Jepaul Page 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  It was time to move on. Castelus was by-passed in time, as well as other cities, though to everyone's surprise it was Jepaul, with Ebon, who casually entered them to secure supplies, clothing requirements and additional horses to carry what they needed. Ebon noted that Jepaul got surreptitious looks but because he was a mature man of some stature he was rarely questioned and left alone. Ebon attracted attention as well, with his physique and head of flame hair, but it was Jepaul who had heads turned in his direction. Only once he was asked where he was from. His answer left his questioner flummoxed.

  “Dawn-Saith.”

  “Where's that, friend?”

  “Far, far north,” was the offhand response.

  “Must be,” came the muttered comment. “I've never heard of it.”

  “Just keep going north and you'll come to it,” smiled Jepaul, turning away.

  “Well and good,” growled Ebon. “Let's be moving on, Jepaul.”

 

  And still they headed steadily south. They skirted Javen's city, Arrain-Toh, entirely. The further south they were drawn, they encountered fewer and fewer cities, only smaller towns and settlements where, again, only Jepaul and Ebon wandered about. They finally sighted the southern coast. It was new to Javen, Saracen and Belika. Knellen knew of it but had never sighted it. The Doms were relieved to have reached there and Jepaul delighted. His jewellery stayed quiescent most of the time they travelled, only flaring occasionally when the Doms wondered if Sh’Bane was still distant but threatening. The Doms knew they were drawn far south but not why. They were content to go wherever they felt impelled to go, well aware there would be a reason that would manifest itself at the right time.

 

  It had become apparent to the Doms, as they travelled, what it was they'd all tried to articulate about Jepaul from the time he was a child. Realities didn't seem to scare Jepaul but his imagination sometimes did: reality brought out unexpected courage and endurance. Those with him now recognised that Jepaul's life was a metaphor. He saw beauty in things about him and if there wasn't, he automatically created it and tried to hide what ugliness or distress bothered him. A dancing leaf was still a being, impish and unable to be caught as it skipped or was blown along. Ugliness was something that made Jepaul's soul shrivel. It frightened him and he always tried to shroud it under another image. It was how a child's soul was saved and kept alive instead of shrinking and becoming lifeless within him. It was to Wind Dancer that Quon observed,

  “Jepaul lives in the realm of the abstract to counter-balance the reality of what was his life.”

  “Aye,” agreed Dom Air imperturbably. “He lives in poetry and thinks in images and music.”

  “A spiritual entity embodied in what was the most vulnerable and frailest of vessels?”

  “Yes, and, Quon, all that was wrapped in a child who was lost and adrift in a world to which he may not wholly belong - until he found you.” Dom Air paused, then added, “Or for some reason you found him.”

  Quon sighed.

  “Islasahn’s staff will speak soon, I think. We head this way for a reason, though what the reason is eludes me.”

  “Your poet and musician will guide us, Quon,” teased Dancer. “Be sure of that.”

 

  And it was Jepaul who, one morning, sat beside Quon by water’s edge and wriggled his toes in the froth, his expression serious and thoughtful. A slight frown creased his forehead. Quon stared into the distance, content to contemplate.

  “Quon, when do we move on and where do we go?” Quon turned his head, his eyes searching.

  “Do you wish to, lad?”

  “No.” Jepaul shook his head on a definite negative.

  “So why ask, Jepaul?”

  “I just have a sense that the time is close to when we may need to go, though I can’t tell you why.”

  “Does anything in particular prompt this, lad?”

  “Yes, dreams.”

  “Tell me about them,” responded Quon easily. “You have strong empathy, young one, something I’m not tempted to ignore.”

  Jepaul hesitated, then began slowly.

  “It’s not just the dreams, Quon. The staff speaks to me too and there’s a sense of urgency about the symbols that have a new brightness. The images are sharper too. I sense bright light as well and a feeling of falling through darkness before a door closes on me.”

