* * *
To the north of where Washburrn and his companions made camp, Emit and all six of his comrades were alive and eager. The cellar of an oval-shaped temple ruin concealed them quite well, thought Emit. He grinned, then gave an eerie laugh. The temple ruin stood tall. Beyond it, steep cliffs and waterfalls stretched all along a lengthy portion of the north coast.
Emit stared out a small window and ripped away a loose shutter that had been flapping back and forth from wind and rain. He drew near the once beautiful temple doors, turned to his comrades, and tossed the weathered shutter to his side. “This temple may have to serve us if we aren’t able to make it to Chamquinil before Double-Sun-Day.” Emit’s long red hair, orange eyes, thin silverish-blue face, and posture all created a picture of someone obsessed with greed.
He ascended a wide set of stone steps where preachers once led services. He looked at Yamm, another new crew-Zac. “Thanks to you, we have the documents with the information we’ll need to conduct our ritual.” He held out part of what appeared to be an oversize golden dinner plate. “They can’t stop us, not as long as we possess this piece of the Caytona Shield.”
A lantern sat on what looked like a short stone pillar, with three more pillars resting nearby. Emit stood next to a large slab of stone lying on the altar floor. He looked at the stone slab which had once been used for an altar table. He took the lantern from the short stone pillar and demanded his comrades place the stone slab on top of the four short stone pillars. He was determined to prepare the ancient temple for their ceremony.
When the stone slab had been set in place, Emit was pleased with himself. He strutted across the floor, his long red hair pulled back in a ragged ponytail that flopped against his upper backside. “If needed, this temple will do,” he repeated, acting like a high priest.
Mekon sat at the foot of the altar steps looking into a mirror. With a straightedge blade in hand and hog fat rubbed on the lower half of his face, he began to shave. But it seemed he had something on his mind. “Emit,” he pleaded, “if our high priest doesn’t get that chest before Double-Sun-Day, he’ll have us all hung until our flesh hangs from our bodies for him to chew on.”
Emit took a swig of water. “You worry too much, my old friend.” He leaned close and laid his hand on Mekon’s head, “I don’t see why you and I shouldn’t take advantage of this temple and become high priests ourselves. We’ve already talked about this.”
Mekon frowned. “There can be only one high priest. And that is our dear Chamquinil Trade School Professor. And that is the way it should remain.”
“But once I let myself become possessed by Kebadon. With you at my side, the Professor won’t have a chance at overthrowing us.” Emit glanced around at his comrades, greed possessed his expression. “No one has been possessed by Kebadon’s powers for over a thousand years.”
Mekon carefully leaned his head back to shave under his chin. “I’m not so sure about this, Emit.”
Emit looked excitedly at his fellow Grongels. “After we have the ceremony, we can leave this island, but still claim it as our own. It’s perfect. No one can see us here, but we can catch sight of them.” An eerie chuckle slipped between his thin lips. “It even has its own moat with flesh-eating creatures to keep away unwanted company.”
“I say we focus our attentions on obtaining that chest,” Mekon argued, “and get off this island before Double-Sun-Day.” He set his mirror aside. “Emit, if it weren’t for the Professor, you and I’d be no more than a couple of common thieves. He’s brought us much wealth already.” Mekon stood, blade still in hand. “I’m not betraying our Master.”
“Master …?” Emit scoffed. “The Master is the one who permits Kebadon to possess him. Once his powers are fully released, the entire world will be ours. The ancient scrolls tell us this.” Emit got in Mekon’s face. His dark lines under his eyes, blemished thin face, and bad breath was only inches away from Mekon. Emit turned and walked away. He then looked at him with a pleading stare. “Be with me on this. I promise you more wealth then you’ve ever laid eyes on.” Emit’s dark-orange eyes peered into Mekon’s. “You need to seriously think on this. The more Zacs we recruit, the more powerful we’ll become.” He laughed. “It’ll be the same as it was in the days of our ancestors.” He kept on trying to persuade Mekon into overthrowing the only remaining high priest, a professor from the Chamquinil School of Thought, who at that very moment was at the trade school waiting for the ancient artifacts.
Mekon, with blond curly hair and wise in his own twisted way, stepped up to the altar platform and stood next to Emit. He shook a fist at the altar, straightedge blade in hand. “I don’t feel right about this at all.”
“That’s what I like about you, Mekon.” Emit picked up the mirror and combed his mustache. “You always say what’s on your mind. Loyal too. You think about my offer.” He paused. “You need me as much as I need you.”
The heavyset Namferic stood at the weathered temple doors. “I do believe Malnur’s coming.” He took a second look. “No, it’s Jayden.”
Jayden rushed in, breathing heavily. “Seems we’ve got company from Captain Joenf’s camp. I could be wrong, but I’d say they’re bedding down in one of those abandoned huts near the waterhole.”
Emit leaned against the altar and began to sharpen his dagger. “Who’s amongst them?”
“That Treb and his son, and Romeous. Couldn’t say who else.”
Emit looked in the mirror once more, then handed it back to Mekon. “If that Malnur doesn’t arrive soon, we’ll have a nurse to sacrifice instead.” He smiled, exposing his yellow teeth. “One fresh heart and liver is as good as another.”
The weathered doors opened again. “It’s Malnur.” Yamm nudged Jayden. “He’s in trouble.”
“He’s always in trouble.”
Emit gestured for him to come closer.
“Sorry, Emit.” Malnur took a few deep breaths and rested on the altar steps. “I’ve brought good news,” he said as he fastened his Grongel necklace around his neck.
Emit stood at the altar alongside Mekon. Mekon’s long blond curly hair and blue eyes glistened in the lantern’s light. “Tell us this good news,” Mekon said as he looked into the mirror making sure he’d shaved off all his whiskers.
