Darkin: The Prophecy of the Key (The Darkin Saga Book 2)

by Turkot, Joseph

  “Weakling!” screeched the Unicorporas from his choked position inside Slowin’s arms and legs. They both began to shake, the ground around them too, as if an earthquake had begun. Flaer toppled back down into the crater, glimpsing the Feral Army march past as he rolled. The first clangs of battle sounded in the distance. Flaer knew that the Hemlin Army had finally met the first line of the Feral legion. Tumbling down the crater, Flaer dug his elbows into the soil to stop himself, but it had turned to molten muck, and a great chasm had opened at the pit of the crater. Helpless to avoid it, Flaer fell in, disappearing from the face of the planet.

  “Slowin!” came a voice from outside the crater. Slowin ignored Erguile, whom he knew watched helplessly, battling Feral beasts above, unable to assist him or Flaer. The Unicorporas screeched again, a piercing howl that stuck deep in Slowin’s head, as if a shank stuck into his mind. In the terrible upheaval, the Unicorporas arced his back and flew straight up into the sky. Slowin pinched the length of his body with all four limbs harder than ever. Erguile watched in horror as the Unicorporas returned to the clouds above, high above the combat that had begun between the two armies. The orb of red slowly reformed around the tiny figurine in the sky, despite the hug of mammoth Slowin, who dwarfed the monster’s small frame. The hoary white of Slowin’s skin flashed brilliantly to orange-white, and with a tremendous surge of energy, Slowin exploded off of the Unicorporas—helpless to intervene, Erguile watched the hulking silver arms of Slowin rip away from his sturdy frame, flying like missiles in opposite directions from his body; a lifeless look came into the golem as he twisted down, loosely hanging onto Vesleathren by his tree-trunk legs. He dangled from the sky, barely able to hold on any longer. The Unicorporas punched down into Slowin’s back, which hung at his legs. Slowin fell silently to the fire-pit below; instantly, his skin turned hoary white again, heated by the oven of the crater, no longer protected by Flaer’s magic. In only a moment, the golem had tumbled out of sight, into the molten coffin.

  “Gaigas—what has he done,” Erguile said in shock, unable to believe what he’d witnessed. Behind him, a Jaigan quaked the earth, followed by a troop of sliming trolls, oozing dark pus from putrid pores. The Jaigan stood more than thrice as tall as Erguile, and Weakhoof whinnied wildly as the stalking spire lumbered toward them: the grey-blue monster sprouted diamond-sharp branches of coral that moved, somehow moving fluidly like arms, its splayed feet carrying it along at a frightening pace, its gait like a starfish’s, leaving a trail of grease in its wake. The pock-marked coral arms of the Jaigan fanned out, striking down at Erguile, who had left the safety of the Hemlin Army to help his friends against the wizard who sought to kill them. His attempt to help had been in vain: he’d been unable to do anything but watch as they had both been swept away by the terrible evil. Now, alone, isolated from Peren and the seven legions of Hemlin, he could but hold fast and await the strike.

  The arms of the Jaigan were many, each one targeting Weakhoof. In the distance Erguile saw no friends or allies, only more Jaigan amid a host of Feral trolls that marched eagerly for him. Several Gazaran gleamed within the teeming mass, glittering gold amid the dark ranks; the gold-plated beasts of war seemed also to cut a course toward him. What am I doing here, I am no Vapour, I am no metal golem, I have no special power—dear Gaigas, give me valor that I may destroy at least one of these villains before my death, Erguile thought to himself. He dodged the wriggling conflux of coral arms: “Aye, aye!” he roared, kicking Weakhoof, who brought her in-air front legs down and galloped past the Jaigan’s outstretched weapons. Together they bolted forth, a last-ditch effort of hopelessness and fury, to endure, and take as many defilers with them as possible, from this life to the next.

  XIV: UP, UP, UP!

