SPARX Incarnation: Order of the Undying (SPARX Series I Book 2)

by K. B. Sprague

  “As it should” was comforting to hear – words to cling to, if not to fully believe.

  Of course, the leviathan’s assumptions did not go unchallenged. The great beast grumbled unintelligibly and rolled to and fro in the water when forced to explain himself. From the waves he made, I surmised he was not fond of being questioned, or did not like to bother with explanations, or did not take kindly to the urgency of being put on the spot. I did not ask so many questions or press him for details after that, fearing what might become of me if I raised his ire.

  Once settled again, he gathered his composure. “HUUM haa… all roads in Everdark lead to Dromeron Odoon, eventually,” he boomed, “and if anyone found your friend, or if he had followed any one of the many paths available, he would have ended up either there or here. Do you see him here? – No. Neither do I. Since he is not and never was here – for I would know if he were ever here – he can only be there, in transit, or nowhere accessible to you without further aid.”

  As I trod on, I wondered how a conversation between the leviathan, with his slow and careful ways, and Bobbin, with his fast and looping double-talk, might have gone. I laughed in spite of myself.

  Now the casual mention of one particular point of interest was a revelation to me: The leviathan did specifically say that anyone meaning anybody and meaning some person, of sorts, wandering through these lightless caves, could possibly have happened upon Kabor. Just knowing such people existed gave me great relief. And at least some of these people must live in the place called Dromeron Odoon, for which I had a mental map to its location. I could only imagine what they must look like – pale, hairless albinos perhaps, with large, bulbous eyes and skittish demeanors, climbing from holes and peering at me, cat-like, out of shadows cast by imported light.

  The leviathan had been especially vague about the settlement and its inhabitants, but quite specific about the location. I paced my steps accordingly, mentally following every instruction to line and letter – another advantage of Pip memory. Given proper directions and accurate descriptions of landmarks along the way, any self-respecting Pip worth his salt didn’t need a paper map. I never thought to question how the leviathan knew the cavern paths so well, being a marine mammal.

  Travel through the dark zone was more bearable than ever with a full stomach, a wet waterskin, and best of all, a good lead on a way out. I had become less the prisoner and more the explorer. To top it off, the way was lit steady and bright. Gone were the endless hours of fumbling through the dark and navigating by quick flashes. It wasn’t that torches had suddenly sprung up out of the walls or that daylight holes now illuminated the way. No, it was the SPARX stone. Something had changed, something important. And it was the leviathan who had tipped me off about how to bring about that change.

  After describing the strange behavior of the stone at the dancing pool, the leviathan suspected a connection between something I did and how the stone reacted. I knew it had to be true, based on all the strange things that had happened since finding it in the bog. He also had suspicions about the mechanism at work, and none of them involved the sorts of spooks that had gripped me with unfounded fear and caused me to bolt in the first place.

  “Huum haa,” he had said, thoughtfully. “The bare facts suggest that you experienced the following sequence: thirst-hope-fulfillment-brightness. Try recreating that experience.” The whale’s glossy skin shimmered in the grey-green light. He swayed gently in the water. “If you have to, go back to the pool and step through everything again.”

  A return to the pool was unthinkable. However, I did spend the first leg of the journey pondering about how thirsty I had been when I arrived there, how much I had hoped the water was drinkable, and how relieved I was to experience the hope coming true.

  So, in my mind, I put myself in that very same situation, and imagined stepping through the very same actions. I concentrated long and hard. At first, there was no focus: the emotions and the sensations that I had felt back at the pool were all over the place, evasive. Remembering simply wasn’t enough. The events had to be re-experienced, like a recall. And so they were. Three times I recalled the events, and three times I analyzed each and every step of the process that led to illumination. Eventually, painstakingly, I found the secret combination, the key to unlocking the stone. And to my utter amazement, on cue, the SPARX stone flared up steady and bright. After a moment’s burn, it even went white, untainted: the true colors of the underground finally revealed.

