Storm of Prophecy, Book I: Dark Awakening

by Michael Von Werner

  Filled with utter madness and bloodlust, Vincent heated his blade red hot, enough to cut through metal, and charged in further. Before he could get close enough to hit the gray scales on its underside, they wyvern hopped back a step like a bird and tried to snap its jaws onto him again. Furious at the delay to his satisfaction, Vincent swung upward angrily and caught the tip of its forked red tongue and several of its lower teeth, cutting them off about halfway. Its upper ones were unaffected and speared painfully several inches into his upper back and shoulders, forcing a yell of anguish from his throat. The points slid against bone and he dropped to his knees in agony.

  The wyvern recoiled its head again with a roar after suffering an agony of its own and then seemed to notice that it had gained the upper hand. Vincent wished it would try to bite him again so he could make it hurt more, but he knew that it had learned better. The beast began opening its now deformed jaws, and bright green flame began blossoming from deep within its mouth, illuminating in that brief instant the pink tissue inside. Vincent watched, knowing it was the last thing he would see.

  In the next split instant just as the blast was clearing its mouth, a huge boulder suddenly clouted the side of its head with enough speed and force to knock it aside and send the horrific green streaking blaze shooting far off through the sky to Vincent’s right.

  “Get away from him!” He heard his cousin yell at the wyvern in a strained voice, falling to one knee. “You bastard!” Vincent knew it must have taken everything Karl had to throw that boulder; there wouldn’t be another.

  Against the terrible pain in his badly pierced and bleeding back, Vincent let his full fury wash over him like molten steel to the point of insanity and forced a renewed attack. Pure rage made him ignore all pain as he yelled angrily like a madman and rushed in to swing his heated blade hard at the creature, over and over again. Its hide was so tough that the long, ragged scars which streaked across its scales dug in only superficially into its flesh yet inflicted enough harm to make the wyvern back up several steps. It still hadn’t recovered from the dazing blow to its head and was starting to panic from this new onslaught. Vincent swung mercilessly, his crazed wrath convincing him that he could kill it, that he would kill it.

  In its confusion, even as it retreated and tried to get its bearings on where Vincent was, Karl used his power to rip from the ground and hurl wet grass-strewn clumps of sod into its face again, missing its eyes on the first attempt, but not on the second. “I said get away!” He shouted again angrily. Pieces of the wet mud and grass roots fell from its head around Vincent but were barely even registered in his consciousness, his only thought being to kill, to cut, to strike down.

  Finally realizing that this quarry was most certainly not worth the trouble, the battered, blinded, and scarred wyvern began to turn around and flee. As it did, Vincent viciously kept hacking at it, making a small cut at the base of its right wing and hacking at its tail as it ran to take flight once more. It tried to swat him away with its tail, but he rewarded its effort only by bringing his sword down on it, the powerful impact making the blade cut in deeper even as he was pushed away. The tearing off motion removed some of the force with which he was flung away. He felt the wind knocked out him as he landed hard on his side.

  He couldn’t see above the tall grass as he lay dizzy and winded, yet he heard the flaps of its wings and was able to tell that it was gone at last. Before he knew it, Karl was standing behind where he lay. He cursed at seeing all the blood and asked if Vincent was still alive.

  “I’m still here…” Vincent murmured.

  Karl cursed again and was beginning to panic. “Those bite marks are huge! There’s no way we’re going to get back before you bleed to death!” He cursed again. “And what the hell happened to Stacy! Where is she!”

  Vincent fought the pain the motion brought and took out his knife, heating it red hot. He had trouble getting his words out between pained breaths. “Stacy’s…behind a tree…here, take this and press it on…press it on…before I run out of time.”

  Karl understood without him explaining it, and cursed obscenely again before taking the knife carefully by the handle as if he wanted nothing to do with it. Vincent clenched his teeth shut, this time making sure his own tongue was behind them. He could not see it but immediately felt the intense, burning, searing agony as the flat of the blade was pressed to his flesh. Karl had not bothered to take off Vincent’s shirt since he was in a hurry, yet still seemed able to find just where the applications were needed. Vincent sweated profusely and gritted his teeth hard each time it was pressed. Somehow, his pride at being strong enough not to lose consciousness from it was small solace; the pain was making him wish he wasn’t quite so strong.

