Dagger 4 - The Tankar Dawn: A Dark Fantasy Adventure

by Walt Popester

  “What happened to you after the Tower? Tell me the story, old daddy.”

  The old Pendracon stroked the beast beside him. “With the help of my most faithful companion, I looked for the agent Orange to understand his role in the affair. His role was pretty clear to me when he tried to kill me. Do you know the feeling?”

  “Yes, I do. Once a black asshole had me tortured in the depths of a black tower.”

  Mumakil put a hand in the big shell and moved the burning logs in the green fire. “Tell me something I don’t know. What did you see inside the crab?”

  The boy stretched out a hand toward the shell. It was icy. “Visions,” he answered. “Things. Someone was talking to me, a voice, and I haven’t the faintest idea of who he was and what he wanted. That dream didn’t entirely make sense.”

  Mumakil’s black lips arched. He seemed genuinely amused by his every observation. “If a dream makes complete sense, it’s not a dream. Evidently, only mortals can experience the cosmic funeral, and I assure you that you didn’t miss anything.”

  Hanoi is looking for someone, Dagger remembered. But who?

  “Hanoi must have other plans for you, a bit like Baomani.”

  “Leave the obvious things for later, old man. Continue with the story of the lizard. It was interesting.”

  “The clash with the agent Orange was not a short one, and I nearly came out of it dead again. That son of a wrinkled bitch fought tooth and nail. And it’s there, in his cove, that I saw Warren again.”

  “Warren?”

  “But he was not Warren.”

  “Hmm.”

  “It was a cursed shape-shifter that Aeternus got on me to…spy on me, probably, or to understand what the Ktisis was going through my head.”

  “And you killed him, too.”

  “I gave his desecrated body to Hanoi. Maybe that made him puke.”

  “Ktisis, you’re the best, then.”

  Mumakil didn’t like his irony. “Baomani has Erin again, and the fruits of my labors won’t last forever. The Hermit must be stopped, he must not carry out his evil deed—bring the Beast into this world.”

  “From the way he spoke, I thought he would stick around. Here I’ll be able to thwart the plans of the gods, he said something like that. So where is he now?”

  “Something must have gone wrong in his plan, but it will be hard to tell without knowing the role Orange would have played.”

  Dagger had an insight, “And the dagger.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Redemption! I handed it to the agent Orange the last time I saw him. It must still be there, he must have—”

  “Tell me,” Mumakil interrupted him. “How do I look?”

  “What?”

  “Do you speak my language?”

  “Kind of.”

  “How do I look?”

  Dag thought about it for a moment, trying to figure out to what extent Mumakil was making fun of him. Then he answered, “Your face looks like it was stitched by a leather tanner without a hand working in a hurry after a night of drinking because his wife was cheating on him with half the town. Your hair is white, you seem the negative version of a man and frankly you scare me a little. You should be proud of it, I don’t say that to everyone.”

  Mumakil nodded. “In all this, do I look like a jerk?”

  “Jerks don’t scare anyone and they don’t get killed. And if they do get killed, they’re not brought back to life. No. You don’t look like a jerk.”

  “I’ve searched for that damn dagger all around the cove of Orange in Vardo. I’ve razed that place of sin and lust to the ground, before reaching the only possible conclusion. It was not there. Someone took it away before my arrival.”

  “Who?”

  “That’s what I wondered all along the journey that brought me here.”

  “And the Sword?”

  “The Sword with the soul of your father is…not a problem anymore. Nobody will find it there and if I die—or something like that—I’m glad to know that it will stay there forever.”

  Dagger grimaced. Might as well tell him everything. “I spoke with Skyrgal before being swallowed by Hanoi,” he revealed.

  “You don’t say.” Mumakil didn’t seem particularly surprised by that.

  “And he said that your only goal is to kill my children.”

  Mumakil froze, turning slowly toward him. “Children? I only know about the one you expect from Erin. Is there another one?”

  Dagger’s face twisted into a guilty expression. He scratched his nape and said, “Well, Kugar is with…” He didn’t continue.

  The black man snapped and stood with clenched fists, looking up as if he were about to draw the attention of the gods. “Kugar?” He raised his contracted hands and lowered his gaze on Dagger. “Kugar?!”

  “Don’t get angry!”

  “How can you be so irresponsible?”

  “Never mind the fact that I go back every time I die, I’m not even sixteen in the end.”

  The fallen Pendracon looked at him one last time, before sitting again. “By the way. Didn’t I tell you not to speak to Karkenos again?”

  “Add it to the long list of things I should or shouldn’t have done.”

  “Right.”

  “So, is it true or not?”

  “What?”

