by P. G. Thomas
Panry grabbed him by the arm, “They cannot read it, so tell them what it says.”
Darkath looked around the group at the table, understanding their blank looks, “Zymse is planning an elaborate celebration within the week at the ancient amphitheater north of the town.”
“So?” asked Lauren.
“What Darkath left out,” began Panry, “is that Zymse plans to announce his self-promotion to the King of Calicon, but he does not stop there. His daughters he has coupled with, and even though two are pregnant, one he expects to birth him an heir. When born, he shall wed the heir’s womb to make her his queen. Such things here are unnatural—”
“They aren’t his daughters,” Lauren’s face was white. “They’re my daughters!”
Panry and Darkath turned to her, being unable to form the questions they wanted to ask.
“We think it was Zymse that kidnaped our daughters,” explained Ryan, “and turned them into monsters.” He then briefly explained the events preceding the burning of Alron, and of the three Earth Mothers who had both Cursed Mother and issued the Earth Bond to worship Zymse.
Panry grabbed his glass of wine, downed it, and then forced the images that he had just heard to the back of his mind. “They are your children. Are Earth Mothers? Years back many, Mother sent me to the Bright Coast to find three, but I could not locate them, and not any guidance can she provide. They are your children. Mother’s gift coupled with the Unnamed’s magic? Perchance that is why the gift does be so strong.”
Part of Lauren was trying to form an image in her mind of what she had just heard, but another part was trying to erase it even faster. “He’s the—Pregnant? The father of my grand—”
Ryan turned to Darkath, “You’re sure?”
“I will not give you the details, but yes, and he controls them, so they will do whatever he says.” Then he took a long drink, drowning the curses he had no desire to speak. “Within the week, Zymse is going to announce three things; his heir, his Queen, and his Kingdom.”
“Are the citizens of Darkpaye going to support Zymse?” asked Ryan.
“A choice we may not have.” Darkath waited for the bottle and filled his glass. “The last time I drank with him, we had so much that even the elf’s countermeasures were challenged. I was acting drunk, or maybe I was. Zymse was no longer able to stand, as the brew that night was the most potent from the dwarves. We were sitting on the roof of that fortress of his, watching the lights in the night sky. I was prodding him for information, and I thought he had too much to drink, but he called to it, and it answered.”
“What answered him?” asked Logan.
Darkath raised his hands to his eyes, rubbed them as if he was trying to remove an image, “The Darkening. Black mists wrapped around him, caressing him. Its vile evil was so dark that even without the suns I was able to see it in the moonless night. Now those images that I had seen three years before all made sense, as Zymse has found the Darkening and tamed it once again.”
Steve set down his glass, “Darkening, I might be new here, but a few details would go a long way.”
“That day on the docks, when I saw Zymse, he was followed by a tribe that I knew to be the Jahammer, and eight carried a small heavy metal chest. Back home, the Jahammer are well known for their punishment, which has lasted almost a thousand years.”
“I need specific details, like black cherry, not vanilla,” coaxed Steve.
Darkath looked at Steve, failing to understand the reference. “A very long time ago, a nomadic tribe known as the Jahammer stumbled across a town. I should tell you parts of this story are mixed. While some details are from fact, others from supposition, and parts of it are lost like someone erased the words from a book, although no gaps on the page exist.”
Steve poured himself a fresh drink. Crap, even the people here are suffering from the same delusion. What the hell did these kids do?