  A new worry hit him. “Make sure they’re seared all the way shut,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “I am, I am!” Karl replied. “Just hold still, damn it!” He could tell that his cousin wasn’t having very much fun with this either.

  After he was finished, he returned Vincent’s glowing knife and helped him stand. Enormous pain shot through Vincent’s back as he bent down to pick up his sword and return it to its scabbard. He managed but still felt dizzy, and his vision was distorted somewhat with tiny specks flying around that only he could see. He felt pain in his ribs with each breath, but the breaths made the specks go away.

  “Where’s Stacy?” Karl asked again.

  Vincent painfully lifted his right hand to point. “She’s back there. Come…I’ll show you.”

  Sensing his trauma, Karl walked slowly with him back toward the spot on the outskirts of the forest where he had hid her, using his hands to help steady Vincent’s balance. He also did not appear to want to hurry, Vincent could tell, because he too was clearly exhausted. On the way, Vincent kicked at a long tooth fragment he had cut from the wyvern. A slight wind rippled the grass and Karl’s green robes. The gray cloudy sky brightened its bleak overcast the slightest bit.

  When they got to Stacy, her face was pale and she appeared in just as bad a shape as before. Her skin around the top of her neck had blackened scars where Vincent had put his heated knife to stop the bleeding. Long wet brown hair matted the sides of her face and was covered in charred spruce needles and forest debris at the top, clogged with mud and blood toward the bottom. Her dress was soiled with it even more, bearing the signs of every fall she had taken with him, and there was still a crimson smear on her side from the neck stump of the zombie that crashed into her. She lay motionless and restful, her scraped up and cut face somehow retaining its beauty despite her ordeal.

  “What happened to her?” Karl asked. “She’s not…is she?”

  “No.” Vincent leaned his shoulder on the tree next to her, taking his breaths slowly and conscientiously, barely able to stand. Karl looked back to him silently with a curious and concerned expression. Vincent regretted saying the next part through his pained breaths but had to. “I don’t think…I can carry her any longer…could you please…?”

  Karl held up a hand to reassure him. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Just as he bent over to grab a hold of her, Stacy began to stir again, moving her head to the side slightly. She let out a small moan. Karl’s hands completed their journey to her upper arms and she let out another moan behind her closed lips. Her blue eyes opened slightly.

  “Vincent?” She asked weakly, not seeing who it was.

  “I’m here,” he whispered in reassurance from above them. “So is Karl…we’re going home.”

  She let out a faint moaning grunt of a breath through her nose. “We’re not back yet?” She asked in barely conscious delirium.

  “We will be soon…just hang on a little longer.”

  “Can you stand?” Karl asked. “Here, let me help you to your feet.” With her barely audible voice, she accepted his assistance and he gently lifted her up.

  Vincent wondered about their other friend. “Have you seen Rick?” He asked while Karl did this.

  “No.
Have you?”

  Vincent was beginning to fear the worst. “We saw him get attacked by a mob of undead just before we escaped,” he replied in disappointment. “I hope he’s still alive.”

  “He should be, knowing him. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  Vincent sighed and turned his head away. Stacy had already come far too close and was still in danger; the thought of losing another of his friends was unbearable. He wanted to help him but knew there was nothing he could hope to do. If Rick was even alive, then he was just going to have to make it back on his own without them.

  Karl helped Stacy to meekly sling one arm over his neck and held it there by grasping her wrist. He put his other arm around her waist and aided her in the now difficult task of standing and walking. Wounded and exhausted, the three of them slowly set out for Gadrale Keep with Vincent walking on Karl and Stacy’s left. To Vincent’s surprise, Karl’s wide flat rock scurried out of the brush and followed them, dragging itself through the tall grass. Vincent smiled wearily at the sight, marveling at the tremendous mental discipline that his cousin must have accrued from his training.

