The Pool of Knowledge
Kirk coughed helplessly then vomited acrid water. He gasped and realising he could now breathe took in a deep gulp of air. With extreme care he peered through half closed lashes at his damp grey surroundings. His last memory was of the struggle to free Spock from being dragged under and his friend's poignant farewell. He concentrated on the awareness that existed between them and, to his relief, found it intact. Spock was alive! That knowledge caused a wave of numbing relief to spread through him.
All right. I'm not injured. I'm breathing air not water so I must be in a cave. He pulled himself upright, squeezed some water out of his dripping hair and looked around. He was sitting on a shelf by the edge of a pool with his head almost touching the low roof. He shivered; uncomfortably aware of his soaked clothing.
There was no point in staying here when he should be trying to find Spock. He mind-called the Vulcan, putting as much energy into it as possible. There was a faint reply and encouraged he crawled along the ledge, forced onto his belly as the ceiling dipped towards the floor. It became increasingly difficult to push his body through the narrowing tunnel. Only a faint light at the end and the distant presence of Spock's thoughts kept him going. Sweat poured from him as he squeezed his muscular frame along, his broad shoulders becoming scraped and painful as they impacted with the rough walls. He attempted to ignore his fear of becoming stuck and he stopped to catch his breath before completing the final section.
The tunnel ended in an opening in the wall of a large chamber. Kirk looked out and his eyes widened as he saw his Vulcan friend sprawled naked on a gold silken-covered bed with an equally nude female draped across him, her green hair writhing and slithering as if it were alive. His glimmer of amusement was swiftly replaced with concern as he realised that Spock was unconscious.
He lowered himself onto the ground, paused only to remove the constricting headband and stash it in a concealed pocket inside his doublet, then scrambled to his feet. Crossing to the bed he grabbed the woman by the arm and dragged her away. She hissed at him, her black eyes enormous with rage.
"Who are you? What have you done to him?" Kirk demanded, shaking her.
"I am Caireen. He is mine," she cried.
Kirk's anger matched hers. "No. He has work to do in Arigol. The prophecy foretells it. Release him from the spell you've woven."
She broke away from his hold, and retreated until she stood against the wall. "I will not. What do I care for the prophecy any more. It will never be fulfilled. I care nothing for Arigol. Nothing can harm me here."
"Don't be so sure about that," Kirk remarked. "The Evil is spreading and will reach even here." He frowned. "But why did Emrys encourage Spock into the pool. Surely he didn't think you would harm him!"
She pouted. "I will not harm him. He shall stay with me and be my lord. I will grant him immortality."
Kirk swore softly. "He isn't yours." He sat on the bed and reached out to his friend. "Wake up, Spock." There was no response from the inert form. "Dammit Spock, wake up." Kirk gritted his teeth and slapped the Vulcan hard. I order you to wake up, Spock, he commanded as he reluctantly continued the stinging blows.
Kirk knew that Spock was trying to communicate with him but that powerful Vulcan telepathy was trapped and could not escape. He turned to the openly gloating woman. "Release him."
She smiled and eyed him up and down. "No, I will have this elven prince."
Kirk's anger intensified. Who was this creature who had entrapped his closest friend? He returned the smile with one of his own, which those who knew him would have recognised only too well. She dared to challenge his authority over one of his own crew. Over Spock! "He is sworn to my service. I am his captain, his liege lord. I do not give him permission to stay."
She glided over to him, her naked body undulating seductively. "I could persuade you, Lord King. You too would be happy here."
Kirk was physically tempted, but found the strength to tear his gaze away from her lush figure. "There's only one lady in my life." He closed his eyes, recalling her sleek elegant form and demanding personality. She was his home, his domain, his kingdom, his goddess. He ignored the enchantress, placed his fingers on Spock's forehead and desperately called along their link.
The force of his emotion crashed through the other's prison and their minds connected. Kirk laughed, sat back, and watched as his friend's heavy eyelids opened. "Wake up sleepyhead."
