Chapter 69. Father

abane regained consciousness and immediately tried to get up and run away.  A startled cry emerged from his throat when he discovered he could not rise.  He flailed helplessly in his bonds to the cruel amusement of the gathering of glowing lavender figures.  Encircled by their towering forms, he shrieked and trembled, sobbing as one of them grasped the ropes around his breast and drew him to his feet.  He could not stand unaided and he nearly fell over when the muscular figure released him.

“It is a child,” sneered one of them, “How did a living child arrive in this realm?”

“Why do we care?” laughed one of the floating magi, its peaked collar lending extra menace, “It glows with the blessings of the Chosen. The Five have touched it.  Feed it to Myar.”

Mabane wept openly now.  He had seen what Myar had done to Geetha and the thought of those slavering jaws tearing into him was too much to bear.

“But it is a child,” the first one repeated, its luminous eyes slitted harshly, “Easily corrupted and forged to our purposes.  In the coming war some will fall in Abaddon’s name, we must have replacements.”

A third demonic figure drifted closer, a second pair of arms waving malevolently over its back and a core of magenta energies churning at its belly.

“I will claim this one as a Seer.”

Mabane struggled to withdraw from its burning touch, a squeal of pain erupting from his throat as its frigid talons latched around his neck and prevented him from falling over.  Effortlessly, it tilted his head back and its six glowing eyes bored into him.  He wanted to look away, knew instinctively that if he did not something terrible would happen.

“No!” he sobbed, unable to escape.  An icy presence permeated his being and flowed into his defenseless mind.  He bucked in the creature’s powerful grasp, choking as his breath was cut off and his vision was spangled with magenta stars.  Where no other voice but his own had ever resided he now heard a chorus, a maddening cacophony of urges and impulses that were not his own.  Collapsing to the ground, he writhed away from the evil creature’s grasp, yet felt it still within him.

“Mine,” the vile demon laughed and Mabane gagged, violated as he felt it crawling within him, its evil like venom flowing through his veins.  The voices overwhelmed him now and his vision was clouded with violent slashes of chaotic energy.  Terror pumped through his body when he realized he was fading, losing against the stronger presence that wished to rule him.  He would be annihilated.

“I don’t want to die!” he sobbed even though he knew it was fruitless.  The demons cared nothing for his wishes; they only wanted a puppet they could control and seed with their own essence.  They wanted him to die on the inside, “Master!  Help me!”

Mabane lay gasping at their feet, a discarded toy, a delectable morsel they would dine upon at leisure.  He heard them all now in his mind, a disjointed chorus of selfish impulses and zealous thoughts of their vengeful god.  They would rule the world; they would cast it forever into darkness.  Die, they told him, abandon your body to us and you will not know the heartbreak of beauty driven forever from the world.

He opened his eyes, the world limned in violent bursts of chaos as if every particle were suffused with the ugliness of the demons.  The swollen red sun now bore six eyes of malice and laughed at his small helpless form.  His lean young body was trussed up like a fly awaiting the spider’s cold mercy.  Weeping in pain and helplessness, he shut his eyes against the horror and curled into a ball, seeking to make himself smaller, seeking escape in any way he could find it.

“Leave him alone,” said a strange voice, familiar and yet distant.

There was a snarling of curses as the drifting figures floated away from him to face the arrival of a silvery figure shrouded in magenta.

“Papa,” he gasped, the face of his father forever etched in his memory.  The ghostly figure drifted toward him and he came to rest beside Mabane, his sad face harsh with rage and defiance.  The demons laughed harshly.

“Spirit, you have no power here,” said the one whose mind writhed within Mabane. The terrible Seer aimed its shimmering rod at Rhys and scudded closer.

“He is my son.  I will not part from him.”

The Seer glowed with focused energies and pounded Rhys’ delicate frame with a blast of chaos.  Mabane cried out, the thought of losing his father again unbearable.  Dazzling filaments of coruscating fire surged around the man’s ghostly flesh, earthed and dissipating upon the blackened ground harmlessly.  The demons roared with rage and bewilderment.

