft? He sincerely hoped so.
What John, himself, had just done felt so natural that he didn't even question it, and he realised he was becoming more attuned to the rocks the longer he stayed in the Realm. With a grim smile, he got to his feet; the spindlies were now out of sight, and the way into Athrak was clear. There were no guards at the entrance, and very few at all with
in; they were all on the plain of Athrak or out searching for the Wandmaster. He loped along the rocky pathway, keeping an alert eye out for any surprises that might be in store, but feeling secure at the same time – at least for the moment.
The cool damp of the cave entrance enveloped him and he took a few steadying breaths, to try to acclimatize and to allow his eyes to adjust to the dark. He placed the palms of his hands flat on the tunnel walls and felt himself attune to their nature. He thought he must be part stone himself by now, and the crystal wand resonated through him, giving him the ability to feel totally at home in this subterranean environment so that he felt suddenly and strangely confident as if returning home. There was a faint glimmering light all around; the very rocks were glowing bluish-grey and he could see quite well in the gloom. The tunnel ran on ahead and from time to time side openings into other caves or passages could be detected as sounds amplified or echoed off to the left or right. 'Just keep going straight', he thought, 'It's the shortest distance between two points, and logically, if the tunnel runs on, then it's going somewhere, otherwise it wouldn't be here. Either an underground river dug this out or some intelligent mind – either way, it will lead somewhere, and I think I know where.
Abruptly he came to a fork, one going off at a slight incline up on his left and the other seeming to slope down and to bend away on his right. He halted and listened for any sound that might give him a clue, and he opened his mind. Garbled thoughts entered his head. He sensed Jazlyn's despair and felt an unfamiliar mind attempting to calm her; he sensed the sticky mud of evil that wanted to suck him and all others down into its depths and keep them there. He knew the final part of his quest was close and he steeled himself. In truth, he felt calm now that he was actually in Athrak and playing out his hand. He seemed to lope effortlessly along the tunnels and slip past the rocks as if he were fluid flowing from one level to the next, having no option but to go in the direction gravity took him. His senses were attuned to the walls, floor, textures of the subterranean darkness. He had no need to see. He knew where he was and what was around him because he was part of it. There was a magnetism pulling him onwards and the attraction was irresistible as he approached the chamber of the crystal trove of Athrak. He sensed Ataxios, sensed Jazlyn, sensed the essence of the Athrak trove and blended with it. This kind of awareness was what man once enjoyed in his surroundings when he depended on nature for his survival, when he wasn't deprived of his sixth and maybe more senses by having everything provided for him, he thought, but where his life hung by a thread if he misread the information they gave him. The tiger would always have an advantage over a man in the wild. John had the wand, and it heightened his instincts – he was becoming a tiger. Unfortunately, Ataxios also had instinct, though perhaps not now a wand and was on home territory. John knew he should be prepared for the unexpected.
His skin prickled and he stopped moving along the tunnel to listen. There were very faint sounds somewhere far off, garbled voices, anguish, moans and sobs and John felt deadly cold creeping over him, starting from his feet and wrapping around him like ice. He dismissed the cold by thinking of himself as stone, unaffected, and there was a hissing sound as the clamminess retreated. The voices were persistent. The crystals in the trove of Athrak, the rock and stone, Jazlyn, were all calling to him like haunted voices in a howling wind, but he also sensed the mad excitement of Ataxios, who in turn felt the approach of the Wandmaster, deeper and deeper into his domain. John became the wand and the wand was John. Power was theirs. There was no fear, his purpose and the call of the trove became the only things that had any meaning. Ataxios was irrelevant.
At the mouth of the underground Temple of Athrak, he stopped, and within the chamber, eerie sickly colours of blue/black, silver/purple, grey leaden colours moved sluggishly around the alcoves hacked into the stony walls. They gave enough light for the altar to stand out in the centre of the cave and for John and the wand to see the crystal trove, hostage in darkness, unable to shed its light and reveal its colours. And beside the trove on the altar, a second hostage. Jazlyn, bound and prostrate on the hard stone tablet. His heart at once leaped to see her, and sank as he saw her helpless and restrained.
The darkness once again tried to bind John's ankles with its tendrils as his emotions surfaced, but he was able to detach from his sentiments and once again, the hiss was audible as it slithered away. Darkness with form, with essence and with intent was unpleasant but light will dispel darkness, always. John was light – even in this dank mercurial place, he was light – shining inwardly.
A hideous, shrieking cackle broke the silence in the Temple and in the depths of the gloom, the darkness split to reveal a monstrous bug-eyed head swaying from side to side on a skinny neck.
"You give yourself to me, Wandmaster! And I never refuse a gift!"
