Siege at Howling Rock
Part One
Melati watched the Scroll of Colors turn from the doorway. Patterns of colors wove together, but no discernible image dominated. Timmain took it all in silently. Then, abruptly, the Scrolls stopping rotating. The two halves gently floated back into their rests as Timmain sat taller in her chair and reached for a cup of liquid.
“You may come in, child,” she murmured over the rim of her cup. “No need to lurk in the doorway.”
Melati stepped inside. She stared at Timmain with a sullen, questioning air.
“Has your family already supped?” the High One asked. “I can still smell the grilled fish.”
“Not hungry.”
“For food or for company?”
“Not hungry,” Melati repeated. She moved closer, one hesitant step at a time.
“Perhaps it is the messenger sphere’s influence. The more one occupies the mind the less receptive it becomes to the concerns of the body. But you must not neglect your shell entirely, unless you would cocoon yourself and eliminate all distraction. Your sire does that on occasion when his work does not require his physical presence.” She glanced up at Melati with an unreadable expression. “Do you remember your sire?”
“Sire: male contributor of source seed for a lifeform’s cellular matrix.” She frowned as she considered further. “Pool: son of Scouter and Leetah, grandson of One-Eye and Clearbrook, of Sun-Toucher and Toorah.” Another pause. “He calls me ‘Lifetaker.’”
“Pool has no heart for taking lives. Even though life is only sustained by other lives: the transference of energy from one being to the next.”
Something of Melati’s old voice returned to her as she remarked: “Still doesn’t eat meat, then?”
“No. He eats the fruits of growing things, and the milk of beasts, but he harvests only what the lifeform can spare and still endure.”
“Like my fleshvines.”
“Yes. It is… most puzzling that he rejects your creation. I suspect personal motives. We used to have many lively debates, he and I. Before they grew too… wearying for his soul.”
Melati had crept to the side table where Timmain’s drink rested. She dipped a little finger into the milky liquid and tasted a droplet. “Feedbroth,” she pronounced.
“Your father’s own variant. It is all I consume when I am in this form.”
“You have others?”
“I have shaped this body into many forms, when I wish to experience another kind of wisdom.”
“Wolves. What’s wise about wolves?”
“Even the humblest creature has a lesson to teach. And it is… a relief at times to shed my thoughts, become a being of pure instinct. A repose of sorts.”
“I sleep.”
“As do I. But not in this shell.”
Melati looked up at the inert Scroll. “What were you using it for?”
“The Scroll is not something one can ‘use,’” Timmain pronounced. “It does not deliver information on command. It is no mere codex that can be opened, turned at will to the right point, and then closed again. It shows what has happened, what is happening, and what will happen – all in limitless different versions, all true.”
“Different versions? You mean perceptions?”
“I mean realities – countless different universes, each a different shade, each a single thread woven together into an unknowable tapestry.”
“The Multitude.”
“So we named it, in the days of the Homestar.”
“Once, there were many Scrolls. The Scribes built them, the Readers interpreted them. Reading colors, not symbols: one thread of color for each thread of the Multitude, shades always evolving - with each decision, a new knot that breeds a new thread.” She hesitated. “But elves do ‘use’ the Scroll. I have seen it. On this world and many others.”
“Your acquired memories are still vivid, I see. Fascinating. A mind so young should not be capable of processing such an amount of information.”
“You don’t answer.”
“You asked no question.”
“Why did you lie? You said: ‘The Scroll cannot be used.’”
“It cannot. The colors play as they will. One can only study, and contemplate. Everyone can see something in the Scroll – some can discern much more. But not even I can command: ‘Show me this moment.’”
Melati stared at the Scroll halves. They rose, began to turn, and the colors began to flow. The pattern of colors played out, then resolved into an image of Melati and Beast, four thousand years old. She was reviving him, filling his empty shell with the spark of life.
Melati turned a snide smirk Timmain’s way. “It showed me a moment.”
“Look again,” Timmain said.
Melati looked. The image of the two of them was emblazoned in red outlines. But other colors swirled about – the blue-green of her eyes, the dull yellow of Beast’s loincloth – Yosha’s loincloth.
Melati stared at the yellow. The color grew more vivid: grew to encompass the entire image. Now she saw a moment that had never happened: one in which Beast awoke in her arms immediately, rather than coming to after she had left the room.
