Keys of Awakening

PHOLGORE ( B A L A N C I N G )

The Seventh Power of the Arcanum

Pholgore is a Passive power.

When the Seekers master their urges and impulses, and recognise the need to balance internal forces, this power becomes available externally. In their natural state, all things are in ordered balance: polar energies dance around one another in harmony and beauty. As soon as this balance is disturbed, there is chaos and danger.

Application: Pholgore helps to restore balance to situations that have fallen into extremes. This is the act of returning order to chaos, and harmony to all things.

A practitioner of Pholgore is known as an Equaler.

From The Arcanum of Wisdom – Introduction for the Initiate

Soft and soothing, birdsong wafted in from afar.

Illiom lay listening, unwilling to open her eyes.

A new song arose from somewhere closer, one she had never heard before. A rolling trill, a loud click, a deep throaty rumble and then silence ... repeated over and over. She heard an answering echo, faint with distance.

Silence? Actually there was no true silence; what had at first passed for silence was full of subtle whirring and buzzing, the drone of insects.

Somewhere not very far away, she heard a clear, strong, melodic voice singing a wordless song.

A soft moaning drew her attention, until she realised that it was she who was making it. She quieted herself and just lay still, listening to the harmonic calls and the strange trills of unknown birds.

She became aware of the soft, playful gurgle of running water, and for some reason this sound made her open her eyes.

A thick canopy of fern-tree fronds met her gaze. She blinked a few times. Beyond this was a second canopy, much higher up: trees, lots of trees. She was in a forest.

These two canopies colluded to effectively fragment the sky into myriad shards of pale daylight.

Illiom shivered and tried to sit up. Her world spun and she felt suddenly nauseous. She lay back down on the smooth rock beneath her and gasped for air.

She remembered falling into the water and being carried downstream, but beyond that … nothing at all.

Where was she?

When the nausea abated she lifted herself tentatively onto her elbows. Pain lanced through her neck and her head throbbed. She brought her hand up to her temple, gingerly probing the source of the pain. Her fingers came away wet and sticky with fresh blood.

An animal pelt covered her, the furry side soft against her skin. As she raised herself the pelt slid from her shoulders, exposing her to the cold air.

She froze then, fully present and alert.

How had she become naked?

The thought of someone removing her clothes filled her with alarm. She pulled the skin right up to her neck again and peered around nervously.

She was in a small glade, and through an opening in the foliage she saw a man, sitting with his back to her.

She blinked several times. Was it a man or some kind of creature?

She saw that his fawn-coloured hair continued like a fine down to cover his neck and arms, and it was only the vest he wore that stopped her from thinking this was some kind of animal.

What’s more, the singing she had heard was coming from him.

Illiom sat very still, looking all around the space, but she saw no one else beyond the fern grove. She was wondering what to do when she suddenly sneezed and the creature turned to look at her. With incredible agility and speed it raced up to her.

Illiom pulled away in fright.

The eyes that looked into hers were alert and intelligent, curious and incisive. She recognised humour in their depths. The creature was both human and animal, in a blend that defied her mind.

Looking at him at such close range she was able to see that his entire face, like the rest of him, was covered in hair. The deep brown eyes were perhaps a little rounder than in most people; the nose was smaller, recessed, and tilted upwards, lending it a slightly squashed-in appearance. The mouth was wide and expressive and the lips were dark, almost black.

The creature crooned and extended a tentative hand towards her. Illiom looked at the hand reaching for her and gripped the edge of the pelt tighter.

“Hello …” she whispered, too frightened to feel foolish.

The creature tilted its head.

“Eelloo,” he sung ... a musical attempt at communication.

“Who are you?” she asked. She took a quick look around. “Where am I?”

His eyes widened slightly at the sounds she made, his head tilted to one side again as he watched the movement of her lips. He took a step forward and once again reached toward her with one finger. He stopped when Illiom pulled away again. There was no hair at all on his hand: the fingers were dark and leathery.

Illiom swallowed.

“My name is Illiom,” she said, with as much dignity as she could muster, and this time she did feel foolish.

The creature made a grimace that might have been a smile. The eyes widened slightly before softening, crinkling somewhat at the corners.

“Mah nay myz Eeliom,” he mimicked.

This utterance had the same sing-song quality to it but sounded so much like speech that Illiom almost smiled.

“Illiom,” she repeated, pointing at herself.

