The Coming Of The Fire

Posted with permission from Metara.

 

 

What kind of magic spell to use
Slime and snails or puppy dogs' tails
Thunder and lightning, something frightening
Dance, magic, dance!

-David Bowie

 

 

~*~* AT THE GATE OF WORLDS ~*~*

It is a place beyond dreams, beyond the Nightmare, a bare hill heather tossed. The standing stones are a ring of teeth twelve feet tall. Clouds howl about the ancient gate. Within the circle three await. They are tall figures wrapt in robes of dusky gray, their cowls pulled down to hide their faces.

"He is late," said one, a man's voice. It was rough and sandy, sibilant, a handful of shattered glass.

"He is indeed," replied a woman in tones of honey and sweet mead.

"He will come," said the third figure in a voice that hissed and crackled like a fire.

"Vendaval will not screen us forever from the Wizeman," said the first. "Sooner or later this conclave is bound to catch his eye."

"We know this, Barachois," said the sweet voiced one. "You have said it many times already. But we can do nothing without the last of our number, as you know."

"He is always late. He has no caution. He endangers all of us this way."

"He is as swift or tardy as his element," said the crackling third. "Why go on about it, my lord? He comes when it suits him, like the wind. YOU of all of us should know this."

"It is a disregard of the laws of conclave," persisted the first.

"He will COME, Barachois," said the second. "Why do you doubt him? He is bound as we are to obey. He can no more disregard conclave than any of us."

"Can the wind be commanded?" said Barachois.

"No more than the earth, or water, or fire," said the third with a dusty rattling laugh. "And yet we three are here. Have a little more patience."

"Do my ears deceive me?" said the first. "Campanile, counselling patience?"

"Stranger things have happened," said the warm voiced second. "But listen! The tempest's song has changed; she sings out now in greeting. He comes."

The clouds billowed and parted: for a moment a bright night sky shone through. An immense and misty form swept down and over them, suspended on vast and smoky wings. It was there and not there, composed of vapour and the winds, and stars glistened through it. A gale drove down upon the hilltop and flattened the dusty heather. The tempest shrieked through the standing stones. Thrice the dragon crossed the mount with wings oustretched, its long tail lashing. Then it dropped like a peregrine, folded in upon itself, became a dense cloud, a whirling twist in the air, and at last a hooded man whose black and tattered robes flapped in the stirring air.

Barachois folded his arms. "You are late."

"I am." The voice was light and laughing, a contrast to that of the other which was taut now with anger.

"The Wizeman is hunting us, my lord dragon, if you had forgotten. Every minute you have delayed us brings us closer to our doom."

The newcomer lowered his hood. Gray hair stirred and coiled like twists of smoke. His thin face was marked with the lines of age but his dark eyes gleamed. He came forward and the others made way for him as he took his place in their circle. "Well, my lord and ladies," he said, "who calls this conclave?"

The second woman, she of the honeyed voice, lowered her hood. White braids whipped in the stirring air. "The element earth calls this conclave," she said.

"And why are we so summoned?"

Came the answer a ritual response: "The elements are no longer in balance."

With this said the four relaxed. Some tension seemed dissipated from among them. There was a shifting of feet and a general adjustment of clothing. The one named Campanile shivered.

Barachois lowered his hood. His hair was black and thick shadowing a swarthy face. Eyes the intense blue of deep water glistened beneath unruly brows. "Not," he said, "that that appears to cause you much concern, Donovan. An hour and more have we waited here for you."

"My time was well spent," said Donovan. "I have drawn the Wizeman's eyes far from here. We can speak in safety; his spies are scattered to the winds."

"Then you are forgiven for your tardiness. But NOT for your cavalier attitude. We are all in very real danger, whether you admit it or not."

Now the crackle voiced one lowered her own hood and a gold bound twist of black hair fell loose to lie against her gray robed chest. Her face was ancient, liverspotted and deeply lined, her eyes were black and flashing. Her mouth was set in a petulant scowl. "The dragon knows this perfectly well, Barachois. Saying it again achieves nothing. Let us get on with what we came to do."

"Very well," Barachois said, turning. "Lady Rowan. This is your conclave. Please set out the agenda for us."

The white haired woman lifted her head. Her eyes were vivid green. "We must all agree," she said in her bell like voice, "that the Wizeman is dangerous. He is after all an efreet. I mean no disrespect to Lady Campanile but fire is a destructive element. It transforms but it also consumes. The Wizeman will never be sated. His appetite for power grows greater with every inch he gains."

"So much so that we are forced to hide from him on this dream-deserted hill," Donovan said. "Well? What of it?"

"We must act," said Rowan. "If the Wizeman's hunger is not constrained, all of Nightopia will be consumed. We are looking at no less than the destruction of our world. The elements must be brought back into balance."

"He is too strong," croaked the witchlike Campanile.

"For us, indeed. But there is a certain sprite, a spirit of wind and water. Where two elements meet, there is power. This one has opposed the Wizeman's will before."

"I know the one," said Donovan eagerly. "Shall I fetch him?"

"Not yet, my lord dragon," said Rowan with a smile. "But I think we must bear him in mind."

"Then now?" said Barachois.

Rowan shook out her white braids and raised her proud old head. "Now I say we four make covenant. The old agreement is void. Let earth, water, wind and fire loose our strength against the Wizeman. The unicorn will stand. What say you?"

