Hour Of Darkness
Chapter Twelve, Hello Goodbye
Ringo stumbled over to where George cradled Liryl, Paul following, his face the very picture of concern. George looked up, pain and tears filling his eyes.
"Ringo, you've got to do something! You can help, can't you?" George pleaded. Ringo opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He knelt next to Liryl slowly and deliberately, motioning to George to give him her head. George gently moved Liryl's head to Ringo's lap. Ringo gently brushed the hair from her wound, touching it gingerly. He wiped his bloodied hand in the grass, then began chanting. Slowly, tiredly, the white sparks of healing sprung to his fingers, smoldering with a soft fizzling noise. Ringo gently pressed his hand to her neck, covering the wound. He closed his eyes, chanting for quite a long time. George shifted impatiently as Paul watched in awe. Ringo pulled his hand away, but the gaping wound remained. George stared at his friend, who could only furrow his brow in frustration. Again, Ringo conjured, the sparks more feeble on his fingertips. He chanted, his voice strained and rough, beads of sweat forming on his brow. He folded his hand over her wound again, chanting feverishly.
Nothing.
"It's no use. I'm too weak." Ringo sighed, sitting back. George stared at him in shock.
"No! You can't give up! Try again! You have to!"
"George," Paul said gently, putting his hand on George's shoulder. George shrugged him off.
"Ringo, you have to try again!" Fresh tears started rolling down his cheeks. Ringo's heart died at the sight of his young friend.
"I…I can't."
George grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him roughly. "Try, dammit! Ringo, you don't understand! You have to help her!"
Paul stepped in. "George, if he says he can't, he can't." He said softly. George let go of Ringo, listening to Paul's words. "You know he would help if he could. He just…can't."
George looked at Ringo, whose face was streaming with tears. George hung his head.
"Ringo…I'm sorry…"
****
John stared out the window, his mood as dark as the clouds surrounding him. The golden field was now covered in clouds as well, the shimmering grass eclipsed by the thunderclouds. It rained incessantly, thunder booming as lightning bolts lanced the darkness. John stared for hours, contemplating his situation, that of his friends, and how they must be doing. They'd been apart for about a week and a half, John estimated, but seemed more like months. Did George ever learn how to fly? Could Paul hunt with the instincts of a real wolf? Perhaps most importantly, was Ringo as powerful as Mystique? Could he defeat her in battle, if it came to that? Did they miss him? Could they find him?
John sighed shakily, leaning his head back in frustration. He felt so useless…so helpless! If they were in trouble, there was nothing he could do. Hell, he probably wouldn't even know!
Just then, his dark thoughts were interrupted by the metal door creaking open. John didn't move his gaze from the window. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mystique enter, but something was wrong. He moved his eyes to meet hers.
Her face was stone, its former radiance dissipated; her movements were jerky, not at all as graceful as he had remembered. Perhaps most astonishing were her eyes; they glowed like fire, red-hot coals set in her pale face. Then, she did something John never thought she would ever do.
She spoke.
Her voice was hard and tired, her words cold and harsh. "The Dark One will see you now," She said, like a waiting room attendant ushering in a doctor's patient. The shackles on John's wrists and ankles abruptly melted away, glowing red-hot. He jerked his hands away before they could be burned too badly, rubbing his wrists. He stood shakily, for he had not been able to stand for a week and a half. As soon as she saw that John was standing, Mystique promptly turned on her heel and walked out the door. John followed her on wobbling legs.
'Mystique', for he wasn't sure if it was really her, led John down a pitch black hallway, guiding him with short, curt sentences; "Turn here. Step down." John was careful to follow her instructions, but he found that if he stretched out with his mental hands, he could see with his eyes closed. With a bitter smile, he remembered the lines to one of his songs; Living is easier with your eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see.
Eventually, 'Mystique' stopped, inches in front of John's nose. He quickly stopped to avoid running into her.
"Open you eyes, Stranger."
John opened his eyes very slowly, squinting in the bright light. He was in some sort of throne room, a huge hall decorated like that of a late Victorian castle.
