Storm of Prophecy: Book 1, Dark Awakening

by Von Werner, Michael

  “Alright, here it is,” Karl announced once he had all the pieces he wanted in the right order.

  “‘When the eyes of the witness can see only the raging tempest, there will come a time of great Armageddon. Ornak, The Betrayed, will rise again as Kargoth, Lord of Death, and his vengeance will be at hand…

  …All rival gods of the underworld will be slain by his merciless wrath, and the world of the living consumed in his fire before the heavens themselves finally quake and succumb to the dark one’s will. War, pain, and death will rain upon the land as all are joined unto him. Living and dead shall become as one for all eternity.

  His dominion will have no end.’”

  They were all silent for a moment.

  Stacy seemed the most shaken by this pronouncement. “That fits exactly,” she whispered gravely in a slow and hushed tone, “a disaster striking at the very heart of the natural order.”

  “Even if it is just a myth,” Rick speculated, “that’s a pretty big coincidence.”

  “The stars never lie,” she maintained, brushing his comment aside, “unless there’s other…” she started in thought but didn’t finish.

  Vincent was enticed. “Unless what?”

  Stacy ignored his question for the moment. “Karl, may I see what you have written down beyond what you just read to us.”

  “Sure,” he said, handing her the papers.

  “Are these in the right order?”

  “Yes.”

  She spent a few moments reading them over. “The text makes references to the positions of other astronomical phenomena for confirmation.” She let out a depressed sigh. “Unfortunately, they all match as well.”

  “Now I’m really worried,” Rick remarked. “Aren’t the chances of all those…things being aligned properly nearly impossible?”

  “They are.”

  Karl folded his arms. “What do we do now?” He asked in despair to no one in particular. “We went through so much trouble to find this, and it hasn’t gotten us anywhere.”

  “Then we keep trying,” Vincent insisted, “we’ll travel to the forest and search under every rock and tree until they can’t hide anymore. The cult must be stopped before more innocent people, more children, are murdered.”

  Rick took a deep breath and let it out with a yawn. “Excellent plan,” he said, patting Vincent on the shoulder, “I think for now though, we should all get some sleep.” Vincent only nodded.

  * * *

  Things returned more or less to normal over the next few days, with a few exceptions. Vincent resumed standing guard over the vault, and he continued visiting the gardens as he always had, though Jessica had started to become more formal, as if she were trying to keep him at a distance. She seemed even sad, perhaps bothered by his visits, and he had no idea why. At times he sat in his room, pensively trying to think up ways to renew her interest in him but kept running into the dead end of thinking that perhaps she just didn’t like him. The only thought that would cheer him up was that maybe she would tell him one day, when she was ready, what was troubling her. Another change he saw was his own renewed determination while he guarded the vault, every time he heard the feet of a rat or mouse skittering on the stone in an adjacent hall, his nerves went on edge before he realized what it was. Because of the now very real danger he knew threatened his post every night, he kept up his sword practice and tried harder than ever to perfect his skills.

  When they were able to arrange it, he and his friends gathered together again and took a trip to the woods surrounding Gadrale near the mountains. Craig went with them and showed them the site where he had witnessed the horrible deeds taking place. They found the ashes of a large fire pit and nothing more.

  A few more nights of guard duty passed without incident, but it never put Vincent at ease. Stan and Craig never failed to relieve him on time; they became diligent guards who were very punctual and showed him more respect. Whether this was because he had showed them enough to hear their words, or because of what they had seen, or even because they had finally learned their lesson, it was clear that they had changed. They were no longer quite the same carefree boys as before.

  To keep their ties strong, Vincent had made a habit, along with Karl, Rick, and Stacy, of all eating their meals together in the dining hall at the same time. It afforded them the chance to talk and share anything that came up without curtailing any time that they each preferred to spend on doing other things. It also avoided any suspicion from secretive gatherings. Since their occasional treks to the wilderness were not providing them with much more than recreation, these meetings allowed them to collaborate and try to plan other ways of continuing their investigation. They discussed Vincent’s prior interviews with some of the friends and relatives of the deceased, but there was little that could be derived from it. At one such meal, when he and the others were feeling overly anxious and troubled that maybe the worst was already taking place somewhere, Stacy waved off their concern with her hand and assured them that when the cataclysm actually began, there would be no mistaking it.

  The next day, Vincent proceeded with his routine as usual. He visited the gardens in the morning and exchanged smiles, kind words, and plant care tips with Jessica. But nothing more between them would happen, and she would act as though she didn’t want him there. Like before, he felt like asking why but couldn’t. It was just too uncomfortable, and he didn’t want to push her further away. He almost didn’t want to know, especially if it was what he feared. Instead, Vincent took a deep breath, sucked in his pride, and left.