A predictable eyebrow rose. "Sleepyhead? Really, Captain. Such a term, I assure you, does not apply. I am perfectly alert."
Sure, Spock. Kirk gently mocked. But maybe you should cover your um, attributes before the lady is further inflamed.
Spock sat up and, with Vulcan swiftness, covered himself with a sheet. Kirk grinned at this display of modesty, then turned to the woman. "Okay, why did you bring us here and what part do you play in all of this?"
She drew on a flowing white garment before deigning to reply. "I am Keeper of the Pool of Knowledge."
"Then you know why we're here," Kirk stated.
"Yes," she replied sullenly, before looking at him through lowered lashes. "I have been here alone, most of the time, since the Beginning. It is a heavy burden to bear, Lord King, when one craves the company of a handsome young man such as the elven prince or yourself."
Kirk ignored her flattery. "You know what's happening above?"
"My sister, Wynonna, will scold me if she discovers my wanton behaviour." She bowed her head in shame, blushing prettily.
"If you will help us, she need not know, Caireen," Kirk said, softening a little under her obvious remorse.
She smiled slightly then twirled around, her dress billowing around her shapely legs. "Ah, Lord King, you are most kind. Will you and the elf prince please accompany me."
"My clothes," Spock murmured.
She clapped her hands like a playful child, ran to a hidden alcove, brought out the few garments and placed them upon the bed. Spock took them, stared disapprovingly at her until she turned away, then proceeded to dress. Kirk walked over to Caireen. "I'm sorry you're lonely. Maybe if you help us your duty will be discharged and you'll be free to find happiness."
She looked up at him and, with a pang, he noted her exquisite beauty. She did not speak and just led the way into an adjoining cavern whose viridescent stone walls glowed. Kirk glanced up at the tall Vulcan at his side, relieved to see him there once more. He did not care to think what would have happened if he had not followed his friend into the pool. If he had been unable to break the enchantment, Spock would have been held captive here, lost to his friends, and the people of Arigol - the prophecy left unfulfilled.
Caireen stopped by two tall obelisks of shining obsidian stone. They were placed two metres apart and, in mid air, between them hung a gold curtain. "Behold the Eye of Knowledge. Only one who is fated to save Arigol may gaze upon its secrets."
"Interesting," Spock commented. "This may assist us, Captain."
"Maybe, but let's not be too optimistic, Spock." A tingle swept down Kirk's spine as his intuition went on yellow alert.
The curtain slowly dissolved and in its place, as if through a viewscreen, a dark chamber could be seen. "It is possible that this is a gateway, Captain, to another part of Arigol."
"Caireen, is it?" Kirk asked turning around.
She was nowhere to be seen.
Spock cautiously moved his hand towards the scene at the centre of the obelisks. Suddenly he tensed. "Jim," he whispered. "I am caught by a force-field."
Kirk grasped Spock's arm and tugged. "She's led us into a trap," he muttered, using as much strength as possible but the power which held Spock was inexorable.
A nightmarish face appeared in the dark chamber. It was grey skinned, with lidless purple eyes, a single black horn on the forehead and gaping holes for mouth and nose.
"Dammit, Spock, can't you use your magic here?" Kirk demanded.
The Vulcan nodded. "I will try."
"At last I have found you," the creature rasped.
As Spock was drawn further into the other's hold, Kirk grabbed the Vulcan's thin body round the waist and hung on. His muscles strained as he tried to drag his friend to safety. "Can you teleport us back to the surface? Spock, you must try."
A thunderous clap boomed around them. Kirk tightened his grip on his friend, a lifeline in this alien place, as the whole cavern began to shake.
Spock, he cried.
There was a jolt as a familiar mind melded with his. He was caught up in a swirling current of power, the ache in his head increasing until he thought it would split apart. As his world spiralled down into a tight knot of agonising pain his last coherent thoughts were of his friends, his crew, and his ship.
