Dark King Rising

by Alledria Hurt

  Breaking into a trot to get warm, he headed up the road. She would come along eventually, no use in trying to plan for her until she showed up. Timothy used her own power against her by stealing her wand. Somehow Kevin thought it wasn't going to be that easy. Wrestle a witch for her wand and then use it to bring her down. Doing that in a book seemed simple. If he understood things correctly, he wasn't in a book.

  No, he was in a cell with two cots and a toilet.

  Except that cell had grown to include the powder puff snow dunes.

  Dreams could be realer than real. He still couldn't remember who screamed in his dream of the night before or the smell which tickled his nose with the burnt caramel scent.

  "Halt!"

  Kevin came to an immediate stop. Riding out of the dunes, a woman came on a wolf. The only way to tell it was a wolf and not a bear was the shape of the snout. Its ruff covered the woman's legs. As Kevin stood there, he found himself admiring the witch's face. Of course, she was gorgeous. Magicians' assistants were supposed to be pleasant distractions. He remembered explaining that to Marie years ago, back before they were married. Of course, she would remember. Or since it was his dream, maybe it was to say that he remembered.

  "Hello," he said. She stared daggers at him before dismounting. Her clothing hardly covered her body, short skirt, leotard, useless flowing sleeves and high heels. Those shoes on ice screamed broken ankle. Yet she stood sure, her stance angry. Tucked into her belt was an icicle wand, no longer than two middle fingers. Kevin's eyes drifted to it and then locked with the woman.

  "Why are you here?" she asked. Behind her, the wolf woofed. Kevin blinked at that. Did wolves woof? Maybe they did.

  "I was told to find the Jester. I'm assuming he's in that castle over there, so I thought I would pay him a visit." Lying about things rarely turned out well. Especially when dealing with women who could hurt you.

  "Why were you told to seek him?"

  A very good question. He knew he needed to talk to the Jester, but why? He racked his brain quickly while smiling at the domineering woman in front of him.

  "I need to see him about the voice." The answer came to him out of the blue like a bird alighting on his shoulder. And from the look of her reaction, the bird was a vulture. Her hands came together in front of her body and she snatched out her wand.

  "No one who seeks the voice may pass."

  Kevin swallowed then put his hands up in an automatic defensive gesture.

  "Now you wouldn't want me to miss my appointment, would you?"

  "I will not let you pass," she said. Her wand point wavered in the general area of his chest and he wondered what exactly it would do. Would it freeze him into an ice cube or puff him to dust? Neither idea sat well, but so far, he'd been lucky enough that nothing happened.

  "Perhaps you would rather escort me," he said. "Bring me before the proper justice and all."

  "What do you mean?" She looked puzzled, that was good. Puzzled meant she wasn't thinking of ways to hurt him. Kevin kept his hands up and approached slowly. A warning growl from the wolf brought him to a stop.

  "I mean, you're obviously the Jester's trusted associate. Otherwise, how could he expect you to patrol the borders of his lands, after all? So you could bring me to him and we both get what we want."

  She appeared to mull this over, her wand drawing tiny circles over his heart. He tilted just close enough to bring it into contact with his jumpsuit. Nothing happened. She noticed his nearness and took a step back. The wolf paced to one side then stuck his head between them.

  "If I bring you to him, I have allowed you to pass."

  "No, you really haven't. You're right there with me. I can't do any damage at all. Besides, the Jester is just going to destroy me anyway when he finds out I'm here. All you did was delivered me to my rightful doom." He kept his expression neutral and tried not to smile as she contemplated his words.

  "The Jester will be pleased to be rid of anyone who makes a play for his power," she said. With a flick of her wrist, a dust of snowflakes appeared. Kevin could just see it over the wolf's head. Then she reached across and tapped each of Kevin's hands, drawing a line between them. Shackles and a short, slender chain between them showed around Kevin's wrists. "There, now we will go."

  She mounted the wolf again and pulled Kevin into position behind her. Then they were off. The wolf moved in leaps and bounds across the landscape, cutting away from the road and into the dunes. Puffs of snow flipped past Kevin's legs where they dangled. The castle came closer and he could see the face which made up the gate. The entrance was in the mouth past cannibal teeth. Above those teeth, a pair of dark eyes stared down at whoever approached. Kevin recognized the rest of the makeup as his own. Mephisto, his stage persona, wore it. Now it seemed foreign. Drawing his eyes away, he considered what to do next. His hands weren't useless, but being shackled would make things harder. He drew a chilly breath and plotted. They would get there soon and he had no intention of actually letting her hand him over. In one life, he was a prisoner. He refused to be one in his dreams as well.

  The exit from the dunes was sudden. In moments, summertime reigned around them and they crossed a croquet court using skeletons as equipment. A pair of trolls looked up as they passed, hanging their bone mallets over their shoulders with a skull ball at their feet. The neon green grass grew lush and full. The wolf tore small divots in it as it moved closer to the gate. Above them, the sun, which had seemed so far away in the dunes, loomed close. The first prickles of sweat showed on Kevin's forehead. Ahead of him, the witch sweated as well. It rolled off of her in thick droplets.