“I was corrupted by the touch of Ashekoroth,” Rhys snapped, “but my heart was ever true.  You cannot harm me.”

“Go back to your punishment, spirit.”

“I will protect you, Mabane, as I could not in life.  Do not fear, my beloved child.”

Angered, the lavender demons surged as one toward the lone ghost as he knelt down and curled protectively over Mabane’s helpless form.  Like the sea, they crashed over his frail-seeming form, and like a lone boulder amid their waves, he remained unmoved, their spells and weapons sparkling over him like parting sea foam.

“Papa, I have missed you so,” Mabane sobbed, “I waited for you to come home.”

“I know, my son.”

He grew silent, focusing as the demons surged over him again, their prize stolen from them.  No power in that dark domain was capable of shifting the imprisoned spirit.  He was already dead and unhomed from the flesh, they could do nothing more to him.  Snarling curses, they tried thrice more, unable to neither approach Mabane’s helpless form nor drive away his incorporeal protector.  The strange rules of that place protected him now and they relented, drifting away in defeat.

“My poor son, why are you here?  My heart breaks to see this,” Rhys asked, his voice little more than a whisper.  Mabane gazed upon him through the dazzling blaze of chaos that now suffused everything he looked upon.  The voices that had resounded in him had faded, but he was still aware of a strange chatter, a maddening clamor of souls anchored forever to the blackened soil and tormented by the six-eyed sun.  But the one who had sought to control him, the vile Seer, he had withdrawn and his thoughts were his own once more.

“My master is here,” he wept, “I came to save him.  I didn’t know you were here, too.  Oh Papa, I waited for you to come home.  I missed you so much.”

He was overcome with emotion and could not speak for a time.  Rhys hovered over him, and though he could not touch Mabane, still he could feel the sad warmth of his love.

“I have missed you, too.  You have grown so much. Why is your master here?  Who is he?”

“Pendaran,” Mabane breathed, a sudden pang of grief once more stealing his voice.  He felt strangely disloyal admitting that he loved Pendaran as much as he did when his father was right there beside him, “He is my master… and he lets me call him father… and he married Mama.”

Rhys smiled fondly upon Mabane, surprising him by not being angered at the news.

“I am glad your mother found love again and gave you another father to teach and adore you in my place.  Of all the things that troubled me when I was cast here, that was the greatest. Now a burden has been lifted from my heart.”

“Are you trapped here forever?”

“Not for much longer,” he said, a brightness in his voice now, “for the veil of Torment has been lifted from my eyes by my love for you.  I can see the way home and soon I will go, but only after I know you are safe.”

“I want to go home, too.”

“You will, my son.  It seems you did not come here alone.”

Mabane heard the crunch of footfalls upon the rocky black soil.  He turned his head to see Morisedd emerge above the flank of a hill, his sharp gaze scanning the brittle landscape.

“Murdi!” he cried, his voice raspy with grief and fear.

His uncle spied him and immediately broke into a run, his name catching in the ranger’s knotted throat.  In an instant the man was kneeling beside him and his powerful arms drew Mabane against his breast.  Murdi’s form shuddered with sobs as he rocked Mabane, thanking the gods between racking cries.

“I’m alright, Murdi,” he whispered, his own face moist with tears, “My Papa protected me.”

He heard and felt the others arrive in a rush of hurried footfalls.  Brigit and Auntie Uriel added their warmth to the embrace and a moment later he felt the ropes loosen as they fussed quickly to release him.  Lemony stroked his face and kissed his forehead and Mog squeezed his hand, his rough features stained with tears of relief.

“He’s well,” Lemony said gently, “A little bruised but otherwise unharmed.”

Ebony was staring at something behind them and Mabane followed her gaze, realizing then that she was the only one who could see Rhys hovering protectively over him.

“He had a protector,” Ebony murmured, “Thank the gods.”

“Let’s get him home,” Murdi croaked, “I will not have him stay here another minute.”

