Chapter 5 - The Mystical Mountains

Hundreds of flaming arrows streaked across the night sky and fell about me like burning rain. Their magical fire caused detritus on the forest floor to burst into flame, even though it was covered in a blanket of wet snow. In seconds, the forest around me was alight, and I was encircled by flames shooting high overhead. Hot, thick smoke clogged my lungs. I began to retch uncontrollably. Suddenly, the air above me began to whistle. Looking up, I sidestepped just in time to narrowly miss being struck down by a blazing firebrand that crashed to earth in the spot where I had stood just moments before. A burning branch fell across my shoulders and knocked me to my knees. Weakened from the protracted battle, I had no strength left to resist. Slowly, I tumbled forward onto my hands. My arms trembled as I tried to push myself up, but it was no use. The stings of arrows stabbed as they rained down upon my back, their burning tips only partly blunted by the chainmail beneath my clothing. Blood trickled down my arm from a gash on my shoulder. I tried to think where the gash had come from but could not recall. Bile and ash dripped from my mouth as I struggled to breathe. Another firebrand exploded on the ground next to me, flinging me bodily through the air to crash back to earth a few feet away with a tremendous thud. I lay there on my back. Every part of me ached in pain. My head swam, and my face felt red against the heat of the fire. My chest heaved as I gasped for air. With the last of my strength, I raised one hand to the fire to gather its energy. I tried to utter a shielding spell, but my words were barely a weak croaking sound. The air became too hot to breathe as the fire closed about me. I thought of my home at Tréow Holh and of Eli and Luna. I wondered what would become of them. Then, my head fell backwards, and I collapsed unconscious on the ground.

 

07 November 482

Almost a week after leaving the alchemist’s shop in Riverton, I was well into the foothills of the Mystical Mountains.

For the first few days of the journey, I had been possessed with boundless energy left over from having cast that overcharged regeneration spell. The effect had rendered me unable to sleep or sit still for any length of time, and the only remedy seemed to be to keep moving as quickly as possible. Though, after my encounter with the alchemist Sara, I was all too glad for the extra energy if it meant I could put many more miles behind me and make up for some of the time lost earlier in my journey.

As with all such spells, however, I knew that eventually, there would be a price to pay for such a sustained outburst. Until then, I was determined to make the most of things and so I had kept up a torrid pace.

Still travelling only after dark, by the end of the third night out from Riverton, the ground beneath my feet had grown steadily steeper until I reached a point roughly a third of the way into the Mountains where I came upon a vast forest. It was a dark and brooding forest, but even so, I was glad for the many secret places I found within its shadows where I could hide during the long daylight hours.

I knew that if I kept up that relentless pace, it would not be long until I would be scrambling over steep, fog-shrouded crags at the foot of the mountain peaks. But that was still many leagues away, and so as I jogged steadily through the forest over the next few nights, the ever-changing terrain was not my main concern – I was worried about what I might find, for I was drawing close to the region of the Mystical Mountains that was inhabited by a race of ruthless mages.  Known as the Tuath Dé,* they followed a forbidden sect of divine magic and had long ago succumbed to the dark. 

They were a dangerous and unpredictable group. Any encounter with them could quickly turn deadly, and for this reason, I hoped to avoid them on my journey through the mountains.

On the morning of the eighth day, I sat concealed in a shallow earthen cave about four feet tall and perhaps twice as wide that had been washed out of an embankment beneath a shinglewood tree at the edge of a meandering mountain river. Roots from the tree formed sturdy walls at the back of the cave, their thick, dark fingers stretching deep into the ground. Outside, a steady rain fell through the grey mist, making the air feel damp and cold.

By then, the lingering side effects of the regeneration spell had finally worn off, and as I suspected might be the case, there was indeed a price to pay for all that boundless energy – for several long and miserable hours, I was plagued by severe chills and exhaustion and painful cramps in my muscles and joints.

A little while later, I shivered, feeling chilled to the bone, and decided to risk a small fire - my first since setting out on my journey. I was wary of the dark mages but decided it was unlikely anyone would see the fire tucked in the cave behind the rain and the mist. Besides, I was so cold and miserable that I was almost beyond caring.

After gathering dry leaves, needles, and other detritus from the cave floor, I made a small pile in the middle of the cave. In the centre of the pile, I placed a small piece of black charcoal from my travelsack. Then, closing my eyes and drawing upon the core heat energy within me, I used a simple telepyrosis spell to ignite the charcoal. Adding a few more leaves to the pile, I soon had a nice compact fire going that warmed the cave enough to help take the edge off the cold.

It was the first warmth I had felt in many days; the Mystical Mountains could be bitter that time of year, and it would only get worse the higher I climbed into the hills.

The mystery of the missing pages from the fourth volume of the White Book of Magic still nagged at me, so I pulled out the book and spent several frustrating and unsuccessful hours attempting to discover the secret. Dejected, I hid the book again and curled up at the back of the cave with my back against the wall and my face to the fire. My cloak was pulled tight around me with the hood up, and I shoved my hands down into the pockets for warmth and rested my head on my travelsack.

I rested there for many hours, watching the low flames of the fire as they flickered and danced above the charcoal. My thoughts drifted far and wide: to my home and to the alchemist. And to the journey still ahead. I thought too of the thief named Gryff and wondered if his escape had been successful - and if so, where he might be.

