Chapter Eight - Don't Frighten the Ligon

Klicati and Mara remained silent, waiting, watching, knowing that whoever or whatever it was would be in sight shortly. Mara was impatient, smoke steamed from her nostrils as she impatiently beat her wings against her side noiselessly. Klicati conveyed her annoyance in her own way. She brushed her tail back and forth on the ground behind her, her green eyes gleaming in the light that shown round the corner into the lair.

Then, he came. He, was a boy, about thirteen years of age. His hair was curly, thick and curly, in a chocolaty mud-coloured brown shade. His eyes were hazel, changing from brown to green to whatever other colour they chose to be at the moment. He was fairly tall for a thirteen year old boy, almost six feet. And he was muttering to himself. Pricking her ears forward, the sly tortoiseshell cat listened intently, knowing full well her ligon companion already knew what he was saying. If a cat could be confused, Klicati was. Don’t frighten the Ligon? What on earth was ‘Don’t frighten the Ligon’ supposed to mean? Why was he muttering this to himself over and over and over again?

“I must not frighten the Ligon!” the boy yelled. Klicati lurched over, it was much louder than the whispered mutterings, and she had not expected it. She noticed that Mara had lifted her wings and was near the top of the lair. Smoke breathed from her nostrils, and fire came out of her mouth.

“Who are you who dares enter the lair of Mara the Ligon?” she roared, deafeningly.
“Br . . . Br . . . Brendan,” the boy stammered as he glanced up at the angry and somewhat frightened ligon.
“Do not enter here without permission, Brendan!” She flew towards him, her wings flapping outstretched by her sides.

Brendan turned and ran, his face pale, his mind intent on one, and only one goal. Getting out of there alive. He ran, and ran, and ran, caring not about what went on around him, he wanted to get home and get home quickly. Mara flew after him for a while, ensuring that he would not return, and then she turned around and flew softly back to her lair. Klicati was waiting for her there.

“What did you do to him?” she asked primly, swishing her tail behind her again as she turned her emerald eyes upon the ligon.
“Merely frightened him away this time. If there is a next time,” she broke off into a snarl. “It is my lair, and I intend to keep it that way. No one comes in without my permission.”
“Very good,” purred Klicati approvingly. “Very good.”
“Now,” said Mara. “Let us continue. Who’s turn was it?”

After a long discussion with Yoran the Squirrel, the three decided to wait out the rain until afternoon came. Then, they would continue on their way.

“Go to see Heather the Sage you must,” Yoran told them. “Take you to her I will.”
“Why do we need to go see this Sage you speak of?” Kathryn asked gently and quietly.
“Know about the Stone of the King she does. Know where it lies, she will.”
“Are you certain,” Jessica asked, perhaps a bit to eagerly.
“Certain that she will have an answer, I am, my lady. Certain that it will be pleasing to your ears, grant that I cannot. Wait we must until see her we are able.”
“Who is this Sage that you mentioned, Heather,” Edmund said. “Who is she? Why should she know where the Stone of the King is?”
“Old, she is, and wise as well,” said Yoran. “Know much she does. Know all, it is thought of by some.”
“Very well,” decided Edmund. “We shall go with you to find her this afternoon.”

Sir Rupert rode through the rain towards Aiulindale. He intended to find the king, to prove that he was still worthy of the title of Knight in Elenaesia. Drat the rain, he thought. It was a wet day, and he hated to travel on wet days. It seemed like the rain would never end, it just came down in sheets, in torrents. He drew his cloak closer to him, and checked his sword to make sure it was still safely by his side.

He hoped he would reach Aiulindale before the King rode out with the army, or meet them on the way. The sun seemed to be trying to decide if it would come out of hiding or not. He fervently hoped it would, the rain was soaking his cloak, and he didn’t like the wetness of everything.

King Eldor gave the order for them to set up camp. As soon as his tent was up, he went inside. The rain could be heard pounding on the ground outside. They had stopped earlier than he would have liked too, but he had no real choice in the matter. They could not continue in this weather. The packs would get to heavy for the horses otherwise. He nodded as Sir Paulo, Head Knight of the Eleven, entered his tent.