"The dragon will stand," said Donovan without hesitation.

"The siren will stand," said Barachois after a moment more.

All eyes turned to the fourth.

"The efreet will not stand," said Campanile. "I am fire. I will not fight fire. And this is a fool's errand; he is too strong." She turned and lifted up her hood.

"Campanile," called Rowan. "Come back. You must help us. We can do nothing without you. If we do not face him together we will perish."

"Then perish," said Campanile, "together." She walked away through the gate of stone and down the twisting path. The storm parted for her and her shrouded form faded into darkness. The three watched her go, and then turned once more to face each other.

"I will try to persuade her," Donovan said.

"She will not stand," said Barachois. "She has spoken in conclave, and her word is binding."

 

 

~*~* NIGHTOPIA ~*~*

On the green and pleasant meadows of Spring Valley a lesson was taking place. And the teacher was losing patience.

"Listen you foolish flit-about! Try to keep one thought in your head for one minute! This is IMPORTANT!"

Finestill was no more than four feet tall. He was a squat gnarled broad shouldered stump of a thing like an old oak trunk, or a sculpture made of clay. Over his body he wore a long patched cloak with a hood that shadowed his face: only bushy white whiskers were visible and above them the gleaming points of two green eyes. He was in short a kobold, a being of mixed elements, earth and water.

His student was as different as it was possible to be. Where Finestill was short the other was tall, where the one was squat the other was willowy. And where the one was of earthy colours, green and brown, the other was a gaudy revelation in purple. The mismatched pair would have been quite a sight were any there to observe them.

The teacher's ire mounted as he observed where his student's attention really was. The luminous purple eyes were fixed in fascination upon a butterfly that had settled in the flower studded grass.

Finestill bounced his gnarled staff off the student's head. At the sudden movement the butterfly fluttered off. The sprite blinked and looked at him reproachfully.

"Oh, don't you give me those puppy dog eyes," he snapped. "I'm trying to tell you important things! Keep still and listen to me!" The beautiful eyes opened a little wider in obedience. Slightly mollified Finestill sat back down and began to speak again. "Our world is the world of dreams and visions, as I just mentioned. All creatures in this world are of one or more of the four elements, earth, wind, water and fire. Elements are either constructive or destructive." He was warming to his subject now. He closed his eyes and began to declaim, gesturing with his staff. "Earth and water are the two constructive elements, the sources of life. Wind and fire are destructive elements. But it's not a simple matter of good and evil, because sometimes an act of destruction is also an act of creation." Finestill liked that: it sounded profound. It had taken him a long time to think it up. He opened his eyes to see what effect the lesson was having.

His student was halfway down the hill, swooping after a fallen leaf as it twisted along on the wind. Finestill groaned. Sprites! There was something about the combination of wind and water. He had never met a sprite that could keep its mind on anything for more than a few seconds at a time. NiGHTS was no exception. It was a marvel that he had stayed focused long enough to fight the Wizeman. By all rights he should have gotten bored mid battle or spotted a pretty stone he just had to have. And this, Finestill thought, was the one that he had to forge into a warrior! It was a hopeless task.

He started down the hill after his student, hurrying on his short legs, but then NiGHTS took off in a shower of blue sparks. The sprite had seen something in the sky, a bird or a cloud. In moments he was lost to view. Finestill shouted futilely after him and then started back towards the woods, shaking his head. He would have to wait now until NiGHTS deigned to come to earth again. He knew already what would happen. He would scold, the sprite would be contrite and for perhaps five or ten minutes Finestill would have an attentive student.

 

 

~*~* THE SKY ~*~*

NiGHTS loved chasing clouds. He could happily spend an entire day diving in and out of a particularly good one, drawing it into wispy vapour trails. This was a good one, dense and white. He threw himself into it, spun blind through its snowy depths and emerged on the other side glistening with moisture. Wonderful fun! He did it again.

After a while something started nagging at him. Had he not been doing something else? Something important? He paused for a moment and sat cross-legged, balancing in the current of the prevailing wind. There was definitely something he was supposed to be doing.

A bird flew past his face. That's it! He kicked his legs out straight and dived in pursuit, spinning his body for extra momentum. Blue sparks helixed out around him. Spinning was fun. He gave up on the bird and played at spinning for a while, soaring up to the limit of the wind and then drilling down again. It took some time for this new entertainment to lose its value. Eventually he stopped again and allowed himself to drift upon the wind. What was it he had been doing before he started spinning? Something important. He couldn't remember.

There was no sound of warning and he gave it no conscious thought. Something just directed NiGHTS to throw his body to one side, and so he did. The rush of heat and wind came an instant later roaring through the place where he had been. He drew back hastily. His attacker swooped around in a wide semicircle and then paused likewise, regarding him. The newcomer was similar in shape but not in appearance - his body was striped red and black and his blue eyes glowed with hatred behind a painted mask. He shimmered in a heat haze. A djinn: a spirit of combined wind and fire.

They sized each other up for a split second, then Reala flung himself forward in an explosion of golden sparks. NiGHTS was already fleeing. The sprite dived into the nearest cloud knowing that his enemy loathed water. It might throw him for a few seconds. But the djinn plunged in after him and the cloud exploded away as water vapour in a wave of searing heat. NiGHTS shot into the next cloud, and the one after that. Reala stuck close behind him. Their glittering trails curved together and met in a swift and vicious scuffle. They soared upwards in a series of small explosions as they spiraled tightly around each other, drawing a blue and golden double helix in the air, each striving to enclose the other in a loop.

