“I’ll be watching for a student who doesn’t even know he’s bad? I’m sorry Krem, I can’t believe you—it’s too absurd.”
“It’s inevitable—I hope I’m wrong, but…I can’t be,” he said solemnly.
“But how are you so sure of this then? Why haven’t you just gone to Tempern with your fear?”
“Because he is…”
“What?”
“His judgment is unbalanced.”
“Why?” Adacon said, growing impatient at the fragmented information Krem was offering.
“He’s in love—and, I’m afraid to admit this, but she’s started to return her love again, unable to resist now that she’s in her human form once more,” Krem replied.
“But I’m in love too Krem, I’ve just proclaimed it this night!” Adacon said, forgetting to keep quiet.
“It’s different, Adacon, much different. Two Welsprins in love is very different indeed than you loving an elf girl.”
“I don’t understand your logic, not at all,” Adacon said flatly, refusing to grapple with Krem’s strange reasoning. “You never answered me: how are you so sure the Maelvulent exists?”
“I can’t tell you now.”
“If you’re not going to be honest with me, how do you expect me to help you then?”
“Ah, Lad,” Krem sighed, a smile crossing his face for the first time. “To think of when I first met you, how much you’ve come into your own.”
“Well, if you want me to even consider this request of yours, you have to tell me why.”
“Very well, though I would rather not have told you yet—Flaer mentioned something: he told me that Vesleathren and Zesm—the Unicorporas—thanked him for death.”
“What?”
“Flaer took it to be its bitter way of dying, an attempt to subdue his satisfaction at final victory.”
“And you didn’t take it for that?”
“No. Flaer said he’d heard the Unicorporas say a word, something he hadn’t understood.”
“Maelvulent?”
“Precisely,” Krem said, a look of understanding finally dawning on Adacon’s face.
“He didn’t know the word?”
“No.”
“But he’s been alive much longer than you, and he’s a greater Vap—” Adacon said, stopping short, realizing how hurtful what he was about to say was, but it was too late: the words were well enough out—surprisingly, Krem wasn’t bothered by the suggestion of Flaer’s superiority; instead he agreed, nodding at Adacon.
“I know. You’re right,” Krem replied.
“Why doesn’t he know of this Maelvulent then?”
“Because only Tempern, Alejia, and I knew of it,” Krem told.
“Why didn’t they ever tell him?”
“Because, long ago, when Alejia first withdrew from Tempern’s love, it was because she believed Tempern had possibly given his greatest spell of power to the Maelvulent.”
“Alejia thought that Flaer was the Maelvulent?”
“She suspected by his violent warfare—the war ended so quickly after Flaer was granted the power from Tempern, in such a ruthless and bloody fashion, that she thought he had made a poor judgment in haste, and that Flaer was evolving into a Maelvulent.”
“The Emmortas spell?” Adacon gasped.
“That very magic—it is why he doesn’t age, why he lives strongly as if ever a youth—as if he’s a Welsprin…”
“But it didn’t turn out that way! Flaer isn’t a Maelvulent! Surely they realized that a long time ago,” Adacon replied, thinking of his friend.
“Tempern knows, but Alejia still has her doubts, and until she is ready to dismiss them, she would not approve of Tempern disclosing her suspicions to Flaer—not until she is entirely satisfied that he will never become a Maelvulent.”
“But how many wars does Flaer have to fight in, how many times does he have to crusade the purpose of good, to the destruction of great evil, putting his life at risk, until she’ll see he’s one of us?”
“It’s not so simple, not in her eyes.”
“Krem, this is all too much. You know I am just beginning to enjoy my isolation here in Carbal, my new home, my new family…”
“I’m not saying anything will come of this, but there is the chance, and we must take every measure to guard against it. I haven’t been able to sleep without telling someone; and you’re whom I trust most,” the weary Vapour said sadly, peering up with large green eyes. “I’m not asking you to stop yourself from building a home with Calan, or creating a happy, peaceful life together—I’m just asking you to do so in Arkenshyr, so that you can teach at the academy,” he pleaded. Adacon looked longingly at Calan as she bobbed in a dream upon the river; for a second he thought he saw her moving her head, but dismissed it as a trick of darkness, then turned back to Krem’s plea.
“I don’t know.”
“Think about it—that’s all I came here to ask—think about it for me.”
“Alright then, I will, I’ll think about it. But I’d better get back to her before she wakes up.”
“I’ve kept you too long, and Yarnhoot will be wondering where I’ve gone—I’m sure he’ll forgive me,” Krem smiled, happy to have Adacon agree to consider his request.
“But, Krem, why haven’t you told Flaer all this?” Adacon asked, unable to believe that only three people had ever heard of the Maelvulent, the supposed negation of a Welsprin.
“Because he is too much behind the worldly involvement of Tempern and Alejia—in fact I’ve never seen him happier about something in my entire life.”
“How is that a problem?”