A flash of blue caught her eye. The image changed again. In this reality, the elf retched blood and fell still. A flicker of green intruded. Now he looked up and smiled. Now he grimaced and wept. Now he did not wake at all.
Once she started looking, she couldn’t stop. One image after another assaulted her: the myriad realities in which Yosha awoke, or did not awake – in which he became Beast, or remained Yosha, or became something else entirely.
Melati stepped away. The image dissolved into a faint blur of light.
“We may think we have control of the Scroll, but we do not,” Timmain pronounced. “All we can command are our own interpretations. Those who choose to look at one moment, in one reality, are simply choosing blindness.”
Melati studied her a moment. “My lord pushes others down to make himself feel taller. I understand that. It is sensible from his point of view. But when you push us down… you seem to think you’re doing us a favor.”
“It is not my intention to dominate. Merely to teach.”
“You’re not very good at it.”
Timmain sighed. “No, I suppose I am not.” She reached for her cup of feedbroth, contemplated the liquid remaining, then set it back on the table. “How are your memories? Are you finding ‘Melati’ among them?”
“I find pieces. Then I lose them, then I find them again.”
“As our kind achieved longer and longer lifespans, our minds evolved to hold ever more memories. But even we cannot hold infinite knowledge. Even I, who am charged to remember… I have lost much over the eons. I had lived so long as a wolf – it took me much time to know Timmain again. Studying the Scroll of Colors… I regained much. But not all.” She rose, turned to face Melati. Constant interaction with starstone had seen Melati grow to Glider-height, yet still Timmain stood a little taller.
“You have a remarkable opportunity, child. And a choice to make.”
“What choice?”
“You currently hold the memories of two souls, Melati and the Timmain-That-Was. You are recovering Melati, day by day. As she re-emerges, the memories of Timmain will fade. Yet it is not to late to make another choice. You have an exceptional talent – one that I can help you develop. With care and patience, your mind can be shaped to retain all that you have learned – to make you into a living messenger sphere. A repository of all elfin knowledge.”
“Retain… all your memories?”
“And those others charged me to guard. The sum of countless lives.”
“What about my memories?”
“Melati would become merely one of many lives you hold within you. One thread in the Multitude.”
“I would lose myself.”
“No, child.” Something approaching affection brightened Timmain’s features. “You would gain yourself. You would become more than you were before – more that you could ever imagine!”
She held out her hand. Melati stared at it blankly.
“It is what you have always desired,” Timmain urged. “Knowledge – wisdom – understanding! That is the hunger that drives you onwards. Only a soul with a desperate yearning would ever be so foolish as to enter the sphere unguarded.”
Melati lifted her own hand, inspecting her palm.
“I know such a hunger, child. I have struggled with it for the full scope of my existence. Always unsatisfied with a cursory glance. Always wanting to touch… to feel… to know.”
Melati’s gaze flitted from her fingers to Timmain’s. Her hand began to slowly extend.
“As I will teach you – so you will teach me!” Timmain urged. “While Timmain studies the Egg and the Scroll of Colors, Melati is in the world: leading, loving, healing. Together we can learn all the lessons of the Multitude. Two vessels… yet one soul… a single being, like no other among our kind!”
Melati yanked her hand away as if burned. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“I am not your vessel,” she hissed.
“Child–”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Eyes within Haken’s family – a weapon you can use at will? Never!”
For an instant, feral rage flashed in Timmain’s eyes. Then she resumed her placid demeanor. “You have made your choice. Very well. Then will you at least locksend with me, grant me the memories my former self let slip away?”
Melati took a step back.
“You cannot hope to hold them as Melati,” Timmain insisted. “Why do you draw away? I speak only of sharing. What will it cost you to share?”
Melati shook her head. She continued to back away towards the door.
“Why, child?” Timmain implored.
“Because I let you into my head once and you nearly destroyed me. I’m not so witless as to do it again.” A hint of a smile crossed her lips. “And because it will please my lord to know you begged me in vain.”
She turned on her heel and walked out of the Scroll Room, feeling better than she had in days.
A sudden change in the air pressure made her shiver. She spun around, half expecting Timmain to be at her throat. But the hallway behind her was deserted. The Palace walls were humming slightly. Melati frowned at the sending that rang from the walls. **Healer! We need a healer!**
“I am a healer,” she murmured to herself. “I am, aren’t I?”
