Darkin: A Journey East Read online

  Sincerely,

  ~Solun Hermit’

  “I must be the abbreviated A, and Erguile the E,” Adacon realized, regaining spirit.

  “When he writes be not saddened, I take him to mean the loss of Slowin, Flaer, and Erguile,” Remtall responded.

  “Yes, it must be,” Adacon replied, overjoyed. “And Weakhoof as well, let’s hope.”

  “It won’t be long before we pass through the Fang Shoals and reach Erol Drunne. In the meantime, we must think of some great thanks to pay the phantoms for keeping us alive.”

  “Have they been with us since the storm?”

  “They have,” Remtall answered, taking a drink from his flask. “Since the moment they set us to sea in this boat, they have watched us, keeping us with food from the wrecked schooner.”

  “Then I will attempt to repay them in what way I can once we arrive.”

  “Try as we might, part of me thinks they will disappear as soon as they have guided us as far as Krem asked them to,” Remtall guessed.

  “Either way, we remain in their debt,” Adacon said, and he turned to the phantom ship behind them but saw nothing; he waved with glee at the blank sky.

  “It is perhaps through some magic of theirs that you were sustained through your sleep,” Remtall said. “For as I tried to force feed you, you would never take what I gave, save for some rum I managed to drizzle past your teeth.” He cracked a wry smile.

  “The debt I owe for being kept alive—be it to Krem, the phantoms, or Gaigas—I will try to repay somehow,” Adacon proclaimed. Remtall ignored him and set about making a small meal of stale bread and dried meat.

  The two sat under the hot sun, drifting atop the half-invisible floor, eating and discussing their fate.

  “Should we still fear the Fang Shoals with the phantoms aiding us?” Adacon asked in between bites.

  “We do not need to fear the shoals themselves, as this dinghy seems to glide above the water. We might take her into the surf and onto the sand if we needed to. But Karabden is a different story,” Remtall muttered.

  “Does it lurk in the waters we head toward?” Fear trickled into the back of Adacon’s consciousness.

  “I have been told as much by all the captains of the sea I ever knew. I know that if maneuvered right, the whirlpool of Karabden can be wholly avoided. I have also heard that the maneuvering needed to avoid her is a tremendous feat, even for a sea-gnome,” Remtall explained.

  “But it’s the phantoms who move our ship, isn’t it?”

  “It is boy; this vessel has no sails, as you know, nor any oars or rudders,” Remtall replied. “Relax—you think too much already, and you’ve only just got up. Enjoy the peace of the Kalm, for we are upon the shoals in two days time.”

  “You want me to rest after I’ve been resting for two months? You’re right though, there’s nothing I can do. Why did I sleep so long?”

  “As I remember it, a great brick of ice clipped your head, just before that net of the phantoms formed. Lucky you survived at all, I think.” They had their fill of bread and meat, and then the gnome and human stretched out to find as much comfort as possible on the tiny boat floor. Remtall erected a tarp he had made from one of their food sacks, shielding them from the scorching rays of sun.

  “And Remtall,” Adacon said.

  “Yes?”

  “You looked so calm, I remember, just before the wave hit us. You were even smoking your pipe still…”

  “As I said before boy, I have thrice seen worser things come upon my ship at sea, and thrice have I survived. A gnome knows his end when it nears, and I knew that wasn’t it. Enough about that forsaken storm—let us talk of women, boy, and the ones you’ll soon meet when we come ashore,” Remtall said, changing the topic. Adacon laughed, sighed, and lay down under the makeshift canopy. Remtall began a long treatise on how to properly treat, and seduce, a lady.

  The next two days passed slowly, and the waters of the Kalm Ocean remained friendly to the phantom dinghy. Adacon and Remtall talked much, and when they weren’t talking about women the conversation would turn to Remtall’s son. Adacon relayed all that he could remember about his friend, and considering that Remtall, the son, had taken action against the tyranny of Grelion first, Adacon credited him as the true starter of the rebellion. Remtall drank and listened, smoking occasionally, and when Adacon’s turn for story ended, the gnome told endless tales of the great gnomen fleet he once commanded. He detailed the service he had rendered to Commander Grelion Rakewinter in times before the name bore ill omens. It had been more than a half century since the Five Country War came to pass, and Remtall spoke of it as if it had happened yesterday; he told of great naval battles, and of the final blast that ended the war. He offered a shocking new truth about the Five Country War—Flaer Ironhand himself had commanded an army, alongside a great king of the south, and in the final hours before the end of the war, Flaer himself had dueled against Vesleathren.

