Darkin: The Prophecy of the Key (The Darkin Saga Book 2) (15 page)

“Still sick Falen?” Adacon asked, wondering how much ground they’d covered since departing Enoa. It had been several hours since he’d watched the last traces of Carbal Jungle disappear behind them. It had been a spectacular view from high atop the small dragon: he’d seen the crumbled remains of the Dinbell Wall from afar, and what appeared to be rotting mounds of slain Feral troll carcasses, still decaying. Krem had explained that they took an extremely long time to turn to bone, as the Feral corruption lingered even in their deceased forms.

“Yes, I’m still sick. Krem doesn’t seem to have a magic cure for me when it comes to a simple cold,” Falen complained sarcastically.

“I am sorry dear Falen but I can’t do anything for what you have, it must run its course—the colds of Nethvale are immune to most all Vapoury,” Krem replied.

“You’ve already been to the ice country?” Adacon exclaimed.

“Yes—I had to fly ahead, just to be sure I still possessed my wits in the cloud veil,” Falen replied.

“The cloud veil?”

“The reason the ice country is so secluded is because of the cloud veil that constantly surrounds it, laddy. You see, it is precisely why Tempern stays there. He has absolute isolation,” Krem said.

“Absolute isolation? But why would he want that?”

“It is the way of a Welsprin. He does not interfere with the urgencies of good and evil,” Krem responded.

“He won’t help anyone, you mean?”

“Precisely, and that is why he calls me a stubborn one, having studied under him myself. You see, he trained me to be true to Gaigas, and her true nature is neutrality. Alas, I couldn’t live that way. I decided to instead become a Vapour, to choose a side, and to do good with my connection to the planet. He’s never approved of it, but he doesn’t stop me either—and here I come to him, with a Welsprin!
He knows full-well I intend to use you to stop the evil that’s coming. By training you, he has nearly agreed to join the fight, the evil being so great—even if he isn’t helping directly.”

“So, will he attempt to train me as a neutral force too? I can’t do that Krem, there’s no way—I could never stand by and let innocent people be slaughtered.”

“Don’t worry. You could not be neutral, I think. You’ve grown up as a slave and have been oppressed by Grelion. You’ve been instilled with enough principle already to know how to stand up for what is right, and how to destroy that which is evil,” Krem responded.

“I have!” answered Adacon. “I’m confused about how anyone could avoid helping when they’re as powerful as this Tempern is…”

“Don’t worry—he is one of a very few kind, and as I’ve hinted, he does help, only he does so indirectly. He knew even before he began training me that I would give aid to causes I believed worth defending, such as fighting Vesleathren’s evil use of Gaigas’s energy. He has never tried to alter my destiny, he only chooses to stand aside from it personally—he will not try to alter your fate either.”

Adacon quieted, pondering what he had been told until interrupted by a thunderous sneeze from Falen. Below, a great expanse of grassland slipped away, dropping off into a canyon of crags, buttes, and mesas. The rock was colored like dried blood, and Adacon watched all traces of green disappear. Far below them was a lifeless valley of forbidding stone, weaving back and forth. They soared over hundreds of lifeless shapes cropping up from the canyon floor: they shifted, mutated, blended, jaggedly stabbed at the sky.

“The Graven Welts,” Krem said, knowing Adacon’s curiosity well, and that a question was soon to come.

“They’re breathtaking…”

“And equally dangerous.”

“Are the Graven Welts part of Enoa?”

“They are its northernmost border, and up ahead—see that rocky crest?”

“Yes, what’s beyond that?”

“The Gust Sea.”

Adacon looked ahead in wonder at a spot where the needled red canyon rose into a high mountain ridge that revealed a sloping red-sand beach. As they flew past the highest peaks of the outer rim, a mile-wide shore came into view: The flat red sand glistened as marble in the midday sun, a reflective expanse of smooth beach. Enormous deep-scarlet boulders broke the uniformity, strewn here and there on the mirror-like shore. Adacon nearly lost his grip on Krem when he noticed one of the rocks start moving extremely fast toward the ocean.

“What in the world…”

“Rock Mites of the Red Shore,” Krem smiled. “Harmless really, at least when you’re flying hundreds of yards above them.”

“What are they doing?” Adacon asked, seeing that several more were now racing the long distance to the ocean.

“They come up onto the beach to eat lizards and other creatures that live there,” Krem explained. “But they need water to survive. They need the salt in it, so they stay as long as they can on the sand, then rush back to rejuvenate themselves.”

