Dark King Rising

by Alledria Hurt

  The last sentence from her previous session sat before her with the cursor blinking at the end begging her to add more. Except the words stuck in her brain. All that mattered was how she had destroyed her marriage? Would he ever forgive her for not trusting him?

  Hardly the first time she had that guilt. Had Sylvia turned her into some kind of monster? A jealous unforgiving faithless monster that only saw the worst in her husband? Turning him in without giving him any real chance to explain himself. She turned away from the screen. Her eyes fell on the trunk peeking out from the closet. She caught herself thinking about the other influences she allowed into her writing. The book would be sitting at the bottom of the trunk right where she left it. It carried the original story of the peddler she used in the history of Amaranth.

  "Did I draw something terrible out of that book when I wrote the story over?" The question was whispered to the empty room. Beside her, the screen went dark. It sounded insane. Maybe it was. Books were harmless. Their contents could be used for evil, but books were not evil themselves. Stories were just stories up to the interpretation of the listener. Yet she couldn't combat the sense that she was only seconds from an answer.

  Marie crossed the floor and opened the closet door. The trunk squatted there at the bottom of the closet like a toad staring up at her with its brass fittings. Leaning over, she pressed one hand to its top. The old skin slid under her fingertips as if it were a cat begging to be caressed. Then she leaned further and unclasped the lock. Inside were papers still in disarray from her earlier forays. Glaring out from beneath the paper was the book. She wiped away the paper covering it and grasped it to drag it up from the depth. It thudded when it hit the floor. When she opened it, the pages whispered.

  The black wagon peddler story was marked by a bookmark of blue paper. It was a Midwestern story told from place to place of the old days before it was safe to travel through the Rocky Mountains. It was a tale of magic and suffering and redemption. Certainly it told a good story.

  She had given Keyana and Timothy's families’ stakes in seeing the Peddler gone. Good storytelling to bring things around full circle.

  What was the full circle of the strange dreams she and her friends were having?

  With her fingernails, she turned page after page looking for something she couldn't even tell herself. The words coasted before her eyes. She read nothing.

  Minutes later, she closed the book, no wiser than when she opened it. Maybe there was an answer there, maybe there wasn't. She didn't know and in her current state, it could have bit her and she might not have noticed. Carefully, she packed the book back in the trunk, covered it again, and closed the trunk. Her hands lingered on the metal.

  "What can I do?"

  From the trunk back to the desk where she sat down and awakened the screen again.

  The door stood above them silent and inscrutable. In its face were three locks. Three pieces needed to proceed.

  The children had the pieces. They were going to pass the door, but what would they find on the other side? She didn't know for certain yet. The story had taken a strange twist on her when she introduced the grand castle on the cliff. First they had been forced to try again, facing themselves in the lairs of the monsters. Now they stood before the door which by all rights should lead to the throne room and the Dark King himself. Could they defeat him or would they be setting him free? What guise would he take? Would he be enraged by the defeat of his compatriots? So many questions. They all clamored for answers and Marie's tired mind could give none. Instead she got up and went into the bedroom. The bed was still a mess where they had hauled Kevin out of it that morning.

  There had been little point in making it back. Now she looked at the twisted sheets and wished the bed pristine again. Nothing moved. This was no Disney movie where helpful birds would put the bed sheets back into place and help her to make the house tidy again. Marie knelt down next to the bed and pressed her face to the sheets. She could still smell the soap from Kevin's departure.

  Anything. Anything at all to have him once more in the bed peacefully sleeping.

  She crawled into bed in her clothes and wrapped up in the spare blanket kept at the end for when it was cold. Then she closed her eyes. So wrapped, maybe she would be safe from the dreams to come.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The first thing Ray noticed was a sour mix of mud and rotting vegetation blowing in from the East. Above him, the sign declaring the place Rosewood Cemetery hung high. Before him, a squealing gate clapped repeatedly in the running wind. He stopped the gate and stepped past it. The mud sucked at his boots. Sparse grass stood in tufts like forgotten hair on the ground. His steps were punctuated by small pops. He trudged forward with the wind grabbing and playing with his hair.