NiGHTS was the first to break away. He threw himself into a long spinning dive, a drill-dash, turning his own body into a projectile. Reala followed copying the sprite's actions as close as if he were his own shadow. They shot one after the other low over the land, at times barely a foot above the stirring grass. NiGHTS zigged and zagged; Reala stayed right on his heels. Suddenly NiGHTS swooped up and back. Reala rose to meet him and they spiraled each other again in another inconclusive scuffle. Again the sprite broke away and fled, this time in an easterly direction. He was looking for water. Guessing his intention the djinn accelerated, making a concerted effort to catch him and head him off.

It was too late. Whistling through the wind they soared together out of Spring Valley's hills and into the low lying Splash Garden. NiGHTS flung himself abruptly downward, drill-dashing towards the lake that gleamed blue and golden in the sunlight. Reala did the same, unwilling to give up the fight. With a crash of spume the sprite hit the lake surface and slid beneath. As he did so his form morphed into one more suited to water; his legs fused together into a tail, and beating it he drove himself downward through the blue. Behind him the djinn hit the water with a similar crash, struggled and flailed in an explosion of boiling bubbles, and clawed his way in a panic back to the surface. He exploded out in a cloud of steam and hovered gazing down with murderous intent. Then he turned and shot away in an easterly direction, leaving behind a cloud of golden sparks that drifted down to extinguish hissing on the surging water surface. Slowly the lake stilled and became calm again.

NiGHTS raced on at unchanged speed. Water was a friendly element to him and he was just as at home in it as he had been in the air. Nixies, spirits of the element, fled startled at his approach and hid themselves under stones or in weed curtained caverns.

Slowly his fear abated. After a while he forgot from what he had been fleeing, and swam on for swimming's sake, because it was something he had been doing a moment ago. A large pearly seashell caught his attention and he swooped down to take it from the lake bed. Surfacing, he looked around for a moment or two, remembering that there had been something dangerous here, then forgot all about it and pulled himself up onto a rock to play with his new toy.

Perched atop the rock outcrop, intangible within his element, the dragon chuckled to himself. He had been close by when Reala appeared; it had become his habit now to watch the sprite upon whom they had pinned their hopes. If the djinn had gained the upper hand he might have intervened or he might not - Reala too was a child of his own element and he felt affectionate towards them both. In the meantime his observations tickled him immensely. Such an innocent!

He knew his fellows thought him flighty. It was not true: his goals were if anything more long ranging than their own. But he knew also that some parts of his personality were governed by his element - it was unavoidable. And he saw it here in another. NiGHTS it seemed had inherited the wind's changeable nature without much of water's calming influence.

Reala was different. Donovan knew both their natures though he had spoken rarely with one and never with the other. In the djinn wind and fire met, both essentially destructive elements. The wind's tempestuous violence was boosted by the fire's rage. He sighed at that thought. Few Nightmaren touched by fire ever went right: fire was the dark element, that which disrupted balance.

He fell to thinking of the conclave. For himself he could not say he was surprised at Campanile's refusal to stand. Secretly he wondered whether she did not sympathise to some degree with the Wizeman. She was after all an efreet, a spirit of fire.

 

 

~*~* A DREAM ~*~*

The girl was lost. She had been lost for a long time now but she was not afraid. She was following after a white creature that kept appearing and then vanishing in the brush. The forest was dim and green, sweet scented, its floor spongy with moss. Wildflowers were everywhere. Lights like fireflies hung everywhere, drifting gently with the currents of the air, sliding in and out of the shafts of sunlight that pierced the canopy.

The girl pushed through bushes and stepped into a clearing. On the other side of it she saw the unicorn properly for the first time. It was a smaller beast than she had expected, the size of a pony, and delicate as a deer. Its body was the color of a summer cloud dappled with gold and green mottles of forest light. Its fine head was tilted towards her and the horn gleamed with the brightness of silver. It was what she had come all this way to find. A tear slid down her eye as she stood and gazed at the sight that healed all wounds.

The wave of searing heat burst on her unprepared. She stumbled round and beheld a grotesque form, a painted demon with a bone white face. Two immense red and black ram's horns swept back from its head. Blue eyes glittered menacingly. Suddenly a nearby tree burst into flame. The girl cried out in terror as her dream turned into a nightmare.

The demon reached out and plunged its bright yellow claws into her chest. They groped around within her body, sending waves of pain through her. Suddenly she felt something come loose within her. In another second the demon freed its hands again, leaving no wound and no tear in her shirt. It had taken something from her. A globe of silvery shimmering light glimmered in its claws.

The demon held the globe up high in one hand, striking a melodramatic Hamlet pose. Then it bowed deeply to her, sending another flare of rushing heat over her face and body. In an explosion of hot sparks it was gone leaving only the echo of its laugh and a blackened patch on the green forest moss.

The girl went to her knees with both hands clasped over her heart. She felt immensely empty. There was nothing in the world she cared about. She slumped down on the soft ground and closed her eyes.

Phalanx had seen everything. Frozen in shock he had stood still and watched the whole drama unfold. It had taken only a couple of seconds. Now he kicked himself for not intervening - but after all what could he have done against a djinn? He looked to the girl who lay unmoving on the ground. When he came over and breathed on her cheek she did not move. She was no longer aware of him. Her purity, the ideya that had brought her to his dream, had been stolen from her before his eyes. He shed a silvery tear onto her outstretched arm.