  The gate brought them to a stop. The wolf, panting, knelt on his forepaws to let them disembark. As the witch stepped off, she squished. At first, Kevin thought he imagined it, but no, her foot squished. Those high heels she wore were flattening. At her shoulders, her hair stretched and grew stringy. She brought out her wand, but her fingers dragged into grotesque sticks. Her mouth opened and her lips drooped.

  Seeing an opening, Kevin thrust his hands forward and grabbed the wand. Her entire hand stretched as he pulled it back.

  "No," she said but the word came out gargly like drowning.

  "Yes." Kevin took a couple quick steps back as if daring her to come after him. When she stepped forward, her weight landed on her ankle and she stumbled forward swiping with those long hands. Kevin evaded her with a step sideways. The wolf, sensing a problem, nudged the witch whose side showed the imprint of its nose for a moment before losing fullness. She drained into the ground an inch at a time, her body becoming less and less distinct as she did. Finally, there was only a puddle. The wolf lapped at it and found the taste not to its liking. It turned on Kevin.

  He watched the whole thing happen with disbelief. It couldn't be that easy. Yet it had been. She was gone. He was free. Well, sort of. His hands were still shackled together though the cuffs felt less sturdy than they had been. Except now he stared down an easily nine foot wolf baring its fangs at him. Putting his hands up in the defensive gesture, he held the wand at chest height. Turning it in his hands, he pointed it at the lupine. It didn't seem bothered by this, advancing one step forward then another.

  "Stay right there."

  Would it even work out of the dunes? The book hadn't answered that question. How had Timothy gotten away from the wolf? He stole it. Rode it breakneck to the gate and ran inside, right? The details escaped him. He spared a glance at the gate which stood there with the teeth snapped shut. No escape that way.

  The wolf growled. Kevin backed away as it moved forward. The chain holding his hands together pulled like taffy when he tried to separate his hands, but held just enough to keep him from breaking it completely.

  "Good enough," he said. "Stay there," he commanded and the wolf ignored him. It growled low in its throat and slipped into a pouncing stance. It leapt the distance and Kevin ducked down, throwing himself underneath it. It passed over him and he landed on the ground with an oomph. Scrambling,
Kevin ran for the gate. Maybe it would open as he approached. Reaching it, he slammed his hands into it. Nothing moved. Kevin turned to find the wolf stalking toward him. He brought the wand up again and whispered,

  "Marie, help me."

  Then he pointed the wand at the wolf.

  In a shower of snowflakes, the wolf became a dove flapping its white wings. It fluttered over and landed in Kevin's hands then turned one liquid eye on him. Kevin stroked it and chuckled.

  "Thank you. Thank you for that."

  Behind him, the gate ground open with a sound like falling rock. The teeth retracted into the bottom lip and Kevin couldn't help realizing that his way forward meant being consumed by a face he had created. The thought should have terrified him. He threw the dove in the air and watched it fly away. It headed in the direction of the dunes. In other words, away from the gate Kevin stood with his back to.

  With a military step, he turned and walked in, forcing himself not to cringe as the teeth snapped up and left him in a dark like twilight.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Marie sat in front of the television without seeing it.

  Ray and Naomie had gone as soon as Naomie could stand leaving her to a house that echoed with emptiness.

  Tears threatened, but she rubbed them away. Some nonsense flittered across the screen. Marie stared forward.

  The woman who had taken over Naomie spoke of the skull. Marie had seen the heart appear on Naomie's chest just as it did on Keyana's in the book. That left only the golden box of the voice. First the skull, the memory of his deeds. Then his heart, or will to make real. Finally, the voice the carrier of his true magic. Keyana's ancestor had buried the skull beneath the oak which would become the Rosewood. She sealed the heart away in stone. Finally, she kept the voice for herself to insure it would never be used again.

  Except the minions recovered the pieces, kept only from reconstructing him by the magical castle the witch erected to keep him penned in.

  Marie massaged her eyes. The tears waited patiently for her to lose her control.

  This was her fault. Everyone suffered because of her. Yet she couldn't come up with how she had done it.

  Figments of imagination did not become real and start killing people. Dreams did not come to life and start affecting the dreamer. These things did not happen. Except they were happening and she felt powerless to stop it. Spreading her hands in front of her, she examined her fingers. How was it possible? Stories were stories. Reality was reality. They didn't cross.

  Her mind kept coming back to that. The impossibility of it all.

  Static interrupted her thoughts. The television played snow. Getting up, she turned it off. She might have been out of it, but she wasn't willing to sit there and watch snow. The cable must have gone out.

  At a saunter, she went down the hall stopping at the kitchen. A bottle of wine in a brown bag sat on the counter having been rescued from the yard. Marie rubbed the thin line of damage at her abdomen where the knife had only just missed going through her side. Naomie chasing her through the house with a butcher's knife came back to her in a rush and adrenaline flooded her system. The urge to run spurred her but she forced it down with slow deep breaths. Her hands trembled as she held onto the door frame.

  "Everything is fine." She said it without believing a word then turned to head for the bedroom.