“The scouts have returned your majesty,” he said with a small bow.
“And how are they? What did they find?”
“They are a bit wet, my lord, but unharmed. There is no sign of the enemy in the directions they travelled.”
“I’m sure their wetness isn’t very wet, Sir Paulo,” Eldor said with a smile. “No sign of the enemy. Hmm. What is Leonardo planning? What has changed him?” The king sighed deeply as he mulled over thoughts in his mind. “Set up a guard at the edge of the camp. I’ll think more on this. When I have formulated more of a plan, I will inform you immediately. Good day to you, Sir Paulo.”
“And to you as well, my liege and lord.” Then Sir Paulo bowed and turned, and slowly walked out of the tent with a purposeful stride.

The rain had stopped, the sun had appeared from behind its nesting place in the clouds. Yoran stopped his fencing practice, and with a final twirl, he returned his needle to it’s scabbard with a flourish. Then he turned back to the others. Edmund and Jessica had finished getting the horses ready to go. He made a low bow to Kathryn, and then spoke.

“Ready to go are we? If more rest the lady requires, wait a while we can.”
“No, thank you. I am ready to go,” Kathryn responded with a smile.
“Good. Then go to see the Sage we must. Come now, ready to go we are, and ride far we must. Time must be on our side, if to find the Stone before war breaks out you wish.”

Yoran rode in front of Edmund. He gave instructions as to where they were to go, telling him to turn here or go down that path. Sometimes it seemed like they’d never get there. Always they were turning, or going straight, or something. How far into the mountains did this sage live, anyways? They wondered at that. Finally, after what seemed like ages, but what was in truth only a few hours, Yoran made an announcement.

“Arrive there quite shortly we will,” he said very simply.

And indeed, about ten minutes later, they arrived in a small clearing. Yoran gave orders to dismount, which were promptly followed. Edmund helped Kathryn dismount from her horse, and then, following the lead shown to them by Yoran the Squirrel, they walked to the middle of the clearing. First they heard a voice:

Faded fading into light
Daytime springing out of night
Ligon’s breath and heated flame,
Showing truth of monarch’s name.
When fireproof are eyeless folk,
Into dark the fire broke.

The voice was soft and melodious, speaking in a sing song type of voice. Yet it was also deep and harmonious, as if there was more to it than just the simple melody. They turned towards the direction of the voice, and there they saw coming towards them what could only be the Sage. She, for it was a she, they decided, when she came closer, had long flowing white hair. She was arrayed in a sage green and pale heather coloured garment that fell to her ankles. Her feet were bare, and sprigs of fresh heather and sage were tucked in her hair behind her ears. Her face was both old and young, and she had a responsible, yet carefree look to her face. Her eyes seemed to be of lavender, and they sparkled a bit when she saw them.

“I have spoken to you the Prophecy,” she said, the melody and harmony of her voice melting together to form a symphony. “The Prophecy not uttered by many, and those who do dare utter it, have placed their lives in jeopardy. It is not meant for the unskilled to speak, the skills are only known by few. And few indeed are gifted enough to be granted hearing of the Prophecy. But come now, what is it that you have come to me, Heather the Sage, for?”
“We seek the Stone of the King, and we have heard it is in these mountains, o Sage,” said Edmund.

Heather lifted her eyebrows just a touch. “Indeed, and who is they that speak so simply of that which is by no means simple?”
“Sir Rupert,” explained Jessica.
“Indeed?” she asked, her eyebrows lifting just a little more. “I know you are on a true quest to find it. Questions I do not need to ask, open before me like books are your minds. I see that you tell the truth. Search not here for the Stone of the King. Go instead to the Forest of the Ligon. Look there, in the lair of one called Mara, and you will find the Stone of the King. Finding the lair will not be hard. Retrieving the Stone will call upon courage. Yet what comes after will tax your true strength. Go now at once, and may your journeys be ever filled with adventure.”

With that Heather the Sage backed slowly away, almost fading into the mist that was beginning to roll in from the north.