“You mean for good—we’ll build our own home there?” she cried.
“I mean for good,” he smiled. “I don’t know of anything else I could ever want to do more than to be with you, and start a peaceful life together—I miss the jungle and the waterfalls.”
“Adacon, I l—” Calan started, but a great commotion had risen from the front of the crowd:
“But where will you be?” cried Erguile, still entranced by Alejia. She’d said she was leaving; the crowd had reacted with loud protest and confusion.
“I will be here, always—those who wish for my rule, you have it already—those who need time to decide, you have as long as you require—I will always be here,” she said. Her red gown whipped furiously; she suddenly disappeared, as strangely and quickly as she’d come. Tempern ran to where she had been and called her name, bewildered, visibly in love with her still; he shook his head as if to jog her from his mind. The crowd pushed forward, raucously loud again. Tempern approached Flaer, grabbing him on the shoulder. Flaer scowled back at him, then calmed his scornful visage, furrowing his brow in anticipation of their conversation:
“Flaer—I am sorry. Never again will I sit back and watch. I don’t care what I understand about the nature of Gaigas, I will listen to my heart from now on—I won’t let anything like this to happen to our world again.” Flaer looked as if the deepest sense of pleasure had washed over his soul; he smiled wide, looking with admiration at the man he’d resented for so many centuries.
“Have you forgiven yourself, though, Tempern—for making me what I am?” Flaer asked, stoppering true relief until he heard confirmation that Tempern’s own resentment against him was gone.
“I have, finally—and, absurd as this sounds, it took something from the boy, something he said,” Tempern said, glancing to the crowd at Adacon who kissed Calan amidst a frenzy of renewed celebration.
“Adacon?”
“Yes… you won’t believe it, what he told me.”
“Well?”
“I’ll tell you later, the mood is light. Let’s celebrate!”
Krem overheard their conversation and became stricken with a look of grief; he walked off to be alone. Remtall saw the sad expression mark the old Vapour’s face and ran up to him, spirits and pipes extended.
“Krem! Why the long face? Have a drop,” he said, holding out his flask and pipe.
“Sorry Remtall, I have an errand, may I borrow good Yarnhoot?”
“An errand now?” asked Remtall, exasperated.
“Yes, it’s urgent.”
“Well, then, of course, you can borrow Yarnhoot—he’s rather grown to like you more than me I think,” Remtall said, shoving Krem on the shoulder and pushing him out of the way.
“How about her? You think she’d go for me?” Erguile said, rushing past Krem to join Remtall in celebration.
“You mean of course the red hawk woman, that beautiful thing?” Remtall spat.
“Of course her.”
“Not a chance! Not—a—chance! She rather fancies gnomes, Adacon told me.”
“Liar,” Erguile replied, taking Remtall’s flask and drinking heartily. “Hey, what was with him?”
“Krem?”
“Yea, he looked quite distressed.”
“Maybe it’s Slowin; it comes and goes. His loss afflicts us each in different ways.”
“Did you hear? The party’s leaving tomorrow,” Erguile informed.
“To find that metal beast and bury him properly?”
“We aim to take him home—he always talked about getting back to the Red Forest, riding on turtles, sleeping in trees…I figure we’ll give him one more trip, get him home to his beloved forest. We owe him that much. And, I’ll be taking Weakhoof along, of course.”
“Hah! Count me in for the trip then.”
“You haven’t been home in so long though—I wouldn’t mind if you needed to stay awhile and rest your old bones.”
“Pah! Never mind a gnome’s bones! They’re girt round my frame for the sole purpose of adventure,” Remtall spoke, kicking Erguile hard on the shin in excitement for another journey. Another night of celebration carried on, and most all in Rislind were merry.