  The bed was the mess she left it getting out of it that morning. Her side looked slept in. His side wasn't pristine but the tucks were still under. Getting down on her knees, she folded her hands.

  "Watch over my husband. Keep him safe. I pray this with knowledge of your grace."

  Then she climbed into bed.

  Wrapping the sheets around her, Marie tried to force sleep but it evaded. She laid there for an hour before her lids slid shut.

  When she rolled over, the scent of roses struck her nose. She sat up with a dreamy slowness. Silk sheets slid against her legs and her pajamas had been changed for a shift made of white cotton. Marie crawled out of the bed and looked at it. It seemed like one large pillow with others strewn around it. The sheets crumbled against the floor still warm under her feet. At one end of the room, a window dominated and it opened out onto a balcony. Marie wandered toward it aware of the dream folding her in.

  The scent called to her, but it led away from the window and past a door which seemed to descend from the ceiling.

  Past the window, she stood on the balcony and realized she peered off a cliff. Below her, birds turned. Across from her, a vast golden desert reigned. Her awe brought her hands to her face. Turning away, she went back into the bedroom, the sight still burned into her eyes. She padded across the floor and peeked out the door. The open hallway had arabesque arches down its length on the side away from the rooms. More doors opened into it. Marie stepped out and closed the door behind her, searching for some characteristic which would allow her to tell it from all the others on the hall. She decided to count the flowers carved into the dark wood. Four flowers on the right and five on the left. Hopefully that would be enough.

  Everywhere she smelled the heady scent of the flowers, yet it floated light on the air. She turned a corner and a staircase appeared. It struck upward. Putting her hand on the stone banister, she went up it. At the landing, she found several doors all overgrown with plant life. Here the scent lay heavy. The plants looked more like trees with flowers than bushes, strong stems holding the doors shut. Yet the flowers, bright red and vibrant, pulsed with life.

  Each door bore its own motif. One was carved with children. A nursery perhaps. The grandest of the three held carved lions and birds of prey. She tried to slip her hands past the flowers, but she couldn't reach the doors past the stems.

  She knew what was beyond them.

  The Dark King was trapped in the throne room, incomplete and waiting the aid of his minions.

  Marie drew back from the doors and wondered at the flowers. These were not the English roses like the ones adorning the oak in Amaranth. Something else held these doors shut.

  "Still flowers, but different ones. The natural world protects against you," Marie said.

  Suddenly the doors boomed. She stepped back when it happened again.

  A scream split the air.

  "And you will never see the outside again." Turning around, Marie stopped shocked. A few feet behind her stood a woman dressed like her in a cotton shift, but she hid her face in her hair. Marie reached out to her, pressing her hands against the woman's shoulders, but she did not raise her head. Unbidden, her hands crept up into her hair, wanting more than anything to see her face. What Marie expected she didn't know, but she had to see. She pulled the woman's head back and recoiled at her eyeless face. Something had dug her eyes out. Marie let her go and the woman just stood there. Then she said,

  "Remember the abandoned," echoing the stranger Marie had seen days earlier.

  Marie woke up with the taste of metal in her mouth from biting her tongue. Wiping her mouth, she crawled out of bed.

  The woman. Who was she? Marie knew her almost. Had she faced herself? Why were her eyes missing? She sat down in her chair in front of her computer, woke the beast, and started a new file. Who is the haunted woman in the castle, she posed the question to herself.

  Why call her haunted? Marie stared at the word wondering at its appearance but knowing it to be the right one. Some connection existed between her and the Dark King. The question became 'what'?

  The idea pricked her. Sitting there staring at the mostly blank screen, she racked her brain. Without a doubt, the woman was important, so why did she feel as if she came from another story?

  Another story.

  Maybe she did.

  Marie sat back hard and closed her eyes. A woman with no eyes. Had she written this before?

  Kevin would have known immediately. He knew everything she had ever written.

  "It's late," she said. "You're tired. The connection will come to you in the morning. For now, you need to sleep."
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  Rubbing her hands through her hair, she yawned. The clock at the bottom of the computer screen said 2 a.m. In a few hours, Kevin would be arraigned. She needed to rest so she could be there for him when it came time to post his bail. With another yawn, she got up from the desk and went back to bed. Morning would come all too soon.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Kevin counted his steps away from the gate. At three hundred, he came to a wall. Pressing his hands against it, it seemed solid enough, but even a feeling could be deceiving. He spread his fingers and slid them along the wall. It felt soapy under his touch. His eyes, adjusted to the low light, sought something irregular anything that would give him a clue to what he was up against.

  His mind reflected on the book. What had Timothy done once he passed the gate? Past the gate, he came upon a door. It led into the Jester's castle. He went inside. That didn't help. This wall hadn't been there in the book. Fingertips slipped across a seam. Kevin oriented on it immediately. He slid his nails into the seam. It was barely the width of a fingertip, but he followed it down toward the floor. Nothing that way. He leaned up and followed it toward the ceiling. A depression stopped him. He pushed on it. It clicked. The wall slid open. Kevin looked back the way he had come. It was too easy to imagine being chased in here by the wolf only to find a solid wall and his demise.