Curse Of The Dark Wind (Book 6)

by Charles E Yallowitz

  A growl escapes Stephen’s mouth before he can stop himself. “Tyler was a fool!”

  “He still had his uses. The least of which was distracting the champions while the rest of us did our work,” the chaos elf points out. She passes through her companion and beckons for him to follow her to a pool of shining fae water. “Why do you persist on tempting fate? One day your father may decide you’re expendable if you continue to cause trouble.”

  “Then that will be the day I kill him,” Stephen whispers into her pointy ear. He touches the false Trinity’s skin and feels her solidify under his touch. “I’ve always wondered if I could take an illusion and the sensations would return to the source once the spell was ended. I already see a way to embed sensations into your aura.”

  Trinity shoves him away with a burst of force, the attack enhanced by a roaring blast of wind. “Don’t forget to include the hate and disgust. I can’t wait for this mission to be over. Spending the last few months with you has been a terrible affair.”

  “I’m sure many of your screams were from pleasure,” he confidently teases, easily dodging the lightning bolt that streaks from the chaos elf’s hand.

  “Touch the right spot on a woman for long enough and you’ll get some of those by accident,” the illusion growls, flickering as if Trinity is losing her concentration. “It doesn’t mean they enjoyed it, but then you don’t care about your partners. It’s all about power and control with you.”

  Stephen appears behind the illusion and wraps his arms around her, his lips seeking out her neck. Shivering in disgust, the image vanishes from his grasp and returns on the other side of the pool. He backs away when the glowing liquid splashes at him, his nose wrinkled in repulsion. With a cruel sneer, he approaches the fae water and submerges his entire arm. The sound of sizzling flesh makes the real Trinity jump, her spell nearly ruined by the surprise. Stephen’s blood roils the water and steals its glow, turning it into a drab pool of stagnant liquid.

  “How much longer until I’m blessed with the original?” he asks while hungrily eyeing the illusion. “I’m bored with your empty smell and arrogant blathering. If this takes much longer, I will have to entertain myself with this detailed construct.”

  “A precise summoning without a true ritual takes time and patience. Rushing it will undo everything you have prepared,” the fake Trinity nervously explains. She passes into the wall, leaving only her face free of the stone. “The servants you have bred for this trap are mindless, so they must be baited and coaxed through the portal. At the same time, I must prevent other demons from crossing over. One wrong move can lead to my aura being devoured or the unleashing of a Named One that neither of us can control. This is your plan, so I hope you wish to see it succeed. Unless you’ve marked me for destruction like the Lich.”

  “People keep talking about his demise like it’s a bad thing,” Stephen mutters as he walks over to the real Trinity and circles her. He reaches out to caress her cheek, but stops a hair away from her flawless skin. “I would never bring harm to such a lovely creature. Your power is intoxicating and drives me wild. Such a glorious taste is upon your skin and lips. I would never cast you aside, my dear Queen. Even if I dominated and claimed your rival, you would still hold a special place in my heart. After all, I broke you first.”

  The illusion vanishes and a whirling vortex appears on the back wall of the open, blue stone cavern. Black mist drifts out of the portal to snake along the ceiling and floor, the ends inspecting every inch of rock. A gust of wind rushes toward the solitary doorway, taking most of the demonic toxins through the rest of the caves and out into the world. Several wisps touch the quartz archway as they pass, leaving the prismatic structure cloudy and cracked. A faint shriek bursts from the vortex as thicker tendrils of black smoke emerge. Some of the mist thickens and coalesces on the ceiling, becoming faint forms that scurry into the shadows.

  “The hazes have been summoned. They need some time to acclimate before I close the portal,” Trinity says in a hoarse voice. She shivers as a blast of cold air rockets through the cavern, the ancient magic attempting to remove the corruption. “I need to rest before we move on to the next stage. This was difficult, but what you want me to do next has never been attempted before. Besides, he won’t work with me willingly.”

