Darkin: A Journey East (7 page)

“Do you not give thanks to anything for the graces you receive? I suppose I shouldn’t have expected different from you, coming from the same place as him. Ah well; that’s the way of things, I guess. Now quit moaning lad, and fix a proper mind for giving thanks,” Krem commanded, and then he assumed a meditative gaze, closed his eyes, and spoke again.

“All of Darkin assembles before the great god Gaigas, so that the fruits of this land may usher in a new serenity, renewing the circle of life and ridding the demons. I ask that you, Gaigas, the soul of this world, unite yourself with us, as we thank you for these graces.” Adacon recognized the words to be similar to the prayer he had heard before. “Now you may eat, Erguile…” motioned Krem. And all three of them began to remedy their hunger. In a good bit of time they nearly decimated the entire table’s worth of food.

“I’ve had quite my fill,” smiled a now bloated Adacon.

“As have I,” spoke Erguile. “I suppose this meal alone requires me to drop any grudge against you, old man, even for beating me on the head.”

“That it does indeed,” said Krem. “We shall hold council now, and talk of the great journey to come. I expect you’d all enjoy a fresh pipe?” asked Krem.

“Most certainly! I can’t remember the last time I had a fresh pipe,” Erguile enthusiastically responded.

“Alright then, let’s find our way to my fire den. It’s up the ladder and a short walk from there,” Krem said, and he was the first to stand up from his chair, disregarding the dirty table and plates. He began trotting towards the ladder. “Come on you wretched tatters!” he called back at the still sitting slaves as he began climbing up.

“I suppose we have to go,” said Adacon, looking to Erguile. “I’ll admit I would have rather stayed here and talked; my belly is full to its brim.”

“Mine as well, but talk of war will get me moving,” Erguile said emphatically, and he rose.

“I suppose. . .” Adacon said, and with some effort he removed himself from his chair, and the two climbed the ladder to the chamber above.

Upon arriving again in the room with the four separate halls they realized that Krem was nowhere to be seen.

“How do you like this? He goes off and leaves us alone in his palace,” said Erguile.

“I guess we’ll have to find his fire den ourselves. Come on.” Adacon started off toward one of the corridors, the one farthest from his position.

“Krem!” shouted Erguile suddenly. “You tricky bastard, where have you gone?”

“That will be a good way to anger him, and get your head thrashed again,” reproached Adacon, stopping at the sound of Erguile’s shout.

“Serves the little bastard right, to let us alone and not wait up,” said Erguile. Then, from far down the third corridor came a hooting sound, loud and seemingly from some kind of musical instrument. “That would be him now,” Adacon and Erguile hurried down the corridor from which the sound had come.

They hurried down the long hall, taking in the odd decorations that were just as wondrous as the rest of the palace. The walls were lined with mysterious trinkets, gadgets, and other artifacts fastened to shiny mounts, all of which neither Adacon nor Erguile could recognize. Some were the color of bone, and looked to be strange animal skeletons. Others were shiny and metallic, and whirred at their passing. At last they came to a small room with generous sofas and a large glowing hearth at its center. Little Krem sat in his purple robe, puffing on something that smelled extremely sweet. Erguile plopped down on the sofa across from Krem, followed quickly by Adacon.

“You had better serve me a fixing of that, old man,” said Erguile.

“You’ve got some tongue, lad, but the rudeness I’ll take as a trait for the better, as it shall come in handy when we deal with Feral Trolls. Here, I have not forgotten you both,” Krem said, and then handed them their own pipes stocked with sweet smelling shreds of dried fruits and leaves.

“Thanks old man,” cried Erguile, igniting the mix and starting to puff.

“You can keep those pipes—and these,” Krem said, and he threw from his side two satchels, each made of leather. “I’ve put some dried meat and flasks of water in them already.”

“Thanks Krem, it’s much appreciated. These will be a great help,” Adacon thanked him.

“Indeed,” Krem agreed, puffing contentedly on his pipe as the nearby fire kept them from the growing cold. “Now, before I begin to talk, I am sure you both have questions you want to ask.” Erguile almost jumped in his seat, and immediately asked the first question.

“I have more than a few nagging my mind, but this before all the others: is it true, as Adacon told me, that a Lord
Grelion
is the all powerful and
only
lord of this land?”