“If the Maelvulent is to be thwarted outright, Tempern and Alejia would have to become neutral again, make no impact, teach nothing, not interfere…”
“What? And Flaer would be upset by that?”
“He would be more than upset…”
“You think he’d—”
“If he knew of the Maelvulent, and what had to be done to prevent it, he might try to put a stop to the academy himself, to Alejia and Tempern intervening on Darkin…”
“That would work well with what you want then, wouldn’t it?”
“Alejia’s suspicions would be confirmed—she would assume Flaer was going the way of Grelion, only with a much greater, malevolent power—she would presume his purpose would be to stop an army from amassing, an army of Vapours that would stand in his way.”
“That’s mad conjecture—couldn’t it be talked through?”
“There is peace now, and only me who harbors foreboding omens…please do as I ask, to ensure this new age of peace—the Maelvulent may prove without fruit, untrue, the dying Unicorporas’s madness—I am humble enough to allow doubt to shade even my surest assumptions—but this way, at least I have peace of mind that someone, one person, is aware of my dread, unbiased, watching.”
“But you’ll be there to watch too—you were the first appointed magister.”
“I won’t. You’d be taking my place. I’m going somewhere—somewhere very far,” Krem answered cryptically.
“No more secrets Krem—I’m a Welsprin. If you want me to consider your request, be honest with me: where are you going?”
“You will know in five days time, I promise you, but I cannot say tonight…Five days, and all the world will know where I’ve gone.”
“Alright, I don’t need more to worry about. I’m going back to the boat—not even Tempern gave me this much to deal with in such a short span.”
“Farewell Adacon; I hope to hear you’ll take the post,” replied Krem, and he swiftly disappeared into the woods.
“Oh, Krem—what would I do if this Maelvulent did appear? And how would I even know? You said the student himself won’t even know…and if you’re going away, how will I reach you?” Adacon asked, unable to stop pondering Krem’s portents, but the hermit had disappeared already; no response came from the chirping forest, and curiously, though Adacon waited for Yarnhoot to appear over the
canopy, he never did.
Floating gently back down to the canoe, Adacon withdrew a small orb from his pocket, and looked up to the sky. The orb flickered slightly, then shot a sharp focused beam of white light up at the stars:
“Ah…Slowin,” he said, sighing as he fondled the smooth marble orb of light his silver friend had given him so long ago. “You’d know what to do…you’d know…” Calan stirred, waking only for a moment to smile at her love, putting her arm back across his chest where it rightfully belonged, then falling fast asleep again. Adacon laid his head on her chest, let the orb’s light widen to light the river shore in a gloom of pearly light, thinking of his missing friend.
“Too bright,” murmured Calan in complaint about the light that touched everything from the canoe to the banks of the forest.
“Sorry,” Adacon whimpered, running fingers through her silverlit hair in apology, and the river went black.
THE END
ABOUT THE CREATOR
Joseph A. Turkot currently works as a Teacher of English in New Jersey. He graduated from Rutgers University with a B.A. in English. He has written numerous short stories and novels in the horror, science-fiction, and fantasy genres. Sign up for the author’s mailing list for notification of new books.
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You’ve reached the end of the first Darkin book! I am glad you have made it this far. I sincerely hope you take the time to write a review on Amazon.com, and any additional retailers that have my stories for sale. I will continue to put care into my writing and engage my readers. I would also like to hear from you about my stories. My email is at the end of this book. If you haven’t yet, pick up DARKIN 2: The Prophecy of the Key
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Table of Contents
Title
BOOK 2 OF THE DARKIN SAGA
PROLOGUE
I: A CONNECTED ONE
II: ALONE IN AAURLIND
III: A HAUNTING IN RISLIND
IV: THE LAST FREE CITY OF HEMLIN
V: CARBAL, FAREWELL
VI: OMEN OF THE STAR
VII: ARRIVAL
VIII: EXECUTION OF A VAPOUR
IX: SPECTER AT DAWN
X: THE LAST NIGHT OF PEACE
XI: NETHVALE
XII: PALAILIA
XIII: THE BATTLE OF HEMLIN HILLS
XIV: UP, UP, UP!
XV: THE GEAR CHAMBER
XVI: UNICORPORAS
XVII: TEMPERN
XVIII: TO THE WESTERN SHORE
XIX: NEWFOUND TRUST
XX: FROM THE SMOLDERING RUIN
XXI: REUNION OF OLD FRIENDS
XXII: INTERROGATION
XXIII: A DARK PALACE OF FLAME
XXIV: THE PRISONERS OF THE LOST RACE
XXV: A DECISION TO LEAVE
XXVI: ASCARONTH
XXVII: WE COME ONLY FOR THE ORE
XXVIII: LONE WANDERER
XXIX: BATTLE AT THE CHOKE
XXX: EMMORTAS
XXXI: DEPARTURE
XXXII: DEEDLE’S TAVERN AND INN
XXXIII: REPOSE
ABOUT THE CREATOR
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Darkin: The Prophecy of the Key (The Darkin Saga Book 2) Page 40
