Curse Of The Dark Wind (Book 6)

by Charles E Yallowitz

  *****

  Timoran grunts as he pulls himself up to the top of the structure made of mud and uprooted trees. He turns to help his friends and is surprised to find them swiftly climbing the towering pile, the others having had trouble keeping up with him during their jog through the disturbingly empty forest. Once everyone is on solid ground, the barbarian turns around and nearly walks off the edge of the strange ledge. Before him is an uneven expanse of layered trees, stolen bales of straw, large bones, and giant feathers. Strange structures with flat tops are scattered about the area, each one topped with a thick collection of moist pine needles.

  “It’s a huge nest,” Sari says as she looks for signs of Luke. She sees a prone form partially buried in an exploded pile of hay. “I think I see him!”

  “Do not run ahead,” Timoran warns the gypsy.

  She ignores him and leaps off the ledge, depending on her boots to help her drift to the ground. The others climb down and make better time than Sari, which causes her to land with a childish pout. Her expression changes to bug-eyed fear when the fragile wood beneath her feet snaps. As she falls through the nest, the gypsy grabs a tree root and winces when she feels jagged branches scratch her knees.

  “I told you to be careful,” Timoran says as he hoists his friend out of the hole. He stares into the darkness and swears that he saw something move. “There are creatures in here. Not only the birds that made this, but others that are not winged. We must retrieve Luke and tread carefully. I do not know how we can avoid the fragile parts of the nest.”

  “Fizzle see pattern,” the drite declares from above his friends. “Thick trees make paths through soft spots. Look like bee home.”

  “Guess it’s a single line march to the other side,” Delvin sighs, drawing his blade and leading the way. He keeps his shield arm relaxed, the warrior ready to defend either side of the walkway. “The weaker spots might be strong on the edges, so we might have a little more space than we think. I still wouldn’t recommend straying more than a step off the path and only if you have to. Anybody know what would make a nest so big?”

  “Could have been the winged spiders,” Nyx suggests, rubbing her amethyst necklace. She keeps a glove of force around her other hand, knowing fire and lightning could turn the nest into an inferno. “It could be something worse too. My head and stomach are much better, so I can handle the fighting this time. The rest of you should run for the castle.”

  “I don’t see us running very well here,” Sari mentions from the rear of the group.

  “You know what I mean.”

  Delvin holds up his sword when he sees part of the nest rise and fall as if something is passing just beneath the surface. The sound of a creature scuttling under their feet silences everyone and they quietly follow the cautious warrior. Glancing ahead, he notices that Luke is stumbling to his feet and trying to figure out where he landed. Delvin tries in vain to signal to the half-elf, who is clutching his sabers and standing in a daze. With a muttered curse, the brown-haired warrior breaks into a jog and continues waving his longsword. As his pace increases, noises from the hidden creatures appear from both sides of the path and a few areas around Luke that are shifting like a churning ocean. The movements and sounds abruptly stop, which makes everyone accept that they are about to be attacked.

  “What’s going on?” Luke asks in a low voice when his friends get within a few yards of him. “I’m not sure how I got here.”

  “Don’t move or raise your voice,” Delvin whispers as he inches closer to the half-elf. “I think we’re surrounded by burrowing creatures. This is a large nest with unstable ground. You landed here after turning into the griffin. Our plan is to cross this place and get into the castle without incident.”

  “Nothing ever happens to us without incident,” the forest tracker half-heartedly points out. He holds back a cough and spurts black ooze from his pursed lips. “That transformation really messed with my insides. It’s like my body is sluggish and energized at the same time. Makes it impossible to focus my senses.”

  “Stay between me and Nyx,” Delvin says, helping Luke get into position. He nods to Sari, who draws her daggers and walks backwards. “Let us protect you if something happens.”

  Several silent minutes pass before the scuttling returns and the nest bloats with hidden activity. The first creature emerges to the right, its mouth chewing through the branches with ease. The dark red mite is the size of a large dog with a smooth body and legs that end in long needles. It jumps over the adventurers and pounds its solid rear against the nest, which signals hundreds of creatures to burrow to the surface. Within seconds, the small group is surrounded by the hungry arachnids.

