A Time of Darkness (The Circle of Talia)

by Lister, Dionne

  Bronwyn hurried back to her ladder, a mix of excitement and dread warring in her mind. What kind of a book did that? She had never seen anything like it—and without any power. She looked at Toran, who had begun searching on the opposite wall. His knowledge had impressed her, not to mention his to-die-for eyes. When Avruellen and Blayke entered the room and exclaimed over Arcon’s new book, Bronwyn realized she was daydreaming. With a determination born of desperation, she diligently combed the shelves. Time was in short supply.

  ***

  Bronwyn trudged another armload of books to Arcon’s newly named table of doom. The pile of books to read depressed them—the reality was that they were probably going to end up on the wrong side of their deadline without the information they needed. This table held their fate on its four sturdy legs. As Bronwyn dumped the books, creating a new pile, Arcon exclaimed, “No! Are you kidding? Dragons’ bollocks. This can’t be true. Avruellen, come and look at this.” He quickly pushed his chair back and made room for his sister to sit.

  Avruellen read. Her hand came to her open mouth and through it, she spoke the muffled words, “Oh, gods. I can’t believe it.” She looked at Arcon, their expressions of shock mirroring each other.

  “What is it?” asked Bronwyn. The kerfuffle had enticed Blayke and Toran to the table.

  “Where’s Sinjenasta?” Arcon asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ll call him.” Bronwyn called to her creatura, and within two minutes, he padded through the door.

  This better be good: I was asleep.

  In his agitation, Arcon spoke out loud. “Is this true? Are the gormons and dragons related? Is Drakon their god too?”

  Sinjenasta stared past the realmist for a moment and drew a breath. Yes.

  “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  I was oath-bound by Drakon not to say. It doesn’t really change anything.

  “It may not change anything, but it may give us an advantage, for the gods’ sakes! Why did he cast them out? What in the Third Realm happened?”

  Blayke, thinking this was information that needed to be kept quiet, dipped into the Second Realm and shielded the library. “Thank you, Blayke,” said Avruellen.

  “Well, panther, tell us. Now!” Arcon growled, doing nothing to hide his anger.

  “Don’t get angry at Sinje—it’s not his fault.” Bronwyn stood by her creatura, putting a hand on the back of his neck.

  Arcon treated her to his angry glare before turning it back on the panther. “It may not be your fault, but you’re supposed to be on our side, aren’t you?”

  Drakon is on Drakon’s side, and I was sent here to represent him. He wants what’s best for his precious dragons. You want to know why the gormons were cast out? Drakon preferred his dragons. He created the gormons first and after a while he designed, for want of a better word, the dragons. They were his artistic achievement. The gormons were ugly, less refined.

  He started by refusing to answer their prayers; then he would put obstacles in their way, challenges. He would play the dragons off their gormon brothers—like when a parent plays one child against another. Eventually the gormons, tortured from many years of trying to gain favour from their god, rebelled. They enslaved whatever dragons they could catch and treated them abhorrently. Rejected by their god and goaded by hundreds of years of mistreatment, they set out to destroy the dragons and the world Drakon had created.

  Drakon lied to the other gods about why he needed the gormons banished from Talia. It took over a thousand years to groom the humans and dragons to fight back, but when they did, they succeeded, with Drakon’s help, to banish the gormons to the Third Realm. When the other gods learned the truth of how they had been used, they refused to have anything to do with The First Realm, or Talia, again. As far as your gods are concerned, they won’t help you because they’ll be helping Drakon. We’re on our own.

  They stood there: Bronwyn, Blayke (with Fang peeking out of his pocket), Flux, Avruellen, and Arcon. Phantom perched on a chair, staring at Sinjenasta, silent. The news beat against their sanity like a trapped bird against a window. Their war was a lie, their existence a lie. The humans had been created to help rid Talia of the gormons, who had every right to be there. Toran, who didn’t know how to listen to mind speak, broke, what was for him, a long silence. “Who died? Seriously, what’s wrong? Have you all gone into some kind of trance? Is this normal with realmists?”