So the Wizeman was collecting ideya again. This did not bode well. Phalanx had heard the rumours but until now he had not believed in them. But why send Reala? Yes, he recognised that infamous red and black. Reala was one of the most powerful of the Wizeman's servants. Why waste the djinn on such a menial task when a mere minion could have done the same?

It is so that NiGHTS will not intervene, thought Phalanx suddenly.

That raised new questions. So the Wizeman was back at his old scheme, but being careful this time, making sure that nothing would interrupt his plans. Without her ideya the girl would never wake from this dream. Phalanx considered for a while and then left her where she was: she would come to no harm in Mystic Forest now. Without her ideya she was worthless to the Wizeman.

He had to find NiGHTS and tell him of this development.

 

 

~*~* SPRING VALLEY ~*~*

Phalanx searched for a long time without success. Those Nightmaren he asked just laughed when he mentioned NiGHTS's name: it was a long-running joke that the sprite was never to be found where one expected. He found Flisshie dancing in some fallen leaves and his hope grew. If anyone might know NiGHTS's whereabouts, it was the wind. And even if he could not find the sprite he could give a message into the wind, and sooner or later it would find him.

Flisshie the sylph, white and wispy with a cloak of translucent hair, was the spirit of the zephyr and the youngest of three sisters. Plume and Vendaval were her older siblings. She listened politely to Phalanx's story.

"I saw him," she said. "He played with me earlier. I was playing with a leaf and he came and danced with me for a while."

"Where did he go?" Phalanx asked eagerly. "Did you see?"

"He flew away to play with my sister instead," Flisshie said. She lifted her arms and spun around, lifting a spiralling stream of dried leaves. Her semi transparent hair twirled around her like a whirlwind. The unicorn drew back blinking in a cloud of stirred up dust.

"Which one? Plume or Vendaval?"

"Plume, of course," Flisshie said giggling. "He doesn't like Vendaval. She plays too rough."

"Do you know where Plume is now?" Phalanx asked hopefully.

She shook her head. "But, if I see the sprite, I will give him your message."

"Thank you," Phalanx said courteously. The sylph smiled at him and danced away over the stream, leaping lightly from stone to exposed stone. The water rippled beneath her airy feet.

Sylphs, thought Phalanx with a wry smile as he picked his way back through the valley.

Now all that remained was to see whether NiGHTS would heed his warning. He decided to return to Mystic Forest and await further developments. At the very least he could stay by the girl and guard her. Not that he thought she was in danger, but he did not want to leave her alone. He blamed himself now for not having tried to stop the djinn. At the very least he could have bought her some time.

When he returned some hours after the event she had not moved a muscle from the position in which she fell. Her skin was cool to the touch. He sighed and settled down beside her, trying to warm her with his own body.

 

 

~*~* THE NIGHTMARE ~*~*

It was a bottomless desert, a place of clouds and smoky darkness. Stars spangled the ebon heavens; stormclouds drifted and obscured sight. In the centre gleamed the spire of Twin Seeds Tower, an ethereal thing that appeared as a reflection of the real world can be seen against a windowpane when the light is right. The elements that ruled this place were the destructive ones, wind and fire, tempered no longer by earth and water.

A hot wind rushed through the smoky air. Reala was coming home.

The top of the tower was open to the air and led down into darkness, the cavernous depths of nightmare. Lesser Nightmaren fled in panic as the red and black swept by. He was angry. His fury rippled around him and lit dull red the stony walls he passed.

He flew the immense length of a hall that was in darkness. At its far end were a pair of vast bronze doors inscribed with eldritch symbols. Reala swept down into a kneeling position, landing with breathtaking grace before the doors. Golden sparks drifted down around him and winked out one by one on black stone tiles. With their fading he was plunged into utter darkness. His head bent, he waited.

At last one of the doors creaked open a little. A rolling wave of heat lashed against Reala's face, welcoming him in. The Nightmaren stood and drifted silently through the door. It shut again behind him with a hollow boom.

The floor of this gigantic place was on fire, birning with a peculiar dark flame that was tinted faintly blue. Once again he went to one knee, looking up now with a twisted grin on his painted lips. The heat in the air made everything ripple in his sight. Reala knelt between two pillars of polished black stone; at its base, where the black flames touched it, the rock glowed angry red. Above him in the rippling air hung a huge and cloudy shape, filling the immense space from wall to wall: a stirring cloak, a curtain of midnight blue. At the top the head was tiny with distance, a crackling thing alive with lightnings.

Out of nowhere a giant stone hand swept down and hovered before Reala. Stone grated as the lid in the palm slid open, and an eye blinked once and focused upon him.

"So you have returned," said a voice that was the hissing of gas jets, the echoing bubble of magma deep within the earth. The black fire leaped up wildly around the pillars.

Reala stood and made a low sweeping bow, flinging out one arm.

"What have you for me?" said the efreet. The stone eye widened.

"Only this, only this," said Reala. He held up his hand and a gleaming pearl became a ball, a globe of white light, turning slowly above his raised fingers.

The stone eye blinked and narrowed. The fingers crooked menacingly. "Only one?" said the Wizeman. "You have been away many hours. And you dare to come back to me with one? ONE?"

