Jepaul Read online

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Another syn passed. The arduous, long trek across the north of Dawn-Saith tried the small group to the limit. They were attacked by myrods, huge insects with unforgiving bites, and other unfriendly creatures that inhabited these wastelands. Jepaul could understand why people gave up trying to live in such a place.

  And the Maekwies made an appearance. Their attentions were on Jepaul. When he stood defiantly, with the Doms beside him, the Maekwies hurled spit at him and rained curses on the impervious figure. They withdrew with ominous threats.

  They saw other creatures Knellen was quite sure weren't of Shalah. They made him shiver. And at last he saw those whom he now resembled in part. He saw them approach in a flying formation, their enormous wings fanning the air with grace and ease, but their wickedly sharp beaks snapping menacingly as they hovered overhead.

  They came lower. It was curiosity that drove them. They looked long and hard at Jepaul, as if to satisfy themselves he was real, then they focused on Knellen who stared back reluctantly. He heard raucous laughter. Beady, bright eyes looked directly into his. Again there was laughter, then the formation was gone. The mirthful sound echoed uncomfortably in Knellen's mind for a long time afterwards.

  These events were an awakening for Jepaul. He asked the question the Doms had waited for and dreaded because Jepaul was close to the truth that could hurt him.

  “It's me they want, Quon, isn't it?” he asked, one particularly fine evening.

  “Yes,” came the honest answer. The Dom glanced across at the long sprawled out figure.

  “Is it because I'm telepathic and shouldn't be?”

  “How long have you known you're telepathic?” asked Quon with interest. Laughing amber eyes were upturned to his.

  “For a syn or so. At first I didn't believe an emtori caste could possibly have that sort of talent, but then I began to think. It was when Marin came that I seriously thought about things and why we moved so fast.” Jepaul turned his head so the auburn curls glowed in the firelight. “You've always protected me, Quon, and I wonder why.”

  “Yes, Jepaul, I have.”

  “Is it because you fear for me with talent, or because I'm Jepaul?”

  “Both, lad,” replied Quon promptly, “but mostly because you've become a son to me over the syns.”

  “And it doesn't trouble you that I come from a cursed and despised line?”

  “That's never meant anything to me, Jepaul.”

  Jepaul thought for a moment.

  “I wonder why you all teach me so many things,” he pondered. “Marin taught me of all things water, you of all things earth and Wind Dancer of air. You're three of the Shalah Elementals, aren't you, Quon?”

  The old man eyed Jepaul quizzically.

  “You have been thinking, lad, haven't you?” he marvelled. “And who has been telling you all this?”

  “Javen,” admitted Jepaul with a yawn. “You're a Maquat Dom from the Island, an Elemental taught by Salaphon.” He threw a challenge at the Dom. “Is that what you wish me to be, with you? I have come to you before when you all gathered, haven't I?”

  “Yes,” admitted Quon with reluctance. “But you didn't remember, Jepaul. Why do you remember now?”

  “I don't know.” Jepaul smiled slightly. “Javen didn't tell me anything about that,” he said quickly.

  “Well, my lad, I don't know what you'll be and can't even guess. As you learn, you'll find what it is you are. It's not up to another to choose for you, only, indeed, to open the paths so you have the right to choose entirely for yourself.”

  “Do you take me to the Island, then, where I may learn?”

  “Jepaul, you astonish me. Why do you ask that?”

  “Because I think that's where we go. Am I wrong?”

  “No, dear boy, you're not,” came the frank reply. “But no one has discussed this with you, have they?”

  “No.”

  “So how do you know?”

  “I don't know that either,” admitted Jepaul with another smile. “Can I learn nowhere but the Island?”

  “No,” said Quon flatly. “Knowledge is gathered there and contained for transmission to those who can and are willing to learn.”

  “There's a trial to get there, isn't there?”

  “Yes, Jepaul, and not an easy one. Many were once lost who tried and failed. There is no second chance, nor is there life afterwards.”

  “It's not just my telepathy, though, is it?” insisted Jepaul. He sat cross-legged now, in front of his mentor.

  Quon studied this youth, his looks so apposite to the appearance of those born on Shalah. He sighed and shook his head.

