Part Two - The Monster of Crystal Lake (The Unfinished Prophecy Book 2)

by Maggie Akhurst

  “Someone like the Councillor,” Cierra said quietly. Her eye was caught by the locket that Dru was twirling. Trying to pull her thoughts away from the Darkness, she idly asked him where he’d got it.

  “A Healer of the Ky’ren Order in the Palamissi Kingdom gave it to me,” he explained, looking slightly embarrassed and tucking it away. “It was a gift of thanks for helping out the Order when they were in trouble. She told me that one day I’d need it. I have no idea how to open it or what’s inside. I’m not even sure if there is anything inside. She could have been having me on, for all I know. I only took it to be polite.” His hand rose to where it rested underneath his uniform. “I don’t even know why I wear it. Perhaps I believe what she said. Just a little.”

  “Maybe it brings you luck,” Cierra suggested with a smile. “Your lucky charm!”

  Dru raised an eyebrow, but didn’t disagree with her. Despite what he said, she could see that it still held importance for him.

  She held up her own charms. The droplet still pointed ahead through the arid land. “Where do you think we’re going?”

  Dru sighed. “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”

  “You asked one just then,” Cierra pointed out.

  He conceded with a nod. “We’re heading towards the Crystal Lake, as far as I can tell. I’m not a hundred percent certain on that though. These plains can be very disorientating. People can wander for days, going in circles. Everything looks the same so it’s hard to know. Even for us, with something to guide us, it’s difficult,” he said, pointing to her bracelet.

  She glanced down and realised that in the couple of minutes it had been since she last checked, they had strayed slightly off-course and the charm now pointed a little to their left. They corrected themselves and Cierra made a mental note to keep better track of their progress. “I see what you mean.”

  A series of howls from behind made them look back. Even though she’d known they were coming, Cierra still felt a shock to see the dark smudges at the edge of the plain. The Darkness wolves had caught up to them. They howled again and started to race towards their prey.

  Dru spun her back in the direction they had been travelling in for the past hour or so and pushed her forward. She stumbled, then regained her footing and kept running.

  Dru pointed ahead. “See that large rock formation?” he yelled.

  She nodded, noting the oddly shaped boulders in the distance.

  “Head for that, it’ll give us some protection.”

  She redoubled her efforts. The rocks looked impossibly far away. The speedy wolves seemed certain to reach them before they reached the shelter of the rocks. She could already hear them getting nearer and nearer. For every step she took, they seemed to bound forward at least three.

  She had a sudden absurd moment when she felt as if she was back in her dream. Running, but not seeming to get anywhere, something dark chasing her. She shoved the thought from her mind.

  She was sure she could feel the hot breath of the wolves on her heels, but the rock formation was still out of reach. She was slowing down, running out of energy. Dru propelled her forwards as much as he could, but there was only so much her body could take.

  In a quick, confusing second, Dru had picked her up and, in a blinding dash of speed, got them to the boulders. He pushed her roughly into a small gap between the rocks, then spun away from her, drawing his sword and facing the assault of Darkness wolves as they descended.

  The leader of the pack leapt and Dru swung, knocking the wolf away. It yelped, wounded, but not dead. More attacked, trying to get through his carefully maintained guard. He dropped a few, lowering their numbers bit by bit. Cierra was dismayed to see so many of them. There were at least twenty wolves in total, minus the few that Dru had already managed to kill. She found it hard to believe that one man could defeat them all.

  It was clear that the wolves knew their strength was in their numbers. They tried surrounding Dru, attacking from all sides to overpower and confuse him. Cierra watched in growing apprehension as a few slunk towards her, using Dru’s preoccupation with those surrounding him to escape his notice. She gritted her teeth and held her charm bracelet out, the only weapon she had. She kept quiet, not wanting to cause him to lose focus. I can defend myself against a couple of measly wolves, she told herself.

