“Up there?” Adacon gaped, watching the tiny man disappear against the snow, racing up a steep icy ridge, split by a deep crevasse.
“I’ll help, come on—ask all the questions you want once we’re home—for now, just follow fast—the tide has turned against us in the West, and we must get you back as soon as possible,” Tempern called in his energetic voice. Adacon followed up the slippery tract of ice, staring at it fearfully, wondering how the little man had made it up, and then how he would follow. Suddenly, Tempern lowered his hand from high above, twisted his fist—Adacon rose through the air, as if by an invisible lift, and after a moment plunked down next to Tempern.
“Wow!” Adacon exclaimed.
“This might be easier, hold still,” Tempern ordered. Again he balled his hands into fists, and at once they floated together up the mountain side, through a thin cave high on the pass, landing together in a bare-walled expanse of snow, dominated by towering peaks.
“Incredible, Krem couldn’t do that—he couldn’t use any Vapoury up here!” Suddenly, before he could gather his thoughts, the ground beneath Adacon began to shake, and he threw his arms wide to try to keep his balance. Snow sprayed in spasms all around him. Tempern kept perfectly still as a huge snow-covered mass erupted from the ground beneath them: the whole icy plain upon which they stood extruded from the surface of the mountain; snow avalanched in all directions, and Adacon beheld emerging scarlet, stark against the pure white—the form of the giant hawk was rising from beneath them.
“Tempern!” Adacon shouted. The ground shifted, causing him to tumble and roll to his side; the red mass slanted to a descending slope. Suddenly, the movement settled, and he kneeled perfectly still on a patch of man-sized luminous feathers. Tempern walked over to him, smiling—Adacon couldn’t believe what was happening. The bird flapped its enormous wings several times, and they were instantly set adrift above the mountains, riding a southerly current. Packets of snow dispersed with each flap as the hawk cleared its wings; Adacon watched them drift down into the enormous depression from which the bird had risen.
“Adacon, meet Enox.”
“H—Hi, Enox,” Adacon replied, digesting a flood of adrenaline. The great hawk flapped its wings once more, and soon the mountains became specks below. The avian giant soared effortlessly through the dusking sky. They sat in the middle of the creature’s back; he looked to either side and saw a mile-long span of glittering red feathers, arcing away from the mass upon which they sat. “This is… incredible.”
“One moment,” Tempern said. He placed a finger to his temple, followed by his other hand to his forehead: a glow manifested around his tiny head, then he vanished entirely.
“Tempern!” Adacon cried. He did not want to be alone again, especially while atop a giant, possibly unaware, hawk.
“I’m back,” came the familiar voice, only the man standing before Adacon now looked nothing like the one who’d disappeared: Tempern had grown to a full height, slightly taller than Adacon; he had long silk-black hair, raven eyes, and wore a sapphire jacket to his knees, where baggy grey leggings protruded down, beneath which a pair of russet boots clamped him to the scarlet feathers of the bird.
“What—what…” Adacon didn’t have any words to express himself; he wasn’t sure why the old, bearded, gnome-looking thing had turned into the handsome young man before him, but he was amazed by the transformation anyway, and curious: “How did you do that?”
“Vapoury of course,” Tempern replied. “I like to remain small and inconspicuous on the mountain.”
“Isn’t your home on the mountain?”
“No, my home is there,” he said, pointing. His long black hair flapped wildly in the wind. In the distance, Adacon saw a gulch, fertile green—he rubbed his eyes, checked again. “Yep, that’s grass alright.”
“I haven’t seen any grass in the whole country,” said Adacon, perplexedly surveying a tiny meadow of grass nestled into the surrounding snow.
“No, there is no grass in the country at all—that’s Vapoury you see there,” explained Tempern.
“What do you mean?”
“A secret portal, one I’ve made visible to you; it’s a tract of land from an entirely different continent, far, far away from here,” Tempern explained.
“You mean you don’t even live on Nethvale?”
“Nope—well—some of the time, anyway.”