  He looked from one person to another, eyebrows drawn down in worry.

  “Have you read this book, lad?” Arcon asked.

  “Some of it.”

  “Do you remember the part about the gormons being related to the dragons and Drakon banishing them from Talia because he grew tired of them?”

  “I didn’t read all of it. Is it true?” Arcon nodded.

  “So now what do we do?” Blayke asked his uncle.

  Arcon shook his head. “Sinjenasta’s right. As horrific as this is, it changes nothing. If the gormons win, we die, and even if they have every right to be here, I can’t lie down and die without a fight, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to see those I love die painful, horrific deaths. This is a lot to process. For now, we keep looking for that book.” Phantom hooted in support, and they returned, albeit in a daze, to their task.

  Sinjenasta joined Bronwyn while she scoured the shelves. Do you hate me?

  Stopping what she was doing, she met his eyes. “No, I don’t hate you, but I do like Drakon even less than I did before. And I can’t trust you. I can’t believe you kept such a big secret. What are Drakon’s plans for me? Am I going to get thrown on a funeral pyre by the time this is done?”

  She referred to Symbothial, the dragon they had killed. Sinjenasta hung his head.

  I’m sorry, Bronwyn. He looked up again, searching her eyes. We are bonded, and if anything happens to you, it happens to me. I couldn’t tell you; Drakon would have killed me, or dragged me up to the Sacred Realm again to be endlessly punished. Besides, I didn't lie to you; I just didn’t tell you something, and yes, I know it was something important, but I really didn’t have a choice.

  “What about the poor gormons? Forsaken by their god! How is that supposed to make them feel? Drakon created them, then shat all over them. I don’t feel right about fighting them and kicking them out again.”

  “Bronwyn.” Avruellen had approached, knowing her niece would likely empathize with the gormons. “I know what happened wasn’t fair, but the gormons have evolved into something different. They are creatures of blind hate, cunning, and revenge. They have evolved to be everything that’s wrong with Drakon. I don’t think the dragons are everything that’s good, but they are balanced. When Drakon rejected his children, they became the monsters he labeled them as. We don’t deserve to die because Drakon made a mistake thousands of years ago.”

  “But….” Bronwyn’s eyes brimmed with tears.

  “Oh, for goodness sake, Bronwyn, don’t you dare cry for those … things. They will skin you and start chewing while you’re still alive to feel it. Cry for the innocents they once were, but those gormons are gone. The gormons returning to Talia are nothing like the ones Drakon betrayed.” She grabbed her niece’s shoulders. “Look at me. Promise me you will fight with everything you have. If the gormons get control, it will not only be us who dies, but the dragons, the animals, and eventually, Talia. Promise me.” Avruellen’s voice strained with desperation. “Do you want to die?”

  “No.”

  “Well, neither do I.” Avruellen took hold of Bronwyn’s hands and squeezed. “And since we’re agreed on that point, you’d better keep looking or we won’t get our wish.”

  Heart aching, Bronwyn reluctantly searched for the book that would give them a chance to live. She finally understood the saying, “Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.” Painfully aware of hours passing, she decided she would rather be damned and alive than damned and dead. By the time she finally laid her hands on The Comprehensive Realmists’ Almanac of Incantations, she was ready
to fight.

  When she handed the find to Arcon, he grabbed it. Slamming it on the table and flinging the cover open, sending dust puffing into the air, he perused the index and smiled. Turning to page two-hundred fifty-four, his smile widened. “Dragons’ balls, we’ve got it! Quick, Avruellen, come and see. We made it. We still have a chance!”

  Despite her guilt, Bronwyn felt good. They weren’t going to die just yet. Only too happy to oblige when Toran offered her a hug in celebration, she didn’t notice Sinjenasta lift a black lip and expose one fang in a silent growl. Musing that today had certainly ended better than it started—from feeling left out, to being in the arms of one of the cutest young men she’d ever met, Yes, she thought, life is definitely worth living. Okay, gormons, bring it on.