In moments such as that, I often longed for companionship. Someone to talk to and discuss plans with, whom I could rely on to stand by me no matter how dark the road was that I travelled. I shivered with a sudden chill. If they could keep me warm on cold days such as that, all the better, I thought as I hunkered further into my cloak.

More than anything, I yearned to have someone in my life again to love and who would love me back. A trusted partner to share my life and my bed. There had been no one of any consequence since my beloved Ewan had died, and that had been so long ago that much had been forgotten to the merciful passage of time.

Much had been lost, but a great deal more remained, lying buried just below the surface of my consciousness. I tried not to think about it, but in moments of quiet solitude, when I could not turn my mind off, haunting memories better left undisturbed threatened to overwhelm me, and I wished with all my heart that I could forget those things, too.

I told myself I was better off on my own - my life was dangerous enough, even at the best of times, and one alone could travel much more stealthily than two. But that was little comfort to the lonely-hearted.

At that moment, I thought wryly, I would have been happy just to have been acquainted with the wind thereabouts; any wind I had ever known had always been eager to talk, and I could have gleaned a great deal by listening to accounts of the wind’s far-ranging travels. But the wind there was a stranger to me, so it was not to be. I would just have to trust in my woodcraft and good sense and follow the map to Grimfeld that I still carried from home.

The map! I took it out and studied it again, as I had done countless times. The dark blue orb that marked my destination continued to shine near the top of the map, and grey lines still marked the route I must follow to reach the end. But the bottom of the map no longer pointed to my home, for with every step I took, the map constantly changed. In this way, the bottom of the map always marked the exact spot where I stood, and the grey lines continually shifted to show the route I must follow to Grimfeld.

I studied the map again. Immediately across the river before me, the ground sloped steeply upwards, and I would need to traverse several jagged-looking peaks. Beyond that, there appeared to be a series of flat, grassy plateaus. In between were deep caverns that looked treacherous even on the map. I sighed with dismay. I would not know for certain until the area had been reconnoitred, but I was worried the caverns might be too dangerous to cross at night.

It would be a difficult spot if I were caught there in daylight so deep within the realm of the Tuath Dé. I thought of returning to the roads, but they would be watched. I shook my head no. As difficult as it may be, cross-country was still the best choice.

My eyes were heavy. But troubled by what lay ahead, I struggled to fall asleep. Long did I lay there that day, dozing restlessly and watching the rain. Much later, my eyes finally closed, and for a while, I found some merciful relief in sleep.

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The next time I woke, it was dark. I looked out and saw that while I had slept, the rain had changed to snow. It fell quietly on the ground outside the cave. I shivered. The fire had gone out, and the chill had returned, and my breath hung close about me in the cold air. I sat up and stretched, working the stiffness from my limbs. The charcoal had cooled, so I tucked it away in my travelsack and then rummaged through the pack looking for something to eat. There was not much to be found. Already, my supplies were running low, so I decided to take advantage of the river outside the cave and see if I might catch a few trout or minnows.

Now, I should mention that night fishing in the snow is not one of my most favourite pastimes. By a sizeable margin. But, needs must, as they say, so I grabbed some line and a hook from my travelsack and headed out into the dark. I recalled that earlier that day, as I sat gazing out from the cave, I had noticed a flat stone at the river’s edge, and I thought it might make a suitable perch from which to attempt to fish. My footsteps were silent in the fluffy snow as I walked towards it that night, though I cursed quietly when I stumbled a few times on snow-covered pebbles that shifted beneath my feet and made more noise than I would have liked.

The sound of water grew louder as I approached the shoreline. I slipped again in the snow. Careful! - I chided myself and cursed again. The last thing I needed on a bitter night like that was a dunk in the river. That kind of mistake could be the end of a person, and I had no intention of taking my final breath soaking wet and shivering on that damnable mountainside. After a few minutes of cautiously faking about in the dark for the flat stone, I finally stumbled across it a little further off to the right than I had recalled. It was partly buried in a thick layer of snow, so I brushed it off and sat down heavily.

I should further mention that baring my bum to relieve myself in the middle of a bitterly cold snowstorm is also not on my list of favourite pastimes, so you will understand my considerable consternation when the moment I sat down, I suddenly found myself bursting for a pee and short on options. I cursed again under my breath – and thought how I seemed to be doing too much of that lately. I stood up and stamped my feet in a vain effort to warm my toes, which felt frozen solid. No wonder I had grown tired of living rough. Unreasonably angry with myself for starting my journey in the first place, I trudged off in the direction of the nearest tree whilst roundly cursing life on the road and yearning most keenly for a warm, dry bed in front of a roaring fire.

Returned from the tree a short while later, feeling even colder than when I had left, I plunked down on the flat stone that was already covered over with a fresh layer of snow and set about trying to catch a fish with my meagre bit of line and hook. For all the luck I had, I might as well have walked out into the river and tried to catch them barehanded - which I must admit, I did contemplate at one particularly frustrating moment. At least until the absurdity of getting myself soaking wet on a night such as that brought me to my senses.

In the end, several long and unproductive hours passed before I finally gave up and resigned myself to being hungry. Irritated with myself and feeling miserable from the cold, I angrily stuffed the line and hook into a pocket and then blew into my cupped, chafed hands. I stood absently and was about to stamp my feet again for warmth when a strange shift in the currents of air overhead set off an instinctual warning in my subconscious. I froze, my petty gripes instantly forgotten, and soundlessly sniffed the air, methodically probing my surroundings for anything out of the ordinary.

