Gathering Storm (The Salvation of Tempestria Book 2), Gary Stringer [classic children's novels .TXT] 📗

“Ready,” she affirmed. “Teleportation, I presume.”

He nodded.

“Which means you need a clear image, so you know where to go.”

Again, he nodded.

“The image that’s currently in my head, so you’ll need to go in and have a look, yes?”

Another nod.

“I’m afraid so, yes. If you don’t mind – pardon the pun, I don’t mean to joke about it.”

“A sympathic link won’t be clear enough, I suppose?”

“Sorry, no. It has to be full telepathy.”

“Thought so. These things will be a lot easier when photography takes off.”

My mother was quite right about that, gentle reader. Broadly speaking, in those days, a sympathic image versus a telepathic one was like the difference between having a vague drawing of a pub and labelling it ‘FaerWay Tavern,’ versus having a high-resolution photo of the place itself along with exact map co-ordinates.

“OK, I’ll let you in. Why not? I’ll throw down the welcome mat. I just hope you can find space. It’s getting rather crowded up here, these days. I’m going to need a bigger head.”

“I do hope not,” Michael protested. “Your head is the perfect size, just the way it is.”

Cat raised her eyebrows in amusement.

“Thank you. That may be the oddest compliment I’ve ever received, which, considering the company I keep, is quite an achievement, so congratulations on that. Just hold on a tick, I’ll get Pyrah to lower her defences.”

“Pyrah?” Michael wondered.

The green snake poked her head out of Catriona’s pocket, and Michael immediately sank to his knees.

“Forgive me, Mistress Pyrah,” he gasped. “I had no idea I was in the presence of one such as yourself.”

“Erm, message from Pyrah: You may stand, and you have her permission, as well as my consent, to enter my mind for a moment,” a puzzled Catriona responded. “Message from me: What the f—?”

“—I’m a creature of the gods,” Michael replied, quickly, cutting her off. Though he was back on his feet, he was still clearly in awe of the little green snake, “But sometimes even the gods have gods, and Mistress Pyrah is one of the most revered of all Ysirians.”

“Ysirians?”

“That’s the name of her people. She’s Ysirian. She has not told you this?”

“I know she’s from one of the higher planes,” Cat shrugged, “but I don’t think she’s ever mentioned the name of her race. To me, she’s just my friend, Pyrah.”

“Who exactly are you, Catriona Redfletching? Touched by an Angel, host to a shadow warrior and friend to a god of gods?”

Catriona flushed at his reverent tone. “I’m just Cat. Just a simple half-Faery druid girl. Nobody important.”

Michael shook his head, his eyes wide. “I hate to contradict you, Cat, but I’m certain you are quite, quite wrong about that.”

*****

Cat and Michael materialised in the middle of a pitched midair battle between Daelen and Aden. Both had already expended a great deal of energy. Cat could tell by the power readings that were considerably lower than they had been a few minutes ago. Not to mention the mass devastation all around them. She wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t gone to fetch Michael. She knew ‘Aden’ generally gave up and ran away, but what if he didn’t? Would they have kept fighting their futile battle to the point of mutual destruction? What could they possibly hope to achieve by that?

Still, she supposed that was why Daelen had Michael.

‘And now he’s got me, too.’

As the Champion of the Gods moved to fight at close quarters, Catriona kept her distance and worked her magic from afar. That would give her time to react, should anything nasty come flying her way.

She fought with wind and ice and water. Trees reached up to grab Aden, lightning strikes assailed his body. All the while, she kept on the move, on the ground, in the air, shifting to falcon form, shifting back and dancing on her Windy Steps. All of her training with Dreya paid off. Except, of course, this wasn’t training, it was for real, and the energy beam that Aden fired towards her was not merely a beam of light. But she was ready, her hand in her bag of sand. The druidess threw it in the air, and it formed Nature’s Mirror. Just as Dreya had explained, there wasn’t time to do all this, given the speed of the energy beam, and yet the mirror formed precisely when she needed it to, reflecting the beam straight back, so it slammed into Aden’s body and knocked him to the ground. All three combatants stopped for a moment, and stared at her, not believing what they had just seen.

To Aden, Catriona yelled, “That’s from all the Faery to show you exactly what we think about all the slurs about wings!”

Aden got to his feet and conjured a Prismatic Sphere. Ignoring Catriona, he spoke to Daelen.

“Three against one? That’s hardly sporting. Still, I’ve got to hand it to you, brother. These mortal pets are really useful things. Maybe I should get one of my own. Bye, y’all!”

With that, he stepped through his portal and disappeared.

“If I ever say something as inane as ‘Bye, y’all,’” Daelen instructed Michael, “kill me immediately.”

Michael rushed over to check if Catriona was alright, Daelen a step behind.

“Me?” she queried. “What about you? No offence, Michael, but aren’t you supposed to die in every final battle?”

“That rule only applies to Kullos,” he explained.

Daelen nodded, adding, “There could be no such rules about my clone. Michael was created more than two centuries before I was split.”

“Although there is also my Curse,” the demigod told her, “which says that I shall die permanently in the final war of the shadow warriors.”

“I’ve promised to break that Curse,” Daelen insisted.

Michael shook his head. “Can’t be done.”

This was clearly a very old argument, and Cat was keen to return their focus to the present.

“Well, either way, right now, since Aden’s run away, we need to deal with Kullos.”

“And the void-creature,” Daelen put in, “for all that I’ve been told it’s not my problem.