  A new sound begins as a low rumble and rolls into a clear, guttural growl. The other champions watch Timoran, whose blue eyes are shimmering with unleashed rage. He throws his head back and roars with all his might, his voice echoing throughout the Garden. Terrified by the display and primal fury, the mites burrow back into the nest. With a deep breath, the barbarian relaxes and rubs a small knot out of his shoulders.

  “You could have done that to the winged spiders,” Nyx says, her arms crossed as she stares at the redheaded warrior. “Why do we have to bother with some of our fights if you can scare them away with a roar?”

  “Because I enjoy fighting.”

  Sari sheathes her daggers and slips by the others to stand near Luke. “Then why scare the mites off?”

  “They were not worth my energy. I am also bored with fighting swarms of creatures today. If it was tomorrow, I would have happily taken my axe to them.”

  “You know, there are times I forget you’re a barbarian and then you do something like this,” Delvin claims as he walks ahead. He is about to sheath his longsword when he sees something moving over a distant hill. “We might not be out of danger yet. Keep your weapons out and stay alert.”

  Trudging after the warrior, everyone feels a sense of resignation instead of tension. Fight after fight within such a short time and the stress of worrying about Luke has pushed their nerves to a state of numbness. Those carrying weapons flex their stiffening fingers, but all of them hope they will get some rest before their next encounter. Their positive thoughts are dashed when they climb to the top of a rise and come to a halt above a large eagle. Weapons are readied and sighs drift from their mouths before Luke sheathes his sabers.

  “He’s dying, guys,” the half-elf states, scratching his head and making his way down to the gasping roc. “He can barely move, so it’s safe to approach. Just avoid sudden movements and sheathe your weapons. No fire, Nyx.”

  “How do you know the roc is male?” Sari asks as she catches up to him. She keeps her eye on the half-elf, noticing some Dark Wind seeping from his ear. “Your head is leaking. I’m really worried about you, Luke.”

  “I’m guessing about the gender because the male eagles that lived around Haven were smaller than the females. This one is smaller than the one I fought, but it’s obviously fully grown,” the forest tracker explains. With a rag from his pocket, he wipes the ooze from the side of his head and tucks the mess into his pocket. “I don’t know what to tell you about the other thing. There’s really nothing left to say, Sari, and I know everyone is worried. I’ll be fine as soon as we purify the Garden.”

  “Don’t push yourself.”

  “I prom . . . what are you doing, Timoran?”

  The barbarian freezes with his great axe held above his head. “I was about to put this beast out of his misery. It is the humane thing to do. The roc has obviously resigned himself to his fate.”

  “Put your weapon away like I asked,” Luke sternly requests as he reaches out to stroke the bird’s cold, brown feathers. “We can save him by removing the living curse from the Garden. He’s weak and tired, but still alive. Maybe we can help him enough to get a ride to the castle. It would save us time and trouble.”

  “Fizzle no have strength,” the drite declares from his perch on the roc’s wing. “We need Nyx s
trength. None can do.”

  Luke kneels next to the giant eagle’s head and strokes the off-white beak, a tremor running along his arm. He senses the living curse burbling and swirling within the great beast, some of it reacting to what is in his own body. With a curious expression, he looks at Sari and a cunning shimmer appears in his eyes. Leaning forward, he puts his forehead against the beast’s beak and closes his eyes.

  “Gabriel connected Sari to an island in the middle of the ocean and made it that she can control water. Maybe he planned for me to do the same with wind. The living curse is a type of wind, so maybe I can pull it out.”

  “None of us can agree to let you do this,” Delvin claims, putting a hand on the forest tracker’s shoulder. “Even though you think you have energy, you’ve been weakened a lot by the curse. Any more stress and you might not make it.”