The hall extended before John about fifty feet. A long, red carpet covered the middle third of the cold stone floor and led to the altar and throne. Giant tapestries hung from the walls, depicting scenes of ancient wizards, noble nights, beautiful princesses; your stereotypical fairy tale. All they need's a dragon, John thought sarcastically. The walls on which the tapestries hung were cobble stone, irregular bricks stacked with cement to fill the gaps. In places, the stones had been rebuilt where they had begun to crumble. John walked quickly, trying to keep pace with 'Mystique'. It wasn't easy. She moved with incredible speed for her thin frame, but John was able to keep up with full strides of his long legs.
When the two were about three fourths of the way up the red carpet, John noticed a woman of about forty sitting in a chair off to the right of the throne. In front of her was a table piled high with delicacies such as roast duck, caviar, fresh, warm bread, fruit, and just about every other food John could have imagined. His mouth watered at the very sights and smells of these foods. The woman twitched her fingers suspiciously, and John noticed that her finger movements coincided with 'Mystique's' steps. John looked at her curiously, and at this point, 'Mystique' broke off, heading up the steps to seat herself gracefully in the throne.
"Come, stranger, sit and eat." John approached warily, seating himself at the end of the table, opposite the woman. "I have prepared a feast in your honor, since it seems that my daughter has not been able to provide you with adequate nourishment."
"What have you done to her?" He asked sharply, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning back in his chair. The woman looked at him as a flash of astonishment crossed her sharp features. Obviously she was not used to being addressed in such a harsh manner. She quickly covered this up, coughing quietly behind one black-gloved hand. It was at this point that John noticed that she was dressed from head to toe in black velvet, gauzy sleeves flowing from her shoulders. The thin material had an interlacing of silver spider webs. John wracked his brains, trying to remember where he had seen it before. The woman looked so familiar…
"She is fine. It is none of your concern," she responded, equally harsh. John scowled at her. The woman lifted one thin eyebrow. "Please, eat with me."
But John still refused to eat. "Who are you, where am I, and what the hell do you want me for?" He asked, still scowling.
"Yes, I would expect you would want some answers. First, I am Karine, but perhaps you know me better as…the Dark One."
John gasped, practically falling over backwards in his chair. Of course! In his dream, Mystique had spoken in the same tired voice, changed into the same harsh features. In his dream, John had known that this woman had to be the Dark One; that's how he recognized her, but couldn't put his finger on it!
Karine waited for a moment until John regained his senses. "Second, you are in my realm, the Lair deep in the heart of the Ramshorn Mountains. Third, I will not tell you why you are here, for you will soon find out." She stretched out her long arm, and John felt a strange tingling in his neck. A swirling green mist flew from his mouth, and he stared at it, astonished.
John opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He cleared his throat and tried again, but to no avail. He grasped his throat, mouth opening and closing like a fish. The Dark One rose gracefully, walking over to him. She held out a charm that glowed green, the swirling mist inside. John stared at her, not comprehending. The Dark One moved to her adopted daughter who was still perched on the throne. John could only follow, still trying to speak. The Dark One pressed the gem against her daughter's throat, and the green mist seeped into her neck. Mystique awoke, eyes regaining their original shine. The emerald had now replaced the original obsidian on her neck.
"What…" Mystique grabbed her throat. "I can talk!" John stared in shock. The Dark One had just stolen his voice and given it to Mystique! Mystique was not talking in his voice, however, she talked like a normal woman in her twenties. Mystique hugged her mother tearfully, crying with joy.
"How did you do it, mother!" She asked through her tears. The Dark One pointed soundlessly to John. John stared at her pleadingly, still holding his throat. The happy look on Mystique's face soon faded.
"Mother, you DIDN'T!" The Dark One nodded. Mystique looked at her in horror. "Oh, how could you??" Mystique ran to kneel by John, and he reached out with a shaky hand to touch the gem on her necklace, trying to tell her what had happened. He pointed to his neck, then to the Dark One, then to the gem. Mystique nodded. Why do you not speak in mindvoice? Mystique asked.
