Dark World (Book I in the Dark World Trilogy)

by Q. Lee, Danielle

  She pulled her white hair up, gathered it into a loose chignon, and left several thin pieces to frame her face.

  Fate stared at her reflection, and for the first time since she’d arrived, she felt beautiful.

  Kane tried to catch his breath and focus on the task at hand. He hadn’t anticipated seeing Fate, how could he? How could he have known she was here? Things were suddenly playing out in his favor. As long as this necromancer, Vrill, agreed to hand him his city’s scroll, he was that much closer to saving Dark World from Malus.

  “So,” Vrill began, settling into a chair, offering Kane another across from him. “You wish to discuss the scroll.”

  Shock ran through him. How did he know that’s what Kane wanted? He’d only told the necromancers he’d met outside the city, and they hadn’t been out of his sight. There hadn’t been any time to tell anyone else.

  “We share the same soul,” the necromancer explained, responding to Kane’s stunned expression. “I was informed telepathically.”

  “Oh, I see,” Kane stammered, still trying to gather his bearings. His thoughts flickered to the Oracle and his initial theory of her origins. If she were also a necromancer, wouldn’t she have telepathically warned Vrill of his intentions? Perhaps he was wrong about her. Maybe she was…something else. But what?

  “What is your interest in the scroll?” Vrill asked, silencing Kane’s internal inquest.

  Kane cleared his throat. “I wish to protect it…all of them, actually, from Malus.”

  “Your mother,” he stated, an unreadable smile edging across his silver lips. The necromancer’s sharp, human features looked painted with sterling silver, gleaming against the eerie light of the Nexus floating behind him.

  Kane’s eyes narrowed and he felt himself bristle. Nodding, he responded, “Yes, my mother. She needs to be stopped from collecting the six scrolls and reaching the Surface.”

  Vrill took in a deep breath, mulling Kane’s words a moment, then stated, “I agree.”

  Kane exhaled, he hadn’t expected this to be so easy. “Wonderful, I…”

  The necromancer interrupted, “I agree that she has to be stopped, but I will not give you my scroll.”

  Kane’s shoulders fell. “But, I need them all. I plan to collect them…and destroy them.”

  “I understand,” Vrill said, his voice calm, “but they cannot be destroyed unless they are altogether.”

  Annoyed, Kane felt his anger rising. “I know that, that’s why I’m trying to collect them all. To prevent Malus from opening the fissure and populating the Surface with shades.”

  The necromancer chuckled, igniting a furious fire inside Kane. “Dear prince, don’t tell me that you don’t know.”

  “Know what?” Kane’s sharp teeth ground together.

  “Where the hidden scroll is, of course,” he whispered cryptically, sending a cold shiver down Kane’s spine.

  Kane reluctantly shook his head.

  The necromancer stood, his long robes trailing loyally behind him as he closed the distance between himself and the prince.

  Leaning over, he hissed into Kane’s ear, “Why, my dear prince, it’s on the Surface.”

  Kane’s thoughts raced in a thousand different directions, a web of secrets and omissions lay tangled before him. If it was true, that one of the scrolls was on the Surface, how was he to retrieve it? He had been taught long ago that all the scrolls were needed to open the fissure. Had he been misinformed?

  His brow furled. Or mislead?

  Vrill sat across from him, a cryptic smile adorning his lips.

  “How…” Kane’s voice trailed off.

  “Indeed.” Vrill nodded in agreement, a flicker of frustration darkening his swirling eyes.

  “May I see your scroll?” Kane inquired suddenly.

  The necromancer tilted his head, seemingly torn as to whether or not to fulfill the request. He then summoned a shade servant, who’d apparently been stealthily lingering in a distant corner of the room.

  “Vale,” Vrill started, “would you be so kind as to retrieve our scroll…” he paused, then added, “all of them.”

  Kane’s blood surged. Vrill had more than one scroll?

