“Thank you, kind sir,” Adacon returned. “I am a weary traveler seeking refuge, and if possible, something to eat. I would be greatly in your debt if…” he was cut off:
“Tisk you—dabbling in your moral necessities. I am of your kind too, you know. I shall prepare for us some feast, as I suppose I can fix. But alas, it is time for you to escape this harsh golden eye, and breach into a cooler ambiance, down inside my den. Come, follow me, and leave your haste behind.” The old man grinned deeply and turned, scuffling quickly back inside his hut. It was small making for Adacon, but he managed to squeeze through the door. He sheathed his sword again, realizing oddly enough that the hermit man gave no sign of fear at the sight of the blade.
The walls inside were quite beautiful, he soon discovered. The hall they walked was lined with endless shelves of books, then clear cabinets displaying wondrous rocks of all colors. Some seemed to glow and waver with a mysterious glimmer as he gazed upon them, but he kept his eyes mainly on the old man’s back as they ventured down, descending the sandy corridor deeper into the mysterious house. Finally they came to a big open room with four larger corridors leading off in different directions. He noticed the walls were engraved with odd symbols, some of which were things he had seen before in forbidden books. His spine shivered. The old man turned to him and nodded, and without a word he walked with a strenuous pace toward the room’s center. Once there, the tiny hermit paused to smell the air. He sighed, and gave another glance to Adacon.
“The sort of home that would make for comfortable living, eh boy?” he asked.
“I suppose, I am much cooler in here, and there’s a pleasant aroma in the air. Do tell me we’re going to the stove?” Adacon asked, feeling his stomach growl, reminding him of his hunger.
“Surely, I should hope, lest the trolls of Carnine have looted my good store,” laughed the old man, letting out an enormous high pitched howl, seemingly too loud for someone with such a small frame. Suddenly, he began to run ahead of Adacon. They paced toward the left wall corridor, and he was surprised at the energy he felt rolling off the old man. They came to a hole in the ground at the end of the sandy hallway, and without a word the little man disappeared down a ladder coming out of the top. Adacon stood dumbfounded. He almost thought he could hear water dripping from below, but decided it was his imagination. Without shouting down to ask if it was safe to come, he followed the man. The ladder seemed to go down and down forever, and he began to grow faint after repeating the same hand movements over and over. Finally he came to the ground at the bottom and realized he was no longer standing on hard sand, but smooth grey rock. He looked directly up:
The ceiling of the great cave was sparkling like diamonds, and there were jagged rocks jutting their edges down toward the ground. High above was a tiny spot of light where the ladder had led down from. The height seemed quite extreme and he leveled out his glance, taking in a deep cavernous chamber. The sparkling room was enormous, one hundred yards wide at least, he thought in wonderment. The place looked like a palace carved from the inside of a giant rock. The most beautiful sight in the cave was a clear blue pond that sat comfortably in the center of the room. The water shimmered with reflections of the surrounding crystals and rocks that draped the walls and ceiling. He had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. He had a sudden notion, almost gone the next second, to kill the old man and spend eternity alone and at peace within the cave. But that thought snapped away, and reality returned with the sound of the old man’s voice.
“So what do you think of my pool? I think it should be called lovely by some, though I reckon not even this could be seen as beauty to Grelion and his kin,” muttered the old man, ending on an angrier tone.
“This place is beautiful, I have never seen anything like it,” Adacon responded, still in awe. “This is your home?”
“This old place has been my home now for many of your lives lad, and with the sort of evil folk running around in this age, I am glad it is so well hidden. Anyway…” he spoke gently. “I’ve not had one visitor in the past century, I suppose, though mind you I do travel out a lot myself. It’s a pleasant surprise for me to share this wonder with another—another like you.”
“Like me?” Adacon recoiled, awed by the little man’s reference to his extreme age.
“Sure you, lad” he retorted.
“Why me?”