***
The Drinker of Blood
Christine sat on a moss covered stone which had once been part of a wall. She was despondent. In the days since she had miraculously found Chekov wandering in the mist, her hope of locating the others had diminished and the worry that her shipmates might be dead kept whispering in her mind. The young ensign, still little more than a boy, was relying on her. He made brave noises and gallantly tried to prove he was unafraid but during her time as a Starfleet medic Christine had seen many young men and women under duress. It was never easy for any of them and she had learned when, and when not, to notice their fears. This empathy with her patients had brought her quick promotion to the position of head nurse of the Enterprise.
She thought of her captain and first officer, who perhaps had drowned in the pool. No. They're not dead. This place is riddled with mysteries. Every stretch of water seems to harbour a creature with jurisdiction over it. She compared the distinguished Wynonna with the provocative, flirtatious naiads of legends. If Spock fell into the hands of one of those!
"Christine. Christine," the voice was insistent.
She focussed on the young man trying to gain her attention. "Yes, Pavel, what did you find?"
He shook his head. "I walked all the way up the hill. There's only grassland on the other side. No signs of civilisation."
"Well, this is as good a place as any to make camp. It'll be dark soon, anyway."
"All right. At least it's not cold," the ensign said, sitting down beside her. He absently pulled the hem of his tunic down.
Christine grinned. "Pavel, stop being so modest. I'm a nurse, remember? I've seen all you've got more than once."
He flushed, chuckled softly and murmured," And did you like what you saw?"
She sighed wearily. "Pavel, behave yourself."
He had the grace to look embarrassed and picking up his backpack opened it and brought out a blanket. "We should be well enough hidden behind this wall and no-one can approach us without being seen."
"Well that should be true, but in this place anything can happen. You must be tired from that hike. I'll take first watch if you like."
Chekov agreed and, after they had eaten, he settled down to sleep. Christine wrapped herself in her blanket as the night air began to chill her, looked up at the full moon and was startled to see a black winged shape etched against its brilliance. She blinked and looked again, but it was gone. The light did play tricks here. Sometimes during the long nights after a weary day's travel, she had sensed or vaguely seen something flitting around at the edge of her perception. Chekov had been oblivious to it so she assumed it was her own overactive imagination.
She sipped at her water and waited patiently until her watch was over. Chekov rubbed at his eyes, grumbled, but obediently sat up and forced himself to alertness. Due to her job, Christine was used to broken sleep but she sympathised with the young man who found it so difficult. "Wake me in four hours," she said before allowing the welcome darkness to claim her.
Years spent watching over patients had built a sixth sense in her. She jolted awake and saw a sinister presence close by which set frightened shivers running down her spine. Chekov sat rigid, as if hypnotised. Kneeling beside him was a figure, a cloak flowing behind its back, whose head was bent menacingly over the ensign's neck.
"Leave him alone," Christine cried out.
The stranger turned and Christine froze. Its face was long with a pointed chin, aquiline nose and high cheekbones; black hair grew in straggly clumps to its shoulders. Red-rimmed eyes malevolently stared at her and its mouth was wide open displaying sharp blood-stained teeth.
The Drinker of Blood! The phrase repeated itself in her mind.
She was fixed to the spot as the creature moved towards her with fangs dripping. An unnatural lethargy swept her body and she smiled, a part of her watching in disgust as she rose to welcome it. A vampire hypnotises his victim, she screamed inside. Fight it.
Its breath was rancid. The pointed teeth touched her neck and helplessly she watched as they pierced her skin. Pain blazed through every nerve and she knew her life force was draining but there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Suddenly, a loud yell broke her trance. An unearthly scream rent the air and she stumbled back as she became aware of the scuffle going on near her. Blinking in disbelief she saw Sulu facing the vampire, a gleaming sword in his hand.
Chekov now roused from his hypnotic state dived for the creature, ripping away its black cloak just as the vampire was pulling it around himself. The foul thing screeched, blood dripping obscenely from its mouth, and it hissed at the two men. Christine forced her weakness aside and joined her friends as the vampire twisted and turned trying to escape, avoiding the touch of the sword, showing fear when the blade came too close.