"I was delayed."

Another stone hand swept in without warning from the shadows where it had been lurking. It smacked into Reala and sent him flying across the cavernous room, twisting like a leaf in a cloud of hot sparks. With some difficulty he stopped his tumble and righted himself to hover in midair above the flaming floor. His blue eyes, when he raised his head, were no longer light and laughing but fearful, the catseye pupils narrowed to thin lines. He soothed his ribs with a taloned hand.

"I will not brook this insolence," said the Wizeman.

Reala held out his arm and the white ideya flew to him. With both hands he offered up the glimmering orb as if it were a sacrifice. "I saw him, lord," he said. "Through sky and o'er field I hunted him, up and down the valley."

"And caught him not, or you would not be here alone."

"He hid from me in water."

"Then you failed me," said the Wizeman.

"I know, lord." Humbly the djinn bowed his head.

"I will take this thing." From the spinning circle half invisible in the gloom broke away another great stone hand. It swooped down and delicately plucked the shining globe out of the air. Reala lifted his head and watched the ideya go flying upwards in the grip of the hand. Two more of the hands orbited it, examining it from every angle, and then they drew back. The ideya's light was quenched within a massive fist of stone. "Good," said the Wizeman. "Bring me more."

 

 

~*~* MYSTIC FOREST ~*~*

There was no turning of the seasons in the dream realm, and no real passing of time save that which the human visitors brought with them. But there was a quiet cycle of day and night. It was night now. In the forest clearing Phalanx looked up at the bright clear stars, and sighed. The girl beside him had never moved again, and her body grew colder no matter what he did. Ice was beginning to form on her bare limbs.

Something crossed the stars. Phalanx looked up again hastily as a shadowy shape came down to hover motionless six inches above the mossy floor. For a moment he feared that it was Reala back again, but no, the sparkling light was cool and blue like water. The unicorn stood with an effort. His limbs were stiff and chilled; movement was hard.

"NiGHTS," he said. "You came. Thank the dream."

In the darkness the sprite's huge eyes were solemn. He drifted forward over the moss and folded his long limbs into a kneeling position by the girl. His long slim fingers touched her icy cheek.

"Her name is Amy," Phalanx said. "I have been listening to her thoughts. But I can't rouse her. Reala took her purity from her -" NiGHTS turned his head and stared. Phalanx met his look. "It was Reala," he admitted.

NiGHTS slid his hands under the girl's body and lifted her. He stood.

"Will you look after her?" Phalanx asked reluctantly. NiGHTS nodded silently. Cradling the girl's body in his arms he rose into the air. In moments he was gone. Phalanx craned his head until the last winking blue star had faded and then he turned and plodded away into the bushes. He knew he should probably go and speak to Lady Rowan, but right now he wanted only rest. Besides the news must be on the wind by now: Rowan would hear of it soon enough.

The house of Finestill was a squat and cosy mound atop one of Spring Valley's many waterfalls. A windmill creaked gently in the breeze as NiGHTS approached. In the darkness the golden light from small windows was very welcoming.

As he landed the door creaked open and Finestill came marching out towards him. "Now just where in dream's name have you BEEN? I've needed you -" The kobold caught sight of the girl and let out a loud moan. "Not another one. Please don't say you've brought me another one." NiGHTS's eyes opened wider. "Just bring her in," Finestill said in a distracted state, turning his back on them both. Bemused, the sprite followed his friend through the door.

The little entrance hall was packed with chattering Nightmaren of all persuasions: sylphs, kobolds, nixies, even a dark and gloomy kirin. Finestill led the way, batting a couple of giggling fairies out of the way with his staff. NiGHTS had to duck to get beneath the low ceiling. He followed reluctantly: he disliked confined spaces. Finestill led him through the door at the end, into the kobold's own bedroom. NiGHTS's eyes opened wider. Two humans were already here, one on Finestill's bed and another on a makeshift couch. The one on the bed was a red haired boy; the one on the couch was another girl with long blonde hair.

"You can see for yourself," Finestill said grimly, "that you're not the first to turn up with this sort of news. Here, you -" this to a blue skinned nixie that sat nervously beside the boy "- fetch some more blankets. We'll have to put this one on the floor for now." He turned back to NiGHTS. "The boy's lost Hope. And Sposh here saw Wisdom stolen from the girl down by the lake. Looks like the bad old days are here again." NiGHTS laid his burden carefully down and Finestill stooped to take a look at her. "What was she?" he said. "Purity?" NiGHTS nodded. "Why now?" Finestill wondered aloud as they settled the unconscious girl.

The atmosphere was too claustrophobic, too tense with worry. NiGHTS quit the house and all its agitated chatter and let himself float for a while in the cool night air. Gradually his mind calmed. He flew down to the waterfall and spent some time dashing in and out of the pounding spray - at first to cool himself, and then because it was fun.

"And what use are YOU going to be, pray, if you can't keep your mind on a problem for two eyeblinks at a time?" said a light voice. He looked up. Something smoky and huge hung in the still night air, its vapourous wings stretching out like a screen across the stars. Alarmed he dived behind the waterfall.

"Come out," said the dragon.

Reluctantly he did so. He perched himself atop the waterfall, sitting in the glittering flow, and looked up. The misty head bent down on a long neck that shifted and reformed with every breeze. Stars shone through it. The dragon looked him in the eye, tilted its head, and then winked. His own eyes opened wide.