“Because you are not one of them, and us who live apart from chaos and evil are as one,” the man replied. “Do you not rebel against your oppression now, where it drives to sting?”
“I do, Though I don’t know much anything about the world… I was raised a slave on a farm, just a few miles west of here. I know so little, except that I am a murderer now, and without a reason to live, except maybe to find freedom.”
“Ah Krem, he’s a good dreamer…” the old man muttered under his breath. “You cannot learn to be free unless you can learn to love, and you cannot begin to love, young lad, until you have learned to love yourself,” said the old man, mystifying Adacon with the word Krem.
“Krem? I do not quite follow you…” responded Adacon.
“Oh, yes, of course—I am Krem, and it is the name I have known to be mine for as long as I can recall,” Krem responded, chuckling to himself.
“And what is your stance on the oppression? Do you not feel the pain it has caused us all? I’m no longer a slave to the lords, and I don’t care if they seek to kill me or not… I only hope to find some free place to go, and live if I can in peace.”
“Ah, you have gone into worries—too many, I think, for now. What is your name, young lad?” asked Krem.
“My name is Adacon.”
“Good Adacon, listen to me yet. A war has been spawned in you, I think. Never have I seen a slave so free from fear. And that quality in you I cherish. But this talk of oppression, what brings that?” spoke Krem.
“What? You don’t know of the bondage, so close to your home? The controlling lords that use us as tools, and entitle us to no freedom? That is the oppression I have known for all my life,” Adacon said with fury.
“If you have been treated poorly in the past, dear Adacon, I am deeply sorry for that. But it is now that a war seems to have risen in you, and we must focus upon the present. The lords, did you say? Hah, I marvel at that name you give him. Almost seems you think there to be more than one.”
“I’ve always heard that there are a great many lords—the minority who rule the rest of the world.”
“Partly you are correct young lad, as our country is controlled by a small group of people. But alas, there are no lords, as you propose. There is a Lord, whose name goes widely unknown in these times. It is Grelion. All the others whom you think to be the lords—they all work for Grelion.”
“I can’t believe one man could be responsible for all of this, and that one man could have that much power? I cannot fathom it. I was always told there were many lords, hundreds…”
“Hmmm… The lore in this age has run bleached, as I can tell from your beliefs. Grelion is the king of this country, along with everything save that which lies east of the great Kalm Ocean. Of course, under his absolute leadership are many lesser servants, but alas, he is the only true Lord.”
“Where does he call his home? I will kill him, I swear, I shall run right into his home and cut his throat! To think, that there is but one person to blame for all the slavery and death—we must have his head.”
“Ah, but you have so much to learn still, boy. Grelion is nowhere near this country. Like a true coward, he hides away from the land he rules over, and his exact location I’m not sure you could discover even if you had all the flying spies of Darkin. But his stench grows closer every day—I can sense his dementia ascending over our skies every night, his greed devouring our happiness. But enough talk of the sorrowful things we cannot yet change; we ought to have a proper meal first. Afterwards, we can discuss the fate of the world,” Krem said, quieting as he stood from his chair near the cave w
all. He walked away to the far right corner of the cave, toward a room that was cut from the rock—hopefully the dining area, Adacon thought. “Come along,” the old hermit called back.
“I’m sorry, but I seem to be of a clouded mind right now, you are the first friendly presence I have known in a long time,” Adacon said, trotting up to reach Krem.
“And not the last, let’s pray. Now have a seat, and a bit of patience, young lad, it is time to be remedied of your hunger.”
* * *
The dining hall was filled with splendid aromas of all sorts. Adacon sat himself at a table that was carved from the rock floor awaiting food, all the while being seduced by the growing smells. Finally, out walked the colorful little man Krem, effortlessly carrying two plates, each overflowing with food. There was bread and fresh cooked meat, along with fresh vegetables and fruit. Adacon was in heaven. This is no stale slave food, he thought jovially. He relished in the thought for another moment, and then realized that the food was now laid out before him on the table. Violently, he began to eat as fast as possible.
