Post by zimraphel on Apr 9, 2009 18:31:34 GMT -5
"Wake up," a woman's voice coldly ordered.
He-Man started out of a sluggish half-sleep. Someone was standing at the mouth of the cave, silhouetted by the morning sunlight; he couldn't quite make out who it was. As he reached across the floor for his sword, he found to his dismay that Battlecat was lying on it.
"You will not need that," said the woman. "Get up, both of you."
The figure took a step forward into the cave; the silhouette became a woman dressed in wool and riding leathers. Before her face was even revealed, He-Man was able to guess who it was.
"My lady, what're you doi--?"
"I did not come here for you." Mara moved past him and Battlecat, past the dead fire to the place where Blackstar lay drowsing in a fever-sleep. He-Man started after her, to explain everything that had happened, but an eerie crooning sound drew his attention outside the cave.
The storm had abated sometime during the small hours, pulling its dark clouds away to the east. Through his cloak, He-Man shivered in the still-moist air. Whatever was out there, he hoped it was friendly; he was simply too cold, too tired and too dejected for a fight.
At the lip of the cave, he froze. Twitching its tail across the rain-damp earth was a creature he'd occasionally glimpsed in the mountains of Eternia. A tactrill, a dragon, shimmering green-bronze in the weak sunlight, its eyes like fire-opals. It might have been beautiful, were it not so clearly agitated.
A flicker of white down the path caught his eye. Camarin appeared, leading by the reins the Eledhrin's lost horse. He paused when he saw He-Man, but before he could speak the dragon commanded his attention with a plantive whimper. Camarin nodded, found a place to secure the horse and crossed the clearing to stand before the dragon. Its great, crested head sank down between his hands and he stroked the scales along the eye-ridges. Once, he nodded and his expression changed, though He-Man could discern no words between them, no sound at all but for a single tremulous whimper from the dragon.
He-Man didn't notice Mara standing at his elbow until she began to speak. "Explain this," she said angrily. She opened her hand to reveal a small glass vial. He recognized it at once.
"It's a painkiller. Thanna, I bel--"
"This is the thanna." In her other hand she produced an identical vial, with liquid still sloshing around inside. "This--" She thrust the first vial at him "--this is falas."
He-Man stared mutely at the vials. Two of them. Blackstar had deceived him. His memory flew back to two days ago, replaying what had happened when Mara drank from the Well. She'd known what she was doing; He-Man very much doubted that Blackstar had. Little wonder his heart had stopped. "I didn't know," he said, "or I never would've let him take it." The story came flooding out of him then. Everything that had happened in the cave, everything he'd done or tried to do. Mara's anger seemed to evaporate a little, yet he could not gauge with certainty whether or not she and Camarin believed him.
When he was finished, she regarded him with cool, unreadable eyes, as dark as Camarin's were pale. "What you have said about our lack of remedies is not true."
"I didn't mean it that way."
"Of course, you did not." She offered an enigmatic half-smile. "Your Sorceress would have told you the same, had you been successful."
Her words blunted the edge off his guilt, though not his concern. "How did you know how to find us, and that we needed help?" he asked.
"The magic you wrought last night was felt throughout the valley and far beyond," she replied. "The ground was still trembling when I heard the Tree call out to me in terror. It tasted its own falas from afar and felt it go dark. It recognized the Eledhrin in the pattern, where he should not be, and we both understood that something had happened. You were not difficult to find."
He told her the earth-tremors had been caused by the killing of the na'dani, only to watch her shake her head and exchange confused looks with Camarin.
"I just came up the path," said Camarin. "I saw no corpse."
The dragon leaned toward them, whimpering anxiously. Worry flickered across Camarin's face. "Warlock says he's getting worse."
He-Man didn't pause to ask how the dragon could possibly know that, or how Camarin understood. Time was slipping away. He turned to Mara. "You said there was a remedy."
"Yes, at Ha'endra."
"Warlock and I can get him there in a few hours," said Camarin.
"I'd like to do it, if that's all right."
A stunned pause. "There is no need," said Mara.
"I'm not going anywhere for a while and I'd like to do this," he replied, then quickly added, "I care about what happens to him." To Blackstar, not the Eledhrin. He-Man had decided he could do very well without the Eledhrin. "If I didn't, I wouldn't have tried to revive him. I wouldn't have tried to take him through the Portal."
They looked uncertain. In the long silence which followed he began to understand why as he realized how much of a fool he'd been to volunteer. Not because he didn't care--no, not that--but because he didn't know what he was doing. He'd no idea where Ha'endra was or how to get there or who to contact when he did.