XXXIII: REPOSE
A final pink ray of sunlight poked through melting strands of cloud clumped in the western sky, and then the color of dusk dissolved. Calan watched placidly the transformation: streaking bends of orange and pink to amber, then blue and grey. Adacon held her warmly, and together they drifted peacefully down a slow river, their bodies sticking against the smooth-finished wood of an elven canoe. She dipped her finger into the water, a line forming in its wake, tiny ripples refracting the sunset’s death. The sounds of chirping bugs echoed lightly from the shores near to either side of them; the dark-forested banks looked as inviting a home as Adacon had ever known. It had been several weeks since the end of the war, and life had been good to him: he’d made a swift return west with Calan, to their new home, a freshly cut house on the edge of the largest tree in Rainside Run. He had taken to leisurely days of drifting, floating aimlessly along the river, caressing his love, and thinking no more of evil and oppression.
Erguile had set off to find Weakhoof and search for Slowin’s remains, strengthened by the company of Remtall. News had come across the Kalm that Tempern was set to found an academy where the art of Vapoury would be taught for the first time in eons—Krem had been the first hired magister, and Flaer Swordhand the second. Shortly before Adacon had set sail with King Terion and Gaiberth for Enoa, Behlas had declared his intentions to travel south again, seeking to aid the ruined communities of refugee diggers, and the other left-for-dead experiments: the Gears. Binn had agreed to join him, eager to reverse the damage Parasink had caused in his near-forgotten homeland. Adacon had said a great many tear-filled goodbyes to his friends, leaving them to rebuild in Arkenshyr and Hemlin so that he could help in Enoa. Calan and he quickly joined the restoration effort upon their return, housing countless homeless elves, still fractured and ripped from their communities by the wrath of Aulterion. Falen had declared to Adacon that he would stay in Arkenshyr, and that he rather liked the weather there—he proudly decided he would teach a class entitled The Ethics of Good Dragons at Tempern’s academy, if Tempern would allow it. An emergency council had been called in Erol Drunne to discuss the significance of the aliens who’d taken Slowin’s arms, causing Krem to postpone Grelion Rakewinter’s trial until further notice. As it stood when Adacon and Calan departed, Grelion was staying with Pursaiones in Rislind, working hard on the farms there, making many repairs to Crumpet’s old house. Krem told Adacon that he would begin helping with the construction of the academy just as soon as the Erol Drunne council had concluded, and Grelion’s trial had finished. After returning west, Adacon soon lost all concern about the affairs of others; life was serene in Rainside Run, more joyous than he’d ever known it to be.
“Tempern used Vapoury to get Krem to Erol Drunne, didn’t he?” asked Calan, pondering the last few weeks’ events.
“Yea. I suppose he could have sailed with us if the council hadn’t been called the day we left from Saru Gnarl,” Adacon replied drowsily, tracing his finger along Calan’s arm. Moons glowed above, and slowly, one by one, a spider-web of stars emerged; from the squandered luster of dusk they witnessed the shining heavens release their load overhead.
“Couldn’t you have done that then?” she prodded, poking him playfully.
“Hey, watch it!” he replied, trying his best to act mad. “I can’t do that, I can’t teleport anything.”
“Is that what it’s called? Teleporting?” she asked curiously.
“I guess so…he called it something like that. What?” Adacon said, seeing Calan glare at him: “What?”
“You are my very own Welsprin, you know that?”
“And you are beautiful, you know that?” he replied with a chuckle. “I think I won’t need my power anymore—it’s as if it never happened.”
“You don’t
mean that,” she reproached. “You should be very proud of it.”
“I am—I’m using it to help rebuild here, aren’t I?”
“You are—it’s just—well, you should continue to learn, to grow, I’ve been thinking…” Calan said, trailing off.
“You’ve been thinking what?”
“I think you should accept Tempern’s offer,” she said softly.
“How did you know he asked me!” Adacon beamed at her, the stars twinkling brightly on their faces.
“Well—as Remtall might remind you—never mind the spies of an elf!” she laughed.
“Well said then—but I don’t know…I don’t think I want to, I’d rather stay here. I want to work on our home together,” he said, moving close to her face. “I love it here.” Calan looked back at him; she thought of how she’d almost told him she loved him after the battle, but the crowd had been thrown into a riot at Alejia’s disappearance.