“When I was in Darkpaye, I was part of the academia for higher education, and because of this mystery, I was quite interested in our lands history. What we think happened is as follows. Stumbling across a town, the Jahammer were awestruck by what they saw. They were a poor nomadic people with nothing but children to trade for the possessions they desired. Dung fires and tired beasts of burden had no value in the market, and it took them too long to breed a new crop of currency. We suspect they went looking at the market for items that others would trade, and then returned to their lands looking for similar objects of value. At this point in the story, we have no idea on when the Jahammer finally returned with items of value to sell. Even what they found from the books we studied was absent, but enough facts were external that history still recorded some of the details. From what was pieced together, they found something they thought to be of great value, and they showed it to an over-lord in that area who purchased it. With their new wealth, they were able to acquire the goods they sought, and then went back to their tribal lands in search of more. This was roughly when the history books talked about the first war in Darkpaye breaking out, and it was both horrific and terrifying from what was recorded. The ancient manuscripts told the story of other over-lords seeking out the Jahammer, looking for similar, and that was when the old writings changed, speaking only of wars and bloodshed. Trade with the Jahammer was often mentioned, and from what we could determine, it was one thing to beg somebody to buy a pretty little child, but when over-lords sought them out in their own lands, they knew they had something of value. We believe each over-lord who showed up wanted to acquire more and more, but we could find no name for what was purchased, so we called it the Darkening. The subsequent trades talked about purchases made with precious metals and gems, but soon had little use for gold because they had more than they could spend in a thousand generations. Having seen the power the over-lords had, they also wanted similar, and soon trades included land, slaves, herds of animals, and more. There was even a record of six towns traded for the dark power. We found a crude old map that indicated, at one time, their lands occupied almost a quarter of Darkpaye. By that time, a hundred different wars were being fought, according to the ancient writings. Over time, the areas subjected to war increased, but those that led them became fewer. It went from a hundred conflicts to fifty, to less and less. Even though the number of conflicts decreased, the size of each increased. The over-lords, crazed with the dark power would go mad, attacking a stronger opponent. Each time, the new victor would absorb the captured armies to grow stronger and seek out new wars. By the time it was down to two opposing forces, the histories recorded were much better. As for the final battle, we only know one name: Darchantel, the one who lost. The victor, his name and legacy, is completely absent from all of the books.”
“Do you know my sister?” asked Logan.
“No, why?”
“Sons of a bitch! You’re making one of her epics sound like a freaking short story. Is there like a point to this or a correction to what is happening?”
Lauren shook her head, “Connection, not correction, you stupid bastard.”
“Whatever,” replied Logan.
*******
Darkath always wondered what happened at the final battle. It is a well-known fact that the victor writes the history, the defeated being nothing more than words in the wind. If he had been alive a thousand years ago, he would have seen these events:
As the death magic consumed his body, Darchantel was on his knees dying. He looked up to Darmaul who was gloating, laughing, calling the dark power of the Dharvile from Darchantel, and merging it with his own. Darchantel, his mind clear of the corrupting influence, looked across the terrain from the large hill of the final battle. The lands blackened, devastated, and his vast army nothing but kneeling slaves in magical black chains. The army of Darmaul was cheering with their hands raised in the air, and the mark of the Blood Bond was clearly visible.
Darmaul was blind to the destroyed lands. With his vision enhanced by the corrupting powers of the ancient Dharvile, he only saw fresh
battles instead. Darchantel, in anguish, looked up at Darmaul, and he saw the white light slam into him, hearing his painful screams. However, he never heard the message it brought, ‘I purge the Blood Bond from all inflicted. I purge it from history. Let this never happen again. It and your family are no more.’ Hearing the cheering army go quiet, Darchantel saw them look upon the lands they had wasted. Then looked to him for guidance, but alone on the hill, he expelled his last breath.
*******
Darkath continued, “We are sure the Jahammer sold this Darkening to all of the over-lords, which fueled the wars. The group of scholars that I listened to talked about the one consistency that all shared. Before any of the wars began, each was sane, but all were mad towards the end of their reign of terror. Of the final victor, nothing before, during, or after is known, except in one book. Something was strange about the Jahammer, and scholars long before me sought to unravel their mystery, but they would talk to none.” Darkath took a drink, rubbed his eyes. “Seeking knowledge that only the Jahammer had, slaves were purchased and sent to the tribe, offered freedom for information they brought back. From the book that I read, it took hundreds of years to build their story, as the male born Jahammer protected their secret as if it had great value. With the promise of freedom and possibly rewards, those slaves were motivated. The Jahammer were now destitute and broken, as their great power was now but one one-hundredth of what it once was. Over time, years and decades, the scholars added every minuscule piece of information the slaves brought back to that ancient book until, finally, they were able to summarize the final history on one page.”