  They both kept a wary eye to the sky.

  Chapter XIII

  It was a gray cloudy morning. There was no more rain, though the ground and the dirt road remained somewhat soggy from what had been left there the night before. Wind rustled through the tall dead grass, chilling their wet bodies. Atop the rise, Gadrale’s massive stone keep rose above its high walls. Like a giant spear, the Tower of Prophecy protruded into the sky. The vine-covered outer wall of the campus grew closer to them such that it fooled the eye into believing it could rival that of the fortress. The three weary companions were granted entry through the blue iron gate by a different keeper, without so much as a word.

  They returned home that morning in a complete mess. They were bloody, covered in mud, wet, cut, beaten, and wounded. And Stacy was as pale as a ghost. People on campus stared openly in utter and complete shock as they trudged ahead on the cobblestone road that divided the campus and led up to the keep. Even Karl, the least hurt of the three, had still been drenched by the rain and looked as though it had washed away his strength. The crowd increased when people further away noticed others among them staring at some spectacle and moved closer to see what was going on. Many passed whispers between each other, asking that very question.

  People Vincent knew either by name or by passing acquaintance stood transfixed at his blood soaked face, hair, and clothing. His bruises, cuts, the mud and debris all over him, and the general disarray in which he appeared drew sharp gasps from women in the crowd. He was in far too much pain from each step, each breath, that he could not bring himself to feel the least bit self-conscious. The one strong emotion he felt, even more than misery brought on by pain and fatigue, was a profound relief at being safely back.

  Karl continued carrying Stacy along as the three of them walked on toward the keep. Everyone and anyone, it seemed, who was out and about had gathered around to watch them trudging up the wide paved path. Vincent kept putting one foot in front of the other without thinking about how long the full distance was; it was too staggering, and so he fixed his thoughts only on the immediate.

  A number of his painful breaths and steps later, they were nearly at the keep. Those who exited the gatehouse up ahead of them to come outside, stopped and stared. Vincent glanced off to his left and saw that a small grouping of onlookers had been drawn there as well. He was surprised when he at last saw Jessica emerge slowly from the crowd, her face looking distraught from he knew not what until she got a glimpse of him and it changed to alarm.

  Her gorgeous blue eyes were wide the entire time when she drew in for a closer look. He looked down at the blood, dirt, and debris covering his body. The swaying of her light tan dress and long silky black hair when she approached to help was a lovely yet rapid sight, or else it was his own mind that had slowed down. He didn’t know.

  Her face was that of a worried angel as her hand reached out to grab his arm. “You’re going to be alright.” Her touch felt gentle and warm on his sore, blood-soaked arm. She spoke slowly as though talking to someone who was hurt so bad they had trouble understanding. “I’m going to help take you to the infirmary, okay? Do you think you can handle it?”

  At that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything in response and just stood there thinking that she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Seeing her after such turmoil and suffering was like the sun’s warmth overcoming the cold darkness. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold on, and was glad that he was at least going to see her one last time.

  She studied his appearance more closely. She made a small gasp when she discovered the wounds on his back. “Vincent?” She covered her mouth with a hand as her eyes welled up with tears. “No…no…” she cried in disbelief, “gods no…” Her eyes moved uncomfortably toward Karl and then paid particular attention to Stacy in a way Vincent found odd before moving back to his.

  He began to smile at her through his pain and fatigue. He put a bloody hand on her arm. “It’s alright,” he barely whispered. She didn’t look like she believed him.

  Their eyes remained fixed, each on the other. He felt his chest heat up as his heart began to beat faster. It was one exertion too many. Jessica tried in vain to catch him as the cobblestone road suddenly reached up and slammed into his chest.

  Feet rushed in around him.