  “That you want to kill my—”

  “Ktisis, boy. Do you have the slightest idea of what Erin is really expecting? Do you think he will have the eyes of his mother? Or blond hair and a cleft chin?”

  Dagger had a sneaking suspicion that the appearance of his son might not match the description. “And Kugar?”

  “She’s a mortal, what do I know? I’ve never thought about that until now. We only know that the blood of the Lord of Destruction brings only male children inside a woman. And I don’t even wonder why.”

  “Why?”

  “The power of Creation is the power of Angra and women,” Mumakil answered. “As for the rest…for what I know and care, the son you expect from Kugar could really have blue eyes.”

  They would be his mother’s eyes, after all, Dag thought.

  “But the Beast, the union between Creation and Destruction…oh, Ktisis.” The black man shook his head. “I wasn’t just thrown into the crab. I was in his heart, at the center of the web. And that’s where I saw his true face.”

  “Something tells me that you won’t describe it.”

  “What good would it be to describe the appearance of an anti-god, the noise in his mind? It would be like talking about light to the blind, or music to the deaf.” Mumakil darkened. “And the light of the blind…this is what we’ll all see if Baomani accomplishes his plan. Don’t worry, I won’t kill your son—I’ll give my soul to impede his coming into this world. And if you were still a little in your right mind, you would do that too.”

  “Does love really create all these troubles?”

  The black man tsked. “Welcome to the world of adults.”

  They both stared into the green flames inside the shell.

  “Does he have a real name?”

  “Who?”

  The boy hesitated for a moment. “My son,” he answered.

  The black man stared at him. “Not one you could hear, nor pronounce. He’s commonly called the Cry of Mankind, but only the language of the gods can express such a horror and you don’t remember it anymore. Like many, many other things. You’re so old, Ktisis…”

  Dagger opened his mouth to continue, thought about it, then said, “Angra should have never let that happen.”

  “What?”

  “If Angra was aware of the agent Orange’s plan, if he knew that Orange was cheating his father to create that monstrosity of my son, why didn’t he do anything to stop them?”

  “He didn’t do anything? Am I here or not?”

  “Come on, what did Angra tell you? What did he want from me?”

  After a long pause, the black man seemed to have chosen the right words to continue, “S
ometimes destiny offers some breakthrough, and it’s up to us to take the opportunity to solve some…problems forever. Maybe Angra wanted Korkore and Baomani to go forward with their plan, at least in part. Maybe the problem Angra wanted to solve was greater.”

  Dagger reasoned that over, then came to the only conclusion that always seemed true about the man in front of him, “You know something.”

  Mumakil remained silent, before saying, “I’ve seen for a long time the shiny darkness that the Disciples admire for just a moment, becoming crazy and spending the rest of their lives in its search. I’ll give you that, only Angra could be so mad as to allow a man who has witnessed the great beyond to walk again among the mortals.” He paused. “I will watch over you. Angra wanted you to embrace your power, face that damn Beast and fix the folly planted beyond…”

  “Beyond what?”

  “Beyond.”

  Dagger admired once again the images above him. They were rough but full of drama. Children waiting before the crab, brought to ruin by those who had birthed them into existence. “I feel like an old fool who doesn’t recognize the faces of his own children. But there’s something I still remember. There were two kids here. I saw them before Hanoi devoured me.”

  Mumakil shifted his gaze on the flames. “Kids. There haven’t been kids here since…a long time. And it’s better like that,” he said. “He does that often.”

  “Who?”

  “Hanoi makes you see what he wants, and sometimes it’s impossible to figure out where your reality begins and where his game ends. The only certainty is that, somewhere in there, he has fun all the time.”

  “Well, I don’t. There’s a man I must chase, a revenge I must take.”

  “He’s got one too,” the black man answered. “Hanoi is here for a reason, isn’t it so?”

  Dagger shivered. You talked with him too. He felt his every hair stand on end. “Really. If you know something, you should—”

  “I only know that if something so big begins to take vengeance, the thing may soon become a problem for many—or an opportunity for many others.” He raised his eyes again from the heart of the flames. “I will help you, but first you’ll have to trust me. Will you be able to listen? Will you endure what you are until the end? You can’t expect to see him and survive. Konkra has to come out and you can’t stop it. You will drift more and more into a dark and desecrated existence. You’ll be alone and helpless. Are you ready? Are you ready to give up your humanity?”

  Dag opened his mouth to reply, when the blue eyes of Kugar filled his mind. He clenched his fists and bowed his head.

  “Don’t rush to know yourself,” the black man said. “Meditate upon my words and come back to me when you’re ready. I have a feeling that Hanoi will help you. Hanoi will find the key to get to you. When night descends on the world of men and breaks down the wall of their useless perception, Hanoi will help you.”