  At first, the light did not last. It dwindled as the mind wandered to other thoughts. The key to sustainment was to hold on to that very specific thought while otherwise engaged – a threading, if you will, of the mind’s tasks, weaving them in and out of focus so that they could proceed together, without cancellation and without one dominating the other. If I could keep it up, the light would shine forth. When I lapsed, so too did the light.

  The solution wasn’t perfect. In particular, there was one long and stubborn blackout, same as at the pool. Thinking back to the original experience and focusing on good memories to bring back the light, I fondly recalled times well spent with friends and family, happy events, and moments of glory. But darker times always pushed their way in and interrupted the flow: When I thought of sweet Holly, her face became that of a bog queen. When I thought of my friends, they morphed into pole-mounted bodies drifting at the bottom of the bog. Even Uncle Fyorn was not immune; he shifted into a rabid wolverine. Focus collapsed, and no light came forth. Only the dark. Even the normal pattern of flickering was lost, and the degenerate thoughts turned in on themselves to make the stone cold and lightless. It took the better part of an hour to coax it to flare up again. Afterwards, there were still sporadic intervals of pitch-black, now and again. Distractions helped to reset my thoughts and remedy the situation, as did rest.

  When it was time to rest, I simply returned the SPARX stone to its natural state with a mere absence of thought, and sheathed it. Over the course of a day, control became automatic. One small part of my mind became devoted to keeping the necessary thought train active, while the remainder was free to pursue other tasks.

  Continuing on my way, I kept close to the left-hand side of the cavern wall as instructed, measuring step-by-step over a thousand paces from the Dim Sea entrance. The settlement should have been at eight hundred paces. Now a pace is roughly the span of two man-steps, but because of my stature, I corrected my distancing by taking extra-large steps. Counting paces was complicated by another factor though – the terrain, and having to clamber over piles of debris or pass around them.

  I never stopped toying with the SPARX stone as I walked, attempting to change the brightness through subtle variations in thought. The response was limited at first, as the variations seemed more random than anything else and mostly modulated the flicker speed or color. But if I covered all but one facet and concentrated on embracing one, single-minded thought, a more concentrated light was emitted – a narrow, penetrating beam. That beam was red. Why did a stone care about what I was thinking? Surely, the leviathan had the answer. I sure didn’t.

  Over time, the air slowly turned heavy and sulphurous with a sharp, biting taste to it that settled behind the tongue, dry and metallic. It reminded me of an odor on the wind that blew in from the Bearded Hills every so often: smelters teasing out metal from raw ore and puffing out the waste smoke, except much stronger.

  Farther along, at nearly double the expected distance, I began to suspect that somehow I had missed my turn. “On your left,” the White Whale had boomed, “you will come upon a firelit haze and roads all leading into a large cave with much activity about it. You must bear towards the fires of Dromeron Odoon at that juncture, and ask those you come upon about your friend – news travels fast among the inhabitants there.”

  After rounding a long bend, sheer and jagged bluffs rose up on either side as the ground began to slope downwards, slowly descending into a deep, open gorge. Cracks and small caves gashed and gutted the bluffs
, and rock splits allowed for passage between the standing fragments. In the distance, on the edge of a deeper darkness, a smeary red haze emerged against the rock wall at the bottom of the gorge, illuminated by a strange and uncertain light.

  I dampened my thoughts to dim my own light source and better appreciate what was coming into view. A few tens of paces more and the faint outline of a low, wide opening could be seen there – just as the leviathan had said – hemmed in by a cluster of rocky spires that rose out of the ground like the jutting teeth of some great, stony beast. An orangey-red, diffuse glow spilled out of it, scattered by swirling clouds of shifting smoke that billowed to unseen heights. Dark shapes in the air, almost triangular, dashed in and out of the opening and spiraled through the smoke at its thickest, almost playfully. A small cluster of the shadowy forms flew out together and then scattered erratically, like a cloud of bats vacating their ancestral cave.

  As I continued down the slope, noises arose as well; an underlying drone welled up and the far off banging and clinking of metal on metal rang through the air. At one point, a horn blasted out so loud I felt the resonance in my chest cavity. But there was something else, something nearby. I pricked my ears to the faint sound.