After a few moments, I gradually became aware of what must have triggered the alarm in my head. It was a subtle change in the natural aura of the night. I could sense it. Almost feel it. Disturbed particles of energy that seemed to swirl in unexpected eddies from somewhere close behind me.

Silently, ever so slowly, I reached beneath my cloak and withdrew the dagger I wore at my hip. Its polished blade glowed white in the dim moonlight. I held the dagger close to my chest and stood completely still as the disturbed eddies seemed to get closer.

I held my breath and strained to listen. There! It was barely audible, but I was sure a pebble had shifted beneath a footstep. I wheeled around and crouched. Quickly sidestepping to avoid any possible blow, I thrust my dagger high overhead, ready to plunge it down upon whatever I might find. I don’t know what I expected to find, but to my surprise, there was nothing to be seen. Nothing at all. Bewildered, my eyes were everywhere. I searched rapidly all around me but found nothing more than snow falling lightly in the dark.

Something invisible brushed against me as another almost imperceptible change to the night air seemed to pass directly overhead. I fell to the ground and rolled to my left until I was well away from that spot. Jumping to my feet, I braced and again thrust my blade high overhead. Still nothing.

I waited in the quiet snowfall as flakes dusted my eyelashes.

Then the air shifted again right in front of me. What the hell! I rolled again, this time backwards and to my right, then jumped to my feet and resumed the brace with my blade held high. This was getting out of hand, I thought. I could not defend in all directions at once. Not for long, anyway. I glanced at the cave and thought of making a run for it. But as I felt another, and then another, change in the air swirling about me, I knew without question that it was too far away.

It seemed to me then that I had been found. By whom or what was not yet clear. I wondered if the small fire had been a mistake. Or if something else had given away my presence there despite my painstaking precautions.

“I mean you no harm,” I called out. “I am just a traveller on my way through this realm. If you would kindly let me pass, I will be gone from this place in short order.” No response. Though, I could have sworn I heard a cruel sort of laugh passing on the wind. It was not a comforting sound. Truth be told, I was getting rather anxious. Then I suddenly remembered a spell I had found in the fourth book of magic. Keeping my head up and my dagger at the ready, I knelt and dug my free hand into the snow, crushing a fistful of it in the palm of my hand until it hardened to ice.

Rising to my feet again, I pointed my hand downwards and spun in a roughly hundred-and-eighty-degree arc. As I turned, a short wall of ice formed a semi-circle beside me. Twice more, I circled back and forth over the same arc; each time, the wall grew taller. It was a potent spell – in just a few seconds, the ice wall stood a full head taller than me and reached in an arc from one outstretched arm to the next. The ice glistened in the dull moonlight as it hardened stronger than steel. I backed up against the impromptu ice wall and was comforted knowing I had at least some protection from that direction; the steely ice was sure to rebuff all but the strongest of strikes.

Down on one knee again, I placed my forearm against the snow-covered ground and uttered another version of the same spell. When I lifted my arm from the ground moments later, it was encased by a large oval ice shield perhaps four feet high and two across at its widest. I recalled what the book had said - the shield would stay on my arm until I released the binding spell.

Or until I fell.

I stood and raised the ice shield in front of me with one arm; with my other, I once again raised my dagger overhead. Thus braced, with the ice wall behind me and ice shield to my front, I was as ready as could be for whatever might come.

Almost immediately, the air quivered as countless swirling whisps of snow ‎began to encircle me. In moments, the wisps started to take shape - small columns like miniature tornadoes of snow, spinning faster and faster until they formed into vague human-like shapes. From out of these, the shapes transformed into ghostly white bodies standing what seemed to be at least seven foot tall. I did not need to look to know there were hundreds of them all around me, behind and on either side - my senses could pick out their strong auras, black and forbidding and filled with hate. So powerful that it threatened to overwhelm my own aura as I struggled to keep it from diminishing.

I realised then that I faced an army. The Tuath Dé, no doubt.

“Show yourselves!” I called. My voice died on the wind as one single shape appeared before me. It came swirling out of the snow and mist until it was no more than a few long strides in front of me.

Watching the figures materialise almost out of thin air, it came to me like a flash of light in my mind - I knew what had happened to the missing pages in the fourth book of Magic. They had not been concealed at all. They had been dematerialised. Such a simple yet bewitchingly clever thing. The realisation made me smile. If I lived beyond that day, I knew I would find a way to solve the mystery and learn what those pages contained.

The discovery was strangely invigorating.

I came out of my thoughts with a jolt to find the tall figure of a man standing a few paces before me. He wore a long, hooded cape of white fur around his shoulders, extending down to the ground. His cadaverous face was pure white, like the snow he had seemingly come from. Tiny flecks of ice crystals glistened on his face in the moonlight. The long, bony fingers of his left hand tightly gripped a wooden staff held at his side. His eyes were black and soulless, and they stared fixedly down at me as one thin grey finger tapped a steady beat impatiently on the staff.

He cut a menacing figure, and a chill ran through me just from looking at him.

I noticed swirling eddies of snow and disturbed energy radiating outward from the shaft. A sure sign it was enchanted. Which was not good. I noticed, too the staff had a small oval knob at the top with writing of some kind carved into its surface. Perhaps the owner’s name, I thought. Or that of the shaft itself.