  “Flaer dueled with Vesleathren?” Adacon repeated in surprise.

  “Sure as I drink ale, boy, he did—and that is how he came to possess the Brigun Autilus,” Remtall replied.

  “The Brigun Autilus was Vesleathren’s sword?”“Yes—you might see his traces when it glows, speaks, or conjures other sources of devilry unknown to me,” attested Remtall.

  “I wonder why there was so little protection over the sword—Slowin took it from the tower so easily; he didn’t break a sweat.”

  “Hahaugh!” Remtall laughed heartily. “A metal golem sweating!” He violently coughed at the image, choked some, then finally resettled. “I cannot say why Grelion took so little care in keeping it safe; I daresay he did not know the full power of that sword, nor its origins.”

  “How old is Flaer?”

  “Much older than me, young boy. And I am much older than any ordinary man could hope to live,” Remtall replied. “A great and ancient enchantment courses through his veins, though he will not speak of it. It keeps him young and fertile—but it is a curse, for he is doomed to live longer than even elves.”

  “Elves? Tell me about them,” Adacon begged.

  “Now is not the time,” he replied, turning his head sharply to watch the crash of a soft wave against the transparent hull. In the distance ahead, waves churned in a circular motion. Though they foamed violently, they were still far off. Adacon could make out the frothy lips of the rough water, crashing on top of itself as it spun in a wide circumference.

  “Is that…”

  “Karabden.”

  Remtall shot a glance back at the phantom ship that trailed them, but he saw nothing flicker or appear. He returned his gaze to the whirlpool that already drew them steadily toward its center.

  “Looks like this one is going to be all us, boy—I fear the phantoms have finished their task and left us,” Remtall said.

  “What can we do?”

  “Not much more than hold on.” Remtall rummaged through one of the bags at his side and pulled out what looked to be two tiny pans with long handles. “No time to talk boy,” Remtall said as he put the two pans into Adacon’s hands.

  “I’ve never rowed—” Adacon said as he stuck the make-shift oars into the water. “They’re too small. . .”

  “Never mind how small they are—keep us south, row that way,” Remtall instructed, pointing for him. Adacon began to row, and the waves circling in the distance grew closer, larger; soon the white fury of a mid-ocean surf was rocking the small phantom boat.

  “It’s too strong, it’s pulling us in!” Adacon said, struggling against the tow of the whirlpool. Rowing as hard as he could in the opposite direction seemed to only speed them toward their doom. He could do nothing as the boat entered the waves at the rim of the spinning surf; soon the boat was lost in the ferocious grip of the spiraling waters. White foamy water splashed over the boat, its speed increased, and Adacon gave up rowing; he looked to Remtall for help.

  “What are we going to do?” Adacon barked over the thundering crashes of
the Karabden’s whirlpool. The boat bobbed up and down atop the gyrating surf—the churning suction throttled the boat, slamming Adacon and Remtall to the floor. The whirling vortex spun them round, dizzying them, drawing them closer to what appeared to be a depressed center of blackness: Karabden.

  “Nothing we can do—except hope the phantoms didn’t bring us this far to let us die now,” Remtall answered as the boat rode the roaring foam in ever-quickening circles.

  “I see the phantom ship! It’s sailing away!” Adacon cried. When Remtall turned to his side he saw the same sight: the great phantom ship had set a course westward, abandoning them; its stern flickered out, several hundred yards away.

  “Blasted Phantoms! Ghosts of devilry and half-valor!” cursed Remtall as he realized their new fate. The boat now traveled the circumference of the whirlpool every thirty seconds, losing time with each pass. The black center grew large before them.

