Eclipsing the Darkness (The Dragon Chronicles Book 5)

by Shawn E. Crapo

  “They taste worse than they smell!” the moorcat roared.

  Khalid pushed onward, melding with the Alvar warriors. They fought beside him; their deadly blades filling the air with a sickening mist of rotting blood. The high priest, having fought the creatures before, sheathed one blade and took up his icon to cast a ward. He held the symbol of the Dragon in the air, chanting a short prayer to unleash the banishing power of the Firstborn. The icon glowed with a brilliant white light, pulsating in rhythmic bursts. The light frightened the undead, causing them to scatter and cross the paths of the Alvar blades.

  “Fear them not!” Khalid shouted. “Don’t let them get away!”

  Farouk had also raised his staff into the air, casting spells of his own while fighting with his other hand. His skills as a warrior had not waned at all, Khalid noticed, and the addition of his magic only made him deadlier. He was glad to have the former Jindala captain on his side.

  Suddenly, a shrill cry sounded from within the forest. Khalid turned, seeing the rangers emerge with weapons in hand. They fell upon the rear line of wights as they fled. Khalid rushed to their ranks, cutting his way through the writhing undead. He saw Jhayla spinning with her blades, slicing several surrounding wights to ribbons.

  “What was that?” Khalid shouted to her.

  Jhayla gripped both blades in one hand and drew a dagger, flinging it past Khalid’s head and into a wight behind him.

  “Something worse!” she replied, running past him to retrieve her blade.

  Khalid crossed his blades at the neck of another attacker, severing the foul head. He knelt to dodge another lunge, chopping off his attacker’s legs at the knee. Jhayla finished it off with a lunge through its back. Just then, Adder came to Khalid, thrusting his blade into an enemy’s gut.

  “Something else is coming,” he said, withdrawing his blade. “I haven’t seen the Enkhatar yet.”

  Khalid nodded, pulling out his icon once more.

  It seemed that the Enkhatar had brought more allies than expected.

  Jodocus watched the battle from atop the tower. He was impressed with the Alvar warriors, and how easily they fought alongside Khalid, the priests, and the newly arrived rangers. They were fierce, relentless, and complimentary to the fighting styles of all the human warriors.

  The entire force, though small, was a troop to be reckoned with.

  Wanting to be a part of the battle, the young druid threw orbs of white flame into the chaos below. They exploded into brilliant showers of tiny stars that burned the skin of the undead. He laughed, childlike, as he watched them scramble away in pain.

  He raised his hand once more, preparing another spell, when he saw a cloud of tiny dots in the distance. A large group of creatures had risen above the tree line, and were now headed toward the battle. From this distance, Jodocus could see very little detail, but their intent was obvious.

  They would attack from the air.

  Shrugging, the druid let his spell fizzle away, watching in awe as the flying creatures quickly came into view. They were insect-like; appearing as humanoid locusts or cicadas—he couldn’t tell which. One thing stood out in his mind, however. Whatever the creatures were, they were not singular. Each one appeared to be constructed of millions of tiny individuals. He could sense perhaps billions of tiny life forms in all; each crying out in the pain of servitude.

  He remembered such creatures from his studies; those who were built of the parts—or whole bodies—of other creatures, put together to form a single, enslaved life form. Golem.

  “Chitin golems,” he remarked out loud. “Interesting.”

  He raised his small staff into the air, summoning a fierce wind to try and dispel them, or at least blow them off course. As the whirlwind came into being, he directed it toward their swarm as it approached the edge of the forest. The fierce winds caught several of them up in its torrent, swirling them around and dashing them against each other. Many of them became disassembled, and the individual insects swarmed away to escape.

  He wondered who or what had control of them—if anything.

  Below, the assembled warriors were aware of the swarm. Farouk had begun a spell to shield them all from its descent, and a shimmering dome began to spread over them. Alvar troops drew their bows, firing up into the approaching horde of golems. Jodocus frowned when he saw that their arrows did little good. Most of them bounced off harmlessly, and the creatures swooped down to attack.