  Nyx bites her lower lip and swears under her breath when she feels a quiver in the ambient aura of the nest. “Unfortunately, Luke began absorbing the curse once he touched the roc. He asked the question to prepare us for what’s about to happen. If we try to yank him away then we might cause enough trauma to kill him. This Dark Wind curse is getting ridiculous. I can’t even tell what its purpose is beyond infecting Luke and doing random stuff to his body. As far as living curses go, it hasn’t made any sense since you purified Gale Hollow and it stuck around. That should have weakened it instead of it changing so drastically.”

  Luke can no longer hear his friends and his eyes have gone black. A hot pain runs up his arm, but the limb is incapable of movement. Glancing down, he swears his flesh is bubbling and merging with the body of the roc. Ebony veins appear on his skin with bursts of pink crackling along them. A throbbing ache builds in his temples along with a distant, wordless voice that sends chills down his spine. The bony handprint on his arm and the scar across his chest hiss as if steam is escaping from them. With his senses going haywire, Luke fears he is about to be consumed by the living curse and starts to wonder if he made a fatal mistake.

  Emitting a feeble shriek, the roc moves its head and bats the half-elf away. The giant bird stands and peers down at the tiny adventurers, the color of its feathers already showing signs of improvement. It stares at Luke, who is shivering on the ground and coughing up small pieces of black ooze. The enormous eagle cocks its head to the side and the withered feathers on its neck ruffle. Stretching its wings, it bends down as if offering to let the tiny creatures climb on for a ride. A spark of primal understanding is in its cloudy eyes, which gives the cautious adventurers pause.

  “Don’t be rude. Accept the offer,” Luke mutters, letting Sari and Delvin drag him to his feet. “Climb on and hold on tight.”

  “Put the idiot on your back, Timoran,” Nyx growls in frustration. “I don’t want him touching that bird. Skin contact seems to be the issue, so be careful.”

  The barbarian approaches the forest tracker, but puts his hand in his friend’s bottomless belt pouch instead of lifting him. He takes out a large sack and puts it over Luke, the large warrior sighing at the muffled complaints. Tightening the straps, Timoran swings the half-elf over his shoulder and ignores the random kicks to his head and upper back.

  “He is on my back and there is no risk of skin contact with the roc,” he says at the sight of the others staring at him. Nobody smiles or laughs, so he shrugs and climbs onto the patient beast. “I am sure Luke would appreciate this ingenuity if he was not the victim of it.”

  14

  The roc hunkers down in front of the castle and takes a gasping breath as the adventurers climb off its back. Luke scrambles out of the large sack when he is put on his feet and jams it back into his belt pouch. Flashing an angry glare at Timoran, he approaches the tall doors made out of glass-like stone. Unlike the gray wall, the material used to make the entrance is dark blue with an intricate, golden vine design beneath the surface. The rest of the castle is a lighter blue with many marble balconies and large windows, all of them closed and dark. Five crystalline towers rise from the main structure of the building with one in the center and another at each cardinal point. The remains of creeping ivy can be seen around the base of the wall, the leaves turning to ash at the slightest touch.

  Taking a deep breath, Luke pushes the double-doors open and nearly collapses to his knees from the mild exertion. Not wanting to worry his friends, he does his best to pretend that he tripped over the raised threshold. The incredulous expressions he gets tells him that they are not falling for his ploy. He takes another step and sparks spit from the walls, the latent spell running along the mirrored walls and igniting torches as it goes. The half-elf feels slightly disappointed to see that the hallway is plain and unfurnished.

  “I wish we had a map,” Sari says while checking herself in the reflective wall. She picks a few twigs out of her hair and flicks them out the open entrance. “How did you guys find your way around the Island of Pallice?”

  “We fought our way into the mountain and Risar showed us around,” Nyx replied, touching the wall and enjoying the sensation of pure magic swirling against her hand. “We don’t have a guardian to escort us this time. My vote is for finding the throne room. It seemed to be the most secured area last time.”

  “Those Lost Ones were aggressive when Luke and I returned,” Timoran mentions as he closes the doors behind them. He takes a deep sniff of the crisp air, picking up a subtle hint of rotting meat. “They were passive the first time because Risar was with us. Without a guardian, we have no guarantee that the throne room is safe.”