  “Then what else is it about me?” Jepaul got no answer and shrugged restlessly. “Quon, sometimes I see Marin and Dancer look at me, as you sometimes do, in a sort of worried way as if they looked at something or someone beyond me. I don't imagine it, I promise you. Why do they do this? Don't you trust me that you'll not give me an answer?”

  “Demons, lad! Of course I trust you, as you trust me,” exclaimed Quon, shocked from his abstraction and quandary. He exhaled deeply. “You want to know about yourself?” Jepaul nodded expectantly.

  “Then you're old enough,” decided Quon, with only the faintest inward qualm.

  “It's my origins,” mumbled Jepaul with uncanny foresight. “Why am I damned, Quon?'

  “Not the right word, child,” reproved a voice beside them. Both old man and boy turned their heads to see Sapphire and Wind Dancer settling beside them. It was Wind Dancer who spoke. He watched Quon fortify himself with a long quaff from his tankard before he started to speak. He seemed to choose his words with great care.

  “Jepaul, long, long ago, a man came to Shalah. No one knows where he came from, or where, finally, he went. At first he was considered a boon to Shalah. We were a young society in many ways and had much to understand about how to organise our world. This man who came was enormously knowledgeable. Until he came such wisdom wasn't known on Shalah. He educated us. In a sense we were the children to his mind. He seemed to be a benevolent individual and for long syns Shalah thrived under his guidance and was beholden to him in most ways.

  Then he changed, not in a dramatic way, you understand, but in subtle ways. It was before Salaphon was on Shalah.” He saw curiosity in the boy's face. “I can't tell you much about him at all, dear boy. All I know is that one day he was here, on Shalah, inhabiting an island that no one could find. Only the man knew where Salaphon was because, from what I was told, he deliberately sought him out. I doubt they ever met face to face.”

  “Who has met Salaphon in such a way?” uttered Sapphire in a dreamy voice.

  Quon eyed him, then went on,

  “The man ceased to be benevolent. He was arrogant. In time he ceased to care about Shalah and her people and abused his powers at our expense. Finally, he became malevolent and cruel. It was as if, after he'd secured our hearts and minds and loyalty, even our devotion, it was our very dependence on him that brought out this worst side of his character.

  He was inordinately powerful, Jepaul, in a way not known on Shalah since, other than on the Island. And even that power is different again. You may think your Cynas powerful, Jepaul - he's nothing compared with this man, nothing at all, nor is any man or woman born on Shalah. He had a name but never used it. He simply called himself the Protector, a title which became a tragic irony when you think of his actions.

  In time he became known to Shalah as the Progenitor. He became quite devilish, as if demons drove him to any excess. He took Shalah women freely, very freely, lad. None ever gave birth but one woman. In turn she had the one child, and so on it went, down the ages.

  There was an oddity about his offspring, Jepaul. Over the many, many hundreds of syns, if the first child of the man's line died, another child was always born to carry on. Some of the children died naturally, but, as happened later, many were immediately put to death before they were out of infancy. It was quite frightening for Shalah that there wo
uld always be this bit of the Progenitor on our world.”

  “This man,” said Jepaul in a shaken voice, “had the taint, didn't he?”

  “Yes, lad, he did. He had five toes on each foot, just like you.”

  “So as time passed those on Shalah set out to destroy the line? My line?”

  Quon looked at the anxious face.

  “Yes, sadly, my dear lad, they did.”

  “But they couldn't?”

  “Physically, no, Jepaul. They tried other means. As you know to your cost, poor fellow you were, they decided that if they couldn't dispose of the line they'd reduce it to the point where it's influence would be negligible and entirely forgotten over time.”

  “They did that straight away?”

  “Oh no, Jepaul. It was done more subtly than that. It was over many syns and countless generations, so, though gradual it was quite deliberate. In the light of the times and what the Progenitor did it was quite understandable, I'm sorry to say.”

  “Tell me what he did,” begged Jepaul, clasping his hands round his knees.

  “After being a benefactor, Jepaul, he set about the wholesale destruction of Shalah. At first it was thought he wished to conquer us and enslave the world, but in time we came to understand that what he wanted was the complete annihilation of this world. I believe, had he succeeded, Shalah would have become a circling void, empty and desolate, but we never found out why he wanted this. Maybe it was just part of the nature of the man.” Quon paused to drink and glanced at Jepaul. The boy's face was white. “Jepaul, this was such a very, very long time ago. No one can hold you responsible for the actions of a forebear millennia old. This is from a time of memory. Do you understand?” Jepaul nodded slowly, his strange eyes fixed compellingly to Quon's face. “He came close to success. But for Salaphon, who marshalled a reasonably formidable response over time, there'd be no Shalah.