“First of all,” Malnur took a deep breath, “some of them are camped in one of those ruins near the main trail.”
“We have our eyes on them,” Emit said. “If they don’t make a move tonight, then neither shall we.” He waved at him to continue.
“Three Zacs ransacked their camp. That new crew-Zac Luxton was one of them, and two passengers. It happened while most of them were at the beach.”
“We know about the ship passing by without seeing them.” Emit said. “We’ve had our eye on them. What about this Luxton and the other two with him, you were saying?”
Malnur bowed respectfully. “The Captain’s group caught them, and they think they’re with us.”
Emit untied his ponytail and shook out his long red hair. “What about our ritual artifacts?”
Greed overwhelmed Malnur’s normally kind and gentle face. “I overheard Washburrn telling Captain Joenf they had the chest buried on the west end.” He rose from the steps and looked at them. “The word in camp is… the key that looks like a dagger came from the chest.” He began handing out zuetia leaves to everyone.
Emit stuffed a leaf in his mouth and began to chew. “How can that be? It’s not one of our ritual tools. I’ve read the list we have here with us.”
Mekon took the pieces of parchment from the small chest. “Apparently you didn’t go over the entire list or the rest of the information.” He pointed at one of the pieces. “Here,” he said forcefully. “It may be written sideways on this piece of parchment, but it’s here. And it’s circled.”
While they remained quietly waiting for Emit to read every piece of parchment, Mekon thought about the dagger-key. Though he didn’t know how to
tap into them powers, he wasn’t going to tell Emit what magical powers it had. He thought to himself, If he is able to open the peg-lock canister in the chest and becomes possessed by Kebadon, it’s possible I’d be able to kill him by using the dagger-key. I’ll be rewarded handsomely for returning the artifacts. With or without Emit.
Emit glanced around at everyone, then at Mekon. “These pieces of parchment tell us in detail how to perform the ceremony on the eve of Double-Sun-Day, but there’s not one word about that dagger-key anywhere on these pages. He frowned. “We don’t need that key any more than we need the high priest of Chamquinil.” Dropping the parchment pieces on top of the small chest, he walked away, but looked somewhat baffled.
While Mekon gathered the scattered pieces and neatly placed them in the small chest, he thought about the dagger-key turning into sand while in his pocket. Or did Krow or Nelg nip it from my cloak before they were killed? “We should find this dagger-key and hold on to it for safekeeping.”
Emit waved his arm in apparent agreement. “Be on the safe side,” he said. He did not like to play it safe, but he was thinking only about becoming high priest. “We’ll do whatever it takes. I want it here.” He turned to Namferic and Healcox. “You two will be responsible for retrieving that key.”
Healcox went to a pile of fresh bones with bits of dry meat hanging from them. He tossed another bone onto the pile and nodded “I think I know how they found it,” he said as he slipped his dagger into its sheath.
“We can talk about that later.” Emit took from his pocket a torn piece of parchment and handed it to Malnur. “Now I want you to take this note, and make sure Washburrn gets it. Yamm, Jayden, and you are going to take Alil captive.” He gave them a small pouch. “Slip this into her drink. She won’t give you any trouble once she drinks this.” He chuckled. “They’re sure to trade her for some lifeboats and the peg-lock chest. That’s if they want to see her alive again.” He said as he stepped down from the altar and went to the small window. He stared at the ruins of the stone cabins, which had once been a small town on top the mountain. And in his own greedy ways, Emit wondered if he should kill off Treb and Bekim, and anyone else with them. Be less to worry about later, he thought.
Down from the temple ruin a ways, and obscured from view, Washburrn was also looking out a window in the same direction as the temple ruin. Unaware of its occupants, he and his companions were doing their best to keep dry. Rain dripped from the leaky roof, which only partly protected them. “Well, things could be worse,” Washburrn joked to ease the tension.
“We should try and find a drier place,” Bekim suggested. “Our shed back home we use to slaughter wallong for market is a king’s palace compared to this dump.”
“I was up here before, and they’re all very much the same,” Washburrn said as he poured himself a cup of water and sat down near an open window. A moment later they heard thunder, followed by a bolt of lighting flashing across the sky. Like a huge whip smacking the wind, the cool night air began to echo about them, creating haunting sounds like children crying. A hint of fear crept into their Zacterronian bones. They stood watch with only the warmth of their blankets draped over their cloaks. For a while, each of them was in his own world wondering if and when the Grongels might attack.
Werdna loosened his scarf securing his hat to his head and shook his head sorrowfully. “We’ve been so deceived, all of us.”
“Well.” Washburrn glanced at Dylc, who was sound asleep, and spoke in a soft tone. It was almost a whisper. “Goes to show you, sometimes you can never tell.” Washburrn pondered the thought as he held his cup firmly between both hands. “One of my old teachers, Lord Windslowe, once told me that wicked Zacs can sometimes appear friendly, and friendly Zacs can sometimes appear wicked. He also told me to always believe and trust in who you are, and the truth will be sure to follow.”
The ruin became quiet as everyone took in Washburrn’s philosophy.
Washburrn gulped down the rest of his water and looked out the empty window frame, noting the weather was starting to clear. Odds are those Grongels, or whoever they are, are out there watching us from one of these ruins. He set his cup on the empty windowsill and thought about Kyhawn. He noticed how the cup sitting there by itself created a unique composition of mysterious simplicity. Kyhawn might think it would make for a terrific painting, he thought as he took his cup from the windowsill and once again held it firmly between his hands.
The Dagger-Key and The Lost Treasures of Kebadon Page 34