"Do you know who I am?"

He nodded vigorously.

"Good, then I don't have to explain myself. And you know also, I presume, who is behind these recent events?" The dragon did not wait for his nod. "You saw him this afternoon. But Reala is only the hand of another. You can't hide from this, NiGHTS. The Wizeman has returned. Knowing this, what are you going to do?" NiGHTS shrugged. "Some think you're simple, little sprite. Personally I just think you're the type that doesn't like to waste words. You know what you have to do. Go to the nightmare. Find out what's happening. Go now, and go alone."

Few even of those who knew NiGHTS well would have recognised the expression on his face at this particular moment. It was one of calm resolve. The lids lowered over his large eyes. For a moment he sat with eyes closed and head bent, then he sighed and looked up. There was a question in the brilliant purple eyes.

"I can't help you," the dragon said. "Unless my fellows come to an agreement I am forbidden to intervene directly. But I can advise you, if we bend the rules a little. The Wizeman is bound to fire alone: he will not be aware of you. But you and Reala share an element. Take care."

NiGHTS nodded and smiled. He stood up and let the wind take him from the clifftop: spreading his arms he swooped up into the starry sky of the dream. The dragon's misty head turned to watch the spark of blue as it faded into the east.

"It is a dangerous game you play, Donovan," said a woman's voice. "You are walking on the very edge of breaking conclave." The unicorn stepped out of the trees. Her white hide glimmered in the moonlight, and her green eyes were luminous from within.

In a flurry of wind the dragon was gone and a black robed man stood beside the waterfall. His gray hair stirred in the breeze and then became still. "I am being careful," he said. "Or hadn't you noticed? I haven't gone roaring into the nightmare yet to tumble Twin Seeds around the Wizeman's ears. You should be congratulating me on my forbearance."

There was another flurry and Rowan stood there, a woman. "I don't know whether to congratulate you or shout at you, to be honest. Whether you are TECHNICALLY obeying conclave or not, you are the one who sent that sprite on his way. What he does now may come down on your head." Her green eyes narrowed slightly. "Besides, do you really think you could, as you put it, tumble Twin Seeds around the Wizeman's ears? Do you think you have the strength to take him on?"

"I WOULD," Donovan said in frustration, "if you would stand with me. Even three of us could..."

"That is too rash, Donovan. You have just spoken out against the conclave. Your haste betrays you. If I were you I would guard my words better."

"You cannot think this is wise! To stand idly by and let him do this!"

"No," Rowan said. "I do not think it is wise. But we can do nothing without Campanile's agreement, as you know perfectly well."

"Campanile!" he said in disgust. He turned away.

"We have no choice," Rowan said more gently. "And I am not saying I disapprove of what you did. But you must remember that as the Wind Guardian you are bound by more than a promise. You swore not to interfere with the running of the dream world and the conclave does not stand on technicalities."

"Then perhaps I do not want to hold this office, if it means throwing Nightopia to the Wizeman as if it were a bone." His tone was bitter.

"But you are who you are, for better or worse."

"I do not need you to tell me this, Rowan."

She reached out to him. "I am only counselling caution. Do what you must and I will support you in it as long as I can, but please, be careful."

 

 

~*~* THE NIGHTMARE ~*~*

NiGHTS flew quickly and purposefully through the darkened skies. He had passed the last Nightopian region some time ago and now was immersed in a sky that had no ground, a disorienting place of smoke and carnival glitter. Nevertheless he was not lost. The wind led him on, guiding him straight to the mystic tower that stood at the very center of the storm.

His awareness of the wind was expanded to its limit and he expected at any moment to sense the blistering approach of Reala, rising in a fury to defend his master's territory. The further he came the twitchier he got. But no Reala appeared. The most he sensed was a lesser sylph or two, and far to the north of here Vendaval, spirit of the tempest, the oldest of the three sisters. As far as he could tell the Wizeman's nightmare was abandoned, as it had been for a long while.

At last the tower appeared in the distance, a black needle in the sky. Now he became cautious. He slowed and ducked in and out of the drifting clouds, using them as cover. He knew that if Reala were about the water vapour would help to occlude him from the djinn's awareness. But still there was no Reala, and no sign of any hostile Nightmaren. Gradually the tower crept closer. Finally it was before him. NiGHTS peered out of a drifting billow of cloud. Twin Seeds Tower stood in the center of a wide circle clear of cloud: he could feel the heat of it now, driving away the water. The air was still around the summit. From here he could see the open lattice of the dome, and within it the dark hole that led down into the Wizeman's lair. There was no cover. NiGHTS breathed in deeply. If there was to be an attack, now was when it would surely come. He broke from the clouds and flew straight as an arrow towards the tower's top, a spinning purple rocket with a blue trail. Slipped between the curving supports of the dome. Stood. Now he was on the very lip of the hole, and there was nothing.

Perhaps the dragon had been wrong. The Wizeman was truly gone and Reala for whatever reason was doing this alone. That gave him heart - he knew Reala was dangerous, but he did not fear him as much. Their shared element was a bond between them. He understood Reala in a way. He did not understand the Wizeman at all.

It was dry here, and hot. NiGHTS disliked it. It was the presence of fire that he sensed, the element that like earth was alien to him. He hated fire and fire hated him. Even now the heat was reaching out to him, trying to stifle him. He took a deep breath and dived into darkness.