  He entered the shadow of the tree long before he could touch it and the night dropped by several degrees as he moved along. This tree was not injured. Perhaps he had come to a time earlier than its injuries. The roses hung above his head like luscious apples.

  "It's the wrong season for roses."

  Apparently magic roses cared nothing for seasons.

  He turned to the east and into the wind he walked. An owl flapped by, snatching something from the ground as it went. Ray startled at the suddenness of its approach. Then he had reached the edge of the grave markers. The cemetery itself abruptly ended not ten feet from where he stood. Beyond that, swamp. Thick trees jutted up from the water and somehow, out there, a mausoleum sat.

  "The Gravekeeper's crypt."

  Above the door, sparking in the moonlight, was the scythe in the moon, the Dark King's sigil. The door stayed shut. Ray looked from the crypt to the tree. If he was in the book, the skull would be at the base of the tree. If he was in the book, others would be along soon and he needed to get out of the way. Or he could wade closer and see if there was really anything in there.

  When he stepped off the solid ground, his leg disappeared almost the knee. He could feel the sloshing in his boots. Yet he kept going. He covered his mouth as he moved, careful to keep his hands dry. The steps leading up to the mausoleum came directly out of the water and Ray mounted them. Within feet of the door, he considered going back. Except he was already too close to just give up and his jeans were wet almost to the crotch. He pressed on the door and it didn't budge. Part way down was a metal handle. He grabbed it and yanked nearly sending himself tumbling into the water when it gave no resistance. The door clapped open and out came a stink unlike any other, a mixture of fetid flesh and powder dry blood rounded out by wine, perhaps, he couldn't be sure. Tittering on the edge of the stone, Ray worked to regain his footing. The portal beyond the door was dark. Patting down his pockets, he wished for a lighter, hell even a match, something so he could see farther than the bare light penetrated. He peered into the darkness plugging his nose one handed.

  "Anybody home?" What did he expect to answer, the creature from the black lagoon? The Gravekeeper never spoke. Probably couldn't speak. Yet he bellowed down the stairs like a braying bull, daring something to answer him. Maybe he wanted something to be down there, for the book to be right.

  Nothing came up the stairs but a breath of sick smoke. Ray staggered back as the first strike of lightning split the sky. No thunder followed. The door slid shut ahead of him and he turned to head back to land. Water slopped around his legs. Above him, the sky split again and again with daggers of violet and scarlet lightning.

  "The hollow storm." Nearby a tree, struck by lightning, began to burn. It lit up the night like a massive torch. Ray angled away from it and climbed onto shore with green slime clinging to his pants. The burn smoked and billowed into the night. "In the book, there wasn't any rain."

  The tree would burn to the water. Then it would die out. Hopefully without taking others with it. He wiped his hands down his thighs to get rid of the worst of the gunk and looked back at the mausoleum. A figure stood before the door, tall and full. The Gravekeeper watched him from under his hood. Ray felt the
first chill of fear run up his spine. Shouldn't the kids have been here by now? He had to stop to think of their names.

  Timothy and Keyana.

  The two kids who took on the Gravekeeper in the first book. They should have been here to witness its emergence. Except they weren't. Ray stood there alone on the bank. It stepped toward him. Ray shrank back, then turned to run. His boots squelched in the mud of the cemetery. Behind him, close enough to feel, the Gravekeeper followed. He ran to the tree and hung a right to go back to the cemetery gate. Looking back, he tried to see the monster in the dark. The lightning illuminated its shape against the sky. The air smelled pregnant with ozone. Ray ran toward the gate, leaving the Gravekeeper behind.

  He had almost reached the gate when he looked back again. The Gravekeeper wasn't following him. Instead, he could see it stopped at the tree. The gleam of its blade threatened. Ray watched it swing the scythe once in a killing arc and brought it up against the tree. It rang off the tree as if off metal and violet sparks flickered through the air like dying fireflies. Ray swallowed.

