Darkin: The Prophecy of the Key (The Darkin Saga Book 2) (50 page)

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Erol Drunne, at the council to discuss the aliens?” Adacon asked, dumbfounded, realizing it hadn’t been a dream: Krem had somehow spoken directly to him in his dream while he slept.

“Well, they’ll get along fine without me…You see, there’s something else I needed to see you about.” Krem heaved as if he’d run a long distance.

“How long have you been strolling along in the forest, watching us?” Adacon gasped.

“Not long really—Yarnhoot is in the woods, waiting for me. I have to return to him—just listen quickly…”

“Alright then, go ahead, what could it be?” Adacon said impatiently, still getting over the surprise of seeing his friend turn up in the middle of the jungle along a deep Carbal river.

“It’s Alejia and Tempern.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you see, they’ve made up their mind that they will fight now, involve themselves in the world’s affairs, more than ever with the new academy he is building…”

“I know that—so what’s wrong with it?”

“Adacon—it’s against the nature of Gaigas for a Welsprin to interfere.”

“But I’m a Welsprin and I interfered; I killed hundreds of Feral demons on the battlefield that day. And besides, what do they have to interfere with—there’s no more evil left on Darkin—you said that yourself.”

“I know, but its different for you. You are young and misunderstand the nature of your power…Tempern and Alejia, they’ve been alive for millennia—they know better,” Krem said, still catching his breath, looking more tired than usual. “And even Flaer is behind their decision, happy as anything that Tempern is finally doing something.”

“So what’s your concern? I don’t see the harm in them becoming active in the world. You’re going to have to explain it better to me, Krem,” Adacon insisted, unable to fathom what caused in his friend so much turmoil.

“I think…” he replied, pausing then for a long moment. “I think the outcome of the battle at the choke…” The tiny Vapour looked up, not wanting to say what he was about to say, fighting it, desperately wishing not to reveal his own purpose for seeking Adacon at such a late hour, in such an odd place.

“Out with it! My princess is asleep, alone on that boat, and you could come in the morning—better yet, why don’t you do that, we’ll fix you a breakfast; it’d be about time I finally fed you, what with all the times you—” Adacon was cut off by the most serious glare he’d ever received from Krem:

“The battle went the way
it
wanted.”

“It what?”

“It wanted—the way
it
wanted it to happen,” Krem reiterated.

“The Unicorporas?” Adacon said, bemused. “Impossible, they’re dead, Zesm and Vesleathren both.”

“I know they are, I’m not denying that—there’s something else…the Mael—vu—vulent,” Krem stuttered.

“Maelvulent?” Adacon replied limply, not recognizing the word. “Never heard of that…what is it?”

“The oldest records of our planet describe an opposite to a…”

“An opposite?”

“An opposite to a Welsprin.”

“An evil incarnation of a Welsprin?”

“Shh,” Krem scolded, looking out to the canoe that had magically stopped floating downstream, held by an invisible anchor. “I can’t be sure of anything yet, so I haven’t told anyone but you.”

“Tempern never mentioned there being another kind of Welsprin, a…Maelvulent did you call it?” he replied, questioning Krem’s logic. He began to think the old hermit may have become paranoid after so many battles against evil wizards. “Krem, I’m sure you’ve nothing to worry about. You’re going to make a fine magister at the academy—”

“That’s just it, Adacon, that’s just what I’ve come to ask of you,” Krem replied.

“What do you mean?”

“I want you to accept a post there, at the academy, teaching Vapoury,” Krem answered.

“But why? I don’t know that much—just the basic techniques that Tempern taught me, not nearly as much as you.”

“You already surpass my ability in so many ways laddy, you just don’t realize it. But that’s not why I’m asking you to do it.”

“Please tell me then, because I don’t understand,” Adacon said, finally feeling dread disturb his newfound tranquility.

“I need you there to keep an eye on the students who come into the academy—there will be a great rush of people, all races, wanting to learn
magic,
as it will be the first time in eons that Vapoury will be taught and not hidden as a stigma—it’s been so long that many will need its existence proved before they even come to learn it.”

“Just to watch the students?”

“If my intuition is correct, the Maelvulent will come to learn, as if a student of Vapoury—a prodigal student, he would learn the ways of the Welsprin. But he will be of a polarized heart; his true character will lie dormant as he soaks in all of Tempern’s knowledge, all of Alejia’s, all of yours…”

“So the Maelvulent will come to learn about its own power from the us, the good hearted? Krem, you can’t be serious about this.”

“No—he won’t intentionally come to learn about the nature of Gaigas from the Welsprins, he himself will not even realize he is the Maelvulent—not until his study is such that his powers have already been learned will he transform into the purest essence of evil, the Maelvulent.”

“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.