  Farouk’s shield did little good, either.

  Jodocus, seeing the creatures only slightly detoured by the magical dome, conjured more starlight bursts. He fired them downward, being careful not to strike his friends. He knocked two golems apart, blasting them into clouds of bug debris. But a few of them broke off their attacks and began to head straight for him. His eyes widened as he saw them fiercely speeding in his direction.

  He fired a blast of light, exploding one of them in a burst of brilliant magic, but two of them still came. He raised his staff again, sweeping it in an arc before him as he backed away. Though his magical wave destroyed one of the flying beasts, the other dodged and swooped overhead. Jodocus fell back as it passed, landing on his elbows; his staff bouncing several yards away. The creature descended upon him, grasping his shoulders with its tough, chitinous talons.

  Pain shot through him as the sharp claws pierced his skin. He cried out, desperately shouting for help. The creature shrieked as its wings beat the air; the sound stung the young druid’s ears. He felt himself lifted from the top of the tower, and rising high into the night sky.

  In his mind, through the haze of pain, he could only think of one thing.

  Mama.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “We should meet the Jindala head on,” Eamon said to the assembled kings.

  Jadhav scratched his chin, looking to the others for their thoughts. “Should we not remain here and take up a defensive position?” he suggested.

  “I don’t think so,” Cannuck interjected. “We are the invaders. There is no reason to defend this fortress. It is not ours. Besides, the Jindala would know any secret ways in.”

  “I agree,” Tregar said. “Defending against a siege is a waste of time. If what Traegus says is true, the Dragon is nearing the center of the Earth, and the other Firstborn are waiting. We must get to Khem.”

  Traegus leaned over the table, resting his palms on the edge. The others watched him as he gathered his thoughts. “The army will not need to go to Khem,” he said, finally. “It is abandoned. The entire bulk of the Jindala army is heading this way.”

  “Why would the Lifegiver command them to leave the city empty?” Mekembe wondered aloud.

  “He does not need them,” Traegus replied. “He never did. Their presence would make no difference to the outcome of this little game.”

  “Game?” Cannuck repeated.

  Faeraon, who had remained silent, glanced at Eamon. He seemed to know something, Eamon thought. He noticed that the Alvar king had reacted when Traegus had said the word game. As Eamon’s eyes met his, Faeraon glanced back at Traegus.

  “Faeraon,” Eamon said. “Speak your mind.”

  Faeraon sat forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Traegus speaks not just in metaphors,” he said. “I believe there is a purpose to all of this. A higher purpose.”

  “What do you mean?” Cannuck asked.

  Faeraon thought for a moment, and then stood. He walked to the fireplace and removed a slender stick that had fallen away from the blaze. He held it up to his mouth and extinguished the small flame that burned at its end with a quick puff of breath. Eamon felt a sense of fear. He did not know why. It seemed that the strange thoughts that had gone through his mind had been shared with the Alvar king somehow. Why else would Faeraon have looked at him so strangely?

  The Alvar returned to the table, using the stick to draw a soot diagram. He drew several parallel lines on the table, and then paused.

  “There are many universes,” he said. “And they are
all lined up side by side like these lines.”

  He pointed to one of them, drawing a circle with his stick. “This is my universe,” he said, then, drawing another circle on the next line over, “and this is Earth; this universe.”

  He then began drawing circles over the other lines, all at the same point. “All of these worlds—all of these Earths—are one and the same. Those that are on the left of Earth are my world, and all of those before it. They have all been destroyed by this Absu, as you call him; the darkness. On every single world he has destroyed, the inhabitants lost the battle. Gaia lost the battle; always.”

  The others remained silent as he continued. Eamon felt the fear grow stronger as his own revelation was beginning to take shape. He felt Traegus’ eyes on him, as if the wizard were watching him work through the concepts to come to the same conclusion.

  “Why has Absu traveled through the dimensions from Earth to Earth?” Faeraon asked, rhetorically. “And why has the Creator allowed him to do so?”

  “Surely the Creator would stop Absu if he knew,” Mekembe said. “Especially if the darkness was destroying his creation.”