“One page?” asked Steve.
“They were efficient with their words. They think the victor of the last battle had gone so mad from the Darkening, that he achieved a higher level of sanity, or he sank to a greater depth of crazy. After the final battle, he looked out upon his glorious triumph and was sick with disgust, as the lands were burnt and parched. The people who should have worshiped him were broken and dying, and few if any able to make the pilgrimage to see him. From north to south, east to west, all that he looked upon was his to rule, and it was vacant of hope and life, being a wasteland of his own creation and the Jahammer. We suspect the Jahammer are immune to the Darkening, but their lands and possessions were not. The victor went to them, and he destroyed their lands like their magic had destroyed the rest of Darkpaye, and he stripped them of their wealth. It took over five-hundred years of the slaves secretly listening to the male Jahammer story to piece together the last part. Angered at what had happened, the victor had cursed them four times. The first, so that never again would it see the light of day, they would forget where the Darkening was found. The second, they would never speak of it. As for the third, for one-thousand generations, they could never forget what they had done, having to tell the story of their wrongs to each male born who in turn would pass it to the next. The final curse, when the last generation of the story was told, the Darkening would come for them. Zymse has done something and broken those curses. With them at his fort, he controls it.”
“What exactly is the Darkening?” asked Eric.
“We have no idea.”
Steve shook his head. Now I know how a bug on a windshield feels. I should’ve seen that one coming.
“It took scholars a long time to put all of the pieces together, and to make the connection between the wars, the Jahammer, and the Darkening. The ancient writings took a long time to translate, and even when I left, they were still arguing over the particular meaning of several different words. We have no idea on what it is capable of, how it works, or anything about it, other than it can be devastating, and that prolonged exposure to it will eventually drive you mad, but Zymse is already halfway there. Having lots of old wealth, he could buy his way into power, but he always wanted more, saying it was his right. Somehow, he found the Jahammer, broke the curses, and now has the Darkening to do his bidding. I am uncertain of what his plans are and never imagined anything this—this—”
“Bad?”
Darkath looked at Lauren, “That simple word fails to even begin to describe what I cannot explain.”
“Yeah, been there, done that.”
“Do the rest of your friends on the north side know what Zymse’s going to do?” asked Steve.
“I will not speak of that here, but yes, there are some that are now aware. In the past, we were less concerned about Zymse, as we always thought if we had to, well, we could put him in plate armor and give him a swimming lesson. He was more of a diversion, sometimes entertainment, as we primarily focused on our private affairs. Zymse, however, his focus was on all of Calicon. If we wanted to exploit the Newlands, we could hire crews and stay here in comfort. If he wanted to call himself the Ruler of Calicon, we cared little. If his arrogance ever flared up so much, it would be easy to create our own Council, denying him entry. He might be wealthy, but those that he invited over, well, we now have more wealth than he does. We could easily pool our funds together, taking the necessary actions, and declare the Bright Coast a sovereign nation. Now that he has the Darkening that changes everything. We need to act and soon, but we need a stronger magic. Even though he has had the Darkening for three years, I do not think he has full control over it. If he did, he would have used it by now, but the threat of it will change a lot of opinions and change them fast. I know the Darkening has taken to him because over the last two years Zymse has grown younger. He should be over seventy but looks half that age.”
“So why’re you here?” asked Steve.