The dark outline that defined the creature’s eyebrows arched into a question, and the mouth shaped itself into a round pout.

“Eeliom,” he sang, nodding.

She managed a tentative smile.

“That is right, Illiom is my name.”

The creature straightened then and its expression became serious, solemn.

“Elorion ak,” he announced, pointing at himself.

“Elorion ak?” Illiom repeated, doing her best to emulate his sounds.

He responded with a cutting gesture. No.

Once again he pointed to himself.

“Ak,” he said, and then spreading his hands, palms upwards, he enunciated carefully, “Elorion.”

Illiom frowned. What was he trying to say? She decided to copy him and pointed towards herself.

“Illiom ak,” she said.

Elorion grinned, baring big yellow teeth.

Illiom smiled and pointed to herself again.

“Ak?” and then spread her hands in the way he had done. “Illiom.”

I am Illiom.

Elorion came closer.

He reached towards her with one hand, took the edge of the pelt that covered her and tugged at it gently, as if he intended to remove it.

Startled again, Illiom pulled quickly back.

Elorion’s expression became serious, attentive. He looked at her sharply but withdrew his hand.

In that moment, Illiom had another disconcerting realisation: Elorion’s feet looked exactly like his hands, very much like the monkeys she had seen in Calestor.

This realisation made her look for a tail and sure enough there it was, a strong, thick tail, tucked away behind him.

Despite all of these characteristics, however, Illiom could not bring herself to think of him as anything but human.

Elorion turned and pointed towards the clearing and then pointed at her pelt, all the while speaking in his soothing, song-like way.

She was about to get up when, in a rush, it all came back to her: the Diamantine, Holack Harbour, the carriage ride and the Legion’s attack.

Tarmel! Her heart cried out in anguish.

She had lost her Rider! Where was he? What had become of him? And what of her companions? A vision of their broken bodies, slain by the tainted warriors of Evárudas, horrified her.

She leapt to her feet.

“Where am I?” she implored and shouted, both at once. “Please, please tell me. Where am I?”

Elorion stopped singing and peered closely at her, a frown on his face. Illiom looked around frantically.

“I must find them. Oh no, sweet Sudra, please keep them safe … I have to find them …” She started to weep, tears of anguish and frustration. Elorion’s look became one of grave concern. He was suddenly by her side again, so fast that she jumped when he touched her wet cheek.

“Oon saamieh,” he crooned, and stroked her head in such a kindly way that it caused the tears to flow even harder.

“I must find him, Elorion. I … have to find them …”

With a sudden resolve that startled her, Elorion took her by the hand and led her out of the tree fern grove, towards another stone slab that overhung a deep stream. Here, intermittently touched by Iod’s rays, her clothes lay, spread out to dry.

Elorion sang a gentle tune as he pointed at them.

Illiom picked up her tunic and was surprised to find that it was still damp; so she could not have been unconscious for that long. With that realisation, she made her way to the stream and looked up and down its banks. But where were the others? How could she find them?

She turned to find Elorion so close to her that she almost fell into the water. His movements were so quick and silent that she had not heard him.

He looked at her questioningly.

Illiom tried to explain what she wanted, that she needed to find her companions, but without a common vocabulary it was a completely hopeless task.

Elorion looked at her. He seemed to understand her predicament, if not her words; but he was just as helpless to do anything about it. After a time he withdrew, leaving her on her own, and returned to the little clearing.

Illiom paid him no heed.

She seized the opportunity and, shedding the pelt, she dressed hurriedly, despite the fact that her clothes were still damp.

While she dressed she tried to divine a way of finding the others. What would she have done, in their place? Clearly, downstream was the only direction they could travel in, allowing the waters to carry them until they were a safe distance from the Legion. Then they would climb out … but had they done so sooner, or later?

It occurred to her that Elorion must have pulled her out quite soon, or else she would have drowned; so it was very likely that the others were further downstream.

She looked in that direction, but all she could see was the narrow silver stream of shimmering water that vanished into the impenetrably dense vegetation. How could she be sure? And if she did know where they were, how could she reach them, short of jumping back into the stream?

If only she could swim …

She looked up as Elorion returned. In his hands he bore a large leaf, upon which were piled berries and fruits that were completely unknown to her. He offered these to her and she smiled gratefully at him.

“You are so kind, Elorion,” she said, and saw the twinkle of recognition that lit his eyes at the sound of his name.