Sulu grimaced. "This sword can really destroy you, huh?"
The vampire spat blood at him. "Medrikhor will capture you all, and then you will be mine."
Sulu stepped back a pace, his anger openly showing on his face. "Think again Dracula," he mocked. "You're not going to touch any of us."
"Cossack," Chekov sneered, holding the cloak close. "In Russia ve are used to wampires. Ve kill them with a stake through the heart."
The vampire laughed maliciously. "A stake cannot affect me. I am Zoltan-Vampire Lord. The undead are my minions." Its gaze fell upon Christine's still bleeding neck and a whimper escaped its mouth.
She covered the area with her hand and watched in horror as the vampire howled abuse and threatened them with a slow, tortuous death. Zoltan snatched at the cloak but Chekov held it beyond his reach and infuriated, the vampire lunged forward, its nails heading straight for the young man's eyes. Chekov yelled and stumbled back. As he fell onto the ground, Zoltan leaped upon him and plunged its sharp fangs into the exposed neck. Chekov's scream was spine-chilling.
They rolled over and over. Sulu waited for his chance then jumped and hung on to the vampire's back, dragging the creature from its victim.
Christine rushed to the ensign's side. The blood was flowing freely now and she efficiently began to staunch it with the edge of the cloak. Chekov was pale and trembling; he clung to her like a child. "It's all right," she murmured as the flow ceased.
A piercing screech jolted her and she looked up to see the vampire impaled on Sulu's glittering sword. She shuddered as Zoltan's flesh slowly paled to a putrid yellow then dissolved to reveal a diseased skeleton whose bones shook, broke apart and became dust within seconds. Sulu staggered back, the sword hanging limply in his hand, his face pale with shock.
The darkness was lifting and there were signs of the dawn. Avoiding the remains of Zoltan's body, Sulu walked over to his friends, knelt down and drew them into his arms. They clung to one another in a three-way hug as a wind lifted and scattered the grains of dust.
After their emotional greeting, Christine washed their wounds with water. Privately she bemoaned the lack of antibiotics. That vile creature could harbour germs fatal to humans and she could only hope that Wynonna's river water was effective against vampire bites.
Sulu explained how he had acquired the sword. He grinned widely and continued, "I don't know exactly how I got back to shore. I guess Tegan tended my wounds but it's kind of a blur. Next thing I remember is walking along an unknown road and after a time I saw you."
"We're glad that you arrived when you did," Christine said with a smile.
"Absolutely," Chekov agreed. "I, for one, have no vish to be a wampire.".
They decided to leave at once but weak after their ordeal it was impossible to travel far. When they found an abandoned hut, some three hours journey away they unanimously agreed to take advantage of its shelter and reasonable comfort to rest for the remainder of the day and night.
They talked for a while, commiserating over their inability to find the others. Sulu became unnaturally quiet and he lay on his back staring up at the ceiling. Chekov sat, hands clasped around his knees and rocked gently whilst Christine watched them worriedly for a time before deciding that they both might need to unburden themselves.
"What's wrong, Hikaru?" she asked. "Share it with us."
His dark eyes were haunted. "I've been trained in defence, in martial arts, in fencing. I've killed in the line of duty, something I've had to accept, but this place, Chris, I've done more killing here than in my whole career in space." He sat up and shifted into a crosslegged position. "I know it's different, that we're fighting evil forces which'll destroy us and the whole land but it's still hard to live with."
Chekov nodded sympathetically. "There's nothing ve can do, Hikaru. You saved our lives from that undead creature. The whole thing must be fated. Remember my rhyme about the wampire's cloak?"
"Win from him illusion's cloak. I wonder! " Christine murmured. "It might be a cloak of invisibility. Try it on, Pavel."
"Invisibility?" Chekov exclaimed, his excitement apparent in his voice.