  “Demons!” whispered Quon, his brows drawn sharply together. “Does this worry you, lad?”

  “No,” answered Jepaul, “but I don’t understand and something tells me it’s time I should, though why I say that I don’t know.”

  Quon relaxed back on his elbows and spoke in a comfortably reassuring tone.

  “Well then, my lad, tell me the dreams.”

  “I see a domed, narrow passage with endless stairs. They stretch to infinity with five gates that are locked, but some of them open randomly now and then for mere seconds before they abruptly close again. I see shadows too. I also have visions of a key and a book, but they rest in hands that are clenched hard, so hard even in my dream I can’t prise them open.” Quon took a very deep breath to steady himself.

  “Anything else, young one?”

  Jepaul scratched at his beard, then added,

  “I have a dream about an ancient book called the Ariel. Does that mean anything to you?”

  “Yes, lad, it does. It’s a most ancient book that holds a key to the gates you see.”

  “In my dream I have to find who removed the key from the book and why.”

  “Who says it’s missing, lad? It should still be there. There was a guardian appointed for the key who would never let it go, never.”

  “I can only tell you what’s in my dream, Quon.”

  “Of course, young one. Go on.”

  Jepaul half lay on his side, a hand idling playing with the pebbles and sand.

  “You and the others aren’t just Elementals, are you?”

  Quon glanced across the young man, momentarily mystified.

  “What are you asking?”

  “You’re also the elite Philosopher/Scholars of antiquity I’ve learned about, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, child, but you knew that.”

  “So why do I dream about you as such then?”

  “I have no idea, Jepaul.”

  “Who holds the key?”

  “The Keeper.”

  “Where is he?”

  “In the south of Shalah – or he was.”

  “Does he have a name?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he train on the Island?”

  “Once, yes.”

  “Can he be trusted, Quon?”

  “Why do you ask, lad?”

  “Because, Quon, in my dreams I told you I see the gates opening and closing, which suggests the Keeper has either died, been imprisoned, or has become as corrupted as Jamir. Whatever has happened, I sense the key is being misused. So who has the key?”

  Quon’s voice was slightly agitated and he now sat upright, his eyes flaring with a degree of distress.

  “Which gates open and shut?”

  “Just two.”

  “Not the nearest gates then?”

  “No, just the farthest, but they shouldn’t open, should they?”

  “No, lad, they shouldn’t. Your dreams are premonitions, Jepaul, and they must be acted upon as soon as we can. We must, indeed, begin to move.”

  “To do what, Quon?”

  “Find your keeper of the key again after long ages, that’s what, my lad.”

  Quon gently ruffled the mane of curls as he got ponderously to his feet, then he stretched and held down a hand to a young man who now laughed up at him, premonition in the big enquiring amber eyes - precognition too. And it was at this instant that a world of half-forgotten promises came again into Quon's mind and he found, after innumerable syns of denial, he thought wistfully and hauntingly of Islahan. A shiver shook him.

 

  Jepaul stood
on the south coast of Shalah, contemplative, his eyes narrowed against the glare of a rapidly rising sun and his hands idly clasping his staff. He absently lifted it, and as he did his jewellery flared, very brightly, just as the runes on the staff did at the same instant. Jepaul stared down at the staff, then turned abruptly away. He sought Quon.

  The journey to the deep south of Shalah, from the far reaches of the almost uninhabited and uninhabitable north of Dawn-Saith, had taken a long time, a few travails, some hardship, but overall no marked degree of difficulty, though the Doms knew, from Jepaul's jewellery, that not far away Sh’Bane and the Anti/Spirit lords erratically monitored them. Their shadowy forms sometimes materialised in an alarming way that made the Doms wary. Then they were gone for very long spells. Even so, the Doms sensed the challenge came closer by the day. They felt they all left the Island none too soon.