  The first wars were one-sided affairs, Jepaul. Shalah had no defences. It was a peaceful world. The Progenitor had this world by the throat and completely at his mercy. He didn't immediately destroy us because, I suspect, that gave him no pleasure. Instead he tortured the people, enslaved them, played with them as if they were toys to be enjoyed, broken then tossed aside.

  He had minions who carried out his commands, some willingly, others forced to obedience in appalling ways. Some he brought with him to Shalah. They were abominations.” Quon saw a blank look in Jepaul's eyes. He realised that from this point in the story he'd need to express himself in terms the boy could fully understand. The reality of other dimensions was discarded immediately.

  “He seemed to have creatures unknown on Shalah readily at his disposal,” he temporised, “like the Maekwies, writhlings, Wraiths, just to name a few. People of Shalah weren't equipped to cope with such creatures.” Quon drank again. “He brought them through -.” Here he paused. He was about to say spatial gates but abruptly decided to keep it simple.

  “Through?” repeated Jepaul. He didn't see the others who'd gathered round to listen.

  “Through another part of Shalah,” amended Quon judiciously. “Where he came from perhaps.” He became deliberately vague, considered the point and went on, aware of a quick, strange glance from Javen. He flicked the man a smile. “It became a question of whether these minions took over Shalah for the Progenitor who seemed to tire of the whole affair, as if it bored him, or whether Shalah could rally forces to repel or control these devilish creatures. Maybe, by playing with us, the Progenitor made a mistake.” Quon frowned. So did his listeners. “Well,” explained Quon, “it gave this world time to organise defiance.”

  “And did they?” asked Jepaul eagerly.

  “Eventually, lad, yes, but it took a very, very long time, with many deaths and much grief across Shalah. There were some who could better withstand the assaults than others. They centred on the Island. Salaphon taught them how to withstand the forces of the Progenitor.”

  “Were they special people, Quon?”

  “Yes, Jepaul, they were.”

  “Were you there?”

  “In time, I was there.”

  Jepaul eyed him with suspicious calculation.

  “How old are you?” he asked bluntly.

  “Old enough not to announce my age,” came the tart, glib reply. Quon put a hand on Jepaul's head for a moment.

  “And then there was another battle?”

  “Oh yes,” answered Quon absently. “A huge battle was fought. Not just one either. The struggle went on for generations.”

  “But Shalah won?”

  “Shalah won,” repeated Quon thoughtfully. “It was after that time that there was an attempt to have Shalah divided into small states, Cynases we called them, with satellite towns, each led by a trained Cynas. Each Cynas was chosen and taught the ethics and principles of proper, just governance. They were steeped in the philosophy of the importance of the common good being paramount. Each Cynas had a council of educated and intellectual men of enlightened attitudes, who were likewise dedicated to the well-being of those who elected them - that was the people, Jepaul. The Cynas, too, was elected.”

  “Our Cynas has always been ruler,” said Jepaul. “I learned young that he was to be worshipped.”

  “Times changed, Jepaul. The system I described worked extremely well over a very long period of time, but gradually it became corrupted by ambitious men of ruthless disposition. Now, all across Shalah, even the councils are unelected instruments of cruelty and repression.” He saw Jepaul shiver. “Yes, dear boy. Think of what they did to you and would do again if they could reach you. That's exactly what I mean. No civilised state or man would allow such things to happen to anyone, let alone to an innocent and defenceless child.”

  “And did the Varen evolve as part of the repression you speak about?” asked Knellen, an edge to his voice.

  Quon wearily turned his head.

  “Unfortunately, Knellen, you have masters who bred and trained you for a specific purpose. You're hunters and killers. On the whole, you carry out your duties with chilling and admirable efficiency.” He added ruefully, “I know one Varen who stands outside his function, Knellen, a man who has earned our trust and affection. Jepaul knows he owes his life to you, just as much as I do.”

  “That's enough,” growled Knellen.