  “I have the utmost confidence in you,” Stephen declares, picking up her leathery shirt and handing it to her. The arrogant man refuses to turn away as the chaos elf gets dressed, his sapphire eyes running along every curve of her body. “It appears your precious gems have lost their luster. If you wish, I could relieve you of your exhaustion. It’s the least I can do for such a cherished ally.”

  “You only want me to have enough energy to fight back when you indulge yourself. I know your games, Stephen,” the caster replies, keeping a cautious eye on her companion. To avoid losing sight of him, she opens the back of her shirt and slips it on like a vest. The glistening material seals perfectly as soon as she grows sleeves out of the shoulders and flairs the bottom around her hips. “As for your boast, you never broke me. You repeatedly threaten my people if I refuse you, so I satisfy your desires while dreaming of the day you’re no more. When that time comes, I’ll happily drive so many spells into your corpse that only a thimble full of cinders will remain.”

  Stephen grabs the chaos elf by the shoulders and violently kisses her, throwing her to the ground when he is done. “You threaten to kill me when you know it’s impossible. Such a cowardly declaration that reeks of fear. Maybe I’ll demote you to my second favorite when I have Nyx in my hands. You’ll become a broken toy that I retrieve from the shelf when I’m feeling nostalgic. If my father grows bored of you then I can keep you in a cell with only the rats to keep you company. I’m sure you’ve already thought of this possibility, which is where your false bluster comes from. Poor little Trinity is trying to make herself appear bigger than she really is.”

  “Go ahead and claim her. I’d love to see you try and control both of us. As I stated, you keep me on a leash because of my people. You won’t have that luxury with Nyx.”

  “Haven’t you figured it out yet, milady? That’s what this entire plan is about!” the man declares, his pants turning as red as his shirt. Embracing Trinity, he picks her up and flips her into his arms where she fights the urge to claw his eyes out. “We will weaken Luke Callindor enough to make his capture so easy that even a goblin could do it. Once I hold his life in my hands, Nyx will be mine and allow me to do whatever I want to her.”

  The chaos elf melts to slip from his grasp, reforming behind her grinning ally. “This is all about getting Nyx?”

  “Killing a few heroes in the process has its perks, but she’s my goal,” he says, licking his lips in anticipation. His eyes roll into the back of his head as he imagines the feel of the half-Elven caster in his hands. “With both of you under my command, I can conquer the world for my father and finish this tedious game. Then he will grant me a chance to dethrone him, which I will win with your power.”

  “Unless we refuse to fight because your death removes the threat to our loved ones.”

  “I don’t need you on the battlefield to reap the benefits of your magic,” Stephen calmly admits as he wrinkles his nose at the smell of sulfur. He looks at the ceiling to see it is covered in shifting mist and numerous orange eyes are watching him. “I feel that this is a conversation best left for another time. The demons have gathered and seem hungry. I don’t want to be forced to damage them.”

  Trinity cracks her knuckles and takes a deep breath of the stale air, her enhancer gems flickering to life. The howl of demons fills the cavern as she focuses on the vortex and moves her hands as if to crush it closed. As her aura churns around her hands, cracks ripple through the portal and it folds in upon itself. With an echoing pop, the opening to the Chaos Void is sealed and the smoke-like demons fly into a furious rage. They descend on Trinity, who puts up a barrier to deflect the attack, the black mist coating her protective bubble.
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  “I believe it’s time for us to leave,” Stephen whispers in her ear. He snaps his fingers and they are suddenly outside the cavern, the crystalline opening struggling to glitter in the sunlight. “The Dark Wind is infecting the air and clinging to the trees already. By the time our enemies arrive, the curse will be embedded in the area. I’m going to send General Vile to keep an eye on them. I want to be sure the curse takes effect and they don’t find a way to purify the Callindor.”

  Trinity glances back at the Cave of Winds where demonic howls can be heard with every burst of putrid air. “Remember how you were wondering where the smoke and corruption go when the magic winds grab them?”

  “And how I could use such power to reach my goals. It might even be enough to give me the power to defeat Gabriel if I chose to challenge him.”