  However, whether Sh’Bane and his Riders were aware of it or not, the Doms were remarkably rejuvenated. Their strength, mentally and physically, returned. Their battered emotional bonds, so shattered by the loss of their fifth element, were now very powerful indeed. The Doms stood ready, united, and newly empowered by time on the Island and once more with Salaphon. The Companions were formidable and also almost unrecognisable from their first encounters with those with whom they travelled.

  Jepaul exuded a tempered but unmistakeable aura of power and it wasn't just his physique: he seemed an entity unto himself. The Doms, eying him one day, felt they looked at a mature man not only come into his own from the frail, vulnerable child, but one who, though he joined them effortlessly and exulted with them, went beyond them. They instinctively recognised that Jepaul was unique as was his relationship with Quon. Jamir and the Red Council of Castelus would not recognise either he, the Varen, or Quon.

  As Jepaul reached Quon who lounged comfortably with his back to a gnarled trunk of a tree that soared high with massively spreading branches, he saw that the old man handled a shard thoughtfully as it rested in his hand. Jepaul halted next to Quon and squatted as he stared at the shard.

  “Is that the shard Jamir gave Knellen long syns ago?”

  “Aye, Jepaul, it is.”

  “I didn't know you still had it. Has Jamir tried to contact Knellen through it over all these syns?”

  Quon pursed his lips.

  “Occasionally.”

  Jepaul's tilted head was an enquiry.

  “And have you answered it for him?”

  “In a way,” came the evasive answer.

  “Won't Jamir be suspicious by now?” came the shrewd reply.

  “Undoubtedly, Jepaul.”

  “What will he do?”

  “Nothing very much. What can he do at this time? I've not heard from him for a while so it's time for contact, I suppose, though maybe it's time the link was broken.”

  Jepaul drew in his breath.

  “By you or by Knellen?”

  “Probably by Knellen, especially since we don't want to alert Jamir to either us or to you, young one.”

  “I thought there was a bounty out for Knellen.”

  Quon's response was grave.

  “Indeed there is, Jepaul. Bear that in mind, young one. Why do you seek me?”

  “The staff.”

  “What about it?”

  “It flared.”

  “And?”

  “Quon, the runes stood out so clearly and the staff, when I loosened my grip, swung in my hands. It pointed.”

  “Where?”

  “Directly ahead from where we are now, Quon.”

  “Then we should follow it, young one. We're all well rested and have been led here, so clearly it's where we should go.”

  “It pointed along the coastline, Quon.”

  “I thought it would,” murmured Quon, unsurprised. “I guess we may need to keep to water's edge at low tide, Jepaul, but must be wary of being trapped. You should talk with Sapphire.”

  The Dom squinted into the distance, his glance taking in the jagged and rugged cliffs they had to traverse. He gave a faint sigh.

  As Jepaul got to his feet and stretched he asked, “Will Cadran and Gabrel join us any time soon?”

  Quon shook his head.

  “No, young one, not yet. They're safe where they are and it's best no one knows Cadran was born at all.”

  Quon watched Jepaul saunter across to the Doms restfully sprawled out with the Companions. The old man let his mind drift to Cadran before he began to gently stroke the shard. Jamir's image came abruptly into focus. Quon could see it was a very angry face, the mouth petulant and pouting, so he carefully altered the angle of the qual glass so his own image appeared slightly distorted, longer, and distinctly out of focus.

  “Knellen!” snarled Jamir. “Show yourself, damn you!!”

  “It's late in the day,” responded Quon, his voice deeper than usual and with the Varen gravelly quality to it.

  “Where the demons are you after so long? You should have returned to me syns ago. You have much to answer for, Varen!”

  “I know.” Quon put a touch of melancholy into his voice.

  “So where have you been?”

  “Obeying your orders as regards the boy, Master, and travelling to the farthest reaches of northern Shalah and to places unknown to me or to any other Varen.”

  “You will ensure we get all this information, Varen.”