  Chapter 22

  Rust-colored dirt swirled about his leathery, clawed feet. Sand grazed his snout, lodged in his eyes and throat, even through the cloth mask he wore—they would have invented something better to shield their faces from the sandstorms that were a regular occurrence in this god-forsaken realm, but access to any kind of power was limited, and what they could reach had been used to control the entrance to the gate. “So this is it?” Kalzich asked, careful to stay away from the edge of the circle of dark water that seemingly lay dead—not a ripple ruffled the mirror-like surface, despite the tormenting wind.

  “Yes, master.”

  “And it’s ready to go?”

  Embrax knew if it wasn’t, he would be dead. He had made sure. “Yes, master, and I have two surprises.” Over the distant screams of the last gormons being sacrificed to feed the horde before they departed tomorrow, the priest answered, “I have worked out how to split the corridor.”

  He paused, giving Klazich time to be suitably impressed.

  “How does it work?”

  “We will send the first half through the corridor and when they are through, I have calculated how to use my limited power to close one door and open another. The rest will go through a different corridor.”

  “Door?”

  “The liquid you see here is a corridor, the surface a door. Look closer. What do you see?”

  Klazich hadn’t noticed through the dusty air, but the still surface looked to be painted with the picture of a cave—a shadowy outline of rocks with mineral formations stabbing down from the ceiling. “It’s a reflection, Master. That is the cave to which we will be transported. If I have my coordinates correct, the other door will take us to another place on Talia.”

  “And which place would that be, Embrax?”

  “Inkra, Master.” This time Embrax allowed his features to relax into a maniacal grin. He could afford to be proud of this.

  “But won’t we arrive as disembodied spirits?”

  “That is my other surprise. I have made contact with Kwaad. He has melded with a king and queen and can help us, now that he is in mature form. Kwaad has the power to help us breathe in the corridor, so our awareness can travel with our bodies. The connection was not clear enough to get details, but I’m sure he said at least one hundred of us will arrive whole and mature. For the rest, he has a whole city of Inkrans for us to possess.” Acidic saliva dripped from his smiling mouth.

  “This is good news, Embrax. I will decide who will go through in adult form and let you know. Have everyone waiting for me tomorrow night. It is finally time.” Klazich made his way back to what passed for his palace—a mud-brick building tacked onto the front of a network of caves. So Drakon, it is not over. You will regret the day you cast us aside. It is our time now. Klazich couldn’t wait to tell his brother: they were one day from taking back their world. The thought of going home had never been sweeter. Tomorrow night they would finally celebrate like no gormons had for over one-thousand years. Oh, yes, tomorrow they were reclaiming what had been stolen so long ago, and he was the one to have made it happen. He allowed himself a small smile. He was certainly going to enjoy this.

  Chapter 23

  Zim’s outstretched wings cut through the night sky. Agmunsten and Boy sat astride his back. Their journey, to this point, had been uneventful, but minutes from arriving at Klendar, the realmists had felt something: a surge in the fabric of the First Realm, almost a tear.

  “What in Drakon’s name was that?” Arie sent the thought to Zim and Agmunsten.

  Zim spoke. “There is a strong presence in the First Realm that wasn’t there before. Agmunsten, do you think the gormons have already broken through?”

  “I don’t know. Whatever it was, it felt close. Keep going. I’m going to look in the Second Realm and see what I can find.” The head realmist sent half his awareness through the familiar corridor and felt the pull as he neared the Second Realm. His essence spilled into the symbol-studded expanse—the silence so complete that it could have been a vacuum. Finding his own symbol, he worked outwards, searching for anything different—he was not sure what, but knew he’d recognize it when he saw it.

  And within moments, he did see it: a nauseating-green symbol. Two other symbols, trapped inside like an animal being swallowed by a snake, bulged out, distorting the symbol but barely glowing through the thick membrane. He swooped closer, trying to obtain a better sense of what it was. It couldn’t be a gormon—their symbols were black. As he neared, an intense smell overcame his awareness, which should have been impossible: odors did not exist in the Second Realm. Agmunsten’s awareness felt the sharpness of sulfur and the cloying putridity of death. In the First Realm, his body gagged.