John kicked himself. Can't she hear us?
Not since I mindlinked us. Our conversation is impenetrable, even to a mage of her power. John swallowed hard. The Dark One was clearly very powerful if she could pluck the very voice from his throat.
John said a silent prayer for his absent friends.
****
George stood alone, facing the wind, his wings collected tightly at his back. His long hair whipped gently around his high cheekbones and shoulders as he stood near Liryl's grave.
He and Paul had trekked to the woods in order to collect the stones that now covered her burial mound. They had left Ringo to recuperate, and since it had been a few days, he seemed to have more energy than before. They buried Liryl in a shallow grave and covered it with stones from the streambed. Ringo and Paul were now standing some feet away, leaving George alone to grieve on his own for a bit. They kept an eye on him, but other than that they left him completely alone.
George uncurled his long fingers, inspecting the gem he held in his palm. He had removed the butterfly in amber from Liryl's neck before they buried her. It shone in the sun, but the butterfly was as lifeless as the young girl they had buried. George folded his fingers back over the necklace, clasping it to his chest.
****
George flew silently above the others, keeping a wary eye out all around. Paul ran closely at Ringo's heels. Ringo was riding a new mount; he had regained his powers somewhat a few days before. They had been travelling towards the dark mountains for days, and now were nearing the edge of the field. They had been able to make very good progress up until now, but dark storm clouds were beginning to gather the nearer they drew to the mountains. Their expedition in search of John came to an abrupt end as they skidded to a halt in front of the first mountain.
Ringo trotted up slowly, Paul close behind, as George circled overhead like a vulture. Ringo looked up to George, waving for him to come down. George obliged, landing softly and neatly next to Ringo's mount.
"George, can you fly high enough to see what's past this mountain?"
George looked up to the sky as lightning lanced across the dark clouds. "I could, in decent weather, but with these clouds, I'm not so sure. I'll have a go at it," George replied.
"If you don't think you should, I…"
"No, it's all right, I'll be fine." He replied quickly. Ringo nodded slowly, and George prepared to take off.
"Wait!" Ringo shouted suddenly. George rose from his crouching position and walked over to Ringo. Ringo put his hands over George's ears, and instantly George couldn't hear anything. A feeling of panic washed over him, until Ringo produced a piece of paper and a crude pen, scribbling, It's only temporary, for the thunder. You'd go deaf permanently otherwise.
George nodded in thanks, then touched a hand to the butterfly amber that was around his wrist, and with one solid leap, launched into the air.
Circling higher and higher, he was soon lost in the low clouds. Electricity fizzled in the air, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Occasionally he would have a close call with a sizzling thunderbolt, and he was eternally grateful to Ringo for the "earplugs". He was able to rise to an incredible height due to the swirling thermals and winds produced by the low storms, and eventually he broke through the top of the clouds.
The view was incredible. George hovered gently with graceful beats of his sinuous wings. As far as the eye could see, dark clouds covered the land like a thick carpet, lightning flashing at regular intervals. Here and there mountains poked through the thick blanket, dark obelisks in a sea of gray. Near the horizon was a huge structure, which George recognized immediately as the Lair.
He quickly descended, twisting his body into a sickening dive to shoot through the dark clouds as fast as his wings could take him. With a stomach-turning jolt at the end, he settled neatly next to a surprised Ringo, who practically fell of his horse in astonishment.
Ringo started talking excitedly, but George couldn't hear him. He shook his head, pointing to his ears. Ringo smacked his forehead gently with his palm, then motioned for George to step forward. Ringo placed his hands over George's ears, and with a pop and a rushing noise, George could hear again.
"Thanks, Ring." George said, plopping down in the tall grass, feeling tired. Ringo and a human Paul wiggled excitedly.
"Well? What did you see??" Paul asked, eager to continue on their journey to find John.
George sighed. "We've got a ways to go, lads."
On to Chapter Thirteen!
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