Darkin: A Journey East (22 page)

“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.

“Because it is elven?” asked Adacon, alarmed by the sight of the figure who strode toward them.

“Because Enoa has few peoples that would care to harbor man and gnome in peace—and you seem to have lost all your weapons to the sea,” interrupted a booming voice, accented, deep and gravelly. Surprised, Adacon and Remtall looked to the stranger from whom the words had come. “We are pleased to welcome you to our fertile home, distant travelers.”

“Indeed as much as we are pleased to be on dry land for a spell,” Remtall eagerly greeted the tall elf. Adacon stood speechless; as customary of Arkenshyr he offered his hand to be shaken. The elf took and shook Adacon’s hand, and Adacon used the moment to study the elf’s foreign appearance: he had leaf-color stained skin—Adacon realized with a start—as if his skin was meant to blend with the foliage. The elf wore little clothes: a thin russet tunic hung loosely, falling as low as mid-thigh. To Adacon’s shock the elf was barefoot. His hair was raven black, like the whole of his irises, and his face was deeply carved from a slim symmetrical nose that ran its length equal to a scar along his cheek. His eyebrows were thin but long, and they curved a sharp point near their middle. Adacon looked to the elves ears, searching for the characteristic points as he’d seen in books: to his surprise the ears were barely pointed. Exaggerations, Adacon thought—though his ears were distinctly drawn back and away from the head, giving the illusion of a point.

“Forgive him—he was a slave, and has never seen an elf in his life, as you might have guessed,” Remtall said, covering for Adacon’s rudeness in having stared so long at the elf.

“Adacon, I presume,” the elf said.

“Yes! How do you know my—”

“And Remtall Olter'Fane, fair captain of the gnomen fleet,” the elf said, interrupting Adacon. Remtall and the elf embraced in a strong hug.

“We are greatly appreciative for your welcome here, though we’ve lost any offerings of gratitude to the Kalm, as you may already surmise,” Remtall said. He gripped up his flask and took a celebratory drink.

“Forget excessive pleasantries, as Krem the Vapour has enlightened the elves of Carbal Run to your task and purpose. And know that we, the jungle elves of Carbal, embark astride the task of sustaining your errand,” the elf replied. “I am Iirevale of Tuhrn Falls, son of Tuhrn.”

“Glad to meet you, Iirevale,” piped Adacon, finally breaking his paralysis. Just then, from behind Iirevale, strode forth a young elven woman, carrying yellow-white fruit. Once again Adacon stood dumbfounded—this time more so than before; he could not believe the beauty of the elven woman: her raven hair hung long, streaked of silver light, about her supple frame; glimmering bits of gold sparkled on her skin, faintly reacting with dew-streaked rays of the sun—but even bits of gold sparkled in her eyes, he thought, as he pored at her through hanging particles of starry mist. She was as loosely dressed as the male elf, yet her body was pronouncedly different: Adacon stared at her strange curves, running from her muscled thigh to where they climbed the arch of her lower back; her shaped chest drew him from there, and led him to her serene face, more elegant than any Adacon had ever seen. Her nose was like the man-elf’s, a smaller version thereof, more slender, rolling down to stop before pink lips.