In the shadows something moved. Dark lids slid languid back from lamplike eyes that kindled and glowed green. Muscles rippled beneath a hide slashed black and red. The beast roused itself on four lithe limbs and then leaped down soundlessly after the blue light that faded into depths unknown.

NiGHTS gave himself over entirely to the wind and let it guide him as he sped downwards, sounding the tower's immense depth. The further down he went the less like a made thing it became. The walls, invisible in the darkness, were of rough stone. He passed passages and dodged around jutting bridges of stone. Still the place stretched deeper, wider, and the heat grew stronger. A point of red light glistened somewhere far below: it was fire.

Behind him the dark thing leaped from bridge to outcrop, dropping down the shaft as fast as the sprite could fly.

At last NiGHTS reached a passage greater than any he had yet passed. This was the one. He turned, grateful to escape the main shaft and the fire's searing updraught, and flew along a tunnel of black stone that was by comparison cool and welcoming. He was many miles beneath the surface now.

Behind him, the open end of the tunnel was blocked by something large and dark that landed softly on the rocky floor. It crouched for a moment then bounded after the fleeing sprite.

The heat was growing strong again. NiGHTS frowned. It should not be: he had left the fire behind when he quitted the main shaft. There was only one explanation. Somewhere ahead was a Nightmaren tied to fire and a powerful one at that. Please, he thought, let it be Reala.

Ahead was an open space: he felt the change in the wind. He passed through an opening into a vast dark hall. He had been down this route before. At the end was a pair of immense doors. NiGHTS paused here and felt out with his senses. In a moment his heart sank. The doors to the Wizeman's court were closed. And beyond them he could feel fire, intense dark fire. It was true. The Wizeman was back. He had not quite believed it until now.

It was in that moment that his position was brought home to him. He was here alone, only a few hundred yards from the most powerful and evil Nightmaren in the dream realm. He had blundered like a little fly straight to the Wizeman's web. NiGHTS knew well that he was in no position to challenge the Wizeman: certainly not without the help of the children Claris and Elliot. He had barely defeated the mighty efreet last time even with their ideya of courage to protect him. He had to leave quickly, before he was noticed: before the drowsing spider woke and noticed what had flown in.

At his back the hulking darkness leaped. Only a puff of wind warned him. NiGHTS dived desperately up and back over the monster's head, dodging the swipe of the terrible paws. Clawz! he thought in a startled instant as he recognised the shape of that which attacked him. It was no wonder he had not sensed the approach of the evil Nightmaren: Clawz was a goblin, a spirit of earth and fire. Their elements were directly opposed. And here Clawz was in his element. He fled back down the tunnel and Clawz came leaping after. Eager breath whuffed hot in the monster's jaws.

The end of the tunnel was ahead, a small circle of red. NiGHTS accelerated towards it as hope grew within his spirit. He would escape. Then, to his horror, he felt a familiar tingle in the wind. A dark form hovered down with deliberate slowness to block the end of the tunnel, showering golden sparks from its outstretched hands. He slowed and stopped. Behind him Clawz came slowly now, bellying on the rock, raking the hard stone with gleaming talons. Reala's blue eyes glittered in the darkness of his shadowed face.

"NiGHTS," he said softly. He made a movement with his hand and the goblin slunk back out of sight. "Just you and I, NiGHTS."

NiGHTS watched him carefully. Reala drifted backwards, backing out of the tunnel. He hovered in the center of the shaft and beckoned with one hand. Now illuminated by the fire below his painted lips were grinning.

"Run, NiGHTS."

NiGHTS dashed at him, hoping by some miracle to slip past the djinn and get away. At once the impasse was broken. Reala wheeled to face him. They clashed together in a cloud of streaming blue and golden sparks and butted heads like rams. Reala was the first to break away this time. He jacknifed his body and swooped around NiGHTS, trying to catch him in a loop. NiGHTS shot out of the way just in time. They circled swiftly in the confined space of the shaft, battered by the wind and fire from below. NiGHTS knew he could not win: he was weakening all the while in the blazing heat. The rock walls wobbled and glowed red.

Reala rammed him and drove him back against the wall. The stone cracked. Hurt, NiGHTS fell, twisting like a leaf, towards the distant fire. Reala dove after him, his arms folded by his sides: he was a comet in an aura of golden fire. Sensing victory his lips were drawn back in a macabre grin. His blue eyes gleamed with fiery reflections. This was his element: he would drown NiGHTS in it.

Suddenly a breath of wind issued down from above, driving back momentarily the worst heat of the fire. Come! said a voice. Come now, come swiftly! And the wind caught him and held him, only a few hundred yards above the lake of fire. NiGHTS roused himself dizzily. Reala had ceased his pursuit in surprise and now hovered above, staring down at him with narrowed eyes of blue.

What are you waiting for? Come!

The sprite flung himself upwards. It was an action born of desperation: he fled straight as an arrow, brushing past his astounded nemesis. Even as Reala wheeled to resume the chase NiGHTS was flying upward towards the distant point of star specked blue that was the top of Twin Seeds Tower.

Hurry! He is behind you!

He knew that. The heat was on his heels, furious as a furnace. Reala did not call to him: all his attention was fixed on catching up. NiGHTS hurt all over but forced himself to fly faster. He had to return to Nightopia, to warn the others.