As He-Man pondered this dilemma, something unexpected happened. From the corner of his eye, he saw the dragon Warlock lean forward and lower his head toward him; he turned around into a pair of curious jewel-like eyes and an aspiration of warm breath as he tasted the air around him with a forked tongue. He crooned and He-Man felt the questioning in his voice. Lifting his head, he warbled something to Camarin.
"He has agreed to take you and the Eledhrin to Ha'endra," he explained. "He insists you be the one. I do not know why."
Suddenly uncertain, He-Man glanced over at Battlecat. If he went to Ha'endra, there was no way his friend would be able to accompany him and he didn't want to be separated, not when they were already so far from home.
Mara noticed his hesitation. She would take Battlecat with her to Kal'en Haran, where he could remain in the safety of her household until He-Man's return.
Some guilt remained, however. As Camarin went into the cave to get Blackstar, He-Man drew his friend aside and tried to put his doubt into words; he might have gone on for hours trying to explain himself had Battlecat not gruffly interrupted him. "Go if you have to," he said.
Mara approached, holding a curious length of leather jingling with metal rings and buckles. "It is a riding belt," she explained. "Have you ever ridden a dragon before."
"Yes, once, but....well, I'm not exactly sure how to get to Ha'endra."
"That is of no concern. Warlock knows the way. He has been there before; the Ha'endrans will remember him, and the Eledhrin."
He-Man fumbled unsuccessfully with the belt until she showed him how to put it on. "And once I get there?"
"You will give the Eledhrin over to the Wardens of the House of Healing," she told him. "After that, your task is done. Warlock will bring you to Kal'en Haran. By then, perhaps you and your friend will be able to go home."
Shambling footfalls rose out of the darkness behind them. Wrapped in He-Man's blanket, Blackstar emerged from the cave, shivering and stumbling, leaning on Camarin's arm. He was mumbling in a weak, disjointed voice: he was hot and tired and wanted to lie down. Mara strode over to him and, pulling him up by the chin, ordered him to do as he was told.
"Ha'endra?" The word sounded like a moan of pain. "No, I can't--"
"You obstinate man, you will go to Ha'endra and you will do as the Wardens tell you," she snapped. "You have been foolish long enough."
He did not argue with her after that.
He-Man climbed into the saddle, where a set of straps was looped through the metal rings on his belt and buckled to hold him in place. Once he was settled, Blackstar was handed up to him and strapped down in front where he could be held upright; through the multiple layers of cloth and leather, He-Man could feel the fever-heat and shivering. Camarin had said Ha'endra was two or three hours away. If even that much time was left.
One last look at Battlecat was all He-Man was able to spare before the dragon's wings unfurled around him. He felt the dragon's muscles gather under him, heard the leathery flap of air rushing past and then he was suddenly, dizzyingly, pulled up from the ground. Squeezing his eyes shut, he concentrated on hanging on--never mind the riding straps; his instincts said not to trust them.
The hills rolled away below, brown slopes mottled with granite outcroppings and brittle green pines. A lake glimmered past, then a forest mantled in reds and withering autumn colors. Once or twice, he thought he spied a curl of white smoke rising from among the trees, but the foliage was so thick as they passed overhead that he couldn't discern what dwellings, if any, lay below. In the constantly shifting surroundings, he couldn't concentrate upon any one sight for very long and at times had to close his eyes to hold back the rush of nausea threatening to overwhelm him.
The forest became open, barren land, rising toward a mesa cut by canyons some two or three miles deep. He-Man spied from afar the glare of sun-washed white, the spread of green hanging gardens and the glitter of tiled domes. The end of the journey. It could not come too soon.
Warlock descended and glided between the canyon walls. As they neared the city's outer perimeter, He-Man saw turreted outcroppings, moored to which were ships with sails like butterfly wings, effortlessly bobbing on the updraft from the canyon depths.
The outer city fell away behind them as the dragon carried them toward the terraces that seemed to comprise some sort of palace or temple complex. When Warlock alit on one of the terraces, He-Man barely felt it, wasn't even certain they were on the ground until he saw the dragon's wings fold back.
Gray-clad figures came hurrying toward them. Hands reached up to help him undo the riding-straps, to ease Blackstar out of his arms and support him as he tried to dismount. His legs were numb after the long flight and could not immediately take his weight.
Curious faces crowded in around him; he tried to remember what Mara told him to say. "The Warden of the House of Healing," he sputtered. His mouth felt cold, dry, and full of dust. "I have to---"
"We know," someone said. A hand fell on his shoulder, gently guiding him toward a flight of stairs. "In the Sky Chamber."