The call came from the south side of the Palace. She summoned her floating powers and flew towards it.
* * *
The crystal pod materialized inside the Palace docking chamber, then exploded into a hailstorm of shards as the starstone sought out its parent walls. The elves tumbled to the floor, Ember’s lifeless form cradled between them.
**Healer!** Skywise sent. **We need a healer!**
Moments passed as the spark in Ember’s mind grew ever-dimmer. **Winnowill!** Skywise called. **It’s not the time to be shy!**
An elf flew into the docking chamber – brown-skinned and auburn-haired, dressed in red. Skywise’s first thought was that Leetah had been reborn as a Glider.
The flying elf dropped to her knees beside them. “I am a healer,” she announced, her brow knit with concern. Without words, Aurek and Skywise offered Ember’s body, and the healer stretched out her hands. A warm glow rose from her fingers. Ember’s dusky skin began to warm. Her fists clenched and her back arched. Light blanketed her entire body, and flashed bright enough to make Skywise look away. When he blinked the spots from his vision, it was already over. Ember drew in shallow, greedy breaths as her heart struggled to find its rhythm again. The healer sat back with a light laugh.
“Melati?” Cholla called. She and Weatherbird had gathered at the back of the room, drawn by Skywise’s sendings. They watched anxiously, though it seemed to Skywise that they were more concerned with healer than patient.
Melati turned a grin Cholla’s way. “It was just like you!” she exclaimed. “Your heart – remember? When it stopped? It was just like that! The body knows its needs – the optimal heart rate to sustain the flesh is written into the cellular matrix itself. Apply sufficient energy and the heart finds its proper rhythm.” She giggled. “I hardly had to do anything!” She sounded as proud as cub who’d just learned to tree-walk. On another night, Skywise might have shared her joy. Tonight it just exhausted him.
**Nimh?** he locksent for his lifemate, and let out a small sob of relief when he heard her reply.
Moments later, Savin appeared at the top of the crystal staircase. She ran down it, and Skywise barely had time to struggle to his feet before her arms were around him, holding him up.
**Fahr – your heart’s racing.** She stared deep into his eyes, frowning at the veil she saw there. **What happened to you out there?**
He felt her probing his mind, seeking an answer, but he closed off the memory, unwilling to share it. Not when the pain and terror were still so raw. **Later… I’ll tell you later,** he promised, hugging her fiercely.
Ember was beginning to wake. She thrashed on the floor, as if fighting off an invisible foe. Melati placed her hand over Ember’s brow and the Wolf-mother fell still.
“There now, sleep,” Melati murmured. She pointed to Teir’s bound arm. “Do you need a healing too?”
Teir began to shake his head, then reconsidered. “Please.”
Melati did not even get to her feet. She simply reached over and lightly touched Teir’s shoulder. Another brief pulse of light, and the bruised ligaments around his shoulder tightened back into place.
“What was she doing to put her heart into such a stampede?” Melati asked. “Her other muscles weren’t taxed, but her blood was singing at the highest pitch. A fear-song.”
“Dreaming,” Teir said, as he fumbled to untie the sling with his free hand.
“Fascinating,” Melati said with a shake of the head. “I suppose fear can be fatal as any knife… especially when you’re as ill as she was.”
“Wait – ill?” Teir demanded. “What do you mean? She wasn’t ill before.”
Melati blinked. “The corruption of the base matrix–”
“Corruption?” Aurek interjected.
“You mean the magic at Howling Rock?” Skywise demanded.
Melati seemed baffled by the reference. “I mean the wolf essence. This is Wing and Behtia’s daughter, isn’t it? Wing had the same illness once. My grandmother healed him.” She looked from one elf to another, noting their horror-struck expressions. “What? Didn’t you all know she had it too?”
“You removed her wolfblood,” Skywise stated flatly.
“Why do your kind all call it ‘blood?’ It’s not as if you actually have the blood of wolves running in your veins!” she laughed derisively at the idea. “It’s a pattern in your cellular matrix, a primitive script transplanted from a native creature of this world. It’s in all of you – heart, bones, blood, brain – and it is unstable. It frays the strands of your matrix until your cells can no longer properly regenerate. It’s a defect!” she repeated to their disapproving faces. “Of course I removed it!”