  Morning spread its replenishing arms over the crevasse, returning gloss to ice where night had stolen it away—Adacon stirred before the others, and saw that by his side, already awake and eating, was their captured assailant. A jolt of fear spiked in him as he wondered whether or not the man could be trusted. He felt at ease remembering that Krem lay nearby, and also Falen the fire drake—within their proximity it was hard to be afraid. Rubbing his eyes and sitting up, Adacon looked over, awaiting some acknowledgement from the green-eyed, long-robed being.

  “Well?” Adacon said after several moments passed with no recognition.

  “Oh—good morning. I didn’t notice you wake—here,” responded the stranger. Aloofly, he handed Adacon a piece of dried meat from his pocket. Adacon hesitated, eyeing the meat and the stranger’s extended hand warily—he looked to his right and saw Falen and Krem both still asleep, unable to assist him should the stranger attempt anything.

  “I must warn you,” smiled the robed man, his water-green eyes glinting in the early morning sun, “it’s delicious.” Forgetting his fear in favor of hunger, and rationalizing that the man was eating the meat himself, Adacon hastily snatched the offering. He quickly put the strip of meat into his mouth; the great flavor promised burst upon his tongue.

  “Glad you like it,” the man said in his odd accent, noticing the reaction on Adacon’s face. “I have more.” Adacon reached out, taking several more pieces. “What is your name?”

  “Adacon. You?”

  “I am Reap Windfall, of clan Windfall—formerly of clan Windfall.” The stranger bent his eyes downward in a liquid gaze, concealing any sadness that welled inside him. “And—your friends?”

  “That’s Falen, the drake—and Krem, of course,” Adacon replied, chewing a third piece of dried meat.

  “Krem—the great Vapour? I am saddened more that you chanced into our drain.”

  “Drain, you spoke of that yesterday—you were trying to get rid of Darkin’s evil energy?

  “Yes, though we’ve effected little change. The new strand of dark power is implacable; it yielded not at all to our efforts.”

  “And what of the moon business? Krem seemed pretty sure you were trying to blow it from the sky, if not murder us too.”

  “Your great friend’s lore has run bleached—the League of the Mage disbanded its primary purpose decades ago, when tidings first came from the East Continent about Zesm’s return.”

  “But Zesm only just gained his power from Vesleathren,” Adacon replied.

  “No, he has been drawing it slowly for many years—working desperately toward an unnamable spell, something that can only be cast with years of patient labor. Something that requires the energy of many newborn children.”

  “Unnamable spell?”

  “Indeed, a merger—the collective unity of two malevolent entities. An anchor laid deep within Gaigas’s darkest pools of power—the Unicorporas.”

  “Unicorporas!” came a scratchy voice from behind them. Adacon and Reap turned to see Krem shooting up to his feet, apparently not the slightest bit groggy.

  “Indeed, fair Krem,” Reap replied, with a deep look of sadness in his ice-withered face.

  “Impossible, it would be suicide for them both!” Krem riled incredulously.

  “I know—but those who seek power do so blindly, often at the expense of more precious concerns, such as life itself,” replied Reap.

  “Better still, I hope they have merged. Poor fools! That would ease my heart, knowing they’ve helped us along. They’d have nigh a month to live from the moment the spell was cast,” Krem convinced himself.

  “He has merged with Vesleathren?” Adacon asked.

  “Precisely, friend,” Reap replied.

  “Pay it no mind laddy, truly—your errand is all that concerns you: to know Tempern’s mastery.”

  “Tempern? There’s a name I’ve not heard in a long time,” Reap replied.

  “We suffer to find his forsaken abode amidst this white labyrinth,” Krem said.

  “So much commotion a drake can barely sleep,” Falen reproached them all, annoyed that they’d woken him from slumber. Adacon looked to the stirring fire drake: a wisp of smoke curled from the tip of his scaly nose as he gathered himself
to face his fellows.

  “If you please, I’ll guide you in,” Reap returned.

  “You to guide us? Full-well explain yourself for nearly killing us would be a better start!” Falen demanded.