  The three wolves crept closer. The first was almost within touching distance. It snapped at her, testing the danger. Emboldened, it snarled and went at her.

  With reflexes she didn’t know she possessed, Cierra struck back with her fist, knocking the deadly jaws aside and letting the silver bracelet connect with the wolf’s oily fur. It let out a pained yelp before bursting into black powder and dissolving.

  Massaging her scratched knuckles, she eyed the two other wolves who seemed intent on attacking, even after what had happened to the previous wolf. They crowded in, their putrid breaths making Cierra feel ill. These two were careful, judging their next moves. She wouldn’t be getting out of this unscathed. She’d been wrong. This wasn’t a fairy tale.

  Dru, however, had not been made an Elite member of the Protectors for no good reason it seemed. He appeared behind the wolves and swung his sword with long practice and skill. The head of one wolf rolled on the ground and the other was speared in the side. Neither wolf had a chance to even realise what was going on. Dru spun back to face the remaining seven enemies.

  Cierra, watching from her nook in the rock, was spell-bound by the display of his prowess. She’d never seen anyone use a sword, let alone the way Dru used his. It was almost magical the way he seemed to be able to predict what they would do and how he should swing his sword to retaliate. She wondered if some of that unearthly skill came from his fairy ancestor.

  The battle was going badly for the wolves. They withdrew for a moment, the leader of the pack limping to the front. It bared its teeth at him then charged, putting everything into a final attack, the other six following close behind. Cierra put a hand to her mouth, stifling a cry of warning. She didn’t want to distract him, but under such an onslaught, how could Dru keep them off?

  He’s already fought against nearly twenty of the beasts, she tried to remind herself. Seven shouldn’t be a problem, even if they are more coordinated this time… She wanted to turn away, but she watched fearfully.

  Dru didn’t seem fazed at all. In fact, he seemed almost glad. He crouched, steadying himself, then began a series of complicated strokes and swings. The blade was ruthless, no more than a flash of light through the air. Within moments, five of the wolves had been killed and the final two retreated, growling at him, before turning and slinking away. The leader of the pack lay dead in front of him.

  He turned away as the dead wolves began to disintegrate, the black powder that they became blowing away in the small breeze. He sheathed his bloodless sword – Darkness creatures didn’t appear to bleed – and offered Cierra a hand to help her up. Shakily, she took it. For a moment, she clung to him, unable to stand, shock sinking in at the danger she could have been in if it weren’t for Dru. He let her lean on him, saying nothing.

  “How ... how did you do that?” she asked eventually, pushing away from him slightly.

  “Practice,” he answered lightly, keeping an arm around her waist to keep her upright.

  Cierra shook her head. “I’ve never seen anyone with a sword before, but I’m sure that was more than simple practice.”

  Dru shrugged. “I have been told that my skill with the sword is unparalleled. I don’t tend to listen to it much. Using my sword is natural. It’s what I do. What I was born to do.”

  Cierra was starting to feel steadier, her breathing calmer. She pulled away from him, deliberately keeping her eyes off the fading corpses of Darkness. The wind was quickly erasing all traces of the wolves, blowing the black dust across the desert.

  She held the bracelet up. It pointed to their left.

  “I vote we get going before back-up arrives,” she said.

  Dru
nodded, following as she led the way across the plain.

  2 Councillor Skjor

  The High Councillor watched the swift defeat of his creatures in a pool of Darkness. His lip curled as he paced away from the stone bowl that held the swirling images. He didn’t need this complication. It was bad enough that the charm bracelet had turned up only to slip from his grasp minutes later. He hadn’t expected the Protector to help the girl. He’d thought the boy was still under the impression that he was helping the Council stop the Darkness. Perhaps it had been the threat of losing his status as a Protector that had turned him against the Council.