  * * *

  When he awoke, he was laying in the infirmary. A comfortable, warm bed and soft white sheets surrounded his body. Upon taking a deep breath, the aroma of soap and balm filled his nostrils. Rows of beds lay all around him. Morning sunlight reflected off of white pillows, sheets, and blankets, making the vast room appear brighter than it was.

  Somehow, he knew right away by the fact that it was morning that he had slept through an entire day and an entire night. His sleep was filled with nightmares of something dark chasing him, and he occasionally woke with a start before lapsing back into a deep slumber. Through the brief instances when he had awoken, he could tell that it could not be the same day as he arrived. The healers had used their magic to help him rest, or his exhaustion had done it, or both.

  He rubbed the sand out of his eyes with his hands, which he was surprised to find clean. In fact, all of him appeared clean and unscathed. That must have taken some work, he thought uncomfortably.

  The same two healer women who had treated him before, one with brown hair, the other with blonde, stood across the aisle from where he lay. Their smooth white dresses caressed each of their feminine forms, and they were talking idly and giggling about something he missed or else didn’t understand. When they glanced toward him and noticed that he was awake, their faces blushed a furious red and they looked away.

  He could feel his own face becoming red when he realized that when they healed him, they must have also been the ones who had taken his clothes off, bathed him, and changed him into this gown. Again. He looked over the right side of his bed and found that his clothes and weapons had also been washed and were once more stacked neatly in a pile. His torn shirt had even had its holes sewn shut. He was not at all ungrateful for any of this, whoever had done it, just…embarrassed.

  They continued their conversation after noticing that he had come awake, and walked toward his bed, each standing on one side. Vincent lay his head back down. The sandy haired one finished the last bit of what she was saying.

  The other smiled and laughed at what her friend had said and then addressed him first. “How are you feeling?”

  His throat was parched as he tried to reply. “Thirsty,” he said in a hoarse voice, trying to take a dry swallow, “but much better otherwise.”

  “I’ll bring you some water,” the blonde one volunteered, walking off.

  “What about Stacy…did she make it?”

  “She’s fine. For now.” Vincent wasn’t quite sure what that meant.

  When the other returned with a cup and a pi
tcher of water, he sat up and drank several cups in earnest. “I noticed you had some nasty burns on your back before we healed you,” she commented while she poured him his fourth. “They had sealed shut something much worse.”

  “So did the woman,” the other added, “on her neck.”

  Her friend with the pitcher exchanged a look with her, a curious frown creasing her brow. “Yeah,” she said in a higher, drawn out tone of recollection, “I noticed that too.” She turned and handed Vincent the full cup. “We were wondering…how did you get them?”

  Vincent took a sip before answering. “I used my knife.”

  “You mean you held it over a fire and used it to cauterize hers”-she pointed with her thumb over her shoulder toward the bed with Stacy-“and your wounds?”

  “We were on the run, we didn’t have time for a fire…” Vincent started.

  “Then how did you do it?” The blonde one asked, frowning.

  “With my magic.”

  “Oh,” she said, seeming taken aback. “I didn’t know you could do that. I thought you were just a…”

  “Swordsman,” Vincent finished for her. “I get that a lot,” he admitted. “But no, I’m here because I control metal.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Vincent looked away while taking another drink. “It’s quite alright.”

  The brown haired healer placed her hands on her hips. “It’s obvious that you got into some kind of fight. We could tell from the marks that the woman …”

  “Stacy,” Vincent inserted.

  “…got bitten by something, but Sheryl and I,” she glanced toward her friend, “have a running bet on what injured you. I think you got stabbed by spears. She thinks something sunk its claws in your back. Which was it?”

  “You healers have a strange sense of humor,” he remarked. The two of them smiled as they stared back. When Sheryl looked him up and down and winked suggestively, it made him blush again. Then the haunting memory returned. He let out a sigh. “If you must know, it was a wyvern,” he said, dimming his eyes with a shudder at how close he had come to death. Sheryl said yes to exult her victory. “Don’t be so quick to celebrate,” Vincent admonished. “Its teeth are what got…almost had me, not its claws.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her face scrunch up in disappointment.