  “Patience, dear Falen,” Krem interjected, calming the agitated dragon. Reap quickly handed out more of his supply of dried meat, letting Krem and Falen have their taste. The small food, though delicious, seemed to do nothing to ease Falen’s agitation. They all listened to the thick-robed mage, watching intently his lidless green eyes as he reiterated his tale.

  Adacon sat patiently, listening to much the same story he’d already been given. By the end, Falen did not seem the slightest bit pleased to have a third traveler on his back, one that had nearly killed him. Despite his reservations, Krem decided that Reap would serve as a much-needed guide. They set off from the white gulch, soaring deeper into the mountains. Reap directed them, jogging Krem’s memory of Nethvale’s geography as they flew. Every once in awhile Krem gasped: “Ah yes!” and Adacon wondered how they ever would have found the way without Reap. Eventually, icy spikes attacking the blue sky filled the horizon so that they were the only feature visible—behind, in front, and at all sides—as they flew low between some of the steepest peaks. Falen batted his wings fiercely into strengthening winds, and soon in sight was a deep crevasse, pitted from the side of what seemed be the widest of the ice-laden mountains. Reap directed Falen to land along the flattest bit of slope near the top of the ravine. He barely managed to descend before a gust threw him against the face of the mountain. Two great flaps and they landed, Falen’s nimble wings saving them from a death-smash against ice-coated granite.

  Adacon hopped off first, peering at the whitewash around him—walls of frost towered over them, the great chasm of the crevasse lay behind. It sunk immeasurably into the heart of the mountain, a cold dark line of abyss. There was only one shred of what appeared to be a walkable passage, curving directly left and upward, a ridge from a piece of mountain that showed its bare face briefly before concealing it again higher up with sheets of cascading white. The wind roared steadily and Falen breathed hard, winded but relieved to be out of the sky.

  “It gets worse,” said Reap. “There’ll be no more flying from here. The gusts are too strong.”

  “I’ve never been this deep inside Nethvale before, I—,” Falen tried to speak, his deep voice struggling between much-needed gulps of air.

  “You’re still getting over your cold,” Krem said. “And now you have to deal with this. No fun at all. I think we’ll need a fresh smoke before we start our march.”

  “March? Look where we are!” Adacon shouted, fighting to be heard against the scream of the wind; his plea fell on deaf ears. Krem went for his pipe and Falen fought to catch his breath while Reap walked off to survey the nearby gorge, fetching more meat from his pocket.

  “Calm yourself, lad. I’ve not been to Tempern’s in some time, but he lives in a warm hearth, awaiting us with stewed treats and piping tea. We have but a bit of legwork before us, and then all will be cozy again for you,” Krem said.

  “I hope so—it’s much colder here,” Adacon replied, shivering under the winter garments Krem had provided him with before the trip.

  “Of course it is Adacon—the higher you ascend, the colder it becomes, the fiercer the wind is, the harder it is to draw breath.”

  “He’s rather unaffected by the loss of his entire tribe, don’t you think? I still don’t trust him,” Falen said after finally catching his breath. Krem and Adacon turned to see Reap away in the distance, peering past the edge of the crevasse, too far to hear them.

  “He is crestfallen,” Krem answered.

  “He’s hiding it,” Adacon answered. “I know—it’s the way slaves handle their emotions. I can see it under the surface; he’s sadder than he lets on. I think I believe him—I don’t know why, but I do.”

  “Me too, except for that bit about Zesm,” Krem replied.

  “How much farther, Krem?” Falen demanded.

  “A few hours, if memory serves me,” replied Krem. He puffed on his pipe, content, his small mouth sucking from between a beard and moustache of powdered icicles.

  “Krem—you’re a snowman!” laughed Adacon, taking a moment to observe how comical Krem’s windswept appearance was—the magnificence of Krem’s gem-encrusted cap was hidden by snow, as was the rest of his attire, and limply hanging from his chin was a spike of frozen hair, white and sparkling.

  “Haugh-haugh-haugh!” boomed a deep laugh from Falen that quickly turned into a fit of coughs. Krem was happy to be the source of such merriment though, and to see his friends return to good spirits.