  The shade left the room via a door to the left, returning moments later holding a metallic box no longer than a foot in length. Polished steel, the container boasted a solid gold lock in which Kane could sense was enchanted. As it should be if it contained one—or more—of the sacred pages of the Devil’s Bible.

  His breath held in his chest, the large demon leaned forward, his eyes locked on the metal box as Vale placed it on a table between them.

  Vrill whispered a disenchanting spell, his hands waving over the box, and the golden locked relinquished a tiny click.

  The tension that gripped the room was smothering. His fists clenched, Kane felt his talons shredding his palms. Pearls of sweat gleamed from the necromancer’s forehead as he raised the lid. Soundless, the box was suddenly open. Its secret contents revealed. Three wound scrolls lay within, crimson ribbons lacing them shut, tattered edges and ocher hue betraying their true age.

  Vale took a step forward, his hands open. His master nodded, giving the shade permission to handle the ancient pages. Gently taking one into his pale hands, he released the red bow by pulling its loose strings. The antiquated paper unfurled with a crisp sigh. With a delicate hand, Vale unrolled the first paper and read its contents:

  “There can be only one,

  Upon the throne of blood.

  A ruler amongst fiends,

  A leader over beasts and sub-creatures.

  Old will expire,

  New will succeed,

  But only one is meant to be,

  Meant to reign,

  Meant to rule.

  The Devil’s heir.”

  The shade took in a breath, rolled up the scroll and reached for another.

  Opening the second scroll, the shade continued.

  “A secret underworld,

  Alive beneath the feet of man.

  To rise,

  To ascend,

  The races must blend,

  Must blur the lines of disparity.

  Must come together,

  With the pages united,

  Dark World will be enlightened.

  Darkness will meet the Light.”

  Kane’s mind reeled. The races must blend. What does that mean?

  Vale gently set the second scroll back into the metal box. Kane wasn’t certain, but when the shade grabbed the last scroll, he thought he saw his hand shake. He slowly unfurled it, took a deep breath, and read,

  “I am legend,

  I am lore,

  I am the essence of nightmares,

  The dawn of fear,

  A fallen angel,

  A winged beast,

  Spawn from the seeds of evil and black magic,

  I am Lucifer,

  Lord of the dark.”

  As the shade’s velvety voice trailed off, angry blood surged through Kane. Standing, his chest muscles twitching, he shouted, “That’s the demons’ scroll!”

  “Calm yourself and I will explain,” Vrill said with a neutral tone, rising and signaling Vale to take a step back. The shade complied, his eyes wide and locked on the demon.

  Kane’s body vibrated with fury. How dare this being enter his palace and steal from his people. He’d stolen his inheritance. His father’s words.

  “You’d better have a damn good reason,” Kane spat through a clenched jaw.

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” The necromancer sat, seemingly unaffected—and unafraid—of Kane’s rage. His swirling eyes shifted from Kane to Kane’s seat, his hands folded in front of him, fingertip to fingertip. Kane exhaled sharply, then sat with a hard thump.

  “Alright,” Vrill began, his gaze moving to the glimmering Nexus in the center of the room. “This,” he waved his hand in the orb’s direction, “is our—the necromancers’—soul. Without it, we cannot exist.”

  Kane tur
ned his head to observe the bluish sphere, nodding.

  Vrill continued. “Many thousands of years ago, a being of great power raised me from the dead, thus creating the first necromancer.” His hands opened up, presenting himself as the first necromancer.

  Kane opened his mouth for the flood of questions he had, but Vrill silenced him.

  “She captured a fragment of her soul within this orb, then gave it to us for safe keeping, stating that I should use it to create more of my kind. She told me how and…” He clapped his hands together. “…well, here we are.”

  Sensing his moment to interrupt, Kane asked, “Who is this being?”

  Vrill nodded. “We’re getting to that. Now, when your father turned off the Crystal Pyramid, our beloved maker began to die.” His eyes dimmed and silver lips downturned. “She doesn’t have long. We need to relight the pyramid to give her immortality again. To save her.”