  Faeraon stood, folding his arms across his chest. “That is the point,” he said. “That is why Traegus said the word game.”

  Eamon looked to Traegus again, recalling the brief conversation they had had before. “It is a game,” he said. “One played at our expense.”

  Traegus nodded slowly, looking around the room as the kings fell expressionless. “More specifically, at Gaia’s expense, I suspect.”

  Jadhav shook his head, chuckling in uncomfortable confusion. “Wait,” he said. “What are you saying? This is insane. Why would the universe play games with sentient life? Why would it allow the suffering that Absu has caused? What test would be worth that?”

  Eamon felt the same, knowing that throughout the many worlds there had been an enormous amount of suffering; all caused for a single purpose. But what that purpose was, remained unknown.

  “What has Gaia done to deserve this?” Cannuck asked.

  Traegus shook his head. “Perhaps she has done nothing,” he said. “Or perhaps her suffering only serves as a test for us; our parallel species across the realms.”

  “Humans?” Jadhav asked.

  “No,” Faeraon said. “Not just humans. My people suffered as well. Absu destroyed our mother. We failed.”

  Eamon felt sympathy for Faeraon as he lowered his head in sorrow. “You have not failed,” he said. “Your people are here; you have survived.”

  Faeraon glanced at him, his face resigned and stern. “Only because of Farouk,” he said. “And your graciousness. If not for your actions, Farouk would never have stumbled upon Alvheim. I would have faded away into Limbo as my people had. We would have been lost forever.”

  “Perhaps there was a reason you were spared,” Traegus suggested. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been able to communicate your plight to us.”

  “But it was Aeli who found my daughter,” Faeraon replied. “That would have happened whether I was gone or not.”

  Traegus nodded. “The rift caused the link to Limbo as it did to your world,” he said. “But the two must be related.”

  Eamon searched his thoughts for a moment, going over the equations in his head. Every time he did so, they became clearer. It was almost like another person, Farouk perhaps, were helping him to understand them. A few of them pointed to the answer, he knew; the answer as to why Faeraon had been spared, and why he and his people were allowed to return—albeit on a different world. Also, why was Theia’s spirit suddenly discovered? Why would the Powers allow a dead world to be resurrected with her spirit; a world that was in an entirely different dimension, no less?

  “Faeraon’s people have long suffered,” Eamon said, finally. “To suffer and persist is noble, and shows strength. He resisted for as long as he could. Those on other worlds may have given up, or succumbed to the Lifegiver’s influence and destroyed themselves. But here Faeraon stands; forever in defiance of the darkness that he need no longer need resist. There was definitely a reason Farouk found him, and I do not believe that it was simply to help us. His world and his people were given a second chance, it seems.”

  “Then we shall not waste that second chance,” Faeraon said. “My warriors will fight at your side, and I will face the Lifegiver with you.”

  Eamon looked at Traegus, who smiled from one corner of his mouth. The wizard was correct; Faeraon would go with them.

  Clapping his hands together, Eamon took on a stern demeanor. “Then we fight. And we fight now. Let us get assembled and ready to depart.”

  “I told you not to eat that,” Azim scolded Daryth, who spat out a wad of cactus flesh. “Now you’ll probably vomit all over the place.”

  Daryth wiped his tongue on his sleeve, attempting to get rid of the bitter taste in his mouth. “It’s awful!” he said.

  Azim chuckled. “It is. I made the same mistake when I was younger. It really does look edible, but it isn’t.”

  “The rangers have scrolls and books detailing all of the edible plants,” Daryth said. “Even those that grow in the desert. This looked just like one of them.”

  “It does,” Azim agreed. “But the edible plant of which you speak has white flowers, not red.”

  “I’ll remember that next time.”

  “Don’t be surprised if you start seeing things,” Azim said.

  Daryth stopped short. “What?”

  Azim laughed, patting Daryth on the shoulder. Suddenly, his gaze wandered and fixed on a place to the southeast. Daryth turned to look.