“Well said, sister!” a rich voice piped up. Instantly, Weatherbird clapped her hand hard over her mouth and closed her eyes tight. She seemed to swallow, then smiled awkwardly. “That wasn’t me.”
“You should have asked her leave,” Teir protested.
“You asked for a healing,” Melati said defensively.
“But I didn’t think you would–”
“I had to. Her cellular matrix was in tatters. It had to be repaired before I could even think of restarting her heart! You asked for a healing,” she repeated, almost accusingly. “I don’t deal in half measures.”
“You did all that?” Skywise asked. “Removed her wolfblood, healed her heart, restored her… all in a moment?”
Melati shrugged. “It’s nothing I haven’t done before. I… I should go now. I should find Beast.” She got to her feet when a thought stopped her. “Weatherbird?”
“Yes?”
“Pool… does he still have the wolf essence?”
“Yes.”
“He’s my sire.”
“Yes, he is.”
“Why isn’t he dead yet? He’s so very old.”
“Ember is older,” Weatherbird pointed out.
“Is she? Hmm,” Melati nodded to herself. “Still, he should really do something about that. A sick healer is no help to anyone. It’s not hard to fix! I did it when I–” she broke off, her brow furrowing.
“Mel?” Cholla queried. “I think that’s the sphere talking again. You’ve never purged anyone’s wolfblood before tonight. There were no wolfbloods left in Oasis by the time you were born, other than your sire.”
But Melati shook her head. “No, I have.” She held up her hand and inspected her nails. “It was my first healing. It was a defect…” she breathed. “Of course I removed it.”
“What does she mean?” Skywise murmured, more to himself than anyone else. But Melati wandered away, still studying her outstretched hand. Teir ignored her departure. After flexing his arm a few times, he gently gathered Ember in his arms and lifted her up.
“Is there a bed somewhere?” he asked.
“I can show you,” Savin offered.
Ember’s head lolled against Teir’s arm. As he readjusted his hold on her, his hand came up to cradle her skull. A soft moan of sorrow escaped him as his fingers found Ember’s maimed left ear.
“What?” Skywise asked. He came closer and saw what had disturbed Teir. The jagged tear to Ember’s ear was gone; Melati had completely restored the shell and the elegant point.
“She doesn’t deal in half measures,” Skywise murmured.
* * *
Teir lay Ember down to recover in a spare bed, while Skywise and Aurek explained to Swift and Rayek what had happened at Howling Rock.
“Enough dallying,” Rayek declared. “Let’s finish this properly. With the full power of the Palace behind us.”
“I do not think you heard us, Palacemaster,” Aurek warned. “The creature under the Rock feeds on magic. Bringing it the Palace will only make matters worse.”
“Then we set up a base outside the corruption’s reach, and turn all our efforts to studying the corruption and coming up with a plan to cleanse it!”
“I agree,” Swift said. “If we all put our heads together–”
Skywise looked grave. “It’s not how you remember it, Swift. How any of us remember it.”
“Do we have all we require?” Rayek asked. “If so we can leave immediately.”
Aurek stepped away. “Allow me a moment.” He touched his temple lightly as he sent a private message.
“What about Cholla and Melati?” Swift asked. “They didn’t come aboard just to be dragged into this.”
“Melati’s healing powers may prove useful,” Rayek considered. “But it’s not safe for Cholla – she must remain behind at the Holt. Perhaps she and that… Beast can den with Cricket.”
Swift chuckled. “And who’s gonna tell her that?”
Rayek stepped away and locksent to his sister. Skywise and Swift exchanged glances, and Swift smiled wryly. She began to count on her fingers silently. When she’d reached six, Rayek winced sharply and swung back to face them. “She’s coming too,” he grumbled under his breath.
Swift smirked knowingly. But Skywise couldn’t find the humor in it. As Rayek began to stalk out of the room, Skywise caught his arm. “Rayek,” he warned, craning his neck to look up at his fellow Palacemaster.
“You need to know what you’re flying into.”
* * *
Vaya sat crosslegged on the rock, hands resting on her knees, eyes closed. Cheipar stood watch at her side. Behind them, Halcyon’s Pack was reassembling their camp on the high ground, another hundred paces from the latest advance of the dead zone. The dark blue dome of the cloudless sky shaded to pink and gold at the eastern horizon. It was not quite dawn on the Plainswaste.