  Kane took in a deep breath and exhaled loudly. This was a lot to take in all at once. The necromancers had stolen the demons’ scroll—but for a very good reason. A very powerful being, whom Kane had never heard of, was dying and needed the light of the Crystal Pyramid. The scrolls seemed to be written in riddles, making his task that much more difficult. And to top it off, one of the scrolls was on the Surface, which meant…what? How could they open the fissure without all the scrolls together?

  His head began to hurt.

  “Okay,” Kane said, rubbing his temples with the pads of his black fingertips. “First question, who is this being? Your maker?”

  Vrill smiled, uttering one word, “Myth.”

  Kane suppressed a growl, he wasn’t in the mood for games. “What? She’s a myth?”

  “No,” the necromancer clarified. “Her name is Myth.”

  “What is she? A goddess? A new race?”

  Vrill smirked. He seemed to be enjoying playing with Kane, being coy with him. Shaking his head, he replied, “No, she’s the lost elemental…aether.”

  What Lies Within

  “The ceremony is about to begin,” a female servant announced politely, standing in Fate’s doorway one moment, then vanishing just as quickly.

  “Thank you,” Fate mumbled, a fresh flurry of nerves streaming through her stomach.

  Kane was going to be there. She just knew it. Why wouldn’t he be? He was probably going to be the guest of honor or something. Resentment gathered in her chest. She couldn’t forgive him for his venomous remark in the garden.

  “Shades can’t be trusted.” His words rang through her thoughts. Images of the slaughtered sphinx and unicorn flickered forth, reminding her of the monstrous nature lurking inside.

  Maybe he’s right. Fate hung her head, a wisp of silver hair falling forward. I’m not that girl anymore. I’m not Scarlet anymore. I’m a killer.

  The velvet voice, which always appeared when vulnerability dared expose itself, slithered into her thoughts, “Come home, my daughter, come home.”

  Again the urge to find this wayward mother of the underworld was all-consuming. She seemed to be the only person who truly wanted her.

  Fate sighed, stealing one last glance in the mirror. A beautiful killer stood before her, empty eyes staring back. The windows to a soul that wasn’t there. How much of a soul is required for someone to still exist? She thought of Aura, her body now occupied by a soul shared by thousands. Is she still herself? Her dreams? Her memories? Or is she now a facet of a diamond? Beautiful, yet indistinct?

  Homesickness suddenly reared its redundant head. Still, she yearned to go home. Sure, she was a nobody there. An average teenage girl with no special gifts. She was certainly not an heir to an entire realm up there on the Surface. She was just Scarlet up there. Average. Normal. Boring.

  Her brow knitted together, an epiphany sorting through her thoughts. She was somebody here. She had powers. Unfathomable strength. And she was dangerous.

  What would it be like to be…like this…on the Surface?

  Her palms slid over her sleek, potent body as though they had a devious mind of their own. On the Surface, she’d died a victim. A little girl—a mere human—incapable of saving herself.

  “Rory,” she growled, the name like venom on her tongue.

  A dark smile pulled across her lips, the beginnings of a plan germinating.

  Raising her head high, she walked out the door, ready to face a room of strangers.

  And Kane

  “Here you are, your highness,” said the female necromancer escorting Kane to his room. He nodded in appreciation and she politely excused herself with a quick bow.

  After what felt like hours of discussing tactics and strategies to obtain the remaining scrolls, Kane finally allowed the wave of exhaustion to consume him. The journey from the demon city, the weight of finding Fate, the scrolls, all blended into a muddy pool within his thoughts.

  So many secrets. So many lies. He had no idea who to believe anymore. Elder Ozen had brought him up. Taught him everything he’d need to know to be king. Why then, did it all feel like a lie? Why was there so much he didn’t know?

  During their talks, Vrill stated his spies had confirmed Malus indeed had at least one scroll. The wraiths’. That meant there were three scrolls to retrieve, Malus’s, the reapers’ and, of course, the one on the Surface.