“Indeed he is, Erguile. And it’s a sad truth, for that man has grown evil in all ways imaginable,” Krem sullenly replied.

“I’ve a question that I wanted to ask you since yesterday, Krem—it rather pertains to you, actually. Who, or what, is Molto? I’ve twice looked upon that name on your door in confusion—and the Spirited Winds that the sign speaks of,” Adacon asked, puffing pensively on his pipe. Erguile was distracted, deep in thought, quietly coming to terms with the truth about Grelion.

“Ah, an observant one you are, friend. Molto—that name is legendary from ocean to ocean, by those who remember the Elder Ages anyhow. It is said that he was the last of the great Vapours. It is my understanding that he lived in this very home before I came here, and perhaps even many years before that. The Spirited Winds, as you saw on my door, happens to be the name of a
spell
, one that when Vapoury was commonplace struck fear into the hearts of evil men, trolls and elves alike. In a great battle of the Elder Age, Molto waylaid a terrible evil as it descended from the North, single handedly stopping its advance. It was his powerful spell, the Spirited Winds, that defeated the evil Crawl Plaque, as they were called. His Vapoury alone restored an age of peace in Darkin,” told Krem.

“Did you say elves? Elves of the forest? You mean to say they’re not fable?” Adacon eagerly replied.

“Hah, elves are perhaps edging on the border of fable in this age, but I can assure you they have lived on Darkin for at least as long as humans have—I suspect much longer. It is said that in the first age of the world they inherited the good land from Gaigas herself.”

“Gaigas—you keep saying that. Was she a queen of some land from long ago?” asked Adacon.

“Oh no, and above all, you should know of Gaigas. She is the good spirit of Darkin itself, the harmony and love within. Perhaps you’d like to think of her as
God
; I don’t know the faith of slaves. She brings all that is good together, and works with those who are virtuous to guide and strengthen them in their trials against all that is evil and wrong.” Krem paused to puff on his pipe. “Gaigas resides in the nature of all things positive and good. Some, who know the ways of the ancients, can draw upon her energy. This life force, or energy, is known as Vapour. Vapour can be drawn upon and stored in the spirit, should one know how to become at peace with Gaigas. It is a great and mysterious energy, the force a common man would mistake for magic, if he saw it used by a Vapour.”

“This talk; I reckon it blasphemous and untrue. I have lived on this land for all my life, and not once have I seen a magician weave a spell, nor have I looked upon an elf,” grunted Erguile, not believing a drop from the old man’s mouth. With that, in an instant, Krem raised his right hand into the air and motioned at Erguile. Erguile’s pipe suddenly rose up out of his grasp and into thin air, floating for a few seconds in nothingness. Then it suddenly dropped, and Erguile was quick to catch it before it hit the ground. Erguile was speechless, and he sat back quietly.

“That, my friend, is the Vapoury of air. Vapour itself arrives to us in many different forms, to assume all the different naturally occurring elements such as there are on Darkin. You both are familiar with fire and water, ice and wind. These are all attributed to the natural flow of Vapour from Gaigas, but there are many others that I have not named; some I would not dare name.”

“I’m in disbelief...I don’t…I don’t know what to make of all this; if anything, I guess, I know now I can take all of your words as truth,” gasped Erguile.

“Indeed I shall only speak truth to the followers of good, Erguile, but I am not a source of infinite knowledge—though you’ve yet to find that out,” Krem chuckled.

“Krem, often I’ve heard slave-rumor of a place called the Dark City, an evil city, said to exist far to the west. Have you heard of such a frightful place?” asked Adacon.

“The Dark City—hmm; let me dig into my memory some.” Krem smoked from his pipe and sat for a moment in silence. Erguile now sat at full attention, eagerly waiting for the next word to roll off Krem’s tongue. It was clear he now believed everything the man told them. “The Dark City! Ah, I should have recalled the name sooner. Odd slang the slaves now have for it. Its rightful name is Morimyr. Grelion does not reside in that demonic city, though it is controlled by his underlings, and they govern absolute within its walls. His underlings are evil by all accounts, and I have had the ill chance of encountering a few of them in my time.”

“You’ve seen this city?” Erguile said, breaking his silence. His tone had grown respectful.

“Indeed—I have been in it. But that was long ago, and I dare think much has changed since my last departure. How is it you came to know of Morimyr, Adacon?” asked Krem.