  “I will.”

  “Who is with you?”

  “The old man and others he's found on his travels.”

  “The boy?”

  “Now a man, Master.”

  “Is he of any interest, Varen?”

  Quon paused. He stroked his beard, then spoke quite deliberately.

  “Yes, Master, I think you will him find so.”

  “You will bring him to us, Knellen. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have no alternative but to obey, Varen.”

  “I know. I obey.”

  “Bring the boy/man as soon as you can.”

  Quon swung the shard to cut the connection but not before Jamir felt sharp pain at his temples and Quon briefly sensed the Nedru, now, syns later, partly within Jamir himself. It wasn't unexpected but, still, Quon sighed to himself as he pocketed the shard.

 

  The journey along the coast was arduous and at times fraught, because they had to follow the tides and often found themselves scrambling for safety up cliffs with steep overhangs and little to hold onto. They had to lead horses too, ones the fisherfolk had cared for among others acquired as they travelled. Quon quietly cursed. Sapphire muttered. Wind Dancer grumbled to himself and Ebon swore, quite frequently. Jepaul was resigned and strode or climbed with few comments, just, sometimes, an amused glance at his mentor when he fell back to lend Quon a helping hand. The Companions were their usual stoic selves saying little.

  After a few weeks the craggy, rugged wildness of the coast became rolling hills with scree slopes to the shore. There were sheltered bays with deep caves carved into the cliffs where water swished and ebbed, the deep emerald colour lightening to the clearest aquamarine. It was a beautiful landscape.

  Sapphire spent much time with Javen combing the beaches, coves and caves, so it was they who made a discovery that stopped them in their tracks one morning. They turned after a moment's silence and rejoined the others. Quon looked up on their arrival and what he saw on Sapphire's face made him frown, alert and alarmed, his brows suddenly hitched together.

  “Sapphire?” he demanded curtly. His voice was sharp.

  “Earth, you need to come with us. All of you.” Sapphire gestured to the resting group. “And don't expect this to be pleasant because it isn't.”

  Quon swallowed, hard. The other Doms looked searchingly at Sapphire. No one spoke. They simply followed Sapphire and Javen.

  They were led along a pretty, curving cove lapped at gently by rippling, frothy water, to a cave set deeply back under a beetling ridge. The air in the cave smelled dank but there was another u
nmistakable smell. The Doms and Companions all sensed it at the same time. It was the smell of death. Inside, right at the back of the cave where it opened wide into a cavern from it's narrow, low entrance, was a twisted skeleton attached to the rock wall just above them. What brought those present to an appalled halt was the skeleton's condition. This man, whose pitiful remains stared unseeingly down on them, had been savagely and brutally tortured and broken. And he'd been in the cave for a very, very long time.

  The men stood frozen. Belika was the one to move forward. Tall as she was, still she had to go on tiptoe to stretch up to touch the skeleton's face, then she turned, her own face a mask, and backed. Then she stopped suddenly and stooped. She straightened, a mottled and water-damaged book in her hand. She stared at it. Quon gave a choked gasp.

  “Demons! The book, Doms! The Ariel. What -?”

  Jepaul saw Quon's shoulders heave and crossed to him, his arms about a suddenly very old man who sank to his knees and violently vomited. When the retching eased, Jepaul gently helped Quon to his feet, the Dom shaking pitiably and his knees weak as he was carefully guided further away from the skeleton to a rock nearer the cave entrance. There, Jepaul pushed the old man to sit. The Dom did, his head in his hands. He couldn't speak.

  Ebon strode to Belika, his hand imperatively outstretched for the book. Mutely, Belika relinquished it. Ebon beckoned Wind Dancer and Sapphire. The Companions simply stood, their eyes on the grotesque figure above them. Oddly, the skeleton's long hair, thinned and stringy now, as was the once long beard, both fascinated and repelled them.