  Conversation? I wondered. No… not in a normal sense…

  Insect-like clicks and chirrs filtered into earshot, with varying tones, slow and rapid tempos, rising and falling volumes, and streams of varied and complex patterns. Some parts sounded like tapping; others mimicked the trill of a blackbird, the drone of a harvest fly, or the chirp of a cricket. The echoes played off the sheer terrain. Ahead and to the right, I surmised as best I could. By the changing volume of sound created, I also concluded that the source must be moving, and close. I needed a better view

  I scaled a rocky hill to its summit, uncovered the SPARX stone and held it high above my head. I wove my thoughts into a strong thirst: I thirsted to be found; I thirsted to know what had happened to my companions; I thirsted to reunite with family and everyday life in the bog. For hope and fulfillment, I imagined being found and brought to the surface, and I imagined seeing everyone I missed. And then I thought of Holly, and multiplied that longing by the sum of many longings. The light flared up brighter than ever, a star in the palm of my hand for all to behold. I gasped at its brilliance.

  I am the bringer of light to this dark underworld!

  And with the cavern lit up so, I caught a glimpse of the cave dwellers – a small group – making their way through the tor and heaps of rocky debris that littered the cavern floor. They were people – no question. A rush of elation surged through me. Head dizzy with delight, I called out.

  “Hello there,” I said, waving my arms and the bog stone frantically. They kept going, so I slid down the rock face and ran towards them, winding my way between precipices and rocky mounds. I came to an open area with an unobstructed view and there they were, on the other side, about fifteen strong at a hundred and fifty feet. They seemed on the small side, but stocky like a Stout with rounded, hunched over shoulders.

  “Over here,” I said, raising my voice. That got their attention. Heads finally turned. “The light! Look to the light!” A flurry of clicks, ticks and chirps erupted. They honed in on my position.

  “Yes, I’m right here,” I said. I wove through more debris, making my way towards the cave dwellers. Maybe they speak another language, I thought. As I got closer, I noted they were medium-grey in color, not albino like the ones I had imagined, and garbed in drab clothing. They looked filthy too, with matted hair and dirt-strewn faces. But so what? Stout miners coming up after a shift underground didn’t look much different.

  One carrying something over his shoulder seemed to take a long, examining look at me. He blasted out a stream of chirrs to his companions and a heightened commotion arose among them. Fingers pointed in my direction.

  Yes… Yes! That’s right. I waved again. “I’m lost,” I called. “Can you help me find my way?”

  After my question, without warning two of the underground dwellers bolted in the opposite direction. I halted. I heard a sickening thud as one among the crew bludgeoned a runner to the ground before he could get far. He knocked him hard with some kind of short club and followed up with a flurry of bashes. The beaten runner cowered under the blows.

  What the heck? This doesn’t look good. I put the stone back around my neck.

  Another in the crew cracked a whip and chased after the second runner, taking the cave dweller down after a few strides. Others beat heavily on that one as well, unrelenting. All the while, they exchanged heightened clicks among themselves – a discussion, it seemed, or perhaps orders.

  No, not good at all.

  Uneasy about these new developments and still a good distance away, I took a few steps back and watched intently as the cave dweller that had been carrying something over his shoulder erected a tripod. Another of them unslung a heavy device from his shoulders and mounted it on top. It swiveled.

  What is that? What are they doing?

  A moment later came a metallic cranking sound, then a soft “thwunk,” and then the answer to my question. Before I knew what had happened, I lay upon the ground, the wind knocked out of me. At my side, a projectile… spear-like, but with a heavy, pear-shaped ball on the end. I rolled to my side. My chest hurt. I tried to get up.

  Thwunk.

  Hit again. This time by a ball… netting… I’m caught in a net, hooked in.

  Several hunched over individuals broke off from the main group and hobbled my way, ticking and clicking in a particular sort of pattern. It was a regular beat with a varying pitch that cycled back every eight ticks.