“I sense the magic is strong within you, sorceress,” said the man in a voice that seemed to travel on the wind like a distant call. His black eyes burst alight. “But not too strong for us! Lower your weapon. Or remain thusly and feel the full wrath of our might.” He seemed to grow in stature and loomed overhead. The air about me grew very cold. “Choose quickly.”

‎I have always disliked ultimatums. They feel far too much like being told what to do. And I dislike being told what to do even more than being given an ultimatum. I am stubborn, like that. So, it was with no small amount of surprise that I found myself gradually lowering my dagger and ice shield and seemingly unable to stop myself from doing so. No matter how hard I struggled otherwise. A chorus of soothing voices filled my head and encouraged me to relent. They whispered pleasing thoughts that took away my ability to resist, though a vague suspicion niggled inside me that perhaps letting down my guard was not the wisest thing to do. My limbs felt heavy and unresponsive as they hung limp at my sides as if they answered to the will of another.

Just then, a glint of something frightening flashed in the man’s eyes. I did not like the look of it. Triumph. Anticipation. The look of death. Or perhaps all three. Whatever it was, it sparked a burning anger that welled up inside me until it consumed me and stirred me from my inaction. I breathed out slowly. If I were meant to die that day, I would not do so without a fight.

Summoning all my strength, I battled against the control of the voices in my head as I raised my dagger and shield, then took one heavy step forward in challenge.

I closed my eyes to centre myself and pushed the voices from my head. They did not leave easily, and despite the cold, I felt sweat beading on my brow from the effort. It was a close thing. So powerful was their magic, and so loudly did they call that their screams filled my mind. But in the end, I prevailed. Though we only fought for a few seconds, it felt as if hours had passed in the struggle. My mind was exhausted, but strength started to return the moment the voices left me, and my heart beat with renewed vigour.

My energy was drained and needed to be replenished quickly. Still with my eyes closed, I stood very still and allowed my senses to reach out, exploring the surrounding area. I could feel the dark surge of electric aura radiating outward from the countless shapes that engulfed me on all sides. With the last of my reserves, I focused my thoughts on the shapes, letting my mind tap into the aura flowing from them so that I could use their strength - first to renew my own and then to cast a powerful protection spell that quickly encircled me in a glowing yellow orb of shield energy.

The man rose to an even greater height until he towered over me. Looking up at him, I saw the rage in his eyes.

He tapped the surface of my orb shield with one end of his staff as though testing it, then with one great sweeping motion, he crashed the staff down upon the shield. Sparks flew, and lightning shot out from his staff in all directions. My ears hummed from the sizzle of energy as the shield took the full force of his strike. But the shield was fueled by the energy of his army, and so it held firm while simultaneously draining the strength of the mages.

Twice more, the man smashed his staff against the shield. Twice more, sparks and lightning filled the sky. Still, the shield held.

With a wild cry, the man took the staff in both hands and thrust it into the night sky. As if in response, the surrounding faceless army began to chant in unison. Their deep voices rolled across the ground between us like thunder. Then flaming bolts of energy shot out of their upraised hands, streaking across the sky like shooting stars and flowing into both ends of the man’s staff. The combined power of the army charged his staff until it glowed a brilliant blue, and the man’s face became contorted, his arms convulsing in his effort to wield it.

Having some idea of what was coming, I sheathed my dagger and braced myself firmly, planting my feet wide and summoning a fresh reserve of energy from the mage army’s aura. When the strike finally came, the man smashed the end of his staff down on the shield with such force that for a few moments, my whole world went dark, and I thought I might be dead. In the very next instant, it seemed as though everything around me exploded. Blinding light burst upwards from the shield orb. It filled the sky with something like fireworks - streaks and detonations and ragged bolts of fire flew everywhere.

The man thrust his staff harder into the shield, placing the full weight of his strength upon it, until slowly, ever so slowly, I watched transfixed as the tip of the staff made the smallest hole in the shield.

Energy sizzled in my ears as the shield compressed under the onslaught. The air inside became oppressive, almost unbreathable, until it felt as though I was being squished beneath a gigantic weight. I fell to my knees, unable to stand against the pressure. Drawing on the reserve of energy I had stolen from my attackers, I recharged the shield spell, repeatedly incanting the words in a dull monotone, the words barely more than whispers as I strained to fight back.

A deafening thunderclap shook the whole area, almost knocking me to the ground. Then another, and another in rapid succession. I looked up at the shield and smiled what must have been a crazed smile. It was working! The hole began to close. The shield’s golden glow encircled the staff, sealing over the hole and abruptly forcing it out with one last massive crash of thunder.

The man’s eyes locked with mine, his hate causing them to glow like fires of hell. I felt myself wilting under his gaze. Though I suspected it was some magical trickery and not just his stare that sapped my strength.

Exhausted, I collapsed on all fours. My chest heaved as I fought to take in air to fill my starved lungs. Though my ears were still almost deafened from the aftershock of the thunder, I could hear the man shouting his wretched frustration to his gods. The muffled sound brought a strange warmth to my heart, knowing I was the cause of his frustration. Then I smiled again – for with the man’s last mighty strike, I saw something perhaps he did not intend for me to see. The writing on his staff - so close this time that I could make out what it said. My second guess had been correct – it was the name of the staff. Morgenstern. Morning Star. From the old language of Althochdeutsch.

Learning the name of the staff gave me an unexpected idea. I waited, unsure if there was more to come or if the attack was over. Desperately, I hoped for the latter. I knew I could not withstand many more strikes such as that last one.