  Still, none of it would matter in the end if he could get his hands on that bracelet. Even if the two of them managed to get a couple of the charms into place, the Darkness wouldn’t completely lift until every single one had been used. His own plans only required one charm to succeed. One would be enough to provide him with the power he needed for his final goal. His eyes narrowed as he came to a stop before one of the full-length windows lining the wall. He gazed across the kingdom. He would avenge his family.

  He clasped his hands behind him. The girl was a nuisance, but not an insurmountable obstacle. He was fairly certain that he would be able to convince her to hand the bracelet over in the end, as long as he could separate her from the influence of the young Protector. It would be a shame to have to dispose of him. He was by far one of the best in Elturia. He’d been a good subject, willing to put into effect the orders that the Council had given him. He’d been counterpoint in advancing several sections of Darkness, although he hadn’t known it and hadn’t seemed to suspect. Unlike others...

  Councillor Skjor frowned as he caught sight of the elderly gatekeeper through the tall window. The old man had once been a Protector apparently. It wasn’t exactly rare that retired Protectors were delegated to gate duty, but the Councillor sometimes wondered if the Protectors hadn’t been trying to keep tabs on him. Had they suspected something was going on?

  He shrugged to himself. Too late for them to do anything now, he sneered. He’d ordered all of the Protectors to patrol the borders on the pretence of making sure no Darkness leaked into other kingdoms. There was no way that the gatekeeper would be able to send a message to anyone in time to do anything.

  He didn’t have to worry about the other fools who had called themselves councillors either. They wouldn’t be sending any messages for aid. When their initial prey had vanished, the hungry wolves he’d released earlier that day had turned on those idiots. None had survived. He’d made absolutely sure of that. A dark grin twisted his lips.

  The swirling pool of Darkness caught his eye and he glanced back. That young Protector was really a worthy opponent. The girl ... he wasn’t sure about her. From what he’d seen, she was feisty, but that could be a cover. A face to hide the insecurity and fear.

  He turned away from the pool. Why is she persisting in this futile mission? That thought was bothering him. Hadn’t Dru told her the consequences of using the bracelet and its charms? Didn’t she know what could happen to her? No, not what could happen, but what would happen. Everyone knew the dire consequences of using the bracelet. It didn’t make any sense that she would put her life in danger for a world she didn’t belong to.

  Not unless... A smile hovered on his lips. The Protector hasn’t told her! “Oh, you wicked, wicked boy,” he chuckled.

  Maybe... just maybe... he still had an advantage. An ace to play if all else failed.

  His eyes hardened and the faint smile vanished. It would still be better to end this now.

  He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, making his way down a series of lavishly decorated hallways. He headed for the western wing of the building, and as he continued, the hallways grew less and less decorated. The hangings on the walls became more infrequent, the thick carpets becoming scarcer, until there was only bare stone.

  He reached a wooden door. This was the door to the western dungeons and no one entered them except for the Councillor himself. He’d forbidden it. There was a guard posted next to it, even though there were no prisoners. There were never any prisoners in the western dungeons, but there was always a guard. The man let him pass, saluting. Skjor closed the door firmly behind him.

  Flaming torches in their brackets were the only illumination here. They cast flickering black shadows where the light did not reach, but it didn’t frighten the Councillor. Why should he be afraid? He controlled the Darkness. It obeyed him.

  He hurried down the dreary hallway and turned a corner, making his way to the very end of the corridor. At the last door in the hallway, he stopped and fumbled at his neck for a moment, pulling out a chain with a heavy iron key on it. Sliding the key into the lock, he turned it and heard the mechanism clunk. It creaked loudly as it swung open. The hinges hadn’t been oiled in many years.

  The room behind the door was far from impressive - it was a dungeon after all, complete with damp walls, clinking chains and scurrying rats. Skjor ignored all of this. His attention was focused on only one thing.

  In the centre of the room was a tall wooden stool, standing on three legs. On it sat an ancient blue vase, traced with tiny hairline cracks. It was large, made for ornamentation rather than any useful purpose. The design on it was of dark, scrawling writing in an illegible tangle. Three symbols at the front and centre of the vase were defined, but even they made no sense.