“Eeliom, tchet, tchet!”

She put a berry in her mouth, burst the plump little thing with her teeth, and her mouth filled with an explosion of nectar. She spat out the stone and ate another berry. Soon she was devouring the fruit, even the ones that tasted a little strange. She was reasonably confident that they would not harm her.

She had not quite finished eating when Elorion suddenly looked up, his eyes darting across the thick canopy of trees overhead.

Illiom followed his gaze, but saw nothing.

Abruptly, her companion sounded a call so unexpectedly loud that it made her jump. Elorion stood and repeated the call.

This time there was a response, quickly followed by another.

Someone was approaching fast, judging by the rising volume of each response. There was a sudden thrashing in the foliage overhead and a shadow burst through the canopy to land with a thud on all fours.

Two more landed alongside the first. All three of the new arrivals were males, much the same as Elorion in appearance, except for minor differences in their aspect and their attire which was crafted from sturdy leather, and for the weapons that hung from belts that crossed their chests.

The first creature, clearly the leader, glared at Illiom coldly. He made a sound that even she recognised as unfriendly, and strode aggressively right up to her.

Instinctively, she took a step backwards.

The creature snorted a command and in the next moment Elorion pressed himself between them, nudging Illiom firmly back, away from the newcomer. Elorion sang to the new arrival in an urgent, pleading tone, but the newcomer’s expression did not soften. He spoke in angry, short outbursts and then, jerking his head towards Illiom, barked a command that brought his two companions to his side.

Before they could do anything, Elorion lunged at the leader, grabbing him by the arms and knocking his legs out from under him. The two tumbled to the ground, locked in combat.

Illiom cried out for them to stop but that only served to draw the attention of the other two, who were watching the struggle between their leader and Elorion. They turned to her then and seized her by the arms and legs.

“No!” she shouted, frightened, outraged. “Let me go! Let me …” Illiom screamed, but with a suddenness that stole her breath away they lifted her off her feet and, leaping up into the impenetrable forest overhead, she and her two captors were suddenly airborne.

With dizzying speed they swung through the vegetation, gripping onto vines and branches, heading ever higher. They used tall, slender saplings to catapult themselves along, and rebounded off tree trunks to further aid their progress. They found handholds that were invisible to Illiom until after they had used them, and followed an incomprehensible path, taking them deeper into the dense heart of the forest.

Illiom, who had struggled at first to free herself, desisted lest she fall to her death. The ground had receded so far beneath them that it was now out of sight.

Breathless from their speed of travel, she braced herself for impacts that, incredibly, never occurred. The forest magically parted before them as they flew through the dense foliage. To make things worse it also began to rain, suddenly and heavily. The downpour drenched her hair and clothes and the forest around them glistened; wet leaves and fronds slapped against her as they sped through the forest’s canopy, and yet none of it caused her any actual damage.

The roar of the downpour silenced everything else. All birdsong had ceased as the three continued their journey through the drenched green world.

They travelled in this way until a great shadow loomed up ahead, one that seemed to fill the entire sky, dark and ominous. It was only at the very last moment that Illiom saw it was the rock face of a great cliff, a wall of stone that rose up out of the forest to block their path.

They finally landed on a broad ledge and Illiom was grateful to feel the comfort of solid ground beneath her once more. She was also grateful that her two captors did not let her go, for her legs would simply have folded and she would have fallen had they done so.

Walking now, they followed a narrow path up the cliff face. Water cascaded all around them as they went, streaming past to gather into small brooks and countless waterfalls. Expertly, her two captors bore her ever upwards, often lifting her off her feet, never once slipping, never hesitant in their footing. Continuing to climb, they left the forest behind, stretching away below them in the silver-grey haze of rain.

After a time they gained a second, broader ledge. This was recessed beneath an enormous spur of stone, and here the open mouth of a monstrous cavern yawned before them.

Guards posted around the entrance watched as the three made their way past them.

Illiom, cold and frightened, surrendered to the tremors that now claimed her body. One of her captors glanced at her as he too felt the violent shaking of his captive’s limbs.

That glance triggered a reaction in Illiom. Suddenly, she snapped out of her weakened state and became furious. She began to feel the first stirrings of power awaken in her belly.

How was it that she always forgot about her ability until the very moment it rose again to remind her of its existence? Its presence now gave her the strength and courage she needed. Lifting her chin defiantly, she struggled forcefully against the restraining hands of her captors as her feet found purchase on the ground beneath her.