  Impossible!

  He just couldn’t wrap his head around how that would work. Maybe his father had designed it that way. To make sure no one could ever open the fissure again. But why? Why would he have created such a hopeless situation? Had he intended to turn off the Crystal Pyramid? Leaving the demons vulnerable? Mortal?

  Kane stood in the doorway and scanned the room, the décor falling somewhere between luxurious and macabre. A stately bed, headboard and supports of skeletal remains, stood before him draped in gold and burgundy silks. A grand chandelier hung overhead, centered over a cushy mattress, its components a mixture of diamonds, emerald, and, a rarity, pearls.

  His head down, the polished marble floor blurrily reflected his image as he took a few tentative steps further into the foreign quarters.

  To his left, a black tunic hung from a closet door. Just his size. A bitter taste slid past his tongue. These beings—these silver humans—knew too much. They were too psychic for his comfort. Kane again thought of the old Oracle, her petite, hunched frame, and again pondered her race. If she was a necromancer, wouldn’t she be telepathically linked to her kind? To Vrill?

  He shrugged, walking to the closet and retrieving the formal wear from its perch. Donning the outfit, the velvety suede brushing against his demon skin, he couldn’t help but feel hopeful. Fate was going to be as this ceremony. He had to tell her. He couldn’t risk losing her again.

  He gave a quick look to his sword, contemplating whether or not to wear it to the party. Seemed silly—even insulting—to wear it. The necromancers would surely think him paranoid for doing so. But he didn’t trust them. Not yet.

  Slinging it over his shoulder, his thoughts fell on Fate again.

  Maybe she doesn’t even want me. His heart sank. How arrogant of him to think she’d actually desire him in return. What made him think she had any feelings for him? She’d never professed any sort of affection for him. In fact, she’d run away. That alone should tell him her true feelings.

  He sighed, his sight falling to the floor. Indecision loomed. Kane faced the mirror, luminous blue eyes brimming with uncertainty stared back at him.

  He couldn’t deny it any longer. It was time to face the facts.

  Kane raised his shoulders, inhaled large and gave a final glare at his reflection. He then turned his large demon body about, hooves clomping loudly against the marble floor, and swiftly made for the door.

  “No more child’s play,” he uttered under his breath.

  He shut the door behind him and moved down the darkened hall. His large hand slid along the banister, the smoothness of the polished bones like silk beneath his palm.

  Following the curve of the railing, he’d al
ready descended one step when he felt eyes upon him. He lifted his head, locking stares with the one person he longed to see most.

  Fate.

  With her locks gathered on her crown and teal gown hugging her every curve, he had to force a breath into his captivated lungs. Envy trickled through him as he eyed the silvery tendrils of hair caressing the gentle slopes of her jaw. It was then he realized she wasn’t wearing the mask. Her ebony lips twisted into a sweet pout as she stood before him. A tortured longing wrapped around his heart.

  “Hi,” he finally managed to say, staring into her cool, narrow gaze. She crossed her arms over her chest, forming a shield between the two of them.

  “Hello,” she returned, her voice laced with frost.

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said taking a cautious step up, moving towards her. “I was worried about you…after you left.”

  She raised her chin indignantly, waves of hostility rippled from her, flowing in his direction.

  She’s angry with me. His heart sank. Of course she would be. He’d been so insensitive. It was unforgivable, but he had to try.

  “Fate,” he said quietly, taking a step towards her. “I’m so sorry…for the way I behaved.” Seeing her unresponsive and hugging herself tighter, he pressed on. “I never meant to hurt you…”

  Her head snapped up, eyes boring into his as she interjected with venom, “But you did.”

  Kane nodded, defeated. He wished so much that he could erase what he’d said that day. Start again. “I can only say I’m sorry.”

  “Sometimes,” she started, taking a step towards him, the chill of her skin slicing him as she brushed past, “sorry isn’t enough.”

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