“Amazing.”

Falen bore them quickly over the span of shimmering ruby beach, sparse and flat, and then higher upon an updraft, heaving them past the shoreline, and finally out over open sea.

“Can you go all the way without a break, Falen?” Adacon asked.

“Ha—ach—haugh!” Falen had tried to laugh, but coughed instead. “Indeed I can, young boy. I am no
house drake
!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any offense,” Adacon called over the loud whistling wind that rushed past their ears.

“None felt.”

“Interesting to think of though: a house drake—I bet Remtall would like one,” Adacon mused to himself.

“Wonder how he’s faring,” Falen responded. “I do hope he succeeds; I was quite tempted to go to Palailia myself.”

“Be glad you didn’t—I agree the Rod would be a boon to our cause, but still I warned that stubborn gnome against it. The dark power of that forbidden place is well beyond that of a drunken sea captain,” Krem replied.

“Well, there really isn’t any stopping him, is there?” said Adacon.

“No, there certainly isn’t.”

They flew on, covering miles and miles of an endless ocean that was constantly turning a darker shade of green. The water remained calm, and in the distance there was nothing new to be seen; before them a fixed horizon melded  into an ever-darkening sky, and the sun hastened its evening descent.

“How much farther do we have?” asked Adacon.

“We should be in Nethvale by morning,” answered Krem.

“We’re going to fly all night?” he replied, realizing how uncomfortable he’d become; he’d been pressed against the hard saddle for countless hours, smushed into Krem’s robes.

“But of course laddy! Would you have us land for rest on the seabed?” laughed the old Vapour. At that Falen lit up with laughter, and it seemed the drake had fought off the worst of his cold, as he hadn’t coughed or sneezed in some time.

“Best to get some sleep boy, and eat some of this,” Krem said, fidgeting with a pouch at his side. Finally, after fighting against the turbulence for several minutes, Krem handed over a wad of doughy goo, colored like the beach they had not long ago passed over.

“What is this?” recoiled Adacon, unable to hide his disgust.

“Pay thanks to Gaigas that you have it!” Krem scolded, and ordered again for Adacon to eat. Hesitantly, but with a healthy fear of Krem’s escalating anger, he placed the dough to his lips, smelled it, then bit off a small piece.

“Hey this isn’t bad at all,” he rejoiced, his fear of the putrid-looking mound subsiding.

“Enjoy it; it’s homemade, mind you,” Krem replied as they flew on into the dusk sky.

“What exactly is it?” Adacon asked through mouthfuls of the sweet and moist scarlet dough.

“Oh, a combination of a great many things—some Dandè roots, some Briapurn sap, some Kistrin lard, some Peddler cane, some Gratiae soil—”

“Ugh—egh—what?” Adacon’s voice was muffled by his filled mouth. “Did you say lard and soil?”

“Only the most nutritious, dear lad,” Krem said, turning to see the look of shock on Adacon’s face—the little purple-robed man shook his head side to side, wiggling his emerald-encrusted cap, letting him know it was
not
acceptable to spit out the food.

“That’s the last bit you’re going to have until we get there, so savor it.”

“Why wouldn’t I,” Adacon closed his eyes and gulped, forgetting that the stuff actually tasted good. He finished the rest of the goop as twilight gave birth to a star-filled night. He felt completely restored from the little mound of dough—there must have been some magic in it, he decided. The stars multiplied, and finally the sky was lit by a thousand sparkling points, each one twinkling down at the riders and the black ocean.

“Beautiful,” Adacon said. He felt himself becoming drowsy, despite the uncomfortable position he was in atop Falen.

“Yes—the northern sky is a grander splendor of stars than any other place in the world, I’d say,” Krem said in mutual admiration. As Adacon gazed up he found a spot of comfort against Krem’s shoulder and drifted off, and the old man didn’t seem to mind that the former slave had fallen asleep leaning on his back.

*            *             *

“You can wake up now,” Krem tapped Adacon’s head as it slumped over his shoulder from behind. “Laddy, I said wake up!” Krem tapped harder, causing some pain; Adacon rustled from his slumber.

“I can’t believe I actually fell asleep…” he answered, rubbing his eyes.

“You slept the whole night through, I’m glad to inform,” Krem replied.