  In the afternoon, he spent a good deal of time practicing his blade skills, and by evening, he experimented with his magic, using his knife for tests on a small scale instead of running the risk of ruining his sword. He started with what was familiar to him, heating and freezing the blade, setting it on fire, and melting and reshaping it. Toward the end, he plied his will into forcing the knife to be as light as a feather and was able to do so; he could feel the weight lessening. When he held it out flat on his hand and turned it sideways, the speed of its fall was dramatically lessened up until the point the knife lost contact with his skin. It clattered on the stone floor. Though this was interesting, it was not outside of what he was already capable of. He had achieved this same effect with his sword on many occasions, and could feel it become lighter, easier, and faster to swing. During his sword practice however, he avoided using this power in order to increase his strength later and multiply further the effect the trick had on the fierce speed of his swings. Relying on it too much would only make him overly dependent on it for fighting and introduce an unnecessary vulnerability. He knew that could only be a mistake.

  Vincent picked up the knife and stared at it while he sat on the bed in his room, fully aware that he was due for his guard duty shift soon. He kept wondering if there was something he was missing, with the learning of his magic, that had eluded him so far. Vincent was different; no one, not even Arrendis, knew enough about his power to teach him. What he had achieved in the knowledge of its use had been through careful trial and error and a lot of effort. Throughout it all, there had been one other component that had allowed him to progress and that was his own imagination. He had to think of what he sought to learn first and then try to make it happen. To do this, he had to have some idea of what was possible. Vincent thought he had already tapped into what could be done. Perhaps there was more that he was unaware of, but he had trouble thinking of what it might be. Especially since it seemed that he already had all that he might need in a fight, at least against normals anyway. In a sense he had always felt somewhat outmatched by others who had magic, even his own friends. What was his power compared to theirs? It didn’t matter, he supposed. It mattered only that he continued trying to do the best he could with what he had.

  He put on his sword and cloak, and began descending the many sets of stairs within the keep toward the vault level. The lingering odor of burning flesh near the entryway to the floors below ground had
finally faded away, for which he was grateful. As always, he could feel the air become cooler as he descended lower. There were few other people at this time of day roaming the halls, and his own footfalls on the stone were often the only sound.

  As he walked, he found himself thinking again of his own power and of the investigation that he was trying so hard to bring to a successful conclusion. He wasn’t sure that if his power was greater it would actually help him to find the ones he sought, only to better fight and punish them once he did. His mentor would not be able to help him any further with this; it was for him and his friends to do.

  Arrendis had basically raised Vincent and was like a grandfather to him. In the absence of his own parents, Vincent felt deeply fortunate that such a kind and generous man had taken care of him and had stood up for him and his dream to become a wizard, time and time again. Arrendis was a shining example of how one didn’t always need training to accomplish a feat, so long as they just had enough encouragement and support from others to learn to do it themselves.

  Vincent was a grown man now, and his independent pursuit of murderous fanatics was exactly the sort of thing that Arrendis had been preparing him for all along: to rise to the occasion and stand without his help. Vincent and his friends had to do for others what they could not, and had pursued every potential lead, continuing to search where there was only trees, grass, and brush. Despite their setbacks, they each remained committed. He only hoped that it would be enough.

  Outside of the door to the vault, Vincent shared a few words with Craig, asking him if he had seen or noticed anything strange lately, and like every other time he had done so, the answer was the disappointed shake of a head. Vincent bid him goodnight and took position in front of the vault’s door. And just like every night since he had resumed his duty, Vincent listened carefully to Craig’s footsteps disappearing in the distance and then began straining his ears to hear anything quieter once they were gone.

  The minutes and hours dragged on and he began to let himself fall into a trance as he continued to stand and stare forward. Time had dulled his fear somewhat; he no longer felt like he was in severe danger of attack every time he stood guard, yet he still remained alert. He knew that he had to be ready to act.

  Vincent stood for the proper amount of time, but it wasn’t long before he realized that something was wrong again. Stan should have been here by now. At the moment, there was nothing he could do except continue to stand guard. Someone had to do it.

  He didn’t know the reason for Stan’s tardiness and hoped it was for nothing serious. Even so, it could not be permitted. He changed his mind. A serious reason was better than one that wasn’t. Vincent did not enjoy either of the other times he had been left to stand without relief, and hated the second time much more than the first. He decided that Clemens, the Master Crafter and his supervisor, would hear of it later. It was a shame that he had to report him and have him face additional punishment or even expulsion, but Stan had been warned. A guard that could not be depended on was almost as bad as no guard at all.

  Finally, though strangely, Vincent saw both Stan and Craig walking together and approaching him at the other end of the hall. Their steps were hurried and their expressions grave. He didn’t know the reason for this second infraction, but decided that being angry right now wasn’t important to him. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Stan spoke up first between his ragged breaths and seemed in quite a fix. “I saw him again!”

  Vincent’s eyes became wide. “Saw who?” He asked, already suspecting the answer.

  “The man who left campus with Jeanette! He’s here!”

  Vincent felt thunderstruck. He and his friends had become so used to nothing happening that even he had come to question the prophecy. Even so, this was no time for rashness; things had to be handled properly. “Where did you see him?”