Christine smiled. This was exactly what was needed to distract them from any morbid thoughts. If the cloak did make its wearer invisible then that tied in with her own rhyme. How else could a stone be stolen from under the watchful eyes of a dragon?
Chekov placed the cloak around his shoulders and asked, "Vell can you still see me?"
"Yes, Pavel," Sulu replied with a grin. "Wrap it round your body just like the vampire was about to do."
Chekov took a deep breath, drew the edges of the cloak together, and pulled the hood over what appeared now to be his severed head. He enclosed himself within its folds and disappeared. Christine was aware that her mouth was hanging open and quickly shut it but sneaking a glance at Sulu noticed that his expression mirrored her own.
"Vell, can you see me?" A muffled voice reached them.
"Um, no, we can't, Pavel," Sulu exclaimed.
There was silence for long moments then Sulu grunted and fell backwards, laughing helplessly. Christine stared at him in puzzlement. "What is it?" she asked.
"Get him off me," Sulu spluttered. "He's taking unfair advantage."
Christine started to giggle uncontrollably at the sight of the helmsman rolling about the ground, trying to push his invisible attacker away. She moved over to them, put out a hand and touching a cloaked back, grabbed a handful of the material and pulled. Slowly the dark head of the young ensign appeared, his face bright with mischief. He sat back on his heels, looked at them both and beamed.
"You realise what this means, Mr Chekov," she said.
"I don't understand."
"Guess who's going into the dragon's cave?"
His face turned pale. "D..D.. Dragon's c..cave!"
Christine exchanged an amused look with Sulu. There was no-one braver, when necessary, than the young Russian but he did frighten easily at things he did not understand, a failing which his friends affectionately teased him about. Now was no exception especially as they all felt safe here, surrounded by four solid walls, despite the hut's primitive conditions. The ensuing laughter released some of their tensions and after a time they all decided it would be a good idea to get some sleep. Still joking with each other they prepared their makeshift beds.
With a sudden crash, the door burst open.
A flash of fear swept through them all. They twisted around to meet this new menace and saw, outlined by the moonlight, a small, bulky figure standing in the doorway. Christine struggled to control her thumping pulse rate and stood up. The men jumped to their feet and Sulu held his sword in readiness as their visitor moved inside and slammed the door shut.
A misshapen parody of a man faced them. He peered up at them out of bloodshot brown eyes, his lined skin, tangled white hair and beard denoting advanced age. Large pointed ears poked out from beneath his thick hair. "Who are you?" he demanded in a harsh voice. "This is my land and I kill all trespassers."
Sulu stepped forward. "We ask your pardon if we have inadvertently trespassed. We sought shelter for the night. We'll be on our way in the morning."
The dwarf menacingly waved his stone axe. "I, Frith Troll-Chief, will kill you now."
"He's a t.. t.. troll," Chekov stammered in horror.
The troll bowed low with mocking courtesy. "Your executioner, human."
Chekov recoiled as the troll advanced upon him. "Cossack," he shouted. How dare this horrible creature threaten them. "Where we come from it is polite to offer hospitality to strangers." To Chekov's surprise Frith flinched as if in pain. Well he would continue the offensive. "Ve mean you no harm. Ve only want shelter for the night. Maybe you don't mind meeting wampires but ve do."
Frith retreated until he was backed up against the door. "Please do not shout! The noise pains me."
Chekov exchanged knowing glances with his comrades. This was a weakness they could exploit. The little troll would have a fight on his hands if he dared to take all three of them on.
"You met the vampire and still live?" Frith asked.
"Yes," Sulu shouted.. "I killed him with this sword. Do you also want to feel its bite?"
Frith shuddered and lowered his axe. "Nay swordsman. I ask your pardon. I see that you mean no harm. Please feel welcome on my land. Whence do you travel?"
"Drachenfell," Christine replied loudly. "Perhaps you can direct us?"
Frith's mouth opened in astonishment, his small eyes widened and his elongated ears wiggled comically. "You seek the dragons? None go there except the foolhardy."