  “Why did caste happen then?” asked Jepaul, who'd been thinking quietly while Quon and Knellen spoke. “How can that be for the good of the people?”

  “It's not,” murmured Quon in an anguished tone. “The demons, how could we be so blind? All the signs were there. Did we just not want to know? Did we think time would rectify such patent wrongs?”

  “Gently, old friend,” said Sapphire quietly. He put a hand to Quon's shoulder. “You saw little, Earth, and what you did see you spoke about to us. It should have acted as a spur for us, not you.”

  “Caste?” insisted Jepaul.

  “Caste was introduced for specific reasons, Jepaul. It was useful for reducing the status of a certain line we've spoken about. It offered rewards for those who did exactly what a Cynas wanted, because those who did not suddenly had to become members of a caste. Immediately they became inferior and less influential. The lower the caste, the more debased they became. Caste is used to punish. Powerful, questioning, or influential people, who might pose a challenge to the Cynas, could be kept carefully under control once they became members of a caste. Once in your caste, as you know, you may never rise above it. Javen?”

  “Agreed, Dom,” said Javen with a grimace.

  “Caste controls a populace very easily and well, Jepaul. It's a clever misuse of power and effective. Caste members can be executed out of hand, so elimination of enemies becomes easy.”

  “So my line was brought to the bottom caste - emtori.”

  “Your line, Jepaul, unfortunately showed less than commonsense. They flaunted their differences and claimed superiority. After the wars were over they were discredited and seriously mistrusted too, everyone eying them with incr
eased suspicion. Their motives were thought to be devious.

  It was finally decided that your line was simply too dangerous just to be left uncontrolled and evolve as it wished. It was brought under rigid control by caste. They fought it, but each succeeding generation was further disinherited and steadily reduced in caste rank, until for the last five generations, Jepaul, they've been emtori - as you were.”

  “Are we so dangerous then?” demanded Jepaul with a grin up at Quon.

  “No, lad, not at all,” came the ready reply. Jepaul missed the spasm in Wind Dancer's cheek and the suddenly serious expression on Sapphire's face. Javen noticed.

  “So why am I so different from my emtori line?” asked Jepaul thoughtfully. “And why do you hurry to get me to the Island? And why was I able to join the Elementals those times?”

  “Oh demons,” whispered Sapphire under his breath. Javen and Knellen gave him a sharp look. Saracen leaned forward in anticipation.

  “That's a difficult one to answer,” said Quon evasively. “What's more of a question is why are those like Wraiths moving so freely on Shalah.” He met the innocent, enquiring look directed at him. “Jepaul, something has happened on Shalah to allow them to be here when they should be contained. This is unexpected, and not just dangerous but frightening too.”

  “What would have set them loose?”

  “We don't know.”

  “But they have an interest in me, don't they?”

  “Jepaul,” began Quon helplessly, floundering for words. He could find none. He found he had to meet the clear, ingenuous eyes searching his so acutely and knew now was the time for Jepaul to face his identity. “Dear boy,” he began, his voice a caress, “over hundreds and hundreds of syns those of the Progenitor's line lost the appearance that was so unusual, but kept the so-called taint or curse. Yes?”

  “I don't know,” replied Jepaul, genuinely astonished.

  “What did your mother look like?” asked Sapphire calmly.

  “I suppose like me because I don't look like Mesmauve.” Jepaul considered. “I'm glad I don't,” he went on frankly, much to Sapphire's amusement. “But my mother -.” He stopped. “No, she wasn't like me either, much. I don't really remember,” he confessed. “She had grey eyes as Shalahs do and I don't.” Jepaul pondered, then announced at last, with a shrug, “I don't think I look like anyone specially, Marin.”

  “Yes, you do, Jepaul,” said Quon softly, watching the boy's lovely face pucker with perplexity. “You're the living image of the Progenitor, Jepaul.” He saw confusion give way first to a stunned look, then sheer revulsion. “You could be a throwback in time, Jepaul, as if many hundreds of syns had never been. You're so like, lad, you could be his son.”

  There was a profound silence. The men felt real pity for the boy as he sat there, staring at Quon in disbelief, tears starting to his eyes. It took a while before Jepaul could speak and when he did it was in a halting, gruff voice that betrayed how hurt and bewildered he was.