  “The pollution goes to Shayd, which is why there are eternal black clouds there,” she says with a wicked smirk. Turning to the confused man, she softly pats him on the cheek and stands on her toes to put her lips against his ear. “Your father absorbed the gathered corruption centuries ago and never told you. Even now, he increases his strength by making himself the reservoir. I’ll see you back at camp. I suddenly feel like celebrating, little warlord.”

  Stephen glowers at Trinity as she fades away, her body becoming a curtain of leaves that is whisked away by the sour wind. He watches her disappear over the trees, his mind drifting between ever darkening thoughts. A chuckle slips from his mouth and steadily rolls into echoing laughter, forcing him to clutch his aching sides. With a deep breath of the corrupted air, he calms his nerves and walks in the direction of their distant camp.

  *****

  “You seem tired, youngling,” Ram says as he approaches Gabriel. The ancient God of War whinnies at the sight of the raven-haired god slumped in a black and silver throne. “I believe this is the first time I have ever seen you look so . . . haggard. The luster of your platemail has faded and there are creases on your face. One could say you are starting to resemble your age.”

  “Something I always wondered, relic. Why does a god named Ram have the head of a horse?” the God of Destiny asks. He groans while his wife massages his shoulders, her cobalt skin and ebony hair glistening in the sunlight. “Dear Ambrosine, I sense that this is going to be a private conversation. Would you please pretend to leave us while really hiding within one of the shadows?”

  “You know me too well, my love,” the Chaos Elf Goddess whispers, kissing her husband on the lips. She walks by the War God, stroking his bare, barrel chest with her hand and slipping into the nearest shadow.

  “I argued with Gar about the wisdom of giving so many powers to a young, impulsive gypsy. Then I had to listen to Lorvis complain about the death of one of his followers,” Gabriel explains, struggling to keep his voice from rising in pitch. He whistles and the throne dissolves into dirt, a pair of moles escaping from the mound. “My day gets even better. Uli and Kerr arrived to voice their opinions on favoritism. Kerr is angry that the barbarian has received fewer gifts than the forest tracker, but Uli feels it is fair because of a severe difference in physical strength. I am happy to receive the support of the other gods, but listening to all of the bickering and whining is driving me to insanity. I assume you are here to say something about the mercenary. Believe that I have plans for him and you will not be disappointed.”

  “Trust that the other gods appreciate you hearing them out. I am sure most of them merely want to feel like they are contributing,” Ram assures the younger immortal. He scowls when Gabriel waves an apple in front of the War God’s brown and white snout. “You may be more powerful than I, but I am your elder. I would appreciate some respect. Otherwise, I might return the favor by asking Silvestra to send you a flock of songbirds that sing off key.”

  The Destiny God shrugs and eats the apple, his emerald eyes never moving from the horse-headed god. He lets the uncomfortable silence linger, hoping to gain the upper hand against the elder deity. A yawn escapes his lips, betraying his fatigue from having entertained the other gods for the last three weeks. He gently taps his black armor to transform it into a royal blue robe and loose-fitting breeches. Boots briefly appear on his feet, but he shrugs and wipes them away as if they are a layer of dust.

  “It seems even the Tri-God needs rest from time to time,” says a soft voice from behind Gabriel. He glances over his shoulder at Zaria as she approaches, her white gown as pure and flowing as ever. “I have told you before that you have limits and should not push yourself too far.”

  Dressed in a low-cut crimson dress, Ambrosine steps out of the shadows and hangs on her husband’s shoulders before the other goddess can come within reach. Zaria continues walking toward Ram, standing next to her friend with her arms delicately crossed. She meets the other woman’s gaze with a calm expression, secretly enjoying the furrowed brow of the Chaos Elf Goddess. Both deities politely turn to Gabriel when he snaps his fingers and a bolt of lightning strikes the ground between them.

  “I would like to spend some time with my wife,” the God of Destiny mentions, his face darkening with his mood. “Please tell me what your business is with me.”