The giant hawk descended toward the green speck, its speed increasing by such a degree that Adacon could no longer discern his whereabouts; he thought in fear that the hawk was hurtling directly into the earth. A flash of white brilliance overtook him as they flew through the portal. Suddenly, they were gliding gently again, several hundred yards above an endless sea of high, wavy grass, bright green under a midday sun. Skirting the grass plains below were moss-covered hills, some cutting skyward in pressure ridge plateaus. After a command from Tempern, the Enox shifted his giant wings, setting into a turbulence-free stop atop one of the highest grass plateaus. Adacon ran off the bird, eager to find solid, iceless earth beneath his feet for the first time in weeks. Tempern chuckled, watching his passenger grasp the verdant turf in his fists.
“Nice place, isn’t it?” Tempern asked. Adacon didn’t respond; he was too busy lying down among high stalks of grass, immersing himself in the blank blue of the sky, registering a cool breeze that touched his cheek. The sun beat down, warm but not hot, through a constancy of fragrant wind, comforting him to the point of sleepiness.
“This is the most peaceful place I’ve ever been,” Adacon said. He looked up, noticing that the great Enox was flying away, generating strong winds of cool air with each flap. A shade passed over them; the hawk had briefly blotted out the sun with its wide silhouette. “And that is surely the largest creature I have ever seen, or that has ever been born!” he declared.
“The Sleeping Enox?” Tempern replied, walking over to where Adacon lay. “She was a person once.”
“A person?” Adacon exclaimed, lifting his head to peer around: the plateau was uniform green as far as the eye could see—in the distance shimmered a waterfall, wide, cascading brilliantly from an even higher plateau. Trees spread away from the top of the fall, nearly hidden by sparkling mist that rose from the water crashing at the bottom. “Beautiful…” He stared, mesmerized by the living channel, forgetting already that he’d just been told that the biggest bird he’d ever seen was actually a person.
“Indeed—Alejia Bloom—the greatest Welsprin to ever live.”
“That bird is a welsprin?” Adacon asked, confused, finally taking his eyes from the waterfall, returning them to the speck of red disappearing in the sky, flying toward the portal through which they had come.
“Yes—she is.”
“But how is that possible?”
“How is this?” Tempern abruptly replied; he turned instantly into an old man, much older than the original Tempern, frail and wrinkled, with a cane holding him up. In a flash, he disappeared and the young black-haired youth returned.
“I guess I have a lot to learn…”
“Well, I wouldn’t have believed you were a slave, with what you know already.”
“I completely forgot—what about the others?” Adacon emoted in panic.
“They’re fine. Secure on the foothills of Nethvale, probably getting on top of the Enox now,” he replied.
“Did you say the Enox?”
“Yes—you see, when she decided to absolve, she took up the name Sleeping Enox, her own choice—she prefers it now to Alejia.”
“Absolve?”
“Yes, she released herself from her corporeal obligation as a Welsprin, lent herself to Gaigas’s positive life-force,” Tempern tried to explain.
“You mean she died?” asked Adacon, uncomprehending.
“There was an evil, long, long ago—we destroyed it, but she decided to reinforce the good of the world—it’s a permanent decision you know—and so she absolved, as us Welsprin name the decision, and became one
with the planet entirely—no more physical form, only an addition to the pool of positive energy within Darkin.”
“But she’s a giant bird—she has a body!” said Adacon defiantly. For an instant, sorrow crossed Tempern’s perfect features; his supreme looks had been rent by an expression of sadness.
“The deepening of evil within Darkin—it forces form upon her, as a regurgitation of Gaigas—as a way to destroy the physical embodiments representing the terrible shift in the energy taking place within the planet.”
“She’s been…regurgitated?” asked Adacon, more confused than before, wishing to lie back down and feel the breeze on his face.
“As a way of putting it simply—yes,” Tempern said. He looked sullen again.
“What, is it… is it a bad thing?” Adacon asked, sorry for unearthing a sore subject.