  “I can't help how I look,” he whispered, distraught. “I'm sorry, Quon.”

  At that, Quon drew Jepaul close, arms about him as he hugged the boy as hard as he could.

  “Such a silly lad you are, Jepaul. I said you look like him, not that you are him. As you say, none can help how we grow up to appear to others. I think my parents thought they had a changeling in their midst.” He heard a watery chuckle and smiled himself. “I've often thought so myself. And I know Mesmauve thought you were.”

  “He hated me,” mumbled Jepaul. “Was that why?”

  “Possibly but probably not,” answered Quon promptly. “He most wanted a brat in his image to administer to his vanity. You were well rid of him.”

  Such rude bluntness made Saracen give a little gasp.

  “Was he so bad?” he demanded.

  “He rejected his own son,” said Quon, with a coldness to his voice new to the men and Belika. “To do that he condemned a small, defenceless child to starve in a ditch, a slow death for a small boy.”

  Belika growled,

  “I'd like to meet him one day.”

  “You may well,” put in Wind Dancer placidly, “but as Quon says Jepaul was well rid of him. He's a violent individual too.”

  “Is it how I look that makes those things come for me?”

  “I'm afraid so,” answered Sapphire for Quon. “You see, Jepaul, some may say that because you look like your forebear you're responsible for the Progenitor's minions who now appear to run free across Shalah. That's nonsense of course, but if you were still among people links would be made and your position would be, shall we say, uncomfortable. Also, you've inherited abilities that will make others look askance at you too, so we seek to get you to a safe haven where you can continue to grow and learn to use those abilities for good.”

  “Do you think I'd do evil otherwise?”

  “No,” responded Sapphire. “But we know you. Others do not.” Jepaul digested this. “For the moment, whoever set these creatures free to roam and prey on Shalah controls them but in the long run they obey no one, owe allegiance to no one and are completely nihilistic.” He saw Jepaul was lost. “They create chaos, Jepaul, then they plunge a world into nothingness. Where they go, worlds cease to exist.”

  “And me?” There was raw fear in the young voice.

  “Someone or something has recognised you as born of the Progenitor's line, lad. He may not be here but his direct offspring is. Your looks make you easy to detect. Your very appearance draws attention to you, as do your telepathic powers.”

  Quon, looking at Jepaul's face, felt understatement was important. He saw the Dom about to speak again but the look he shot at the tall man made Sapphire suddenly decide to button his lips.

  “And they want me?” The tone was incredulous. “For what? My life's with you, Quon. It always will be.”

  “Of course,” soothed Quon. “But can you now see why we try to shield you and are anxious for your safety?”

  Jepaul tried to speak and failed. His lips, very dry, refused to part to form words. He stickily licked them.

  “Young lad,” put in Wind Dancer calmly, “try not to be too scared. We teach you as we go along to help you and give you strength, and we protect you too. But what you have to understand is that to others you're an unknown quantity, other than your obvious telepathy, that they may wish to exploit for their own purposes. That we will prevent as best we can.”

  “No, Jepaul, you don't understand,” answered Quon for him, the older man clasping the boy more firmly. The Dom glanced at the others. “Leave Jepaul with me, if you please. We need time just to be together.” He saw Belika hesitate. “You too,” added Quon quietly, with a nod of dismissal. Reluctantly, she followed the others.

 

  They travelled along the very northern coastline of Dawn-Saith, their eyes fixed on the last long, stretching peninsula that snaked out into the ocean. The travellers noticed that Jepaul now had quiet lapses when he withdrew a little into himself. He was eager to learn and was instantly responsive. He also drew ever closer to Quon. Belika, still his lover, recognised that sometimes Jepaul didn't want to come to her bed and she quietly accepted that. Sapphire remarked dryly to Wind Dancer that it was Jepaul's absolute faith in Quon that would most help him through the trials ahead. Wryly, Wind Dancer smiled in agreement.

  It was as they neared the point of the peninsula at the northernmost point of Shalah that Jepaul's precarious position became clear to all. This time they were confronted by the very faint images of the Riders of Ayr again, their outlines blurred as they were clearly outside Shalah and looked more like projections.