John knew that he was entirely alone against the greatest evil he had ever encountered, but he had elected to be exactly where he was at that moment and felt that he was not a victim but a challenger. He drew strength from within and from the wand and stood erect and calm. He had no need of words – his aura spoke for him, glowing outward from his body and giving him a hum of warmth and soft colours in the darkness. He felt the trove craving for his light and stretched out his hand in their direction, forming a link which turned into a rainbow of colour, brightening and lighting the Temple with long-forgotten hues.
Ataxios shrilled in anger and lunged at the trove. An emaciated arm wielded a dark sword, severing the connection, attempting to suck away all the glowing colour, but the light leaked from the crystals like liquid and as soon as the sword passed through it, it reformed again into a stream. So, Ataxios had truly lost the wand? That was interesting and crucial, and gave John the upper hand. Maybe he had reason to be grateful to the thieving slyness of Nya. The Wandmaster became the trove and the trove became the Wandmaster while Ataxios ranted, raved and hurled commands and enchantments at the crystals ranged on the altar, but they were so hungry for the light John was imparting that they knew no bounds in their search for expression. Their colours grew in intensity and John could smell, taste, hear, see and feel them as if they were his skin, his eyes and all his senses. The wand hummed at his chest, but the Wandmaster felt no need to reveal it.
Suddenly, from behind John came the sound of heavy footsteps and a company of lo's appeared, led by Gnath, his huge captain, who had returned to Athrak with a few lo's on the pretext of coming to his master's assistance. They were unimpressed by the light-show and took hold of John. He struggled to escape, and felt himself become..... insubstantial – a mist of light – and their rough hands slipped through his flesh as he poured himself into the rainbow of light and dived into the crystal trove with the wand. As he became part of it, he passed his hand across the prostrate form of Jazlyn and before he, himself disappeared, he encased her in crystal to protect her from harm. He then extinguished himself and became a dark crystal in the dark crystal realm, and in the blackness of Athrak. No further light escaped him.
Ataxios was at once enraged that the Wandmaster had disappeared from sight but at the same time, knew that he had him trapped in the crystal trove, and he started to weave dark locks and bonds in the air around the altar. He would imprison the Wandmaster there, forever contained. He had wanted to make John a Lo, but his beautiful Akryd had perished and he had to find another alternative; no matter, now he had him eternally in the dark and the wand of power with him. His own precious dark wand had been stolen by some treachery, but he would find the culprit and he would pay! In the meantime, he remembered Tyloren, trapped for the second time in the darkness. Maybe he could find a better use for the dark box, and use it to keep the Wandmaster in, trapped as he was in the crystal trove.
"Bring the Dark Box" he screeched, and before long the trundling wheels were heard on the stone floor.
"Unlock the box!" he cried, and grabbed the huge bug-shaped key from Gnath and placed it on the door. It crept on mechanical legs through the series o
f movements necessary to open the door, which swung on its hinges, and the black darkness gaped. Out staggered Tyloren, who tried to take in what was happening. He was seized by heavy lo hands, but quickly assessed the trove, and in amazement felt the Wandmaster's essence held therein.
"Once again, little priest, you exit the dark box! I have need of it to place my beautiful crystal trove inside, and your Wandmaster with it!" cackled Ataxios, "Gnath, secure the priest!" Tyloren took in the situation but was incredulous. Could the Wandmaster truly be contained within the trove?" He saw Jazlyn's face peering out of a glassy wall and felt her dreaming peacefully on the altar. But before he could take in all this new information, he was grabbed by strong Lo hands and bundled out of the cavern. But he could still think and he sent the strongest message he could muster to John. "I am here."
Within the Crystal Trove, a new transformation was taking place, where dark was giving way to light, and as John and the wand, now aided by Tyloren, grew within the crystals, a bolt of lightning exploded outwards from the altar, illuminating the room with such brightness that all were blinded and the dark box shattered into pieces. Ataxios threw his hands up before his eyes and emitted a penetrating screech, before collapsing in a heap on the cold cavern floor. In consternation, the lo's scattered, except for Gnath, who instinctively rushed to his master's aid.
Ataxios, unable to see, stumbled to his feet and threw out his arms in an attempt to catch hold of the wall to steady himself, but succeeded only in falling again to his knees and grovelling in the rubble of his wrecked Temple. The Wandmaster, following the lightning bolt, emerged from the crystal in which he had taken refuge, he was a shifting form, at once light, then substance, then crystal, becoming solid rock, moving, changing in and out of being. Gnath saw that this was an enemy he couldn't defeat with his bulk, and saw his best chance of survival lie in his duty to protect his master so he scooped up the disoriented Ataxios, and headed out of the underground temple and into the tunnels away from the terrible power of the enemy now among them.
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