  “My Vapoury is weak here—we are very close,” Krem self-observed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Within the field of Tempern’s presence, Vapoury is dried up unless he decides otherwise, as is dark magic—all forms of energy that flow from Gaigas are stoppered near a Welsprin, if he so pleases,” Krem explained.

  “Is that why I’m so cold?” Adacon realized, shivering.

  “Precisely. A warm smoke is all I can offer in the way of heat now, I fear,” Krem returned.

  “It will be four more miles north of here, up that trail,” Reap interjected, returning to the party. “I’ll come as close as a mile away, but Tempern does not take kindly to the League of the Mage, and as such, I will leave you there,” he continued solemnly.

  “Will you be able to get back down the mountain?” Adacon asked, hearing desperation in the sad man.

  “Surely I will find some way.”

  “Bemoan yourself not, fair green-eyed sage,” Krem piped, boisterous and happy again. “That is precisely when Falen will be turning back. Once you return to this flattened crest, he will gladly fare you home.” Falen shot his slanted yellow-black eyes down, feeling his brief sense of joy stripped by the command.

  “I wouldn’t ask it,” Reap replied.

  “You’ve shown fair valor guiding us this far; not to accept our help would be an affront I will not allow.”

  “Fair enough,” Reap returned. “Let’s get on with it then! Up, up, and up!”

  Adacon fell in line behind Reap, tracking his snow-covered robe. Krem and Falen traced their footsteps from the rear. They walked together for a brief while, then something struck Krem’s mind; he shot forward from his pace with Falen to tread alongside Reap.

  “What of the bird?” Krem asked, surprised at himself for having forgotten. Reap turned his head up as they marched side by side. Adacon ran up to catch them, hoping to hear their conversation—Falen seemed uninterested, remaining yards behind, trudging along the slippery ridge at his own pace.

  “Bird?”

  “The huge glowing one,” Adacon said, unable to help himself.

  “Glowing, boy? It was rather sparkling I’d say, and as big as one of the smaller mountains in this range here,” Krem chimed in again. “Don’t tell me you missed it—the enormous red-lighted cloud that blotted out the sun?”

  “Red-lighted?” replied a dumbfounded Reap, bemused.

  “You were quite busy trying to blow us out of the sky when it happened,” came Falen, who had somehow snuck up behind them without being heard.

  “Good Gaigas Falen!” Krem railed. “You scared me!”

  “It’s rather easy to be stealthy when walking on snow—without the earth-cracking footsteps I normally make.”

  “You have no idea?” Adacon asked again, also shocked at himself for forgetting the giant scarlet hawk that had flown overhead before the tornado took them down.

  “Indeed I do not, I dare think you all delusional from the cold—I find it hard to believe I could miss a bird that blots out the sun,” Reap informed them.

  “Three of us, all delusional?” Falen said.

  “Then again, creating a drain is the hardest thing I’ve ever done; I suppose with all my concentration focused on it—it is possible I missed something that big.”

  “It was no figm
ent of imagination. Had it not been for the bird, we would not have veered off course, into your spiral of death,” said Krem.

  “Is it a coincidence that those flying rocks curved to strike directly at us?” Falen growled, unleashing anger he’d been storing.

  “There is no control over the evil once it’s been released from within the planet—the rocks flew upward in any path they chose.”

  “He’s right Falen. Those rocks were full of dark power, none of the like can I sense in our friend here, who’s name I still do not know,” Krem said, trudging through knee-deep snow, holding one hand up to shield his eyes from the ice-spray flying at them.

  “Reap Windfall. And grateful to meet you both too, Falen and Krem.”

  “Knows our names does he?” Falen retorted.

  “I introduced you as you slept,” Adacon explained.

  “And especially grateful to be in the company of one so famous as you, Krem,” Reap complimented.

  “I am famous now?”

  “I’d say, at least among my clan you were—one of the Great Vapours.”

  “I dare not ask who the others are,” Krem mumbled to himself.

  “Certainly the one we trek toward now, though he wouldn’t be as kind as you, I think, if he met me,” replied Reap.