Chekov grimaced. It was an apt description of their quest. He wrapped the cloak around his chilled body and gave a start at the troll's shriek of terror. Now what was wrong with their unwelcome visitor? What a horrible little man. It was then he realised the cause of Frith's fear and with a grin, Chekov pulled the hood up. The troll dropped his axe, fumbled at the door handle and after several clumsy attempts dragged the door open and ran out into the night.
Christine and Hikaru were laughing. Chekov allowed himself to become partly visible again, grinned at them, walked over to the abandoned axe and picked it up. Its weight almost forced him to drop it. The others held their sides as they howled with mirth. With forced dignity, he hefted the axe into his arms and carried it across to them.
"You look so funny," Christine exclaimed, wiping the tears from her eyes.
"We can only see your head," Sulu added.
Chekov shrugged the cloak back. "Is that better now? It doesn't matter to you if I freeze." He trailed off at Christine's amused look. "Well at least we have another weapon and we're well rid of Frith the troll."
They closed and barred the door before settling down again. Chekov watched as Sulu studied his map by the moonlight shining through the small window. "I guess we're really going to meet a dragon?" he asked.
Sulu nodded. "Christine's rhyme tells of a stone from the dragon's lair. My rhyme came to pass, so did yours. It seems logical, as Mr Spock would say, to assume a cloak of invisibility would be needed to get the stone."
"I don't want Pavel to go into danger," Christine said. "I'll wear it."
Indignation swept through the young man. "Certainly not, Christine. It's my cloak now. Anyway, you're a medic, and it's the responsibility of all other sections to protect you."
"I'm no damsel, Pavel," Christine commented.
"He's right though, Christine," Sulu agreed, much to Chekov's relief. "If we get injured, you can patch us up. Apart from required first aid knowledge, we can't do the same for you."
Christine sighed but did not argue further. "I wonder how far it is to Drachenfell. And if we do get the stone, just what am I meant to use it for?"
Chekov tried to cheer her up. "There's an old Russian saying - 'Vat will be will be'.
"A Russian saying!" Christine said with a chuckle.
"Of course," he exclaimed indignantly.
"Go to sleep, Pavel," she said indulgently.
Chekov grinned, wrapped himself in the warm cloak and fell into an exhausted sleep. He was still groggy in the morning but forced himself to begin the journey ahead. It was a fine morning, the sun shone brightly and there was a pleasant breeze. Despite the others' misgivings, Chekov insisted on carrying the heavy axe, arguing that it would be useful if they encountered any other hostile beings. As the day progressed he began to regret his decision, for the axe seemed to treble in weight with each passing moment, but he would never admit it to his friends.
They followed a nearby river for the rest of the day. Chekov was a little disappointed that there was no signs of any water nymphs. Sulu's encounter with Tegan had sounded so exciting. He could almost visualise a gorgeous female draped naked over the prow of a rowing boat. He sighed and did not notice that he was lagging behind the others until he lost sight of them round a bend in the river. He hurried after them about to call their names when something cold and slimy touched his leg. He gasped and looked down to see a mud encrusted tentacle tightening itself around his ankle. Its slithering length stretched along the ground, disappearing into a bubbling pool of mud only a few metres away.
He cried out as it tugged hard. He lost his balance. "Help. Help," he screamed. The crushing hold tightened until he almost blacked out from the pain. As he was dragged along he scrabbled in a frantic attempt to gain purchase on the hard ground. "Sulu. Christine. Help me," he cried. Tears of pain almost blinded him. "Help!"
"Pavel." Voices reached him faintly through the almost deafening buzz in his ears.
Time stood still as he suddenly remembered the final part of his rhyme . 'but 'ware the pool of mud.'
He was drawn along inch by painful inch. "No!" he whispered in horror.
His leg touched a thick sucking liquid and he cried out with the fearful knowledge that he had reached the pool. With a strength born out of desperation he lunged forward, managing to pull himself a short distance away, but the pressure on him increased and he was soon being dragged back to the foul mud and certain death.