The Sky Chamber was so called because of its domed ceiling, painted azure and dusted with clouds of the filmiest white. It was vast and empty save for a single piece of furniture, a pedestal atop which sat an egg-shaped, rose-mottled pebble the size of a child's fist.
A man strode toward them, grizzled and gray-clad, with a silver crescent on a chain about his neck. He did not introduce himself; he did not need to. He-Man understood at once that this was the Warden. The men who had carried Blackstar in from the terrace now eased him to the floor, and the Warden bent down to touch a hand to his forehead. He-Man started to back away, to give him and the others room to work, but the moment he twitched a muscle the Warden's ice-blue eyes were upon him.
"The Eledhrin is beyond speaking," he said. "You will tell us what we need to know."
So ordered, He-Man stayed where he was, watching as they stripped away the layers of cloth and leather and slit open Blackstar's sleeve to expose his arm. The questions began in rapid succession; he answered as best he could, at the same time wondering why this examination was taking place here instead of in an infirmary, in a room with a bed.
At length, the Warden climbed to his feet and went over to the pedestal. He told his people to pin down Blackstar's arm and hold his hand open.
"What are you going to do?" asked He-Man.
Lifting a pair of tongs from a hook set in the side of the pedestal, the Warden bade him be still and watch. No harm would be done.
With the tongs he carefully lifted the egg-shaped stone from its resting place and carried it to where Blackstar lay; the stone was placed in his hand and his fingers closed around it. He-Man waited to see what would happen next, and as he watched he thought he saw the stone begin to pulsate slightly. It deepened in hue from rose to scarlet to deepest crimson, radiating light and heat until it burned like a coal. Blackstar's arm began to twitch, his fingers spasming, but he did not drop the stone; with the Warden's hand closed tightly over his, he could not. He-Man tensed, anticipating the reek of burning flesh, but it never came. Even as veins of fire spread up Blackstar's arm, even as his eyes flew open and a shriek poured from his throat, there was no burning. The Warden remained unmovable, holding the stone in place until it burned itself out.
When they took the stone away and he could finally see the treated arm, He-Man was disappointed. To his untrained eyes, nothing seemed to have happened; the flesh was as dark as before, though the mottling was gone. "Did it work?" he asked.
"The poison is dead within him," explained the Warden. "The discoloration will fade in a few weeks."
"And the fever?" Treatment or no, Blackstar was still shivering and incoherent.
"The fever must run its natural course," was the reply.
He didn't see Blackstar after that. A stretcher was brought and the Eledhrin carried away to a bed in the House of Healing. He-Man himself was escorted elsewhere. A suite of rooms was provided for him, though he had hoped by now to be on his way to Kal'en Haran. Yet while he was ready, Warlock wasn't and wouldn't be until he had assured herself that Blackstar would be all right. That could take days. Without transportation, He-Man was stranded in Ha'endra. He had no control over the situation, so he wearily resigned himself to playing the role of guest.
Servants had laid out for him a hot bath, food and clean clothing, but he found himself too physically and emotionally drained to take an interest in any of these luxuries. Perhaps it was for the best that the return trip would have to wait; though mind and spirit yearned for home, all his body cared about was sleep. It came as no surprise to him; he'd slept badly last night. No, for the last three nights, he realized. Ever since leaving Eternia. He dismissed the servants and paused long enough to strip off cloak, armor and boots before collapsing across the bed.
The next day was one of waiting. He was not permitted to see Blackstar, who was in quarantine and not allowed to receive visitors or messages of any kind. The Warden sent a message, though, assuring He-Man that the Eledhrin's fever was down and he was resting comfortably. Well, it was good to know that at least someone was comfortable. He-Man found himself burdened with a growing frustration. Once he'd attended to his physical needs he found himself with nothing to do. Music was offered him, and books, beautiful leather-bound things, richly gilded and illuminated; in a more relaxed setting he might have been able to enjoy the aesthetic pleasure they offered, but to his dismay he found he could not sit still. In such moments he, like Adam, could not stand waiting. Perhaps it was Adam he felt now, Adam who had lain dormant for five days and was now clammoring to be free of He-Man. Restless, just as He-Man was restless now for home. But until Warlock was ready to fly him to Kal'en Haran, there was nothing he could do but study his surroundings and wait.
Wait. How he had come to loath the sound of that word.