  “It's Dom Ashken. It can't be anybody else,” stated Ebon, no emotion in his voice. “Isn't it?”

  The other Doms concurred with sharp nods and tight lips. They both looked extremely forbidding and unapproachable.

  “The key's gone?”

  As he flipped open the book, Ebon looked up at Wind Dancer's question. He held up the book at the central page where a shape was outlined.

  “As you see, Dancer, it's gone. If it was still intact the book wouldn’t open.”

  “The demons!” whispered Sapphire. “He must have fought to the very end to save it. That's why they did this.”

  “Brought here so he'd not be heard and never found,” snarled Wind Dancer.

  “Undoubtedly.” Ebon's voice shook with rampant sudden passion and fury. “He was an ancient scholar/philosopher - no match for anyone!”

  “And all he was, poor soul, “muttered Wind Dancer, “was the Keeper of the Key secured with the Ariel.”

  “Who betrayed him?” growled Sapphire.

  Ebon eyed the two Doms, said nothing and crossed the cave to give the book to Quon. His voice was still level but the Companions could hear the passion still throbbing in it.

  “You were very close to Ashken, Quon. We know this and we deeply grieve that you see and know this.”

  Quon nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak. With Jepaul's assistance he staggered to his feet and intimated he wanted to leave the cave, the book clutched in one trembling hand. Ebon and Jepaul flanked him. Outside they found a more comfortable rock and lowered him onto it. Ebon looked across at Jepaul.

  “Stay with him, young one. You understand?”

  Jepaul nodded and went to an immediate crouch beside Quon, an arm unconsciously going round the older man.

  “Quon,” he murmured. “Quon.”

  Quon took the proffered hand in a strong clasp.

  “I know, Jepaul,” he rasped. “You need say nothing, young one.”

 

  Ebon, Sapphire and Wind Dancer all went close to Ashken and each touched him where his heart once was and on his forehead. They muttered words unknown to the Companions which made the skeleton slump as metal fetters clunked to the shingle. Then the Doms left the cave. Outside, beside Quon, each Dom stood slightly apart. Jepaul saw tears on Sapphire's cheeks and welling in the eyes of the others. He knew, too, that Quon had wept silently. As an Elemental, an integral part of them, he was abruptly swept up in the mutual pain, grief, anger, guilt and regret. The emotions were tumultuous and thrashed him. In time, this passed and Jepaul was able to take a very deep breath to steady himself. The Doms watched him as he strode purposefully to water's edge and raised his arms.

  “Ashken will be avenged. I will find those who did this. I will seek you out and you will answer only to me.”

  Jepaul's voice rang out across the bay, his deep voice with a menacing quality to it the Doms had never heard before. They briefly looked at each other then clustered about Quon with soft words.

  It was the Companions who brought Ashken from the cave. They'd wrapped him carefully and respectfully in Knellen's cloak. Knellen nodded at the others to lay the skeleton on the ground before he crossed to Quon and stooped.

  “Quon,” he said very gently. “Maquat, we have the body and believe we should bury it with the honour and dignity the man deserved. Do you wish us to do this?”

  Dispirited, Quon lifted his head, the look in his eyes such that Knellen instinctively touched the old man's shoulder in a rare gesture.

  “Thank you, Knellen.” Quon's voice strengthened. “Please prepare to do so. We shall join you shortly.”

  Knellen and the Companions began a slow walk along the sand, Knellen carrying Ashken. At the end of the cove they turned, to see the Elementals, together, a halo of light around them that quickly faded as the Doms began to follow them.

 

  The discovery of Ashken brought the plight of Shalah into sharp focus and had a sobering effect on everyone. The Doms were abstracted and silent for days. The Companions spoke among themselves but little was said. Only Jepaul's music soothed anyone. It took two weeks before the more relaxed atmosphere prevailed again and people felt comfortable with each other and more able to converse about both the Keeper and the lost key. There were many discussions, not least about what should happen next.