“Agreed,” said Ebony.

To his surprise, his uncle gathered him up in his arms, unwilling to release him.  Mabane squirmed to get down but Morisedd only tightened his grasp.  He looked on in horror, the voices in his mind abuzz with their intentions.  He could hear their surface thoughts as clearly as if they had originated in his own mind.  Murdi wanted to get out of that realm as quickly as possible.  Mabane was shocked to realize his uncle hoped Pendaran was dead and wished to abandon him here if he were not.  Mog and Armand were closed to him, shadowy mysteries around which all other voices dashed and curled.  Looking upon the two mesmers he could see a strange aura of shimmering fire limned their forms, a blaze of magenta with flashes of white while the others seemed dull, their emotions painted in bursts of scarlet against the shimmering ambient burn of chaos.

From Uriel and Ebony he realized there would be no coming back.  They would travel via the power of the celestial sigil to which they were all attuned.  Pendaran would be left behind forever.  Mabane was no longer a small child that his uncle could bully into obedience by holding him.  With a powerful twist of his lean frame, he broke loose and landed on his feet, dashing away lightly as Morisedd sought to regain him.

“I won’t go back without Pendaran!”

Fury blazed crimson around Morisedd’s shoulders while the others looked on in sparkling rays of pale blue shock.  Mabane’s sudden transformation from frightened to defiant child enabled him to run a few paces when Morisedd drew closer.  The ranger stopped, his lanky form framed in waves of horrified gold when he realized Mabane meant to flee into peril rather than obey them.

“It is not safe for you here,” Ebony said reasonably, “Come back, Mabane.”

“We can’t leave Pen here to die,” Mabane howled, “I won’t let you.”

“That fortress is full of Margonites,” Armand said quietly, jerking his head toward the distant bulk of a great structure, “I would rather not stand in the opening arguing.”

“We’ll play along with him and once he’s settled down, I’ll restrain him and we’ll take him home.  Pity we didn’t keep him tied up,” thought Morisedd as clearly as if he had just said it aloud.  Mabane was horrified.

“Very well,” said Morisedd, “Let’s go back into the cover of the hillside and decide how to proceed.”

He saw the blue blaze of hurt surrounding Morisedd when Mabane stepped backwards again to keep distance between them.  Ebony nodded toward the hill and hung back as the others departed with many a backward glance.  He noted that Lemony only retreated a few paces, her round features marred with concern for him and her open heart and care for him a salve to his jarred nerves.  Her presence was soothing and he longed to bask in her warmth.

“Could Lemony come here,” he stammered the blaze of energies that limned his gaze exhausting and he was glad that the voices had faded from his mind now that most of them had departed.  Ebony and Lemony had nothing to hide from him and their caring was genuine.  The little monk smiled and moved slowly toward him until he latched onto her and sobbed into her breast.  She held him sweetly and stroked his hair, kissing him lightly on the crown as she murmured reassurance.

“It must have been terrible,” she soothed, “but it’s alright now, we’ll take you home.”

“Pen is still here,” he protested, “We can’t leave without him, he won’t survive much longer.”

Ebony placed a hand upon his back.

“Who is the ghost, Mabane?”

“What ghost?” Lemony murmured.

“My papa.  He made the demons go away.”

“Do you or your father know where Pendaran is?”

“Aramathxes gave me a key.  She said I could find him with it.”

“May I see it please?”

Lemony let him go so that he could draw the fine chain and the key from around his neck.  Ebony laid it across her palm and gazed upon it thoughtfully.

“Alright, we’ll do what we can, but you must not run off again.  This is a very dangerous place.”

“Murdi wishes Pen were dead,” Mabane protested, “He wants to trick me and take me home.  I don’t want to be near him.”

“He can’t take you home without our help,” Ebony replied, stroking damp strands of hair from his face, “I’ll help you find Pen, alright?  Now will you come with us?”

He nodded, latching onto Ebony’s waist as she led them back toward the shelter of the hillside.  She would not lie to him, he saw this as clearly as day now.