  Skjor approached almost reverently and lifted the lid that sealed the opening. Eerie whispers immediately began to echo in the room. In the vase, undiluted Darkness seethed and roiled with hatred and anger, itching to escape the confines of the vessel that kept it carefully contained.

  His sight blurred and suddenly he was in the past, the whispers of the Darkness becoming screams of terror and the clanging of alarm bells. He was a young boy, barely nine years old. His elder sister, Annalee, was beside him as his mother pushed them into hiding.

  “Skjor, Annalee, stay hidden until the Protectors get here,” she told them. “We’ll be safe once they arrive.” She tried to smile, but even as young as he was, he heard the fear and uncertainty in her voice.

  She replaced the wooden panel of their cramped hiding place and turned away. Skjor watched through the peephole as a group of three raiders beat down the front door. His father stood in their way, holding a sword. Skjor knew he couldn’t use it properly. They kept that old thing mainly for show and to deter thieves. He made a few clumsy swings at the assailants. Ruthlessly, they cut him down. His mother screamed and stepped towards the body. One of the raiders held her back, a dagger to her throat. He was a huge brute with a thick knotted scar down his uncovered arm. “Tell us where you keep your money and jewellery,” he demanded.

  She resisted. “We don’t have any.”

  The brute seemed unconcerned by her lack of cooperation. He jerked his head at the two other thugs and they began ransacking the house.

  Annalee whimpered when a small vase shattered against the thin wood panel that hid them. The raiders didn’t seem to notice. It didn’t take them long to finish searching. There wasn’t much of value in their poor family. The big raider shoved his mother away from himself and she stumbled and fell to her knees in the blood of his father. The sound of her crying made Skjor’s blood run cold. She cursed and screamed at the raiders as they prepared to leave, taking what they’d found and moving on to the next house.

  Skjor tried to pull himself from the memory with no success. He didn’t want to relive this. Why did the Darkness always bring up the nightmares from his past?

  He couldn’t look away as he saw the last raider behind his mother lift his dagger and plunge it into her exposed back. She cried out once then slumped over her husband. The raider stepped over them without looking back. As the memory began to fade, he saw his sister crying. His eyes were dry.

  The vision vanished. He was back in the dungeon. He shook his head violently. The stench of blood seemed to linger. His family’s blood.

  That was the da
y that he had begun hating the Protectors. They hadn’t saved his parents. They would pay for letting him down. He would save his family and then he would go on to destroy the Order of the Protectors. They would get what was coming to them.

  He began to chant, muttering words of power from a dark, long-forgotten language. He channelled his anger into the words. The Darkness in the vase seemed to grow more agitated in response. The whispers grew louder.

  Darkness began to snake in tendrils over the lip of the vase, pooling on the stone floor and starting to form a shape. This creature would be relentless, without pity or mercy. It would destroy everything in its path. Skjor found himself pulling away from it.

  He continued to murmur, the words coming faster. Darkness poured out of the vase and fed the growing creature.

  The words stopped. So did the Darkness. It retreated back to its vase, leaving only the thing that had been created.

  Skjor carefully placed the lid back over the vase and the dark whispers were silenced. He turned to his new-born creature of Darkness. It stared at him with malevolent red eyes.

  “The girl with the bracelet and the young Protector,” he instructed it. “They are your targets. Kill them, but bring me that bracelet. Take the hidden paths to Desolate Desert. You should find them there.”

  The frightening creature turned and lumbered out of the dungeon room. The Councillor watched it go, knowing that it would keep to the secret passages that led through the cliff-face. No one would know that it came from the Council Chambers.

  Behind him, the vase shook a little on its stool, as if a tempest was raging within. Another tiny crack appeared on the vase.

  Unaware, Skjor left the dungeon, locking the door behind him, making his way back to his more comfortable rooms.