“I understand, I am behind whatever your decision is. I just want you to know that if you choose to go, to work at the academy, I would go with you.”
“And leave Iirevale? The rest of your family?”
“But I wouldn’t be leaving all of my family…” she said, falling silent; her silence implied more to him than anything she had yet said. The moon passed through a veil of clouds, brightening her delicate face; Adacon pressed his lips to hers, holding her hard, feeding deep upon her moonlit eyes, glittering with welled tears.
“Calan…”
She didn’t move, but a tear rolled down her cheek, and she reached forth, in her hand a small pink flower.
“Never again…” she said, withdrawing the flower before he could take it back. “It stays with me—always.”
“I love you,” he said softly, more sure of his words than any he’d uttered before.
“I love you too,” she replied brusquely, pulling him in urgently, returning his kiss by slow degrees. The canoe wended its own course down the river, adrift, and two silhouettes flexed savagely under starlight, their nameless sounds mixing with the echoes of wild beasts hunting on the shore, searching for prey.
* * *
“Lad,” called a voice from a dream. “Laddy!” it came again. Adacon slowly peeled back his eyelids, wondering what he’d been dreaming, finding himself still underneath stars and upon the river.
“Are you alright?” moaned Calan, unenthused at being roused from her deep slumber on the cool river.
“Fine, just a dream is all. I’m going to take us ashore,” he said, releasing her arm from where it clung to his chest, finding room to sit upright. Calan smiled, kissed him softly on his side, then fell quickly back asleep. Adacon looked up, again trying to recollect his dream—all he could remember was the voice, asking for him, it had sounded like…
Something caught his eye, to his left along the forested bank. Though it was terribly dark, he was sure he’d seen movement: some kind of figure glided along the shore line, following their boat, tracing it at its leisurely pace, parallel to them through thick brush.
Something’s watching us—something has been watching us, he realized.
He grew suddenly alert, and in great detail his memory fashioned the night he’d spent on watch with Erguile in the Solun Desert, when they’d been stalked by Zesm. Again something moved; this time Adacon had been looking directly at it, at the black bank of the river: against the lighter scraps of forest, jutting out from the dark abyss of the tree trunks, a silhouette had revealed itself, trotting along quietly, not snapping a single twig, staring wildly at the canoe. As quietly as possible, Adacon moved away from Calan so that her body lay limp against the boat; she didn’t murmur. I have to see what this is, he thought—he realized no fear came into his heart, for he had gained too much power; only the aliens had been able to subdue him, no one else on Darkin. He rose above the moon-reflecting river and flew slowly to the edge of the river bank, leaving Calan alone on the boat, glancing back every few seconds.
“Who’s there?” Adacon whispered into the brush, not wanting to wake Calan. “Hello? I know you’re there, you’ve been following us.”
“Shhh,” came a thin voice. Adacon saw the silhouette streak past a bush and out into moonlight; he jumped at his chance: the small figure tumbled hard to the earth from Adacon’s blow, grunting at the hard collision.
“Krem?” Adacon asked, bewildered—staring up at him, green hat thrown off by the tackle, was the bearded old hermit; his cloak’s emeralds reflected softly in the gloom.
“Quiet, quiet—I trust her, but still, I think it’s best she isn’t told yet,” Krem struggled to get himself up.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in Erol Drunne, at the council to discuss the aliens?” Adacon asked, dumbfounded, realizing it hadn’t been a dream: Krem had somehow spoken directly to him in his dream while he slept.
“Well, they’ll get along fine without me…You see, there’s something else I needed to see you about.” Krem heaved as if he’d run a long distance.
“How long have you been strolling along in the forest, watching us?” Adacon gasped.
“Not long really—Yarnhoot is in the woods, waiting for me. I have to return to him—just listen quickly…”
“Alright then, go ahead, what could it be?” Adacon said impatiently, still getting over the surprise of seeing his friend turn up in the middle of the jungle along a deep Carbal river.