In the afternoon, as he paced the walls of the palace complex, he saw Warlock. Freed of saddle and bridle, he sprawled on one of the untenanted terraces, his wings spread wide on either side of him and his eyes half-lidded. He-Man would have left him there, sunning himself, had the dragon not somehow realized he was watching him. His head came up, eyes wide open. He chirped at him in recognition and delight, pulling up one wing to make room for him as he climbed down the steps. In gentle tones he spoke to him and stroked his eye-ridges as he'd seen Camarin do. He doubted the dragon understood anything he said, but his presence helped fill the void left by Battlecat's absence. Some of his restlessness began to fade as they shared the terrace with its view of the city and the canyons beyond.
Out beyond the city walls he saw the shadow of one of the great, wing-sailed windships crawl over the canyon heights and turn southward; when he'd asked about them earlier in the day, a servant told him that the wealthy chartered such ships to carry them south to warmer lands as winter approached. He-Man idly wondered what it was like where they were going, what it would be like to go there himself, to have time enough and freedom to explore. He tilted back his head and saw the dragon, too, was watching the receding windship with fascinated eyes.
"He seems quite taken with you," said a voice behind him.
He shifted and twisted around to see who it was. "When did you arrive?"
"At midday." Camarin descended the terrace steps to meet them. But for the voice, He-Man might not have recognized him; his familiar white hair was tied back from his face and half-hidden under a woolen rider's scarf. "I have been speaking with the Warden. He insisted I dine with him, otherwise I would have been to see you much sooner."
"Were you able to see the Eledhrin?" Perhaps Camarin, as a high-ranking lord and the Eledhrin's second, might have succeeded where He-Man the stranger could not. He quickly learned that rank meant little where the Wardens of Ha'endra were concerned.
"Even were it Lady Marralassë in my place," Camarin said, "it would make no difference. Such measures are necessary, though, otherwise the Eledhrin would make an office of his sickroom and never get any rest. It has happened this way before."
"He didn't want to come here at all."
"No, I know. I am not surprised. Had it been someone else poisoned by the na'dani, he would not have hesitated to bring them before the Healing Stone, but as for himself...." His gaze drifted from He-Man to the dragon. "Anfelith--Warlock--is the Eledhrin's treasure, you know. He values him above all things, even the Starsword. Certainly above his own life. After the first na'dani was killed, the very first thing he did once he regained consciousness was to send Warlock away; he did this before he would let the house physician look at his arm, before he even asked how many of his etteva he lost."
"He came back, though."
Camarin shrugged. "Even he grows weary of the Eledhrin's stubbornness," he said. "I suppose you are ready to go home."
"Yes, but I'm still not sure the Sword of Power can open the Portal. I could be stranded here several more days."
For some odd reason, Camarin answered his dilemma with a wide grin. "I do not think so," he said. "Lady Marralassë wanted me to tell you that she can send you home without taxing your sword."
"How can she do that?"
"I will leave it to her to explain the particulars. You can leave for Kal'en Haran as soon as you are ready."
He-Man clambered to his feet. "I'm ready now, just as soon as my sword is returned to me." He had had to surrender the weapon to the steward of the house, just as he'd had to do at Dha'Alasia. "And, well, I thought Warlock--"
"You had but to ask," said Camarin. From a fold in his cloak he drew a long, slender object and gave it to He-Man. The Sword of Power. As He-Man took the blade and slid it into its scabbard, Warlock uttered a mournful warble.
"What did he say?" he asked Camarin.
"He says he will miss you."
He-Man had barely unbuckled the riding-straps and slid to the ground when he saw a familiar striped shape come padding down the steps of the Tree to meet him.
"Ready to go home, Cat?" he asked.
Battlecat answered with an impatient huff.
"I feel the same way," He-Man chuckled. Moments later, after saying good-bye to Warlock and Camarin, he followed his friend up the endless stairs of the Tree.
Mara was waiting for them on the landing, gowned plainly in gray, her blue hair wound in a braided crown atop her head. "Are you ready to go home?" she asked.
He had to pause to catch his breath. "Camarin told me you didn't need the sword. How can you....?"
"You forget that I have reached into your world once before using the Sword of Power," she replied. "The path to Eternia is now part of the memory of the Well of Falas."
With a glowing golden orb hovering ahead to light their way, she led them down into that place, where in the half-lit shadows she drank of the dark water. Her voice, and through her the voice of the Tree, rang through the hollow spaces, and from the black mirror of the well a sliver of light began to grow. It filled the chamber, enfolding and blinding him, until he was no longer certain where he was. There was a rush of sound like the roar of falling water. Silence. The light went dark.
The next thing he saw was the falcon headdress of the Sorceress, and then, framed in its plumage, the white oval of her face. All around them rose the somber, sunless walls of Castle Grayskull; to him there were no two more welcome sights.