I did not have to wait long to find out. I watched with dismay as the man raised his staff in readiness for another strike, his long, thin arms stretching far overhead.

Once again drawing upon the army’s aura, I staggered to my feet and summoned a spell to the staff, binding its newly discovered name to the wind and casting it forth as I shouted the name Morgenstern with all my might. My voice boomed skyward. Though I did not know the wind on those mountains, such was the power of my spell that the wind came quickly. A great gust of it snatched the staff from the man’s bony hand and carried it away to the horizon.

Surprise and anger shone from the man’s eyes. He cried out in anguish, then fell upon the shield with such fury I thought it might fail. His fists hammered upon the shield again and again. Sparks flew with every strike. He looked down at me with such hatred that I shuddered with a dreadful chill. I could feel the menace radiating from him. Then, a strange gleam crossed his face, and he stood with arms opened wide, calling to his army in a language I could not decipher. All at once, the army dissolved within a single heartbeat into swirling whirlwinds of snow and ghosted into the night.

Robbed of their stolen power, I was down to my own thin reserves to maintain the orb shield. I took a deep breath and tried to centre myself.

Then I sensed a change in the air and realised we were not alone. The army had re-formed some distance away. Too far for me to draw upon their aura, but still close enough to share their power with the man who stood over me. My spirit sagged. The odds were indeed against me, then.

I stood and looked up at the man. His eyes gleamed, and his voice roared as he cast a spell. It must have been a summoning spell, for a new shaft appeared in his hands. Shorter than Morgenstern, it was thick and gnarled and grey. As far as I could see, it did not appear to have any writing on it.

Soon, the ground rumbled with the army’s renewed chant, and the sky lit up with lightning bolts as their combined energy flowed into this new shaft and charged it to a dazzling blue. But then the sky went dark, and all was silent. My voice seemed unnaturally loud as I repeated the words to my shield spell. I felt the shield surge with renewed strength just as the man’s staff came crashing downwards. Blue fire engulfed the shield orb. I dropped to my knees and continued to incant the spell. Still, the man bore down with his new staff and all the combined force his army could muster.

As I pushed back against their assault, the energy bled out of me with every second that passed. Like blood dripping from a gaping wound. Desperate for more energy, I thrust one hand down through the snow into the ground. My fingers scrabbled to penetrate the hard earth. But the ground was shallow there and cold. There was precious little energy to draw upon.

Sweat ran from my face as I strained to hold the shield. With an ear-splitting crack, the shield orb collapsed, shattering into a shower of sparks that filled the sky. A backlash of spell energy hit me and sent me tumbling far through the air. I experienced the sensation of flying and had glimpses of the sky above and forest below as I spun end over end until I was dizzy. The ground came rushing up, and I braced for a hard landing as I fell through the forest canopy, dropping down through the branches of a tall shinglewood to come to rest in a heap at the foot of the tree.

Bruised and scratched, and utterly drained, I lay on the ground and struggled to catch my breath. It took a great deal of effort, but I pushed myself up and managed to stagger to my feet. Somehow, miraculously, fragments of the ice shield still clung to one arm. Good spell, that, I thought somewhat woozily.

I looked up. Hundreds of flaming arrows streaked across the night sky and fell about me like burning rain. Their magical fire caused detritus on the forest floor to burst into flame, even though it was covered in a blanket of wet snow. In seconds, the forest around me was alight, and I was encircled by flames that shot high overhead. Hot, thick smoke clogged my lungs. I began to retch uncontrollably.

Suddenly, the air above me began to whistle. Looking up, I sidestepped just in time to narrowly miss being struck by a blazing firebrand that crashed to earth in the spot where I had stood just moments before. A burning branch fell across my shoulders and knocked me to my knees. Weakened from the protracted battle, I had no strength left to resist. Slowly, I tumbled forward onto my hands. My arms trembled as I tried to push myself up, but it was no use.

The stings of arrows stabbed as they rained down upon my back, their burning tips only partly blunted by the chainmail beneath my clothing. Blood trickled down my arm from a gash on my shoulder. I tried to think where the gash had come from but could not recall. Bile and ash dripped from my mouth as I struggled to breathe.

Another firebrand exploded on the ground next to me, flinging me bodily through the air to crash back to earth a few feet away with a dull thud. I lay there on my back. Every part of me ached in pain. My head swam, and my face felt red against the heat of the fire. My chest heaved as I gasped for air.

With the last of my strength, I raised one hand to the fire to gather its energy. I tried to utter a shielding spell, but my words came out as just a weak croaking sound. Too late, I remembered the sliver of white Star Stone Eli had given me; with a tinge of regret, I realised it would have provided ample energy. If only I had thought of it sooner.

The air became too hot to breathe as the fire closed about me. I thought of my home at Tréow Holh and of Eli and Luna. I wondered what would become of them if I were to die there.

Then, my head fell backwards, and I collapsed unconscious on the ground.

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Nothing is more discombobulating to one’s psyche than waking up in unfamiliar surroundings. That befuddling moment when your eyes first open and you have no sense of where you are or what time of day it is. Or sometimes even what day it is. Or worse, those confounding moments when you wake, only to lay there wondering how you got there and who the naked person lying next to you might be. I have been there often enough in my life. Too often, if the truth be told. Usually, the culprit was too much drink, that damnable sweet Green Ale having a lot to answer for in the long, rich tapestry of my life.