  The Doms, startled and horrified at the unexpected appearance, immediately drew together in a show of unified defiance that made the Riders do the same. One, becoming more distinct, descended, menacingly, close to the ground in a way that suggested he was near the gate and maybe even partially through one. Jepaul studied the Riders in turn, then he looked beyond them to a very shadowy figure that still h
ung suspended in the air, as if he couldn't materialise any further and wasn't completely of Shalah but distant from it.

  Jepaul felt deeply cold. He grasped firmly on the staff in his hands. It did nothing. It looked just like a walking staff for support, nothing more. The jewellery had flared for an instant before fading from sight. Jepaul was profoundly afraid.

  The Riders were cloaked, sinister beings with cowls over their heads, horribly reminiscent for Jepaul of the Red Council. He shivered. The distant, indistinct figure, also astride a restless mount, seemed featureless, but no less threatening because of it. The voice that came from him would freeze marrow bone.

  Jepaul felt himself impelled to take an unwilling step forward. The voice in his mind was dispassionate and a command. He obeyed by taking another step. The six men and the woman closed ranks about him so he could go no further, and he stopped, confused, his head tilted to the far figure. The voice spoke again, this time out loud so all could hear.

  “Approach me, child. You are, so they tell me, the image of your ancestor. Come to your destiny.”

  Jepaul hesitated but those around him could see he was drawn to respond.

  “Who are you?” he called daringly.

  “I am Sh’Bane. You are Jepaul, son of Mesmauve, of the line of Merilyn.”

  “Where are you from? What do you want? Why do you call me?”

  “You ask too many questions, child. The answers will be given you all in good time. As for me, I stand alone. I owe allegiance to none. I want you. You must come with the Rider. He represents me, only partially as yet, on Shalah.”

  “I don't want to go with him,” responded Jepaul. He felt a sickening pressure inside his head that sent him to his knees.

  “I do not tolerate defiance, child. What I want I take. You will learn that he who is Guardian of the Fifth Gate and Seeker of the Spirit Staff answers only when he will. You will come.”

  Jepaul felt dizzy. The staff he held fell from his grasp. Hands raised him and arms went round him in a comforting and strong grasp. He knew it was Knellen who held him against a powerful chest.

  “You make an early challenge,” commented Quon conversationally. “Who was it, Sh’Bane? Who used the key on your behalf and how did they get it?”

  “You constantly stand in my way, Maquat Dom Earth.” There was such menace in the voice that Jepaul cowered. The others appeared spellbound. “You'll learn to regret your obstruction. You may have closed the Gates but you don't have the Spirit Staff any more than I do. Does this weaken you?”

  “Not entirely,” responded Quon, with a cheerful unconcern he was far from feeling. “You're not through yet, Sh’Bane. Nor is the boy yours. He goes with us as he chooses. Even you have to acknowledge you'll fail if he isn't willing, despite what you may try to do. Dare you challenge us at this stage, on the Island?”

  “You're not on the Island,” gloatingly taunted the voice. “I guessed it was where you travelled so awaited you at the point of entrance. You've failed. The Maquat Doms have failed.”

  “Not quite,” disagreed Quon icily.

  “The boy's unformed, untrained, yet you think he can get to the Island? Where have your wits gone wandering?”

  “He has to make the effort, Sh’Bane. Would you deny him the opportunity?”

  “I offer him more than he could ever have on the Island,” scoffed Sh’Bane. “I will shape him. He has so much of the Protector, hasn't he? Deep within there will be a part that can be touched, taken and moulded to our purpose. It must be there. Even I can see he is the image of he who brought us to Shalah. I've wandered long enough. Give the boy willingly. You must know where he belongs.”

  “No,” answered Quon sternly.

  “Then I take him.”

  The shadowy figure moved. His gesture saw the Riders mistily converge on the travellers to disperse them. The Doms had to rapidly regroup as the horsemen bore down relentlessly on them, while the others stayed as if petrified, their mouths open. Mesmerised, they watched the leading Rider, still shadowy like Sh’Bane, pluck Jepaul from Knellen and dangle him in midair. Jepaul could hardly breathe.

  Even as faint entities the Riders were huge. Their horses were enormous too. Jepaul, held in an iron paw, twisted in the grasp so he could stare up and across at the Rider. What he saw, even as faint as it was, made him shudder. The Rider's head was real enough but where eyes, nose and mouth should be was a gaping nothingness, with just a strange yellowish tinge about each hole. Jepaul felt sick. Then he saw inside the head. There he could see writhing ribbons that struggled to make formations but constantly fell apart. The huge gauntleted hands felt real too. So was the awesome torso.