They responded immediately and their merciless grip loosened. The hands, though still touching her, soon became no more than guides, steering her towards a still unknown destination.

The path opened up as they progressed deeper into the mountain. As the daylight behind them receded, it was gradually replaced by a new light source that soon became apparent. A warm glow emanated from clay pots that lined the path ahead, casting an amber light upon the rough cavern walls.

Abruptly, the passage spilled them out into a chamber that brought Illiom to a sudden and complete stop. Her escorts waited quietly beside her.

Since leaving the mountains, Illiom had experienced her fair share of breath-taking moments. Seeing Varadon’s Keep for the first time, and then Kuon; stepping into Queen Eranel’s Palace and then, later, walking through the shadowless halls of Maularahad’s Keep and the daunting abode of the Firebrand, deep in the fissures of Mount Shantan - each of these had affected her deeply.

Now before her was unparalleled vision.

The cavern was so vast that, had it not been for the myriad of tiny lights that clustered the ceiling, no amount of torchlight would ever have illumined it. Instead it was as though she had just stepped outside on a clear summer’s night and the ceiling overhead was like a star-studded night sky. Only these lights were brighter than stars. Brighter and warmer, they bathed the settlement that spread beneath them in a golden glow.

For the first time since this particular ordeal had begun, Illiom found herself actually looking forward to whatever lay ahead. That she was still alive and unharmed gave her confidence. Somehow she felt that, surely, whatever power or magic was responsible for such a glorious and heart-warming display could not possibly harbour anything that would endanger her.

At first, Illiom could not get enough of feasting her eyes on the lights that flooded down from the cavern’s ceiling, but when her escorts grew impatient and prodded her into moving forward once again, she lowered her gaze to what lay below.

She stared into a single, vast, tiered basin that was clearly the dwelling place of these people. There did not seem to be any great numbers of them about, but those she saw were gathered in small groups and tended to different activities. She saw women seated on the ground, pounding something in stone receptacles that they held fast between their thighs. She saw men scraping clean the skins of animals, while others inspected an array of tools and implements whose purpose she could not begin to guess at. Everywhere there were goats with long red coats and some kind of grey birds with brown crests that looked almost like turkeys, save for their bright yellow necks and iridescent tails.

A number of cooking fires sent thin plumes of smoke wafting into the air.

The thing that struck Illiom the most was that, save for one fenced-off space that encircled the top of a mound in the very centre of this vast bowl, there were no individual dwellings anywhere: no houses or huts or shelters of any kind. Of course, living inside a cavern meant that there was never any rain or snow; no need for shelter when the entire space was already more than adequately sheltered.

Illiom mused then at the extent to which physical necessity dictated the customs of people everywhere. All those things that she had always taken for granted growing up in the monasteries - were they really no more than the result of practicalities that had become ingrained as habit over long spans of time? The need for separation and privacy might not be as important here as it was in Kuon. Yet who had the right of it? Did not walls exist primarily to hold up roofs? Had their origins perhaps evolved from people’s need to keep themselves separate from one another?

The temperature was warm in this place too, further obviating the need for enclosures. It reminded Illiom of being outdoors on a balmy summer’s night.

Illiom walked down the spiral path into the great basin, looking curiously upon the exposed lives of these unknown people. They went about their lives much like people did everywhere. She saw children playing, chasing each other, watched over by the adults nearby. She saw a woman and her daughter cooking over a small contained fire. She saw a group of older people listening contentedly to the one who was singing to them. She saw mothers breast-feeding their babies.

Gradually, more of them stopped to stare with open curiosity at the stranger who walked past. Many amongst these, both men and women, were completely naked, their bodies entirely covered in fine down.

Their inquisitive glances at the pale and hairless skin of her arms and legs were not unkind, so she allowed herself to gaze back at them without fear.

It was clear to her that, in this place, clothes served functionality rather than the aesthetic.

All, young and old, bore themselves with a relaxed elegance that conveyed much about their innately graceful nature.

Illiom’s escort continued to lead her towards the mound at the centre of the cavern.

On top of the mound was a broad, flat area that accommodated the enclosed space that she had seen earlier. Yet even this was not a hut as such, for it had no roof; it was a fence made of long, woven reeds. Above the enclosure a column of smoke wafted into the air.

The path ended at a gap in the fence but even this was screened so she was unable to see into the enclosure.