  Stan was a nervous wreck. “I was on my way here and I saw him messing around a building near the gardens! I think he stole something else from us! He’s trying to walk out with it! We have to catch him before he gets too far outside the gate!”

  “Wait, just calm down a moment. We can’t leave the vault door undefended. Someone has to stay and stand guard. Now that you’re here, one of you can take my…”

  “We didn’t come here to relieve you,” Craig quickly clarified, “we came here to get you to join us!”

  “We have to go after him now before he gets away!” Stan exploded.

  Vincent didn’t want a repeat of history: them tracking the responsible party and then having nothing to show for it later. Or them getting hurt. He was getting almost as anxious as they and also frustrated at their lack of planning. “If it was that urgent, why are you bothering to bring it to me! We have an entire keep full of wizards here! You could have told somebody else!”

  “We tried!” Stan exclaimed in near panic. “No one would believe us!”

  Craig’s suggestion was laced with harsher underlying insistence than his words let on. “I really think we should probably leave right now if we expect to catch up with him.”

  Vincent looked from one desperate face to another, feeling more convinced than ever that they were telling the truth. Their intense stares were hanging on his next response. “We could get into a lot of trouble for abandoning our post, and the thieves could try again while we’re gone. I’ve already served my shift. Maybe one of you should stay behind.”

  “We don’t care about that!” Stan burst out. “It’s not very likely! He’s out there! We need you to come with us now!”

  “Strength in numbers,” Craig added quickly. “We’re only junior guards and we thought to seek the aid of a full fledged one.” When Vincent didn’t respond immediately, he started losing his grip just like Stan. “So far you’re the only one who will even listen to us! We have to put a stop to their foul deeds before it’s too late!”

  It meant a lot to know that they respected him, despite his unique ability, and that they would turn to him for guidance and help, but this feeling was sobered by the current crisis. Vincent understood that action was paramount yet was worried about something else. “We can’t just leave The Crafters’ Vault undefended.”

  “This is more important!” Stan nearly screamed. “If you won’t come with us, then we’ll have to go without you!”

  “No you won’t!” Vincent yelled back, his memories of the recent attack still fresh in his mind. Stan and Craig stared back in disbelief, apparently thinking that he more than anyone would have been interested. They had no idea of the horror they were dealing with and he was becoming concerned for them. “This is not something that junior guards should be dealing with on their own! And it’s not training! This is serious! You could be killed!”

  “Then come with us!” Craig insisted.

  “The vault has protective spells! Even more of them since the attack!” Stan shouted worriedly. “There is no one to stop this person except us!” Vincent continued to stare him in the eye. He softened his tone in an attempt to compose himself and tried for a moment to resume speaking in a formal manner. “Sir, as members of the Academy Guard, is it not our first sworn duty to defend the academy from outside threats?”

  It was quite a dilemma. Hearing him repeat the obligation made Vincent feel like he was being torn in two. In order to uphold the Academy in one way, he would have to betray it in another. His nervous and racked mind quickly battled with it back and forth until one set of reasoning finally won out. It went against everything he believed in, and he knew there could be severe consequences, but Vincent finally made his decision. He had almost made the other.

  “Alright, I’ll help you,” Vincent said. They both looked more hopeful and excited as well as eager and ready to leave. Vincent then immediately lifted up a finger in warning. “Under one condition,” he added.

  They both froze visibly. “Name it,” Stan implored hastily.

  “We do this my way,” Vincent asserted, “neither of you jumps or does anythin
g stupid unless I say so. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Stan answered.

  Vincent looked to Craig. “Clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Vincent started hurrying out of the hall with Stan on his left and Craig on his right, walking fast but not running. He filled them in as they went. “Alright, here’s the plan: we’re going to follow him without tipping him off and without engaging him in combat.”

  “Why?” Craig asked.

  Against his own nature and his deep hatred of violence, Vincent felt a grim expression overtake his face. “I want him to lead us to the others.”

  “There’s too many,” Stan protested. “We don’t stand a chance. We should just capture him and beat it out of him.”

  Somehow, Vincent knew that wouldn’t work. “Is he still wearing peasant clothes?”

  “Yes.”

  Vincent had suspected as much. “If we brought him before the masters, it would be very easy for him to just pretend that we were torturing an innocent man into falsely confessing. And I don’t want just one man, I want them all. If we’re careful, we can still win. Besides, I know a few other people who can help us.”

  “We better hurry then,” Craig said, “there’s not much time.” Right after he said it, Vincent gripped the top of his sword handle with his left hand to steady it, and all three of them began to run.

  Chapter IX

  A s Vincent ran with Stan and Craig up the stairs, he suggested that he go rally his other friends for support while they tailed the culprit. In their haste, they agreed and promised to leave a trail with magic that he and the others could follow and use to catch up. Vincent separated from them at the ground floor and ran up the many flights of stairs as fast as he could.

  His blood was racing as he went to knock on Karl’s door first. “Come on! Get up, Karl! We have to go!”