“Ow!” Adacon wailed. With a painful thud suddenly impacting his back, he stopped eating and looked up in agony. Krem had throttled him with his marble staff, and was now calmly watching the slave.
“Do you not release selfishness and greed before you eat? Ah, well, you should, rather than live this journey in greed, eh? Be settled for me to make a moment of some gratefulness, dear boy,” Krem said passively. He began to speak again in a moment, this time in a gentler tone. “All of Darkin assembles before the great force of Gaigas, that the righteous fruits of this land may usher in a new serenity, renewing the circle of life whilst ridding the demons that haunt good men. I ask that you, Gaigas, Great Spirit of existence, unite our life with yours, as we thank you for these graces.” There was a moment of silence after Krem’s homage, and Adacon sat unmoving, unsure of what to do.
“Eat man,” shouted Krem. So Adacon returned to his feeding frenzy, and he ate and ate until he felt his burst.
“Ah, this has been quite some meal, Krem, if I do say so,” said Adacon in a humorous tone; he had finished off close to a full bottle of Krem’s precious wine. Krem did not seem affected by his wine, and he thought for a second that maybe he and Krem were having different drinks.
“So what of this bastard—Grelion, you said was his name? We must find him immediately!” Adacon blurted out, returning his quest to mind, and spewing out the first thoughts that pertained to it.
“Do not be foolish boy. Should you attempt even another two leagues beyond my door, I do not give you half a chance at survival,” Krem uttered, although it didn’t affect Adacon’s confidence.
“We must start east. If we can’t find Grelion, we shall go on eastward until we find free natives. Then we will unite with them to build an army,” Adacon said, as his mind swirled in patterns with no control. Krem interrupted him.
“We, hmmm? Who is this party you think to be assembled, that you speak of so surely in tone. You speak as if you are not the only one willing to die for your freedom,” Krem said.
“I have myself, and that is all I shall need for the moment. I know in my heart there are others like me, there has to be—how could this way of life have been tolerated for so long? All those who share this passion for freedom will follow me. For I’ve never felt love, such as you speak of, and I shall free myself to find it, at all costs.” Adacon glowered, and then he sighed, glancing to Krem’s large green eyes.
“I’ll tell you what I think, lad. You have the passion, and the virtue, you only need the path. I think it is time to bring about a relapse into the way of the ancients.”
“The way of the ancients?”
“Heh, so young and passionate, and yet you do not realize how dangerous you are, or the constant danger you are in.”
“I feel danger from nothing now.”
“That is not true,” Krem coldly replied.
“Upon a thousand leagues of this desert I swear to you, I will give my life for this cause,” Adacon pleaded, feeling as though the old man could help him greatly on his journey, if only he’d believe his sincerity.
“Then your mind is made up. The quest should start in the summoning of a small band of fighters. You escaped from your plantation leaving behind no guards, correct?” questioned Krem.
“I killed them all, yes.”
“It appears the goal of your quest is laid out plain enough in your mind, but the starting point remains shrouded in uncertainty,” Krem said, and he drew in a deep breath before continuing. “I think the first move you might make, if you’re inclined to take an old man’s advice, should be made after a brief rest. Go, sleep upon my soft bed there. When you awake, return to your plantation and gather the slaves you left for the wilderness. Tell them of your war, and let your own eyes see who will stand with you.” Krem pointed in the direction of a pillow-filled mat near the cave wall. Adacon didn’t protest the chance for sleep, and he quietly lay down.
It seemed that nearly no time had passed at all when Krem’s voice woke him from deep slumber.
“It is time now, lad. I have let you sleep too long. The sun is failing, you must go.”
“Alright—I’ll go,” Adacon replied, startled to realize the old man hadn’t been just some strange dream after all.