  Luke leads the way down the pristine hallway, his right leg becoming stiff and sliding against the smooth floor. The limb feels heavy and has swelled to the point where the half-elf’s boot feels uncomfortable. With a frustrated growl, he focuses on the living curse and wills it to spread throughout his body. He is surprised that it listens and then disgusted when the Dark Wind seeps out his skin, the ooze sticking to the inside of his clothes.

  “You smell of decay,” Timoran states when he catches up to Luke. He gestures for the others to follow and stays behind the half-elf. “Be thankful I am the only one who can sense it. I suggest you rest in the first safe room we find. Hopefully we can find a place where you can wash yourself.”

  Luke nods a silent thanks to the barbarian and continues leading the way. He is uncomfortably aware that the black ooze is dripping out of his pant legs, creating a trail that the others politely ignore. The small group wanders the hallways and peek into every open room that they come across. Every chamber shows signs of recent use such as vases of fresh flowers and a lack of dust on the open surfaces. Not wanting to be attacked in something’s lair, they continue searching for a safe haven. The quiet of the castle is crushing and the slightest sound causes the adventurers to pause.

  “Why are there no monsters in here?” Sari asks, unwilling to let the silence continue.

  “It was the same in your mountain,” Delvin calmly answers. He slows down and looks into an empty lounge with claw marks on the ceiling. “The ogres were outside and the Dawn Fangs came in after us. Most of the creatures that were part of the corruption had gathered in the basement with the bile serpent. I don’t remember there being evidence that they had been all over the temple. It was rather clean, but that could have been because Risar was maintaining everything. Not sure what the situation here is since the guardian is asleep.”

  “It’s possible that our arrival triggered something in the monsters,” Nyx suggests as she crouches in the middle of the hallway. With her eyes closed, she places her hands on the cool floor and focuses on the invisible streams of aura. “From what I can sense, they have gone to a central location and are waiting. It makes sense since that allows us to get so far into the temple that we can’t easily escape. If I follow these aura lines then I might be able to get a general idea of where the creatures are lurking.” The caster opens her eyes and moves her hands as if trying to find something. “I sense a sealed door down the hallway. It’s not very powerful, so I
doubt it’s the throne room.”

  “What if I don’t want a throne?” Luke innocently asks. He clears his throat and shifts his feet when his friends stare at him dumbfounded. “I’m only saying that I don’t see a point in having a throne. It isn’t like I plan on ruling over anything. Why do the champions need a temple and throne room anyway?”

  “Because . . .” Nyx begins to reply. She glances at Delvin for help, but all he can do is helplessly shrug. “We’ll discuss this later.”

  The forest tracker’s stomach roars and he licks his lips. “I smell food.”

  With a burst of adrenaline, Luke sprints down the hallway with his friends a few steps behind. He nearly crashes into the wall when he attempts a sharp turn, his momentum too much for his weakened reflexes. He skids to a stop in front of a locked, metal door and bangs on it with the hilts of his sabers. The faint sound of a breaking spell can be heard and a flood of warmth fills the murky hallway. With his stomach rumbling, Luke pushes the door open and grins at the sight before him.

  “The safest room in this place is the kitchen,” Timoran says with a chuckle. “I cannot say I disagree with the logic of whoever decided on this. Food is certainly more important than a fancy chair.”

  A hot stove is against one of the long walls, a kettle of soup mysteriously cooking on top of a red hot plate. Two baskets of warm bread sit on a counter with clean silverware and plates sitting between them. Shelves of pots and pans are one of the walls while preserved meats are dangling on the other side. The smell of seasoned pheasant drifts through the air, prompting Nyx to approach the stove and pull the food out before it burns. She places the aromatic meal on a central island of blue marble and gestures for the others to join her.

  “The food is clean and the room is pure. I guess some of the protective magic is still active and strong,” the caster says as she sets the dishes around the makeshift table. “I can see a cool locker in the back, which could have stuff to make a salad and maybe some cheese. This is a great place to rest.”