  Jepaul looked a mere doll in such a powerful grip. As he stared up, dread overcoming him, he thought he saw a smile cross that empty face and it seared his soul. For a heart-stopping moment he felt a clutch of ice about his chest. Then, as he was lifted a little higher he realised, with a shocked moan, that he actually looked inside the Rider's chest. Where a heart should be there was no pulsing organ, just a pulped red rawness like battered meat. It was too much. Terror had held him silent. Now he simply threw back his head and howled like a being in torment. The howl echoed eerily about the end of the peninsula.

  It ignited the men and woman standing transfixed. They rushed forward to grasp the boy's feet as he was again hoisted a little higher. He thrashed about. The Rider, his stallion lashing out with shod hooves, began to steadily ascend, his prize still dangling and circling. It seemed as if the combined strength of those who held Jepaul wasn't enough. They were shaken free. Jepaul plunged and struggled. The Rider still rose.

  Then he stopped. Four points of light, united, also rose, but to a peak over the Rider. He could go down but not up. He thrashed as though in a web. His grip on Jepaul loosened to the point Jepaul was able to wrest free and let himself fall. He crashed downwards onto Saracen who staggered then tripped backwards. Jepaul collapsed winded and gasping. The Rider's mount turned from side to side as it descended and became fainter.

  “Let him go!” commanded the distant voice. It was vibrant with rage and impotence.

  Javen watched as the points of light separated at the peak so the Rider could ascend through it, then the lights winked out and Javen saw four men instead of the three he expected. The fourth man, tall, burly and flame-haired, rubbed his hands and arms. Sapphire and Wind Dancer supported Quon who looked unsteady on his feet. However, to Javen's astonishment, the old man had the energy to call out to the fading figure.

  “You've not got substance, Sh’Bane.”

  “Not yet,” mocked the voice. “But it'll come and when it does, Quon, you'll know because there's a reckoning to be had between us, isn't there? You still have to get the child to the Island. He won't get there. He's too young, too ignorant, and lacks the inner strength Salaphon always sought. When he fails, we'll be there for him, waiting. He'll come willingly then. Failure is hard to bear, you know.”

  “You should,” threw back Quon angered.

  “We dog your every step. Remember, where you fail, we'll succeed.”

  “False pride and an over-riding sense of your invincibility always was your downfall, Sh’Bane,” commented Quon disdainfully as he dusted himself down.

  There was a laugh that stayed in Jepaul's head, then the Riders and the figure were gone. Jepaul sobbed helplessly against Knellen until Quon reached them and carefully pulled the boy to him, words of comfort and reassurance whispered into the curls.

 

  Complacency was gone. Ready or not, Jepaul now had to embark on a journey that could mean salvation or destruction. He would not arrive at his destination unscathed - the Doms knew that from experience. Again Quon dithered. His uncertainty troubled the others who already felt stressed, their nervous tension very real. Jepaul was surprisingly calm. After the initial shock and distress, he seemed to put the incident from his mind. All he clearly recalled was the touch of the Rider.

  Where he'd been held by the arms were m
arks that refused to go, even though Jepaul had worn clothing that covered him there. When touched they felt like patches of ice. The marks stayed white, as though the skin was bled or bleached. It made Saracen give a convulsive shiver. It was Sapphire who explained it, quite simply.

  “It was the touch of an Anti-Spirit.”

  The other Doms nodded. It struck dread into the hearts of the others.

  Over the next three days Quon and Jepaul kept to themselves, their discussions earnestly long and intense. The others left them alone. When the two joined the others Jepaul looked calm and expectant, while the older man appeared pale and resigned, as if he'd come to a decision with which he could live.

  “Jepaul travels on,” said Quon softly to the gathered group that morning. “Offer him your encouragement and blessing. Let him know you care about each step he takes to help him through the ordeal that comes.” Quon stood back. “Go to each person, Jepaul,” he said gently. He turned away, tears in his eyes that only Sapphire saw. He surreptitiously wiped at them and turned back again.