“It’s Alejia and Tempern.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you see, they’ve made up their mind that they will fight now, involve themselves in the world’s affairs, more than ever with the new academy he is building…”
“I know that—so what’s wrong with it?”
“Adacon—it’s against the nature of Gaigas for a Welsprin to interfere.”
“But I’m a Welsprin and I interfered; I killed hundreds of Feral demons on the battlefield that day. And besides, what do they have to interfere with—there’s no more evil left on Darkin—you said that yourself.”
“I know, but its different for you. You are young and misunderstand the nature of your power…Tempern and Alejia, they’ve been alive for millennia—they know better,” Krem said, still catching his breath, looking more tired than usual. “And even Flaer is behind their decision, happy as anything that Tempern is finally doing something.”
“So what’s your concern? I don’t see the harm in them becoming active in the world. You’re going to have to explain it better to me, Krem,” Adacon insisted, unable to fathom what caused in his friend so much turmoil.
“I think…” he replied, pausing then for a long moment. “I think the outcome of the battle at the choke…” The tiny Vapour looked up, not wanting to say what he was about to say, fighting it, desperately wishing not to reveal his own purpose for seeking Adacon at such a late hour, in such an odd place.
“Out with it! My princess is asleep, alone on that boat, and you could come in the morning—better yet, why don’t you do that, we’ll fix you a breakfast; it’d be about time I finally fed you, what with all the times you—” Adacon was cut off by the most serious glare he’d ever received from Krem:
“The battle went the way it wanted.”
“It what?”
“It wanted—the way it wanted it to happen,” Krem reiterated.
“The Unicorporas?” Adacon said, bemused. “Impossible, they’re dead, Zesm and Vesleathren both.”
“I know they are, I’m not denying that—there’s something else…the Mael—vu—vulent,” Krem stuttered.
“Maelvulent?” Adacon replied limply, not recognizing the word. “Never heard of that…what is it?”
“The oldest records of our planet describe an opposite to a…”
“An opposite?”
“An opposite to a Welsprin.”
“An evil incarnation of a Welsprin?”
“Shh,” Krem scolded, looking out to the canoe that had magically stopped floating downstream, held by an invisible anchor. “I can
’t be sure of anything yet, so I haven’t told anyone but you.”
“Tempern never mentioned there being another kind of Welsprin, a…Maelvulent did you call it?” he replied, questioning Krem’s logic. He began to think the old hermit may have become paranoid after so many battles against evil wizards. “Krem, I’m sure you’ve nothing to worry about. You’re going to make a fine magister at the academy—”
“That’s just it, Adacon, that’s just what I’ve come to ask of you,” Krem replied.
“What do you mean?”
“I want you to accept a post there, at the academy, teaching Vapoury,” Krem answered.
“But why? I don’t know that much—just the basic techniques that Tempern taught me, not nearly as much as you.”
“You already surpass my ability in so many ways laddy, you just don’t realize it. But that’s not why I’m asking you to do it.”
“Please tell me then, because I don’t understand,” Adacon said, finally feeling dread disturb his newfound tranquility.
“I need you there to keep an eye on the students who come into the academy—there will be a great rush of people, all races, wanting to learn magic, as it will be the first time in eons that Vapoury will be taught and not hidden as a stigma—it’s been so long that many will need its existence proved before they even come to learn it.”
“Just to watch the students?”
“If my intuition is correct, the Maelvulent will come to learn, as if a student of Vapoury—a prodigal student, he would learn the ways of the Welsprin. But he will be of a polarized heart; his true character will lie dormant as he soaks in all of Tempern’s knowledge, all of Alejia’s, all of yours…”
“So the Maelvulent will come to learn about its own power from the us, the good hearted? Krem, you can’t be serious about this.”
“No—he won’t intentionally come to learn about the nature of Gaigas from the Welsprins, he himself will not even realize he is the Maelvulent—not until his study is such that his powers have already been learned will he transform into the purest essence of evil, the Maelvulent.”
Darkin: The Prophecy of the Key (The Darkin Saga Book 2) Page 39