It was no different when my eyes opened sometime later to find myself in strange surroundings and a narrow, unfamiliar bed of sweet-smelling linens. As I roused further into waking and the world came more into focus, I discovered I was in a small alcove with earthen walls on three sides and a thick curtain hung for privacy along the one open side. A lantern hung from the low ceiling above the bed was filled with white fluid that seemed to bubble and brew as it cast a soft glow about the space. I looked further and was relieved to spot my faithful cloak hanging on a hook beside the bed. It seemed to shiver and glow briefly as my gaze fell upon it.

I stretched carefully, expecting to be assailed by aches and pains everywhere, but was surprised to feel no pain at all. I examined myself further, moving my arms and legs and flexing my hands, and decided, much to my pleasant surprise, that I felt quite refreshed and pain-free. I should have been bloodied and bruised, but there was no sign I could see anywhere of the beating I had taken. Thinking back to the attack by the Tuath Dé, I thought it was rather remarkable that I was even alive. I briefly checked myself at that thought until I extended my awareness out to the world around me and, sensing the naturally flowing aura of life familiar to all sorcerers, decided quite firmly that, yes, I was most definitely still alive.

I began to sit up but froze, propped on my elbows as the bed squeaked loudly. There was a flurry of footsteps beyond the curtain. With a swoosh, the curtain was thrust aside to reveal an older, androgynous person, perhaps four feet tall, with wrinkled brown skin and brightly gleaming hazel eyes. Their black hair was pulled back in a tight bun, revealing long furry ears like a deer, but with a distinctive curl upward at their tips.

My mind was still fuzzy. A weak “Hello” and a tremulous smile were all I could muster.

The stranger nodded in what might have been a slight bow. “Welcome.” Their voice was heavily accented in an unfamiliar dialect. They came close and leaned over, placing a cold hand on my forehead. I smelled a strong spice on their breath but could not put a name to it. “It is good to see you awake,” they continued. “Too long have you slept. It is not good for the soul to sleep such a sleep.” They tutted and, with both hands on my shoulders, pushed me gently back on the bed. There was a power to their will, and the thought occurred to me that even if I had wanted to, I doubted I could have put up much resistance.

They took a cup filled with liquid that had sat unnoticed on a side table, lifted my head and held it to my lips. “Drink,” they said reassuringly. “It will bring you strength.”

The liquid had a dubious odour, but there was something in their eyes that I trusted, so I drank until the cup was emptied. It tasted worse than it smelled, but as I drank, I felt an immediate and pleasantly warm tingling sensation throughout my body. It reached down to my toes and then seemed to work its way right back up again. They were right. Strength swelled within me, and I felt enlivened. They fluffed the pillows behind me, and I scootched up higher in the bed.

I watched them fussing over me, smoothing the sheets and tucking in a loose end with a surprising tenderness that I found reassuring.

Over their shoulder, I could see another room beyond, larger than this one from what I could see, though still with a low ceiling and earthen walls. It looked like a comfortable sitting room, with several padded chairs and a long settee visible from where I lay. From a flickering light that danced on the walls and ceiling, I guessed there was likely a fireplace somewhere beyond my view.

I realised with a jolt they had stopped their fussing and were looking at me with those bright hazel eyes as if expecting me to say or do something. It seemed as good a time as any, so I ventured a question that had been nagging at me. “Where am I?” I was heartened to notice my voice had regained some of its strength.

Their eyes seemed to suggest this was what they had expected. They nodded another slight nod and spread their arms as if in explanation. “Why, you are here. In my home. With me.”

I didn’t find that nugget of information of much value, so I furrowed my brow and tried again. “Yes, but who are you, and where is this place?”

“We are the true Tuath Dé. Not those abominations you encountered by the river who purport to rule this land. Nasty, disagreeable people they are. As you have already found to your detriment. They have strayed from their calling, corrupted by their dark ways and fanciful delusions.” They patted my shoulder reassuringly. “We are not like them. We are the rightful tribe of the gods, and we live beneath the ground, concealed in tunnels and caves and homes such as this. We are safe here, tucked away like the snug little mice in our burrows that we are. And so, too, dear, are you. For the moment.”

Now, we were getting somewhere, but this was starting to feel like pulling teeth, and my head was throbbing with the effort. “I am known as Niri to the outside world. May I ask what your name is?”

“You may, Niri. And thank you for the privilege of knowing your name. I shall keep it safe and pledge not to utter it beyond these walls. Mine is Chenoa. I am a healer for my tribe. That is why you were brought to me.”

“Thank you for your name, Chenoa. I, too, shall keep yours safe.” This seemed to please them. Another question had been nagging at me, and I was almost frightened of what the answer might be. I found myself whispering as I asked, “How long have I been here?”

“Eleven days.” Eleven days! I digested this bit of news with quiet alarm. I could only wonder what the cost of such a delay might be. “You were found almost dead in a forest by the mountain river Ard, and it was a close thing that you survived. Very close. But survive, you did. Yes, indeed! You have a remarkable strength to you, Niri! Most remarkable.”

“Where did you say this place is?”

Chenoa smiled, and I noticed several missing teeth. “I did not say. You would do well not to know. For your safety as well as mine. But I can tell you we are many days travel from where you fell. Beneath the peaks of the Mystical Mountains, close to the northern border of this realm.”

My ears pricked up at that. “The north?!”

They nodded.

“How close to the border are we, then?”

“Perhaps a day’s walk,” they replied. “Two for someone unfamiliar with the road.”