“No—it’s just that—she is my true love, Alejia, and I still mourn the loss, a millennium past—it was her decision to leave me. And I understood; it was for the better of the world—we agreed that it was the best thing to do. Most of the time I do not miss her, I don’t have to—but when she’s manifested, it becomes harder. I am forced to remember that time, all those years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s quite alright!” Tempern cheered up. “There has only been one other time when Gaigas manifested her life force to interact physically with the world—and only just yesterday was that second time—which is why I am sorry to say I did not notice you were in Nethvale struggling. I almost killed you all—she had just arrived. I had to—I had to see her first…”
“That’s why Krem couldn’t use his magic?”
“Precisely. I keep a field that prevents the use of magic, be it Vapoury or dark mana—I didn’t let it down, I was—”
“Strange as this sounds,” Adacon injected into the pause, “I think I understand, just a little.” An energetic smile streaked across Tempern’s youthful face.
“I know you do. Come on, to the falls, enough of this drivel for now!” Tempern replied. He ran off without warning through the field. Adacon felt as if he was a child, chasing playfully after him, racing toward the magnificent waterfall.
“So where on Darkin is this place? To what country have you taken me?” called Adacon over rustling wind.
“Darkin? Hah—you’re no longer on that planet, friend!” Tempern returned zealously. Adacon stared at his surroundings; strangely, he was not the least bit surprised by the mind-bending admission. He checked his pace to match Tempern’s.
* * *
They hiked through a winding forest trail that surrounded the waterfall’s rock basin, arriving on a small path between low brush. The air grew thick with the intense spray rolling off from the falls. Heading directly toward the crashing waters, Adacon walked in astonishment, watching Tempern’s nimble jumps, from rock to rock, trespassing the white-foam stream that thundered downriver from the basin—in an instant Tempern had disappeared behind the gleaming column of the waterfall.
“Alright,” Adacon said aloud. He braced himself at the edge of the stream. Channeling his courage, he leapt, following Tempern’s path. Soon the wall of water met him, and in another hurdle he broke through the torrent, mist and fog, getting sprayed with cool water as he went. A damp cave greeted him on the other side. He walked in, the roar of the falls slowly diminishing behind him.
“Tempern?”
“Up here, just a bit farther to my home.”
Adacon scurried over slimy crags, watching his steps carefully. A lattice of hanging vines emerged as he delved deeper into the cave. Several minutes of marching under dripping stalactites and vines yielded an opening in the cave ceiling: above Adacon a living painting blinded his dilated eyes; it was as if the dark grey of the roof had transmuted into crystal cerulean, and a secret sky was cloaking the wide chamber canopy. Looking down, noticing his footfalls felt softer, he realized he now walked upon lush grass, just like on the plains outside the waterfall. Several white rabbits hopped away in his wake. In the distance, Adacon saw the sky above him spread down the walls of the cave, meeting dull grey rock again, leading to another tunnel.
“This is my sanctuary,” Tempern said. He rolled onto the green grass, floor to the misplaced sky, juxtaposing the wet granite they’d trodden through.
“Is this Darkin?” Adacon asked, wondering if they’d entered into a portal within the waterfall, emptying them into the prairie grove and sky that certainly did not belong where it was.
“Of course!” Tempern replied. He seemed an extraordinarily happy, care-free person, Adacon felt; Tempern lay flat on his back, staring up at the deep sky. “Watch above.”
Suddenly, Tempern was rolling his finger through the air, tracing something transparently in the sky—the unmarked blue suddenly grew speckles of glowing white, glimmering orbs that poked through against a darkening blue. Adacon watched in amazement as one after another—a million stars—lit the ceiling of the cave, a billion miles above, and the brilliant blue had become its nocturnal shade of black.
“What is this place?” Adacon asked in wonderment.
“My vantage point,” Tempern replied; then, the most astonishing sight yet transfixed Adacon: in the center of the starry night sky appeared a formless glow, slowly churning, spinning itself around, eventually drawing into a sphere, and from the glow appeared contrast and shape, ridges and formations—the sphere spun faster; hanging heavily in the sky was a sight Adacon had never seen before, a great green and blue globe that he instinctively knew to be a planet, though seen from a point of view he could never have imagined.