They were nearly at the top of the tower now. The opening beckoned like a promise of renewed life. NiGHTS poured the last of his strength into one last drill-dash, not thinking how he might get home through the nightmare. Below him Reala reached up one taloned hand, his fingers crooked to snatch the sprite's downward pointed toe. One more inch and he would have him. One - more -!

Wind blasted down the shaft. It flowed easily around NiGHTS, welcoming him; but against Reala it beat with the force of a storm. Unprepared the djinn fell, blown back like a feather. The wind struck at him as if he were a toy. He bounced twice against the rock wall as he fell and then was lost to sight, his golden aura fading into blackness. NiGHTS soared from the top of the tower into endless sky and stars, glowing in his triumph. Freedom! He had escaped the nightmare's trap...

His pain and exhaustion hit him them. His flight faltered and dipped, leveled off and then began to decline in a long weary parabola. It was a long way back to Spring Valley, and the sprite did not think he could travel more than a mile or two. He hurt, and he was weary.

The wind caught him and enfolded him in welcome coolness. "Fly, little sprite," said the voice. "You must."

Wordlessly he shook his head.

"You must," said the wind again. "Even now Reala is coming for you. The fire is gathering strength - you have seen it! Go back and warn your friends of what is coming. You have the strength!" And with a sudden burst the wind caught him and flung him headlong towards the west: he was riding it, surfing ahead of it, at a speed he had rarely known before. The dragon glimmered for a moment around him. He lifted his weary arms once more and flew, and the wind carried him.

 

 

~*~* THE COURT OF THE WIZEMAN ~*~*

Reala's flight was laboured. He pressed one hand to his side in pain as he flew the length of the darkened hall. Stronger than NiGHTS here in this place, he was still vulnerable to other elements, and the wind had driven him hard against the earth. His pain would take time to abate.

The bronze doors loomed ahead. He took a long breath and shrugged off the pain, then knelt before them. They creaked open. With an effort he rose and flew within. The black fire flickered up to greet him, welcoming the child of its element.

The Wizeman had his back turned: the vast blue cloak billowed gently as if its wearer slept. But the stone hand that flew down to meet the djinn was entirely alert.

"Well?" said the efreet.

"Again I failed," said Reala. "The wind helped him."

"Why was he here, so close? My guardian has shirked his duty."

"He will be punished, lord."

"Yes," said the efreet. "He will." The stone hand blinked slowly. "And of your errand?"

"It is fulfilled." The djinn bowed low. "She sends this message:

"SHE WILL."

The black fire roared, stabbed up in tongues that for a moment licked the very ceiling of the immense chamber before dying down again. It was the reflection of the efreet's joy and the only outward sign.

"That is well," said the Wizeman.

 

 

~*~* SPRING VALLEY ~*~*

Dawn was breaking over the rolling hills. As the sun's first light touched the grasses the wind arrived, lashing at the treetops. It caught the windmills and made them spin wildly before centering on a place before a low house. Something descended through the whirlwind and settled gently on the grassy ground. The wind riffled through the grasses and then faded away.

After a while Finestill came out of his house. He stopped when he saw the thing on the ground, then came to it and knelt by it, heaving a sigh.

"What have you been doing now?"

With some difficulty he lifted the sprite: it was not that NiGHTS was heavy - far from it - but the kobold's limbs were very short, and NiGHTS's very long. Finestill dragged him clumsily through the door of his house. The house was deserted now save for those few who had kindly stayed to tend the dream-deserted children. There had been no more excitement in the night, to the disappointment of some.

Finestill took NiGHTS to another room, a spare one with the highest ceiling in his rambling abode. After laying the sprite down on a handy couch he went round opening all the windows to let the fresh air in. Then he came back and looked at his friend a while.

"It seems to me," he thought aloud, "that you are the one who had all last night's excitement for yourself."

He went out quietly and closed the door, then went on with his morning business. He knew that when he chanced to come back into that room, NiGHTS would be gone. That was fine by him. Sooner or later he would come across the sprite, playing with a sylph or teasing nixies in their pools. Then he would get the story. Until then he was content to wait.

 

 

~*~* MYSTIC FOREST ~*~*

"What have you done?" said Rowan.

She had known of course, the moment that the wind struck out within the nightmare. They all would have known. The conclave was broken. The covenant was void. She had not needed him to come to her: but come he had and stood before her now, his dark eyes cold and empty.

"How can you face me like this?" she said. "After my warning to you? Your Guardianship is meaningless now, Donovan. Through your actions you have loosed the Wizeman from his oath. He is free to act openly against us - to rise in war if he so chooses!" Tears stood in her eyes. "I was a fool. I never thought it would be you. I thought you had more sense!"

"It doesn't matter," Donovan said.

"What do you mean it doesn't matter? You have doomed us!"

"Not I." He turned away. "Don't patronise me, please. I have never done a thing without accepting its consequences. But in this case the die was cast before I struck."

"What do you mean?"

"Must I spell it out to you? Campanile, Rowan. The oath was broken, yes, but not by me. The Wizeman sent Reala to the Fire Guardian with an offer. She has accepted it."

"No," Rowan said.

"I am afraid so." Donovan lifted his head and looked at the stars. The night was clear and beautiful. He turned to her again and his gray hair stirred in a sudden gust of wind. "There are no Guardians any more, Lady Rowan, and the fire is coming."