  “Look!” Adacon grabbed Remtall, still furiously cursing the phantoms, and forced him to look upon the center of the whirlpool. Together they watched the dark eye of Karabden: from its abyssal heart rose a scaled head, followed by a serpentine body the color of coal, glistening under the glare of midday. The serpent’s eyes were pure white; it had no irises. It rose twenty yards into the sky before opening its jaw; it whined a great piercing howl down at its victims. The creature’s tongue slithered from its gaping mouth; its tongue was forked, gliding over a jawline set with thousands of crooked-hook teeth, jutting out to either side. From the Karabden’s scaled worm-body protruded a mane of thorns running down its back, ornamented with rows of sickle spikes. A high-pitched scream emitted from the beast; suddenly the glistening serpent was diving straight down, its mouth poised to swallow Adacon and Remtall whole. Karabden’s jaw engulfed the entire boat just as Remtall pushed Adacon overboard and jumped himself into the white foam. The serpent lurked under the water. Adacon looked at Remtall as they struggled to stay afloat in the surf. The black center drew them in.

  “I’m glad to have met you, boy—a fine pleasure to share your company—now let us meet our deaths with the honor we meant to have in life,” Remtall said, dipping underneath the waves and taking a gulp of water, only to cough it up. Adacon didn’t know how to reply; he felt scared of death for the first time since his journey began. Even the ever-brave Remtall had resolved to give up, and all hope was lost.

  “Yarnhoot!” Adacon shouted with the enthusiasm of witnessing a miracle. “And another bird’s with him!” Remtall struggled to look up; he saw diving toward them his giant condor, Yarnhoot, and its mate. Karabden resurfaced next to Adacon; the giant serpent wasted no time rising into the sky to screech before attacking: it rose only to eye-level with Adacon. Karabden opened its jaws wide. Inside the serpent’s mouth row after row of hooked fangs gleamed. The giant sea monster made its fatal strike.

  “Here!” Remtall shouted from the heavens. As Karabden’s jaws pounced forward, Adacon looked up to see a hand hanging from the sky. “Hold fast friend!” Remtall exclaimed. Adacon grabbed on to his hand just in time to avoid the lightning strike of the serpent. Crashing into the waters with an empty mouth, Karabden rose quickly, angered, striking ferociously into the sky; its black body shot straight at Yarnhoot, who somehow held Remtall and Adacon by its talons. The other condor flew underneath Adacon as he slipped free from Remtall’s grip; Adacon plopped squarely onto the back of Yarnhoot’s friend, who ascended immediately. Karabden bore his strike down upon Yarnhoot; the powerful bird had been unable to gain enough altitude to escape the length of the uncoiled serpent. Remtall looked down and saw the whole of the whirlpool: from its center the black slimy length of Karabden had jumped, racing through air to swallow the great condor. The serpent lunged in a final effort to eat both bird and gnome in a single gulp.

  Remtall railed against the sky, cursing the cruel irony of their near escape. As if in response to the gnome’s final cry, Yarnhoot’s companion swooped in, gouging out the left eye of Karabden in mid-strike. Milky white pus streamed forth as Karabden once more emitted a piercing scream, so loud that vibrations knocked Remtall’s green hat from his head; it twirled in flight to its doom below in the swirling waters. The condor loosened its talons from Karabden’s face, and the monster shrieked all the way down to the dark sea beneath the vortex. Remtall rejoiced, as did Adacon, and they exchanged weary smiles from atop their condors. The great birds flew in close to one another; Adacon’s condor bore his human weight as gracefully as Yarnhoot bore the gnome’s.

  “Adacon, meet Wester,” Remtall introduced Adacon to Yarnhoot’s mate.

  “Pleased to meet you, Wester,” Adacon squealed, and he smiled in relief, petting Wester’s neck. “And it’s very nice to see you again too, Yarnhoot.” Adacon glanced back over to Yarnhoot, who carried Remtall. Just then the two great condors let out a song of happiness, chirping sweetly, as the mellow air of the Kalm returned with a cool breeze.

  “To Erol Drunne!” Remtall exclaimed, and the birds turned to fly east, and soon, much to the delight of Adacon, there were small grey and green bumps in the distant horizon, and together, gnome and slave shouted: “Land!”