Mika approached the pair, trilling a question. Cheipar smiled, but waved away the piece of dried meat she offered him. Mika knelt down in the grass and studied Vaya. She sniffed the motionless warrior, then looked up at Cheipar questioningly. She hummed as she tapped the crown of her bushy hair, then swept her fingers upward.
Cheipar nodded.
Mika whimpered softly, her brows knitting. Her hand drifted to her dagger.
“She’s safe,” Cheipar insisted. “She’s talking to Aurek.”
Mika shook her head uncertainly and proceeded to gnaw on her strip of dried meat. She flashed her canines a little more than necessary, as if to ensure Cheipar understood the contempt she held for all things magical.
Vaya drew in a sharp breath as her spirit returned to her body. “They’re coming,” she whispered. She swung her legs off the rock and turned in time to see the Palace materialize on the high ground.
They ran to meet their kin at the door to the Palace. Aurek was first out, and Vaya ran into his arms.
“Forgive me for disappearing like that,” he said gently. “But I’ve brought you something that I think will lift your spirits.”
Vaya looked past him and saw two familiar silhouettes standing in the Palace doorway. “Pike! Skot!” Her joy quickly turned to fright. “What – what are you doing here?”
“Getting away from the rain.” Skot sauntered out of the Palace, his spear slung across his shoulders. Shirtless as always, his bared torso was laced with faint silvery scars – including perhaps one or two new ones since the last time Vaya had seen him. His long hair was still damp from the rains of the Great Holt.
“Ol’ Eggy called us,” Pike spoke up. “Said you could use some cheering up.”
“Said you’re gearing up for war!” Skot added. “A war with Kahvi! You didn’t expect us to sit this one out, did you?”
They surrounded Vaya, greeting her with wet kisses and hearty thumps to the back. Vaya’s arms were shaking as she hugged them back.
“Vaya? What’s wrong?” Pike asked.
“N-nothing. Just a bad dream I had.” She kissed his cheek. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“And who’s this bag of bones?” Skot left Vaya’s side to study Cheipar in mock suspicion. “I dunno, that ugly face reminds of someone…”
Cheipar stood there, an eyebrow raised wryly, a smile ghosting his lips. “Naw, I know that dung-eating smirk,” Skot continued, drawing closer. When he got within arm’s reach, Cheipar’s hand shot out and pulled him in for a hug.
“Ass,” Cheipar murmured, touching foreheads with his sire. They shared a silent moment together, before Skot made a show of pulling away.
“Your sendings always make my head ache,” he said, his voice thick with a father’s pride.
As the family continued their reunion, more elves came out of the Palace. Teir ran out in search of Halcyon and Dunecat. Savin and Quicksilver shared worried looks as Skywise showed them the scene he had left behind. Plainsrunners gathered around the Palace entrance, only to fall back with hushed murmurs as Rayek appeared in the doorway.
The dark-haired Palacemaster moved as if in a daze, striding past faces both familiar and foreign, his gaze drawn to the wasteland just below the hilltop. The gathering light in the east cast harsh shadows across the blackened earth. Rayek walked up to the threshold of the dead zone and stood very still. To Vaya and her family, he became a silhouette backlit by the dawn, as black and faceless as the corrupted land.
He stood there silently for a long time, motionless but for his unbound hair stirring faintly in the intermittent breeze. Then his long legs seemed to melt underneath him and he sank to his knees, head bowed, shoulders shaking.
Only Swift dared approach him. Hesitantly, she drew to his side and knelt down.
**Rayek?** She laid a hand on his knee.
When Rayek lifted his head, she saw the tracks of moisture running down his face.
**Oh, Tam… I thought I was prepared for this. Skywise tried to warn me. I thought… but I didn’t know….** He shook his head despairingly.
Swift had no words to comfort him. She rubbed his back soothingly as they watched the sun slowly rising over the blighted landscape.
Elfquest copyright 2015 Warp Graphics, Inc. Elfquest, its logos, characters, situations, all related indicia, and their distinctive likenesses are trademarks of Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Some dialogue taken from Elfquest comics. All such dialogue copyright 2015 Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Alternaverse characters and insanity copyright 2015 Jane Senese and Erin Roberts.