  As Jepaul approached Knellen first, he was met by the Varen who came directly up to him, his hand upraised. This act made Quon forget his eyes and frown sharply, his eyebrows drawn together over the bridge of his nose. The old man went to speak but Knellen forestalled him.

  “No, Maquat, listen to me. We know the boy goes to the Island and we may not, but that doesn't matter. What's not right is that we're unable to accompany him as far as we can before we must stop. We will go with him. We've decided this, all of us.”

  “You can't go, Knellen. Only those who are chosen or who have the clear ability to attempt to go can do so.”

  “Did the Cynas have the ability, Maquat? Is that why he was chosen? How do we know, until we try, that we're not meant to be with the boy?”

  “Knellen,” began Quon, then he stopped, thoughtful.

  “The Varen makes a good point,” said Sapphire quietly. “If he and the others have been chosen to come this far with the boy, doesn't it suggest they have some ability that makes them unique? Their ability may not be what we Maquats were thought to possess so long ago, or what we might expect of them now, but it may be that we, ancient as we are, may have to adapt to a different approach.”

  Quon shook his head.

  “It's too much of a risk, Sapphire. They may not make it. It may be that we send them to their deaths. I could not live with that on my conscience.”

  “You forget that the trials are for those with special abilities. If they have none they will find they can go no farther,” observed Wind Dancer philosophically.

  “They may even teach us a thing or two,” suggested Sapphire, with a mischievous look at Knellen.

  “I don't want to endanger anyone else,” protested Quon. In a tired gesture he rubbed his eyes.

  Knellen crossed to him and stooped so he could very gently grasp the old man's hands.

  “Maquat, I know you seek to protect us and we respect that and honour you for your concern. But look at me, Maquat. I'm not the Varen I was all those syns ago when you first met me. Neither Saracen nor Javen are the same as they were either and Belika has made it clear she stays with Jepaul until she can no longer take another step. Even she has changed since she joined us. Can't you understand?”

  “Yes,” answered Quon. He sounded a querulous old man.

  “Maquat, the common thread that hangs us all together in a web is Jepaul. His need of us is very real. We offer strengths in support of yours, and, perhaps with us as his companions as far as we're allowed to go, he'll make it young as he is. Without us, he may fail and die. We offer ourselves freely, nor do we go with eyes shut. We are his companions, for better or worse only time will tell.”

  “Sapphire?” asked Quon uncertainly.

  “I agree,” concurred Sapphire without hesitation.

  “Wind Dancer?” Quon turned to him with a helpless gesture.

  “Likewise,” said with Wind Dancer with a whimsical little shrug.

  “Ebon?”

  “Why not?” returned Ebon with a low laugh. “There's nothing to lose and possibly much to gain.”

 

  On a misty morning that chilled the air a small band, calling themselves the Companions, left their horses at the edge of the peninsula and walked forwards into the unknown, none among them knowing what awaited them, whether they would see the Doms again, or each other. Jepaul didn't speak. He was not quite seventeen syns.

  His farewell of Quon had left his heart leaden because he'd seen misgiving in the rheumy old eyes, faith too, but most of all, overwhelming love and compassion. Jepaul had held the old man close for a very long time before he turned and left at a run.

  The Maquats went on ahead so they could wait. They couldn't travel with the band but they could monitor progress and show themselves in support. Beyond verbal encouragement there was nothing more they could do. Jepaul was on his own in a very real sense. Only if he reached the Island could he be with them again.

  Jepaul was apprehensive but determined. Belika was silent but overtly affectionate and Saracen was dogged. Knellen was alert and prepared and Javen resigned and unfazed. He took things much as they came these days. The group continued to walk forward, aware that though the peninsula was now behind them and they should be wading into higher water, they still trod on earth. It was eerie. The mists swooped low. They blotted out everything but the small band.

  Dawn-Saith abruptly disappeared. There was no land and no water. Shalah, as they knew it, was gone. It was strangely unnerving. Knellen, with his predatory sense, looked behind them but saw and sensed nothing, something that had his senses on high alert. They moved cautiously because nothing round them was familiar, with no landmark to act as a guide and nothing there as a signpost to identity. A gulf yawned steeply before them. Those at its edge tried to back but those behind pushed them inexorably forward. They fell, one by one, Jepaul's cry echoing to the emptiness above.