Panry scanned the group, “The coronation that Zymse plans will be the next time when he leaves his fortress, and we are planning that he shall not return. The amphitheater is large, open-air, with many seats. We cannot breech the inner theater since elf is too short, being easily spotted. We plan to join the Darkpaye guards on the roof to end his reign of terror. We have other plans that are being considered, but we cannot get close to Zymse. There is one that could stand beside him, and he would never know it.” Panry turned his gaze to Ryan, “Unnamed, the magic has found you, and its gifts are many. Long ago, I walked into Pintar’s and saw two Earth Mothers; one beside me and one lying dead. To my shock, Earth Mother dead did rise, and then left to find John, but it was Ryan who returns. Do you still have your ability to morph into other beings?”
“I haven’t had the need to try, but I imagine I still can.”
“If you will help, Darkath shall smuggle you into the amphitheater as one of his guards, getting you close to Zymse. An attack so close he will not expect, and you can accomplish that which we cannot in many years many and kill him.”
“What about this Darkening?” asked Ryan.
“You will need to be swift, so he cannot call to it. Kill him instantly.”
Ryan smiled, “I can do that.”
“What happens to my daughters then?” asked Lauren. “If everybody hates Zymse, won’t they turn on them?”
“I’ll make sure nothing happens to them,” replied Ryan.
Logan perked up, “Is there anything else the rest of us can do?”
“We expect many guards at the event,” advised Panry. “The theatre is large, having seats for twenty-five thousand, so many innocents shall be present. Thus, we need to be selective in what actions we take. When Zymse leaves lately, not one carriage leaves, but four, and we do not know the one he rides in. Each has an escort, but when we attack all, we do not find him in any. There is no attack possible on his theater trip, so we must wait until we see him. There is only one that has the special abilities to kill Zymse.”
“I don’t know,” began Lauren. “Can this Darkening really be that bad? Mother is wakening, and the people are talking to her again. Can’t we wait a little longer? Maybe Mother and Sister together can help?”
Panry shook his head, “Tell them the remainder.”
“Zymse was drunk, his words were slurred, and he was in a strange and happy mood, his thoughts rambling. I had heard the rumors
in my shop of Calicon’s talking about Mother, and when I mentioned that to him, he laughed saying something about his heir having access to Mother’s power. That he had merged his power with his unborn heir so that it would have both. He could be mad, but I really have no idea. As I said, he has the Jahammer’s with him to work the dark power. He said something along the lines that the Darkening will find Mother and turn her.”
“You cannot be serious?” exclaimed a shocked Lauren.
“At the best of times, Zymse is crazy. With the Darkening and a massive amount of alcohol…I have no idea if he was speaking of now or in the future, but he had no worries about this Mother of yours or anybody else.”
Steve noticed the subtle addition to the last sentence, “Anybody else?”
“Zymse leaned over to me and said something like, ‘you are one of the good ones, but I know not everybody here likes me, and as king, I only need loyal subjects. Somebody will want my power or continue to help those damn rebels.’ I do not remember his exact words, but he said something—odd. I think he has created—I have no idea: a loyalty bond, enchantment, maybe a Curse? He was elusive, but I had no desires to push him. His last words haunted me, ‘Loyalty is life. Disobedience is death,’ and then he called out to a slave.”
“How the hell did everybody here let this idiot get this far?” asked Eric. “Were you all playing a game? Ignore the mad man?”
Ryan shook his head, “Disobedience is death? Loyalty, what spells? How can he—I think it was the alcohol talking, and that you made him too drunk.”
“As the slave approached, he pointed, and a dark mist rolled forth from his outstretched hand, wrapping around the slave. I was unable to see the torment on his face when he stumbled towards the wall, and he never screamed. At the edge of Zymse’s fortress, the lights from the courtyard below illuminated the struggle. I saw the slave throw himself over the edge of the wall and then watched the black mists roll back to Zymse. He turned to me, and said that his first command to his new worshipers would be ‘to dump the disloyal bodies into the river.’ Then he laughed, explaining that he would be unable to dig a grave big enough for all of them so he would need to bury them in the sea.”