  His dream. In his dream the tree stood dying. Was that a premonition? In his chest, his heart thudded. He pressed one hand down on it, marking the time like a drummer. He had to go back. Where he got that from, he could only guess, but he needed to go back. If the Gravekeeper killed the tree, then it would be able to get the skull. With the skull, it came ever closer to releasing the Dark King. Marie's ending made it seem inevitable. Yet what was he supposed to do? Well, he could continue to run for his life and perhaps he would wake up. Or he could go back and try to get the skull himself. That meant distracting the creature and digging it up before the monster brought the barrier down enough to get to it itself.

  Take on a mythological being with a very sharp weapon on a maybe. Ray's heart continued to thunder as the next bell like ring played through the air with its accompanying light show. Above them all, the sky continued to be shattered and then healed as the lightning came and went. The cemetery was lit up like daylight moments at a time. Ray headed back up the path. His steps were slow but determined. If the kids weren't going to show up, then he was the only one who could possibly stop the monster from achieving its goal. From the path, he picked up a small rock. It wouldn't do any damage, but he wasn't trying to hurt it. All he needed was its attention to start. Once he got close enough, he hefted the rock once before baseball pitching it at the creature. It hit the figure in the side of its torso just below its arms with a meatier thunk than he would have anticipated. Then it turned. The hood pointed toward him now. The scythe gleamed with the points of light offered to it.

  He had its attention.

  The Gravekeeper advanced on him, drawing away from the tree. Backing away, Ray kept his eyes on it. It came forward. Ray drew back. Dance partners they weren't, but Ray let it get close enough to take a swing at him before dodging out of the way. The scythe thwicked through the air. Ray leapt back and rolled to one side. It followed bringing the scythe to the ready again. Diving forward, Ray ran for the tree. Once more, it came after, but it walked with the inevitable slowness of evil giving Ray plenty of time to make a head start.

  Dropping down beside the tree, he considered how much time he had. It wasn't a lot, but the skull was not buried deep. He threw great clods of dirt to one side then the other as he dug. His fingertips hit something hard and he tried to dig around it. A root slowed him down. Then it was upon him. The Gravekeeper darkened the area with its body and swung at him. His sleeve split and beneath it blood sprang up.

  Ray screamed and grabbed his wound. Blood spilled between his fingers. He hurried away from the hole. Behind him, the creature took another swipe at the tree. The sparks were not as heavy and bell-like peal didn't travel as far. From ten feet away, Ray considered what to do next.

  He bled freely from the cut in his arm. The Gravekeeper drew closer to its goal. He wiped his forehead ignoring the streak of warm liquid that ran down his skin.

  Finally a strike bit into the trunk of the tree tearing the bark and revealing the innards. A strike of crippling pain shot through Ray's head dropping him to the ground with a yell.

  "What?"

  Then it struck again and Ray struggled to his knees. The strikes left behind only small cuts, but Ray felt as if his head had been set on fire. The need to stop it spurred him forward. As the creature drew back to strike again, Ray threw himself forward football tackling the taller figure. They fell together, Ray becoming partly wrapped in its cloak. Trying to stand up, he found himself holding onto something that squished. He clambered to his knees, then up. Beneath him, the Gravekeeper lay straight as a board, unmoving. Ray looked at his hand and shook it violently. Maggots covered his skin.

  "Ew."

  A particularly strong bolt of lightning hit the ground nearby frying the air as it went. Ray jumped to one side, slid in the mud, and went down again with a heavy hit to his hip. The Gravekeeper had yet to move. It was too much to think that maybe he had killed it simply by tackling it, but he could hope. He headed back toward the hole. Dropping to his knees, he started digging again. Past the root he found earlier, he came upon a cloth bag rotting in the ground. Peeking from within he saw white stone. He brushed the dirt and bag away and tried to grab what was below. It refused him. His fingers slipped over it. He widened the hole as best he could, throwing glances at the prone body of the Gravekeeper as he went. So far it hadn't moved, but was it playing possum? He had no way of knowing. All he could do was dig and hope for the best.