“It is the name we give to the home of our
monitors
, the huge, evil men who come each month to suppress any ideas of resistance,” Adacon said, quivering at the thought of them.

“Ah, I see. Grelion himself has been known to come through Morimyr from time to time, out in the west. It would be complete folly, however, to try and go there and wait for him,” said Krem.

“All of this feels like a load too great, I must say. I feel almost faint. So magic is by all accounts real? To think, all these years it was true. And Krem; you yourself are a wizard? For I have just seen you raise that pipe there into thin air,” spoke Erguile, trying to straighten out all the shocking truths that were being forced into his head.

“Indeed magic is real, though its true name is Vapoury when used for good. But it is more important that you remember it is Gaigas’s workings, not my own. Know also that I am no wizard; such as it is wizards are dangerous and ill-minded. The name of Vapour is given to those who justly wield Gaigas. I am merely a portal from which her power may flow, because I have harnessed it so. I suppose you can call me a Vapour—but I shall always prefer Krem to wizard. Wizards are named as the most evil of magic users in this age—and even though Grelion himself, along with some of his minions, dabble in dark magic, he despises its practice otherwise. It is true, sadly enough; the majority of those still able to manipulate Gaigas in this age do so for selfish purposes of gain. I am of a dying breed.”

“Will you teach us how to use magic then?” shouted Erguile excitedly.

“Hah—lad, I wouldn’t dare bestow upon you the powers of Gaigas, lest I wanted to be turned into a weed or some other wretched fungus. Alas, no one can learn magic anyhow, unfortunately, as it may have been possible in the days of old. You see, Gaigas is dying in this horrible age of darkness; only those whose Vapoury has existed since the time of the ancients can use it in this age.”

“So you really are of ancient times?” asked Adacon, realizing that the small man in front of him had been alive longer than anyone could rightly guess by appearance.

“Yes, I was born long ago. And my age still collects into greater numbers yet—how many more I cannot clearly foresee. I do think, however, that my years are finally catching up with me. I feel in my remaining time that I should help at least in what ways I can; I may be of some use to cleanse the demons once more from this land.” Krem sighed deeply, seeming to burden himself momentarily with the thought of his mortality.

“Perhaps you can tell us more about yourself, Krem—of your past?” asked Erguile.

“Now is not the time, and I don’t think we’d have enough time if it was appropriate anyway. I shall use my past and its lessons in our task, however, whenever they can be used to aid our journey; I assure you of that, at least.”

“So the quest I am undertaking with Erguile—we can count you as our third?” asked Adacon, fearing for a moment that Krem would let them loose toward the east unaided.

“I guess it comes to that, doesn’t it lads? I can’t sit around and let you have all the fun, now can I? Darkin, you see, has not always been this evil place that it is now. It was once wonderful and marvelous by most accounts; I plan to look upon that world once more before I die.”

“Excellent! I am heartened already at this news. I have one last question to burden your mind with… What lies east? Be it we’re going that way for our quest. . . I have always heard that there are natives, living under no man’s law save their own; I thought if it was true we could bring them to our cause,” asked Adacon.

“I have a great wisdom of this world, I can say without feeling boastful, and I have traveled all the way across the great Kalm Ocean. There are natives to the east, as your lore has told you. These natives, however, are not
all
friendly, and there are other, worse things, in the east—some I daresay more evil than Grelion himself, in their own way, be that possible even; for the east countries are home to the majority of the evil wizards left in Darkin, and there are dark castles where dark wizards sit upon dark thrones, governing their own countries. The East, same as the rest of the world, also houses demons of many different forms. There are trolls and golems, goblins, and demonic wolves and dwarves. There are many wretched things in all the land that do not like humans.”

“Why is it that the other creatures hate us so?” asked Erguile.

“Remember: it has not always been this way, and at one time every creature lived in harmony with Gaigas. We are all formed of the same root, the same love. This age of darkness can be blamed on several; but it is mostly Grelion’s fault, his lust for power. He is human himself, and despises all creatures who are not—he has defiled the valor of men. Grelion is responsible for the burning of the non-humans in this country, and for the intolerance of Vapoury, Gaigas, freedom, and any open knowledge of these things. However—we can take comfort in knowing he has not entirely destroyed these things, though he has dulled Gaigas’s presence in almost all hearts,” Krem spoke.