“It’s—beautiful…” Adacon whispered, finally lying down on the grass next to Tempern, looking directly up at the enormous world shaping above him.
“That, is Darkin—your home,” Tempern informed. He turned to see the expression on the slave’s face: Adacon was awestruck, fixed to the green-blue orb throughout which stretched bands of white, the vision causing in him a speechless fit of wonder and imagination.
“And your home too?” Adacon asked, wondering how much time Tempern really spent on Darkin.
“Not quite—not anymore,” Tempern replied. “I haven’t lived on Darkin in many thousands of years. It is only my portal there that Krem calls my home—Darkin is my birthplace, however. I don’t stay there though—I stay here, on Nexus.”
“Nexus?” Adacon asked wildly.
“The planet we’re on now,” Tempern replied.
“But how is all this possible! How can you move to another planet? I’ve read more than once that the idea of other planets is purely myth!”
“No—there are plenty of starcharters on Darkin who would tell you otherwise, tell you something closer to the truth,” Tempern replied. “And can you guess how this is all possible?” Adacon didn’t have to think very hard at all; he knew.
“Welsprin.”
“Precisely—you see, regardless of what occurs on Darkin, I no longer intervene directly, I cannot: I have such an understanding that I am not to manipulate the energy of Gaigas—not directly anyhow—your case is an exception; you are the first Welsprin since myself—you will be our successor!” Tempern explained.
“Successor?”
“Yes, you are but the third of our kind in many millennia—you will one day refine yourself to neutrality also.”
“But aren’t you going to train me, so that I can help destroy the Feral monsters that are murdering innocent people as we speak?”
“I am.”
“Thank you,” Adacon said, dispelling his fear that Tempern’s neutrality would prevent him from aiding them in the war.
“How do we become Welsprin?” asked Adacon.
“The one who taught me about my power—she said that it is the nature of the planet, an outward alignment of its energy.”
“You mean Sleeping Enox?” Adacon asked. Tempern nodded his head.
“So—you’re really an—an all-seeing god then?” Adacon said. He returned his eyes to the field
of stars behind the turning planet above. “You can do anything you please, go anywhere you like?”
“No—quite the opposite. My field of vision is limited to Darkin, my Vapoury is affixed to her life force, which reaches out but a few hundred miles from the surface. I can also do little in the way of going anywhere I like; you see this portal—the one we’ve just come through—has been on Darkin since before my life began. We don’t know how it formed. Alejia was only told by those who taught her what I know now: that we have always known of the portal’s location, and that we must keep it forever secret.”
“So you don’t even know to where it goes—to where we are now?”
“No—we don’t know this planet’s location in the universe, if that’s what you mean. We simply know it as Nexus. I do hope you’re not let down already,” he chuckled.
“Of course not! I’m—well—a bit dizzy though,” Adacon replied. From his pocket he withdrew a small piece of parchment, folded many times over. Slowly unfolding it, he felt his confusion die away. He stared at something he understood completely—a small pink flower, delicately flattened, somehow preserved through his entire ordeal in Nethvale.
“That’s fine, I expect you to be confused. It is only by way of Krem’s convincing that I have decided to work with you so early in your life—because as much as I hate to admit it, that old wrinkled goof is right—there are times when a Welsprin must act, even if he’s felt the real essence of Gaigas as I have. Alejia taught me that much…” Adacon didn’t seem to hear anything, distracted with his small flower, which Tempern eyed curiously. Adacon put it away carefully, thinking hard about something. After another moment of silence, he spoke up again:
“Couldn’t you just go to Vesleathren and destroy him outright? Won’t the Enox do just that?”
“No—a Welsprin’s link to the planet, once developed strongly enough, prevents the use of destructive magic, or force of any kind.”
Darkin: The Prophecy of the Key (The Darkin Saga Book 2) Page 21