  The Doms spoke frequently about the key and the Ariel but it was Sapphire who mused, one morning, about the book.

  “Quon, old friend, those who murdered Ashken left the book. Surely that was a mistake?”

  The Doms stared at Sapphire, suddenly aware of the implication of his words.

  “Was it though?” asked Ebon deliberately. He caught Quon’s eye. “You’ve guessed same as me, haven’t you?”

  Quon nodded slowly, dawning comprehension on his face.

  “Not a mistake, Sapphire. Whoever it was didn’t know about the significance of the book. They can’t have. If they’d known the truth of the Ariel it wouldn’t be here and the gates would be much further open and accessible.”

  “So whoever betrayed Ashken must have only been a very junior master, or an apprentice or an acolyte. They’d have no knowledge of the significance of the book, only of the key within it. Whoever it was who told the murderer, or murderers, who the keeper who held the sacred key was and how to find him, couldn’t explain the Ariel so only the key was taken. The book was discarded as irrelevant.”

  “Which means,” added Dancer, “Ashken was ultimately forced to give up the key, but he held out about the book the key was part of. That precious knowledge he withheld and took to his death.”

  “Such courage,” murmured Quon, his eyes misty. “He may well have been instrumental in saving Shalah. Without his sacrifice and foresight we may have struggled hopelessly against odds much stronger than they are now. He gave us and Jepaul time.”

  “Indeed he did,” agreed Ebon grimly.

 

  One afternoon Quon spoke to Jepaul, the two once more alone on the foreshore, Jepaul absently skipping stones smoothly across the water.

  “Jepaul, have you had any dreams or does the staff speak?”

  Jepaul shook his head. He skimmed another stone.

  “Not yet, Quon, but it will.”

  “So sure, young one,” teased Quon, a deeply affectionate note to his voice. Jepaul swung round from watching the water. He grinned.

  “Yes, I am.”
r />  

  And two days later, Jepaul told Quon that the staff had flared and seemed to show a direction up and along a pathway that skirted the dunes. Quon nodded. The trek began again. This time was different. Jepaul's staff flared on and off all the time, something it had never done. The slightest deviation of direction had it suddenly come to life. The colours on the staff fluctuated too and it constantly, minutely, changed direction in a way that acted not just as a guide but as a spur. No one questioned that they should follow it.

  It led them away from the beach and began to have them wend their way to uplands that began to rise quite steeply from the coast. It took them, they discovered, to the base of a range that looked gloweringly down on them.

  “What now?” asked Javen, slightly perplexed as he stared up and across at the range.

  “Do we go up or what?” demanded Saracen.

  “Patience, little man,” cautioned Wind Dancer. “I think we need to wait and have a think. What does the staff say, young one?”

  Jepaul glanced down at it.

  “Nothing.”

  “Then I say we set camp for a while,” suggested Ebon calmly.

  “We could all do with a pause,” agreed Knellen affably.

 

  So they camped. They stayed where they were for some days, resting, arguing and laughing. Jepaul and Belika stayed together and Jepaul began to dream again. But now the dreams began to have a disturbing and troubling nightmarish quality to them, something Jepaul and Quon discussed in depth as they sought answers and interpretations.

  “Quon,” began Jepaul, late one afternoon. “I sense we're being watched.”

  Quon sat upright, his senses alert.

  “By whom?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Is it alien or threatening?”

  “I don't think so but I definitely sense something, Quon.”

  “Has your jewellery flared?”

  “No.”

  “The staff?”

  Jepaul shook his head. Quon got to his feet. He called for Saracen. The little man obligingly trotted across.

  “Quon?”

  “Saracen. Do you sense something? I most certainly do.”

  Saracen cocked his head. He went to shake his head, but uncertainly, then Quon saw his startled face.

  “What is it?”

  “Look behind you,” suggested Saracen, with a rather wry smile.

  Quon swung round and stared.