“Good morning Adacon,” Falen spoke, seemingly more refreshed than when they’d first left Rainside Run, though he’d had no rest at all.

“Good morning Falen!” Adacon answered, and he looked around to take in the light of a new day: the morning blue was in full blossom, the sun half-risen in the sky, and below them was the same lifeless ocean; but directly ahead appeared an anomaly: despite the uniform blue, there was a distant wall of white, billowing nothingness, opaque, steadily overtaking the horizon. Adacon strained hard but could see nothing besides clouds in the direction they flew. He looked up to see where in the atmosphere the clouds topped, but they rose interminably, into space it seemed—he looked down to see where they met the ocean, and they seemed to press into the ocean, hundreds of yards beneath the surface even, shading the aquamarine water grey.

“What is this?” Adacon said, happily noticing none of the clouds were black; they were all snow white, unshadowed masses without any trace of any gestating storms.

“This, my friend, is the Cloud Veil,” Krem answered.

“It’s incredible, massive—how are you going to get us through that Falen?”

“Well, it seems whenever I come to Nethvale alone, I am lost for a day or two, or week—so I will be relying on our purple-clothed friend,” the drake chuckled in grainy timbre.

“Indeed I will guide us in.”

Falen flew them right into the wall of cascading white, and in just a moment, Adacon lost all vision of the world; the planet had been swallowed up by a white void, and around him was pervasive moisture that made it hard to breathe deep. Suddenly, in accompaniment of the blindness of the Veil, came an unsettling cold, chilling Adacon to his bones.

“It’s quite cold once you pass into the Veil—you see boy, the clouds cool the air, keeping the ice country frozen,” Krem explained. Adacon didn’t quite care for an explanation, which was a first for him; he sat shivering, hugging onto the old Vapour for dear life, knowing that if he fell off now, Falen wouldn’t be able to see him, and there’d be no chance for rescue.

They soared through the pearly darkness slower than before, and occasionally Krem would direct Falen to edge slightly west or east. After what seemed an eternity of shivering, they finally began to see a line of blue in the clouds.

“You can understand why no ships reach these shores, Laddy,” said Krem.

“I do now. Is it going to be any warmer once we’re through the clouds?”

“Colder.”

Falen flapped his long wings faster, gaining speed toward the slit of blue that steadily grew into a wide crack in the whiteout. Adacon could make out sky again, clear blue, untouched by the wall of clouds.

“Thank Gaigas!” he cried.

The white-filled sky ripped away, and the Cloud Veil was left behind; spreading before them was a landscape far whiter than they’d experienced in the clouds: The sky was crystal blue again, polarized by the sheer face of a great plateau’s wall; shining ice, cut like veins, dropped a thousand yards to frigid waters below, an impossible shoreline. Atop the frozen plateau, as far as the eye could see, was a barren expanse of snow, flat and unmarked. After many miles a small range of mountains cropped up, as purely white as the flat expanse had been. Beyond the small mountains Adacon could see higher, sharper, more dangerous peaks; it seemed as if the farther inland in Nethvale one went, the more unforgiving the icy terrain became.

Falen and his riders soared higher, leaving all sight of sea, rising over a butte of ice, angularly shaped as if a second plateau: As they passed over the lip of it, a strong wind blasted them, and Adacon was sprayed with numbing frost.

“Agh! Is Tempern’s home
warm?
”
he shouted.

“It is—even I couldn’t stand this cold for very long,” Krem replied.

They continued inland, gaining altitude over the ice shelf and covering ground quickly toward a group of frost-ridden spikes: it seemed an icy needle-built gate for larger mountains beyond.

“Where does he live?” Adacon asked, fearing it might be somewhere in the treacherous mountains.

“Atop that peak,” Krem replied, pointing deep into the horizon at a particularly jagged, hook-like outcropping that sprouted from atop the highest visible mountain.

“Lovely,” Adacon moped, deciding that the ominous peak Krem had pointed out was worse than what he’d feared.

“It won’t be too long lad. No need for sullenness with cold like this,” Krem replied.

“Look, below!” cried Falen. Krem and Adacon looked down: hundreds of yards beneath, on a stretch of flat ice, a line of creatures waddled, black and tan, heading in the direction of the plateau’s edge.

“Wonder what they are?”

“Nethvale may at first seem stricken by the unending freeze, but rest assured, she is filled with life,” Falen explained. “Those are Diver Warblers. They march to the edge we’ve just come over. They dive straight down.”