  I fought to regain my breath. I pulled and tore at the net, yanking its hooks from my clothes. I wriggled my way free, stood up, then backed away towards the nearest bluff. Climbing to its summit, I turned to face the approaching attackers. They had fanned out to better cover their angles of approach and limit my options for escape. The chirrs and clicks grew louder, faster and more coordinated with every step. The sounds they made had a cold and calculated feel to them.

  The light flickered.

  Don’t lose it now, I told myself, and redoubled my focus. I saw that they had weapons – a whip for the one in the middle, who was also the largest, and clubs for four others. The clubs appeared flexible and leathery as their bearers swung them in their arms, in stride. And there was something awfully wrong about their eyes.

  Thwunk.

  I dodged the next shot from the tripod device, and then set Sliver down beside me. I readied my bow and took careful aim at the tripod operator, in the midst of loading another round. I aimed low, and released. The arrow found its mark on the operator’s leg. He fell back and rolled, chirruping in pain. Another took his place.

  The approaching segment was nearly upon me. Hands trembling, I dropped my bow and picked up Sliver.

  I can outrun them, I thought. I dimmed the light, crouched and prepared to dart.

  Which is the slowest? I wondered. None of them look like great runners. Avoid the whip.

  The tripod device operators loaded something new.

  Thwunk.

  I lunged left and heard a smash like broken glass. A waft of foul air assailed me. I felt dizzy. I stumbled, off-balance. I could hear them climbing the cliff face.

  Without warning, in that staggering moment, a giant bat with the wingspan of a rooftop dropped out of the black heights. Like a blur, it flew straight at me. Worse, I was seeing double.

  As the beast swooped in, I dropped hard to the ground. The dwarvish aggressors cringed. My heart raced as a rush of air blew past and the thing that raced by arced up and away into the darkness above. I tracked its course. It was not a bat. Rather, it was a giant cloaker.

  Like a bounding rodent, one of the mad dwarfs scaled the bluff, brandishing a club. His face was deformed and terrifying. With lightning speed, he lashed out at my head, but whacked my left arm instead as I raised it in defense. The hit was solid, but the material w
as not hard or rigid – meant for a knockdown, like being hit with a sand bag.

  I stabbed at the assailant with Sliver. It felt as though my spear hit something solid. It did not penetrate, but was enough to push him back down the ledge.

  Weak and light-headed, I collapsed on the summit.

  There I lay, helpless, alone and seconds away from attack by a troupe of mad dwarves and a monstrous flying beast bent on suffocating its prey. If the cloaker were to spit fire at me, I would not have been surprised.

  I heard the flap of giant wings and felt a great push of air.

  Desperate, I pointed Sliver straight into the air with a mind to impale the beast as it descended upon me. At the last possible instant, the swooping cloaker abruptly changed course. Instead, it flew over the heads of my attackers. The mad dwarves cowered as the beast made a second approach and hovered over them, beating its massive wings. They backed away with a flurry of clicking protests. Then the oddest thing happened – the face sucking cloaker called me by name as it veered towards me.

  “Nud!” said the voice in the air. “It is you!”

  Thwunk.

  A balled spear went flying past the cloaker.

  I could hardly believe my ears. The cloaker’s great flaps ballooned as they caught air and the creature descended to the summit. The span of it blocked out the cavern heights while it floated to a landing. The creature’s flaps fluttered when it made full contact with the ground, and then conformed to it.

  Again, the voice called out.

  “Get on, ‘frog legs!’ It’s me!”

  I could barely move.

  “Kabor?” I said.

  Thwunk. Another miss.

  “Nud, hurry!”

  Barely lucid, I dragged myself closer and looked up. It really was him. And there was another at his side – one of them, with grey skin and bat-like ears. Something else was odd about his face, but before I could take a closer look, Kabor’s hand grabbed my arm just under the shoulder. Another hand, from his mad dwarf companion, grabbed my other arm the same way. Together they hoisted me up and hauled me onto the back of the cloaker beast.