Her escorts stopped before the entrance and a brief exchange ensued. One touched her elbow, indicating that she should enter.

Illiom took a breath. She looked up at the light-studded ceiling for a moment and then stepped into the fenced area, her heartbeat loud in her ears.

She stepped through a cloud of smoke that emanated from vats of smouldering greenery placed on either side of the entrance.

The smell was strong, pungent and heady. She breathed it in as she passed and was surprised to find that it had an immediate soothing effect upon her. Beyond the smoke a dozen or so people sat in a semi-circle.

They were all looking at her.

Illiom blinked a few times before realising that all of those present were women and, apart from the two girls who stood near the entrance, all were of a venerable age.

She had not known what to expect and somehow she felt deeply relieved.

One of the women rose to greet her. She reached towards Illiom with a trembling hand and touched her sodden clothes. She looked over her shoulder and spoke in an almost sorrowful cadence. In response, one of the two girls left the enclosure while the other moved towards Illiom, smiling reassuringly, and with slow movements made it clear that she intended to undress her.

Illiom, taken aback, pulled away; but the girl was gently insistent. Illiom relented to her ministrations but it was only when the girl’s companion returned, carrying a garment of woven reeds, that she understood their intention and was able to surrender completely.

The garment was long, simple and striking, more like a blanket or a cloak. The reeds had been dyed in a complex pattern of vivid red and black. The girl who had undressed her draped this around her bare shoulders and Illiom was surprised by its softness: the cloak was lined with fur. She pulled it eagerly around herself.

“Clan Mother ask question. Warriors you well treat?”

Illiom’s head snapped up at this unexpected question.

The speaker was also young. Illiom had not seen her sitting there in the midst of all the older women.

Oh, thank Sudra!

“Treated well?” Illiom repeated, looking around at the circle of faces focused on her. “No,” she admitted at last. “I have not been treated well. Where I come from it is not respectful to bodily pick up a complete stranger and cart them away against their will, without explanation. I have friends that I have become separated from and whom I must find. We are on an important mission and now I have absolutely no idea where they might be or what has become of them.”

She waited, trembling under a wave of emotion.

The woman who had spoken to her in the common tongue now relayed her words in the song-like language.

The Clan Mother, the same old woman who had greeted her, listened carefully. She studied Illiom, holding her gaze even as she sang out a message. One of the young girls rose nimbly to her feet and left the enclosure.

With no translation being offered, Illiom had no recourse but to wait. It was not long, however, before the girl returned, accompanied by the two men who had brought Illiom here.

The Clan Mother climbed to her feet with some difficulty. Her eyes were now vats of fury. She snapped a cold word at the men who, heads bowed, took a few steps forward into the centre of the enclosure.

Here the old woman sung to them, but now there was nothing musical or pleasant about her singing. Her eyes bulged in her head and she pulled grotesque faces as she sang. Her hands made cutting motions or slapped hard against her thighs. The tone of her voice at times descended into strange guttural sounds, similar to those Elorion made during his argument with their leader.

The men, clearly mortified, kept their eyes fixed on their feet. The Clan Mother, with a fierce expression, ended by pointing towards the entrance and the men backed away from her, their heads bowed, their tails literally between their legs.

Illiom felt a sudden surge of pity for the two. After all, they had only done what their leader had instructed. So she decided to speak up.

After the translator had conveyed her words to the Clan Mother, she turned to Illiom and related the old woman’s response.

“Clan Mother warriors scold for they to stranger disrespect show. Her words to pack leader they must tell; him for his actions at next clan gathering must account. True they pack leader’s orders follow, told by him must you carry. But what men we shape, if they not answer for what they do? What terrible things if only leaders responsible will happen? Every warrior must think, and for himself must judge, not blind puppet with no responsibility be. This Qwa’kol way.”

The old woman, the Clan Mother, the fire of her anger completely spent, reached for Illiom’s hands then, and took them in hers. Her song was the embodiment of softness and kindness.

The younger woman translated the elder’s words of welcome and Illiom was invited to sit among them. The wound on her forehead was tended to, cleaned and covered with a grey poultice. Food was brought in by other young women who laid it out respectfully on the floor before their guest on broad leaves that served as platters.

The Clan Mother continued to apologise for the behaviour of the men-folk but she also went some way towards explaining it.