  There, standing in a line across the peak of a large dune, were several odd-looking figures. They were silhouetted against the edge of the sunrise; tall, slender, and dressed in rags that billowed in the wind. Azim’s lips pursed when he saw them, and Daryth felt that the strangers were not friendly.

  “Who are they?” Daryth asked.

  Azim took a deep breath. “Djinn,” he said.

  Daryth remembered the efreet that had attacked during the liberation of Bray. It was a fiery, evil creature that used magic. These did not even look similar; they appeared as men.

  “What kind of djinn?” Daryth asked.

  Azim shook his head. “Janni,” he replied. “They are lesser djinn; not considered noble or divine by the other orders. They are simply those who have an actual earth form. But they are still elemental spirits.”

  “Are they hostile?”

  “Sometimes,” Azim said. “But not always. They are neutral by nature, but can go either way.”

  Daryth gripped the hilt of his katana, feeling the uncertainty he always felt with strangers. If the djinn were hostile, he and Azim didn’t stand a chance. Perhaps fleeing would be the best option. However, if the djinn had come to present themselves in peace, allying with them would be beneficial.

  “What do we do?” he asked.

  Azim shook his head. “I think maybe we should tell Eamon and Hamal,” he said. “They can speak with them.”

  “What if they leave, or attack as we turn away?”

  “They are doing nothing,” Azim pointed out. “I would assume if they were planning on attacking, they would have done so by now.”

  “Then we should go meet them,” Daryth suggested. “Time is running short.”

  Azim nodded. “Alright. But let me do the talking.”

  Daryth shrugged. He couldn’t speak the language of Khem anyway.

  The two approached the group cautiously. There were five djinn, each armed with a variety of weapons, and dressed the black robes of the nomadic tribes of the desert. They were tall; each one at least seven feet tall and as slender as corpses. Their faces were wrapped in veils, with golden bands surrounding their heads above eye level. Through the gaps where their eyes should be glowed dim red orbs; barely shining through in the morning sun.

  The awe they inspired was great, and Daryth found himself overwhelmed.

  Beside him, Azim bowed to the djinn in
respect. Daryth mimicked the gesture, keeping his eyes on them as he did.

  “Anakh-ta uhm te Azim al-Fayid,” Azim said. The djinn lowered their heads slightly to acknowledge him.

  “We will speak in your friend’s tongue, Azim,” the tallest djinn said, his voice a dry, yet noble whisper.

  “Forgive me, great ones,” Azim replied. “This is my friend, Daryth. We serve the Dragon, and the king of Eirenoch.”

  “The Onyx Dragon,” the djinn said.

  “Yes.”

  The djinn turned to Daryth. The ranger-knight felt its stare burning through him, yet it was not uncomfortable; only odd. It felt as if the djinn were staring into his very soul, but approved of what it saw there. However, he was relieved when the djinn turned back to Azim.

  “You have come to destroy the Absu,” it said. “We have long suffered under his will.”

  “The world has suffered,” Azim replied. “It is time to end his reign. Do you come in support of our cause?”

  The djinn reached up to grasp its head wrappings, pulling down the veil that covered its face. Underneath, its flesh was mummified—dry and cracked—its teeth exposed and broken. “We have been trapped in these husks for several decades,” it said. “We seek to be free of our prisons, and return to the realm of Imbra.”

  “Then we share a common cause,” Daryth said. The djinn turned back to him. “Together, we can defeat the Jindala.”

  Beside him, he saw Azim acknowledge his statement. The djinn reached out its hand, displaying it palm down. The other djinn did the same, covering the leader’s hand with their own. Azim placed his hand on top, looking to Daryth.

  “We will join you,” the djinn said.

  Daryth placed his hand over Azim’s, looking up into the djinn’s glowing eyes. The creature almost seemed to smile as he met the ranger’s gaze.

  A new alliance had been forged.

  “Take us to your king,” the djinn said.

  The Onyx Dragon rode forth from the fortress with the kings at his side. The sun was beginning to peak above the horizon, and the desert heat was returning. It was a pleasant change from the frigid night, but he knew that the heat would become unbearable as always.