  Without warning, he was buffeted by a force and pushed back. Momentarily dazed, his awareness remained still. Refocusing his consciousness, he drew power from around him as a shield. Next time the energy shot at him, it gave his First-Realm body a headache, but his awareness held firm. He watched as the malicious symbol charged towards him, tentacles of energy formed on the being, writhing, reaching. Agmunsten had never encountered real danger in the Second Realm: until now. Death approached.

  He wanted to stay and fight, but knew that thing, whatever it was, had enormous power. He willed his awareness back to his body. His symbol hurried to the passage. Pain gripped his First Realm body when the tentacles grabbed him, sinking etheric barbs into his energy. He heard distant laughter as the enemy drained his spirit, his essence, his life.

  A distant voice came through. “Agmunsten, are you okay. Zim! Agmunsten is letting go. He’s going to fall off. I can’t hold on much longer!” Boy screamed to be heard through the rushing air.

  Zim sent to Arcese, “I don’t have to time to land. We’re losing Agmunsten; I’m going in. If I don’t come back, send to Arcon and Father. Let them know. You need to try and save Verity. Please promise me you’ll honor our pledge to King Edmund.”

  “I will, Brother, or die trying. May Drakon protect you, Zimapholous. Be careful.” The last words uttered, she could tell Zim was already gone, his body on autopilot.

  Boy held tight to Agmunsten’s body; each violent twitch threatened to throw them off the dragon. The young boy clenched the saddle with his thighs and clutched the realmist’s thick coat. Fear of hurtling through space, to be smashed into an incoherent mess on the ground, ignited the adrenalin in his body. He wanted to panic, to give in to his fear, but that would mean letting go, forgoing his existence. He didn’t want to die.

  His arms and legs ached.

  Arcese sped up and flew next to him. “Boy,” she yelled, “I’m going to lead Zim to Klendar. There’s no time to waste. We’ll try and land on the palace roof. Hang on!” Arcese noticed, in the distance, an unwelcoming, vertical beam of moss-green light. Too much of a coincidence to be unrelated, she knew it came from the palace. She increased speed and heard a chilling scream. Arcese turned her head and saw Zim plummeting towards the ground. Knowing she couldn’t save him, already mourning his death, she flew on. She had a promise to keep.

  ***

  Zim, as Agmunsten had done before him, started by finding his own symbol in the Second Realm. Then he spied the leech draining Agmunsten’s sym
bol. What in the Third Realm was it? Rather than figure it out—caution would take too long—he drew power around himself and armed his awareness with his birthright: fire. He raced as fast as his energy would go, flames covering him, heating to a white-hot inferno as he flew.

  Almost upon the twisted amalgamation that was his friend’s symbol and the engorged abomination, Zim braced himself for impact. He aimed for the side of the creature farthest from Agmunsten’s symbol, which appeared dull, the life being extracted, particle by precious particle. Agmunsten was almost dead.

  Zim collided with the mass. Drawing more energy, he attempted to burn a hole in the near-translucent barrier. Immediately, the creature turned a tentacle on Zim, but the dragon was ready with singeing energy. The creature flinched, distracted, and turned its full attention on Zim. “You think to interrupt me? Who dares interfere with Kwaad?”

  The dragon stayed silent, not wanting to give away his identity. He could see Agmunsten’s symbol, drained and dangling from one tentacle, the others now twisted around Zim’s symbol. He could feel the tug of the parasite as it fed off his life force. He needed to escape and take Agmunsten with him—but how?

  Remembering a lesson from his days at The Academy, when they had learnt about dangers of the Second Realm, he sent his awareness to connect with Agmunsten’s and hoped he was still alive. A glimmer of energy remained. Zim plugged his energy in, linking with his fellow realmist—there was strength in numbers, and now he had a second link to the creature through which he could feed. He willed the creature’s essence through Agmunsten’s essence and then to himself.