“Many troubles with Th’ekera in past moons have been. Attacks, unprovoked, deadly. Men caution and mistrust have learned, warrior spirit in their eyes and in their arms has come. So too, fear. When fear come, too easy right way forget. Forget what make Qwa’kol different from Th’ekera ... hospitality, kindness and sacredness of all strangers.”

Slowly, through the translations of the younger woman, Illiom began to piece together where she was and who these people were.

They called themselves the Qwa’kol, or Children of the Great Forest, and had lived in Evárudas since the beginning of time, long before the arrival of the Th’ekera, or flatfoots, as they called the present inhabitants of the Evárudani Queendom. The people in the cavern belonged to the Shimina tribe, just one of several Qwa’kol groupings.

Relations between the Qwa’kol and the Th’ekera had been amicable for longer than the eldest grandmother present. Although the two groups might as well have existed in entirely separate worlds, so seldom did their paths overlap. Over time they had learned to trade with one another to mutual advantage. Troubles, it seems, had begun about two moons ago with the unprovoked murder of five Qwa’kol returning from a trading venture in one of Evárudas’ northern villages, and culminated more recently in a confrontation where a patrol of Qwa’kol encountered a contingent of the Evárudani Legion. In the battle that followed, both sides withstood some losses, though none paid as dearly as the Legion.

“We know that not all Th’ekera enemy be. Difficult times for Th’ekera, cannot enemy from friend tell. Th’ekera who attack Qwa’kol wrong be. Very, very wrong.”

She tapped her heart to clarify her meaning.

“Something wrong with them be. Clan Mothers see Eeliom not Th’ekera is; also why warriors think you Th’ekera understand. Th’ekera you look but not same feel. Not Th’ekera, we think.”

Illiom paused in her nibbling at that point.

“How does the Clan Mother know that I am from elsewhere?” she asked and waited.

“The Clan Mothers in dreaming you have seen,” was the unexpected reply. “The moment they see, they remember.”

The Clan Mothers all looked at her attentively.

Some were nodding and smiling and passing comments to one another. One old crone, who had been chewing something for the whole time Illiom had been in their company, cackled out loud, making an unabashed display of her toothless gums. Another peered towards Illiom with eyes so narrow that it was impossible to tell if they were open or shut.

“They saw me in a dream?”

“No, not dream. In dreaming.”

“What is the difference?”

“Sometime, when there need be, on brightest night, Clan Mothers help from ancestors seek. The muliahan they drink, the seeing potion, the dreaming medicine. In morning of their dreaming speak, answers from what they see come. Last dreaming, you they see.”

Illiom nodded, but internally this news baffled her.

“But … what does it mean? And what do they mean, they saw me? How could they have seen me?”

The woman conferred again with the elders and continued to translate for Illiom.

“In dreaming, spirits Clan Mothers show woman who Th’ekera look, but Th’ekera not is. She, like you, to us come ... alone, wet, strange clothes wear. She your face has. You not Qwa’kol Shimina, but still you in dreaming come. Ancestors to us you show. You part of Great Change be, change that will old ways to us restore – the ways of ancestors that lost to us are. Clan Mothers not know how this you do, just what see they know: they you see …”

Illiom gaped at the woman, speechless.

The Clan Mother now approached her and held her gaze, looking deep into Illiom’s eyes. The old woman began to sing and her song fell into Illiom’s heart and touched her soul.

And Illiom understood.

Her eyes welled.

“Most ancient Qwa’kol Shimina blessing this is,” the translator whispered when the song had ended.

Afterwards, Illiom spoke to the old women about her own predicament. Slowly, she began to explain everything that had happened since her arrival in Evárudas, that very same morning.

Through the translator, whose name was Mara, she told them of the other Chosen and of how they had become separated. She explained then that if she, Illiom, was marked as important, then so were they, for she could not accomplish what she needed to without them.

The women asked questions. They were particularly curious about all that was transpiring in Kroen, though they seemed to have only a very vague notion as to where the northern realm actually was. Across the water, to the north and west, was the closest they would come to an understanding.

“Clan Mothers will you help, Eeliom,” Mara concluded when she saw how exhausted Illiom looked. “In morning, when light in world shines, we for your friends look. Messengers to other clans we send, so they too for them look. You we help. Now you sleep.”

And with that she had to be content.

Illiom spent that night in the compound in the centre of the underground village. At first she did not know how she would manage to sleep under the infinity of lights clinging to the cavern’s ceiling.