My heart jumped. This was welcome news! Eleven days may have been lost, but if my journey had been shortened while I slept, even by just a few days, then that was no small solace. Still, I knew I could not tarry, so I resolved to resume my quest as soon as I had the strength to do so.

Chenoa looked at me as though reading my thoughts and then seemed to come to a decision. “I think you might be strong enough to try a short walk now,” they said and held out their hands. “Come, let us venture into the other room. You can lean on me if you must. But it will be better if you try it on your own as much as you can manage. We will sit by the fire and get to know one another. Then, we will see what is to be done next.”

I stood gingerly. It was only a short walk to the fire, but for me, not having used my muscles in almost a fortnight, it seemed almost endless. I wish I could say I did it all on my own, but that would be a boastful lie. Several times, I teetered unsteadily on my feet and had to grab hold of Chenoa to stop myself from falling. By the end, they had their arm gripped firmly around me to help steady me. I was covered in sweat and quite exhausted when we finally reached two overstuffed chairs next to the fire. I collapsed into the nearest one, grateful not to have to go any further.

Afterwards, we sat there in the glow of the fire and talked for many hours about many things and shared many stories back and forth. Once I learned the trick of how best to phrase my questions to match the peculiar workings of Chenoa’s mind - to most easily get the answers I sought - I thereafter found their company most pleasant. It was not long until I discovered Chenoa had an intelligence and quiet humour about them that suited me very well, and so we were soon getting on like friends of old and chattered away quite happily. Many things did I learn, most of which you do not need to know. At least not at this stage in my story.

In time, we gained a level of trust between us, and so, in the end, perhaps I learned a little more about their tribe and their life than they might have otherwise intended. Likewise, they learned more about my journey and the reasons for my presence on the mountain than I would normally have disclosed.

I had no idea what the time was, but there came a moment when I noticed the fire had grown dim, and my voice was raspy from too much talk. Chenoa had just finished telling me a story of another wanderer they had once helped and how that stranger had betrayed their trust and taken advantage of their assistance, bringing great harm to their tribe. Chenoa concluded the story by saying thereafter, it had been decreed by the elders only to help those of the purest of hearts.

We sat in silence for a long time after they had finished that story, staring at the fire lost in our private thoughts before I mustered the courage to ask, “Why, then, have you helped me? I have done many hard things in my life. Some might say cruel. Murderous, even. Leastways, I am certainly not pure, as you might think of it.”

Chenoa smiled, reaching across the gap between our chairs to pat my hand. “A heart need not be innocent to be steadfast and pure.” I wasn’t sure I agreed with that, but I wasn’t about to challenge their belief if it might cause them to question their decision to help me. “But,” they added, “there is something in your heart that should not be there. Something dark that tries to hide from you. I can sense that it pains you greatly.”

A memory of Ewan flashed in my mind. Those brilliant blue eyes of his smiling back at me as they always did. Then those same eyes twisted in agony as the life ebbed between his fingers. The memory caught me unprepared for the rush of guilt that always followed.

I shut my eyes and hung my head in shame. Not wanting them to see in my eyes the one thing that haunted me most. My chin began to quiver, and I fought back tears as many more memories, long repressed, flooded my mind. I felt it building inside me like a rising tide until I almost blurted it all out. I almost told her everything for the first time since it had happened. The story of Ewan’s death. Sweat dripped from my forehead as I fought with the secret memory, my heart pounding and the blood thrumming loudly in my ears.

But then Chenoa placed her hand on my forehead. It felt cool and comforting to the touch. They spoke words I did not understand, yet somehow, the words seemed to find their way inside me to calm my tormented soul. Their words became a soft chant, and though I still could not fathom their meaning, the ache in my heart eased, and a quiet came to me that I had rarely known in my life to that point.

Chenoa fell silent. They held my face in both their hands and pressed their forehead to mine. A surge of energy coursed through my body, washing away the pain and, along with it, my urge to share it with anyone. I opened my eyes and looked at Chenoa. They had pulled back, but still, their face was only inches from mine. They smiled and nodded as though knowing my thoughts.

“When you are ready and have found the right person,” they said, “then, and only then, will you share your story. But this is not that time. And I am not that person.”

My hand shook as I held it against their cheek to give myself time to pull myself together. For, it had been a near thing that time. “Thank you,” I whispered. “I think you just saved me, there. For the second time, I believe.”

“Stuff and nonsense!” they exclaimed. “You need no saving. Only loving.  And that will also come in time, rest assured. Now then!” they said as their face brightened. “Enough of this melancholy!  Put it behind you until you are ready to face it. That way, if you never find the courage to face it, at least it will already be in the past where it belongs.”

I smiled at that thought as Chenoa abruptly bounced to their feet, “So, then! Time to move on,” they announced with a yawn and stretched. “Mmmhh. That is better. These old bones of mine grow stiff if I sit too long in one place.” They patted my shoulder. “Rest here, child, while I fetch us something to eat. We must build up your strength if you are to leave us soon.” They did not wait for a reply but instead turned and disappeared through a darkened doorway. Their voice called out behind them, “I will not be long. Sleep if you wish.”

“Hmph,” I snorted to myself. After eleven days of it, sleep was the last thing I needed. I was already weary of inaction, and my muscles twitched and prickled with a surplus of vivacity. Though I suspected that awful liquid I had downed earlier might have something to do with it.