  His fingers ached and cramped, but he finally had the skull outlined. He pried and wiggled it to and through to break it free from its imprisonment. Then he felt it. As he had been deep in the hole, the Gravekeeper had risen. Now it stood over him with its scythe at the ready. Ray yanked the skull free and threw himself to the side. The scythe bit into him and Ray chomped down on his tongue to keep the scream inside. The added force of being struck by the handle threw him another few feet. When he landed, the skull sprang free and tried to roll away. Clutching at his wounded side, Ray dragged himself to his knees again. The skull was out of reach lying against a grave marker. The Gravekeeper with its slowness drew closer to its prize. Ray spared a glance at the base of his shirt now running red with his blood. Fear shook him awake.

  The edges of the dream fuzzed.

  Ray chomped down on his tongue again filling his mouth with blood and everything settled. The Gravekeeper couldn't get the skull. On weakening legs, he stumbled forward and into the body of the Gravekeeper pushing it off course. He slid on the tail of its long robe and slammed into the grave marker the skull laid against. Blood spurted out of his mouth from his wounded tongue. Then he was on it. He laid his body across the skull and cradled it underneath him with one arm. Looking over his shoulder, he could see the Gravekeeper coming. He needed to get up. His legs wouldn't obey. He reflexively clutched at the dirt. His breath stirred the dust.

  "Marie, help me."

  As if invoking her name broke the spell, he woke with a burning pain in his side and in his mouth. Beside him, Naomie slept seemingly peaceful.

  "Thank you," he said curling up against his girlfriend. She sighed and turned toward him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and closed his eyes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The hills were a rolling verdant green dotted with splashes of color in the form of clusters of wild flowers. Naomie sat at the top of the hill overlooking the valley and weaved a crown of flowers for herself. A perfumed breeze tugged at the edges of her hair and swept the first touches of sweat from her brow. Her dress was white and belted to her body with gold. As she finished the crown, she set it on her hair and got up. Turning once in a circle, she surveyed all she had just crowned herself queen of. Nothing but a rich land full of peace. Beyond her as far as she could see, everything showed green and beautiful. The sky hung a spectacular blue supporting a golden sun. Wiping her hair away from her face where it had fallen, she turned to look behind her. On the horizon stood storm cloud
s. It seemed they only awaited the order to advance on the land she stood on.

  "A little rain would do well." Naomie beckoned them forward and the clouds raced to do her bidding. Then she turned again and before her grew a mirror. It reflected Naomie as she was in her dream. The view changed. Her skin became ashen and pale. Her lips reddened and plumped. In the place of her crown of flowers, a circlet appeared with a dripping ruby at its center.

  Naomie turned away from the mirror and ran. Another sprung up in front of her showing her the same person.

  "No," Naomie said throwing up her hands against the reflection. Her hands contacted the metal and sunk in. "NO!" Her hands disappeared and the wrists followed. Naomie struggled back and something snatched her forward. Digging her feet in, she tried to escape, but there was no escaping. Inch by inch she was drawn into the mirror. When she stumbled through completely, she found herself surrounded by reflections. Her face stared at her from a hundred surfaces.

  "What's going on?"

  Formerly warmed by the sun, she shivered in the sudden chill of this new place. Her arms clapped hard around her. Bare feet curled against the cold floor also reflecting her body. Nearby, a mirror darkened. When it brightened again, the face in it was Naomie's face, but she wore the green, silver, and red of the Mad Princess.

  "Come find me," it urged. Naomie shook her head.

  "Let me go."

  "Come find me. Set me free."

  That got Naomie's attention.

  "Set you free from what?"

  "From his influence."

  She stepped closer and pressed her hand against the mirror.

  "Please," the Princess said. "Save me. Only you can save me."

  The woman in the mirror covered Naomie's hand with her own.

  "I can't."

  "Only you can." Her face drew down into a frown. "Please. Save me."