  “I wished to congratulate you on the prophecy moving further than it has before,” Ram admits, scratching his white mane. He nods his head to prove he is being sincere, earning a barely visible grin from the younger god. “The inclusion of the Compass Key has opened up a greater possibility of success. I am surprised it has taken so many centuries for the item to be found by the champions.”

  “That is because the previous groups were never told of the Compass Key,” Zaria interrupts, smiling sweetly at her frowning rivals. “So they were doomed to fail from the beginning of their path.”

  “Only because they kept running into her,” Gabriel snaps, enjoying the pained expression on the Purity Goddess’s face. He slips out of Ambrosine’s slender arms to approach his old rival and ally. “I admit that some champions were made entirely to keep our enemy’s agents busy while I prepared stronger candidates. Yet most of them had the potential. They simply had the misfortune of making the same mistake. The Compass Key can never fall into Arthuru Kernaghan’s hands, so I had to keep it from my own champions. Now I have a group that is more . . . noble than their predecessors and the relic is back on the chessboard. Things will be moving quickly and our looming nightmare will be over before too long.”

  “That does bring me to a curiosity,” Zaria states, pausing when she senses something on the breeze. “You have given so much power to the caster and the gypsy. I have to wonder if this is wise. The gypsy has been repeatedly captured and the lineage of the caster has a very dubious history. Either one of them falling into our enemy’s hands could unlock our destruction.”

  Gabriel sighs and turns his back on the shorter goddess, putting his arm around his beloved wife’s waist. “Trust that I know what I am doing, Zaria. I have been working on the caster’s lineage since before the Great Cataclysm and have weeded out the issues. As for the gypsy, I gave her such power to give her the edge against our enemies. The girl is physically weak, but the powers and skills at her disposal will make it difficult to contain her. If anything, you should worry about the progress of the warriors. One has a long way to go before he reaches his full potential and another has not moved from where he started. The third one is so unpredictable that I refuse to guess what he will do.”

  “Do not worry yourself, little savior,” Ram whispers, putting a hand on Zaria’s head. He tousles her crimson hair like he remembers doing when she was a child. “Progress is being made and it has been entertaining to watch these champions perform. Kerr the Wild Lord is still gloating about the victories of his chosen, which has stirred a debate with Gola’s speaker about who is the strongest champion. There have even been bets on what the forest tracker will do next and on who he will be with in the end. We are having a glorious time watching events unfold, younglings. So let us avoid this bickering and save our energy for when a disaster appe
ars.”

  “You assume something will go wrong,” Ambrosine hisses. She shies away from the War God when he seems to grow several feet in height and fire spurts from his nostrils. “My husband has all of this under control. He never lost when he was mortal and he will not lose now.”

  “Thank you, my love, but the wise mule is right,” Gabriel bitterly says. He kisses her on the cheek and runs a hand through her soft hair. “Mortals have free will, so the unexpected will occur. It is only a matter of time before one of our pawns surprises us and throws the entire game into chaos. Besides, the sixth champion has yet to join the others and that has always been a source of trouble.”

  “She is one of my greatest chosen, so I will handle her,” Zaria states, a shiver running up her spine. “I hope that you allow me to approach her this time. It will minimize the chance of history repeating itself.”

  “You speak as if you stayed away the other times. I know you went behind my back to meet with your favorite follower,” the Destiny God claims as his eyes begin to close. A great slumber tries to consume his body and he struggles to fight the rare sensation. “Now I must be off to get some sleep and spend time with my wife. I trust all of you can keep things from falling into ruin without me.”

  All four gods stop and look at the sky, a shifting cloud catching their attention. The green and black piece of fluff moves erratically as if it is nervous from the stares of the powerful beings below. Ambrosine is the first to snap out of her trance and hurls a crimson javelin at the intruder. The metal weapon twists and splinters against an invisible barrier, the remains turning into cooked shrimp as they fall to the ground. A whimpering yelp erupts from the cloud as it retreats across the ocean.

  “Seems his pet goddess is spying again,” Gabriel says with an amused smirk. He gently takes his wife’s chin in his hand and kisses her lips. “Go chase her back to Shayd, my love. I will meet you at home.”