She asked Mara what the lights were.

“They glow-ferns be,” the woman informed her, and proceeded to tell her that in ancient times the tiny little plants had made a pact with the insects. The pact was one of mutual benefit: the insects found refuge amongst the glow-ferns, for the little bright lights blinded the bats that hunted the insects at night, and so they were unable to see their prey. In return, the insects carried the fire of the glow-ferns to other glow-ferns, so that both lived happily and spread, populating the world.

The story did not end there, for the bats in turn became hungry and went to the Creator to complain about this pact that was causing them to starve. The Creator, in Her wisdom, told the bats that all they had to do was close their eyes when they hunted. To help them with this she gave them better ears, so that they could hunt by hearing the insects rather than by seeing them. She warned them, however, that they should remember to open their eyes when they were not hunting, because She did not like to dispense gifts that went unused. And so it was that the bats survived, but their hearing after that day became so good that they forgot to open their eyes when they were not hunting. When they finally remembered to do so, they quickly discovered that they had lost the ability to see, for they had not used the Creator’s gift wisely, and from that time all bats have been blind and fly by using their hearing only.

Illiom smiled at the story. Mara smiled too, but Illiom also saw how she took the tale very seriously indeed.

Mara lay down on a nearby mat, smiled at Illiom and closed her eyes.

Illiom claimed one of the reed mats for herself and also lay down. For a time she tossed and turned but eventually fell into an exhausted slumber.

She was jolted out of a vivid dream and into full wakefulness. In it she had been flying through the forest like a Qwa’kol Shimina, leaping from tree to tree. As is sometimes the way in dreams she had seen herself as if through another’s eyes; her body was covered in down, her feet were hands, her tail was strong and erect. If there had been more to the dream, it was soon completely lost.

She opened her eyes to find all the Clan Mothers gathered around, watching her in silence. It was an unnerving sight and she quickly sat up.

“Is something wrong?”

Mara shook her head, then reaching towards her she touched the side of Illiom’s head where the poultice had been applied.

“What to Eeliom wound happen while she sleep, we all see,” she explained.

Illiom brought her own hand up to where the gash had been. The healer’s application must have fallen off during the night: there was no gash and not even a hint of pain.

“This has happened before,” she said sheepishly. “Did you see … lights?”

Again Mara nodded.

“Any news of my friends?”

Mara shook her head.

“Still early be,” she said. “Only now dawn come.”

Illiom looked about the vast cavern and at the swarm of lights. In the direction of the entrance she could see the faint but unmistakable glow of daylight washing up against the cavern’s far wall.

They broke fast together and then, feeling restless, she made her way to the entrance alone; but as she looked out onto the rain-drenched forest, she knew that she would not get very far without help. Water poured everywhere around her, flowing down the cliff face on its way to the forest floor. The rock path they had climbed up looked slippery and dangerous.

Gazing out onto the drenched and glistening forest, part of her dream came back to her in a rush.

In it she had found herself locked in combat with a vicious-looking Shimina warrior. His coat was darker than any she had seen and his eyes glowed blood red. He growled at her, baring a ferocious set of fangs that rivalled those of a mountain lion. Illiom could not recall much more detail than that, but the man’s intent towards her had been murderous. Yet in the dream she had felt no fear at all: she had faced her adversary with calm poise.

She walked back to the Clan Mothers’ compound, her steps heavy and her mind on her missing companions, most especially on Tarmel. Helpless, and not knowing what to do, she sat for what felt like an eternity, as time dragged slowly past.

It must have been near noon when she heard voices approaching the compound. She glanced up to find Mara looking back at her with wide eyes.

Without a word, Illiom rose to her feet and hurried outside.

A party was approaching. A few of the group stood out, fractionally taller than the rest. Her heart hammering, Illiom took a few steps towards them, searching their faces.

She saw Grifor first, the Rider’s braided hair making her stand out from the others. Then she saw the rest of them, all those who had leapt into the stream before her: Malco, Scald, and Tarmel.

Her Rider looked about himself with a mixture of concern and curiosity. His hair was loose and he looked more dishevelled than she had ever seen him.

When he saw her, he stopped short. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open. Their eyes locked and held each other until the party reached the compound.

Neither could speak. He reached towards her tentatively and she moved into his arms. Illiom held her Rider fast, allowing all the fear she had felt to drain away.

It was a while before they separated.