I stood and took a few cautious steps around the room, ending up on the nearest end of the settee. It felt good to be independently on my feet again, even if I had only travelled halfway across a small room. A clattering of dishes came from the next room as my thoughts drifted to the practicalities of resuming my journey. It was only then that I remembered my travelsack. It had been left in the cave by the river, and I wondered what had become of it. Everything I would need was in that pack. My heart stung at the thought of all the things I might have lost. If there was any chance my pack might still be there, I was determined to go back and retrieve it. No matter how great the cost in time it would be.

The sound of soft footfalls on the floor was followed by Chenoa returning with a tray full of tea things, cakes, biscuits and what looked like a selection of sandwiches. If they were surprised by my having moved, they did not show it. Chenoa set the tray beside me on the settee and hummed softly while pouring out the tea. The aroma of lavender and hemlock filled the room, and I wondered uncertainly what kind of tea hemlock might make.

Terrible, was the answer. But I could feel its restorative powers working wonders, and so I asked for seconds after quickly draining my first cup. Chenoa seemed pleased to see me drink, and with a sudden pang, I realised my stomach was empty. I had a powerful hankering for food, so without further delay, Chenoa and I set about our meal with delight, though in truth, I did most of the eating while they watched, seemingly bemused by my hunger. Between bites, I managed to relay my concern for my belongings.

“Oh, that!” exclaimed Chenoa. “Why, we have it here! It arrived only a few days ago.” They left the room only to return moments later with my travelsack in hand and dropped it at my feet. My heart leapt with relief and excitement at seeing it. Setting aside a half-eaten sandwich, I frantically rummaged through it with unseemly haste and was overjoyed to find that all was still in order as I had last left it.

“Where is my mind!” muttered Chenoa. “I almost forgot. Your staff is here, as well.” They held out one hand, and I was astonished to see Morgenstern materialise in their grip. Chenoa held it out to me, but I was too shocked to react, so they shrugged and leaned it against the settee next to me. “Morning Star,” they said with what sounded like awe. “An honoured and magnificent staff, indeed. You are lucky to possess such a thing. Though I sense by your reaction you are surprised to see it here.”

They had no idea just how surprised, I thought dryly. My mouth must have opened and closed a few times in utter silence, so surprised was I by the appearance of the staff. “How,” I finally spluttered after a few long moments. “How in the name of Anu did that get here?!”

Chenoa smiled a small, knowing smile. “It was found next to you,” they said. “The Watcher who found you said it appeared to be attempting to revive you, and it would not let the Watcher near until he had pledged to care for you.” Chenoa sounded wistful as they continued, “It is a rare gift to have earned such loyalty and service from one’s staff. The two of you must share an extraordinary bond.”

I snorted at that. Mystified by what I had just heard. I had done nothing to deserve such loyalty other than separating Morgenstern from the man who had wielded it. Perhaps that was all that had been needed, I thought. To be freed from the grasp of an evil man. I gazed in wonder at the staff and was suddenly very pleased to see it again. I reached out slowly and gently touched the tip of the staff with my fingers, hoping we might have a chance to get to know one another better. I noticed a slight shimmer, almost like a halo, appear around the staff; I wanted to believe it shared the same hope, too.

I sat back on the settee, brimming with renewed confidence, and took stock of my situation. My possessions were found. I was healing quickly. I had made a new and dear friend in Chenoa, a friendship I knew I would cherish evermore. And now I had Morning Star. A magic staff of then untold power.

The encounter with the mages had weakened me. Almost killed me, in truth. It could not happen again, I told myself firmly. There was far too much at stake. I glanced at the staff and smiled inwardly. I was becoming dangerous again. I would not be so easily defeated next time. And that was good. My journey would only become more difficult with each new step forward.

“Where are your thoughts, child?” asked Chenoa. “You seemed far away just then.”

I looked up, and we locked eyes. We both knew my time there was running short. “I was just thinking how thankful I am for your kindness and all you have done for me. I do not know how to repay you, for I owe you my life, I think.”

Chenoa shook with silent laughter. “That you do, Niri! That you most certainly do.” They leaned forward and took my hand. “As for repayment, please take better care of yourself in future. Try not to undo all my hard work putting you back together again. And perhaps next time, avoid trying to defeat an entire army of mages single-handedly! Such a path does not lead to success, my dear.”

I laughed and heartily agreed. “You have my promise. I will gladly try to avoid that in future.”

They clapped their hands happily. “Good, good! That is settled, then. Now, come. You still have the look of hunger hanging upon you. What may I get you next?”

I did not hesitate at that. “Do you have any more of those little cakes? The ones with the sugar icing?”

“Yes, indeed! Those are my favourites, too. Let me fetch them from the kitchen.”

They jumped up and went to leave but stopped as I grasped their hand and said solemnly, “Thank you, Chenoa. For everything. You are truly a wonder.” Small pink spots came to their cheeks, and they smiled shyly. They tutted happily and turned back to the kitchen.

I watched them disappear into the darkened doorway and said a small prayer of thanks for my good fortune and for this new-found friendship.

---------------

Three nights later, I left for the Standing Stone caves. I still walked slowly, but time was running late, and so with a hug and a wave from Chenoa and with Morning Star for support, I cautiously climbed the narrow, curved steps up to ground level from their home beneath the forest and began my journey anew.

I looked back just once, but the entrance to their home was well concealed, and so there was nothing for me to see.

 

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* Tribe of the gods