“I’ve no idea how far the next tower is from my farm, so there’s no way to know if the farm has been found already by the lords. I mean Grelion. His men may already guard there again.”
“Not yet, I don’t think,” Krem said.
“Do you know if more towers are near?”
“There is always a sentry tower nearby in this age, and that is why you must make all haste. Once you’ve recovered those slaves who will take to your cause, return here to my home amidst the dunes. We shall assess your next move then,” Krem ordered. Without any more words, the old man led Adacon out of the pond room and back up the ladder into the main living hall on the first floor. He walked, still in awe over the magnificence of Krem’s home, a marvelous cave palace encompassed in a sand dune. Krem gave a gruff farewell once they reached the green door, and he swiftly departed, thanking the old man once again for the food and rest.
III: THERE AND BACK AGAIN
The sun was slowly setting in the western sky. Adacon felt that at any moment he would awaken from a dream. His whole world had been flipped upside down, but when he contrasted the negatives against what his former life had been, he felt some happiness.
Shadows grew long and thin as he trod down the path, walking alongside shrubs that became small bushes and trees. The Red Forest formed along the shoulders of the dirt road, and soon the nocturnal animals hidden there began to make festive chatter and haunting calls into the dusk. He eyed the woods warily, expecting at any moment for a giant creature to come sprawling out onto his path. Slave lore told of wood golems, massive hulks known to be very territorial. More than a few runaway slaves were thought to have died by way of golem hammer, axe, or fist.
Darkness finally swallowed the sun, and there were few stars. The night looked mean, and he took his sword into his hand and decided to keep it there until he arrived at the farm. The woods were becoming denser as in the distance he could make out the dim light of the guard tower. He could hear no human sounds coming from the path ahead, and he wondered if the other slaves had already run off, perhaps into the wilderness of the Red Forest. A poor idea, he thought, as that would get them mercilessly killed by wild wolves or bears. But the farm gate drew near, and he prepared to enter his former home once again.
The entrance greeted him with dried puddles of blood on the dirt. The silence was almost eerie, and he did not move any farther into the farm. He looked around the corn field in broad angles, searching for any changes he could recognize in the scenery.
There were none; nothing had been changed, it seemed. And better yet, the lords, or Grelion, had not discovered the farm’s downfall yet. He rejoiced, as a small piece of a large puzzle seemed
to fall into place in his mind. Lord Grelion wouldn’t know of the farm’s downfall, he hoped optimistically, until the morale monitor rode in on horseback from what was called the Dark City. That wouldn’t be for roughly a week, he calculated quickly in his head.
“Hello! Fellow slaves, can you hear me?” he called. There was no response for a long time, and then a whistling noise shot out into the night air, startling him. “Who’s there? Who is it?” he yelled, tightly gripping his sword with both hands.
“It’s not wise for you to shout so loudly—certainly not the fellow slave bit, at any rate,” came a deep voice from a small distance away. Adacon looked in the direction the voice had come and saw the source emerging from a trail that led into the crops. It was a tough looking slave he recognized, an older man he knew to have worked on the other end of the farm. The man was greater in height and girth than Adacon, dwarfing Adacon’s frame by comparison. He had long black hair that was tied back with string, a beard and mustache, and two black eyes set under thick black eyebrows. His cheek was slightly scarred beneath the left eye, and his features were sharply defined. They had never spoken before, Adacon realized.
“Hello brother!” Adacon said in an emotional yelp, realizing he may have found his first ally.
“Brother what? Have all your thoughts been brewed, as well as your concerns for safety? You should not talk so loudly sire, not with all the dead bodies about,” the man responded.
“I have come to gather those who are willing to fight together with me for freedom; those who would rather die tomorrow than wake up a slave for the rest of their lives. It is that—a passion to break the oppression—that burns inside me. And I have met one so far already, outside this farm, who is on my side,” Adacon replied in a quieter voice.
Darkin: A Journey East Page 3