  The Country of Enoa spread out below Yarnhoot and Wester as the two great condors glided on a strong westerly wind that took them over a dotted white shore. Adacon looked back at the ocean behind him, and with relief he thanked Gaigas for having come across the Kalm safely. Remtall stared straight ahead and took in the beautiful scenery of the Enoan landscape: the beach led to dense groves of broad-leafed trees, which multiplied into a vast jungle of luscious emerald shades and dewy canopies atop which many foreign birds were making happy song. All beneath the condors sprawled the blanket of living vegetation, through which no floor of soil could be seen. The birds flew higher above the jungle, and deep in the distance Adacon saw blue-grey mountains looming like luminous needles in the sky. The weather was calm, and only a few clouds hung about either side of the travelers; the jungle stretched so far that Adacon could not see anything else, and he presumed the entire continent of Enoa to be verdant forest. After almost half an hour of flight, Adacon spotted what looked like a break in thick canopy, up and to their left. The birds redirected their flight toward the clearing he had seen, and soon Adacon made out what appeared to be a cloistered collection of vinethatched buildings, built from the bowels of trees that stood within the bare spot of low-grassed earth.

  “What’s that there?” Adacon shouted as Wester flew in close to Yarnhoot’s side.

  “I believe that’s the post of Carbal Run, farthest civilized point from Erol Drunne,” answered Remtall.

  “Are we going to land there?”

  “I should hope so—these birds have flown across the sea, aided by what force I cannot say; and though they are still strong in their wing stroke, they need rest.”

  The condors descended swiftly upon the secluded post, tucked in a circle of thick jungle wall. As the birds came within several yards of being level with the tree canopy, Adacon felt a fine spray envelop him.

  “What in Darkin!” Adacon exclaimed as the birds dipped beneath the highest layer of trees; the fine mist seemed to dance all about them: tiny shimmering droplets that hung in the air, reflecting light spontaneously as if a spray of radiant stars. “What a curious place!”

  “I’ve only been to this jungle once before in my life, and I was just a child then, but I do remember the mist; one always remembers the mist. It hangs about the air year round, giving vitality to the lush greenery that is so plentiful here,” Remtall recalled. “Ah, I can’t wait for a drink of elven ale…”

  “Elven?” cried Adacon in childish excitement. “How I have longed to meet elves, and hoped that they were not only fable!”

  “Hah—wait till you meet some elvish women, boy,” Remtall chuckled as the condors descended lower and lower until finally there was nothing surrounding them but the girth of enormous trunks. The birds set their talons to rest on the earth near one of the thatched buildings that jutted as if
a carving from a massive trunk, the body of an especially mossy jungle tree. The elf buildings were constructed of branches and leaves that seemed still attached to the trees themselves, alive; each house possessed vertical hallways, passing through wooden floors every ten yards or more, progressively higher, directly toward the sky, eventually terminating somewhere in the mesh of canopy above. Misshapen windows of amber-colored glass speckled the houses, and through the nearest one Adacon saw many faint glints sparkling, candles perhaps, producing on the amber glass fractals upon which the dew seemed to clump and respond, as if alive. Despite the mist, Adacon noticed it did not feel humid, much as a hot day at the farm would feel, and he could breathe as easily as ever. Yarnhoot and Wester unloaded their passengers, and soon the two birds were stepping together toward a nearby babbling stream that cut through the heart of the village.

  “I’ve never seen so much green in my life,” said Adacon, stunned by the colorful vegetation that sprouted round the bases of the elven houses; flowers and plants danced amidst the floating droplets: deep crimson; bright purple; magenta; sapphire; pink and orange. Erect in front of the house closest to them was a wall of scarlet flowers, bent with dew in the cool midday air. Next Adacon noticed the noises; all around he heard not only chirping, squawking and squeaking animals, but songs: melodies emanated from the houses. From a distance, Adacon made out foreign chatter which he guessed to be elven speech.

  “Music—it’s beautiful—twice before I experienced it, but never this sweet,” Adacon rejoiced. Remtall turned to him and smiled; sighing he released his waterproof pipe-satchel from his side, inspecting for damage.

  “Good thing we’ve made it to the post,” Remtall uttered. A stranger, tall and lightly clothed, came out of the nearby brush.