  “And what if I don’t want? What if I just want a normal life, a mortal life? In the black book, Dusk, there must be a way to do that, and I—”

  “What do you know about the black book?”

  Dagger lowered his gaze. “I think I know where’s the half that everyone believes lost. It must still be there.” And surely your damn winged messenger can’t have been on the world Beyond, in Sannah’s guild, he thought.

  “We will discuss this at another time.” Mumakil said no more.

  Dagger asked nothing else. He left the man alone in his own cold and went up the stairs in the company of doubts way more gnawing than the ones with which he had climbed down.

  He entered a circular building at the base of a cluster of houses connected by smooth steps. Even here a dark arch led into the crab’s body, as perhaps in all the other dwellings. This was a village of priests. Every one of them was in connection with the inner mysteries of the anti-god.

  He lay on the floor and the voice of Mumakil accompanied him through the mists of sleep, When night descends on the world of men, Hanoi will help you.

  * * * * *

  “I am not here beyond the void, the last frontier within myself,” the voice in the dark says. “Is light the true face of horror?”

  “Why can’t I remember?”

  “Here. Come here to me, if you want to remember.”

  The distant light is guiding you in the most complete darkness, with her you shall not be in want. Your eyes adjust quickly and that impenetrable blackness reveals itself in its many shades. The distant shadow of three arches emerge from the dark. One behind the other, high in front of you, they support the darkness and the power it holds.

  You know where you are. You haven’t forgotten, not now. “I came through these,” you say. “I was running away, but from whom?”

  The voice hisses a warning, “Only the one who is beyond, if you know how to ask, will tell you who you were.” You spin, yet there’s nothing at your back, if nothingness itself. “You must bring him your memory, Konkra. Each arch is a threshold to yourself. Beyond the third lies the truth you’re looking for.”

  You think you must only put a step in front of the other as you’ve always done. You walk through the first arch and ask, “Where are you?” Your words echo faintly through the dark.

  You don’t know who you’re talking to. You don’t know his name, nor the form he has chosen to take in this place. You only know you’re talking to the stranger you’ve known since always. He’s watching you, his shadow suddenly standing against a darkness so deep that it knows no boundaries.

  The vaguely human shape stares at you.

  You go forward, thirsty for knowledge. “Who are you? What brought us here?”

  You’ve moved only a few steps beyond the first threshold, when you’re rejected by an irrepressible force. You slide back to the starting point.

  You get up and sit. There’s someone behind you, now you’re sure. It’s he who is talking to you. He repeats in a whisper, “The fall from grace. How could you forget? The fall from grace. How could you forget?” He’s hissing in your ear, but you turn around and no one’s there.

  You cross once again the insuperable beginning, walking on the smooth and perfect floor. You lock your hands as if to grab the invisible fabric that flows and pulsates everywhere around you. You see it again—the shadow wants to talk to you. There’s something it wants to tell you before disappearing.

  But you’re once again rejected. You slide on the ground and wait. “I can’t reach it,” you whisper to the darkness.

  And darkness answers, “What’s the truth awaiting you beyond the limit? If you want to remember, there’s only one thing you need to do. Find yourself and come back to us. You will remember again.”

  “Is it a promise or a menace?”

  “I’ll only give you the help that my lord wants to give you.”

  You’re back on your feet and start toward the shadow in the darkness inside. It appears again. Determined, you walk forward trying to steal every step and prevent that fall from grace to which darkness is bending you.

  Yet you are repulsed once again.

  Some magnetic force opposes you to the one waiting in the dark, and you can’t approach it in any way.

  You turn to the last threshold before the terrible wild runs inside you.

  The shadow is waiting for you beyond the three arches, and is staring.

  * * * * *

  Dagger shot bolt upright and looked around. It was night, maybe not the same in which he had fallen asleep.

  He tried to focus on every detail of the dream. The shadow, the voice in the darkness. The three arches. Walking through them could mean…

  Every doubt was interrupted by a slimy, sinister sound. He saw a long, white appendage crawl back into the hard carapace from which it had sprung. Dagger threw himself to the ground to grab it, but it dodged and stung his arm.

  “You bitch!”

  The appendage hissed and disappeared, becoming a tortuous capillary beneath the surface of the carapace. Long, infinite pink w
orms snaked under his bare feet, separated only by a thin calcified layer.

  Hanoi will help you, Dag remembered as he stood up and got out of the miserable hovel. Some help it was. What the Ktisis did that mean?

  In response, he felt his breath and for a moment the world changed color. It became black and sepia, as if it were drawn on an old page yellowed with age. He blinked and the comforting darkness returned.

  “Where are you?” he asked. “Am I just a puppet in your hands?”

  Mumakil came out of the dark, a shadow among the shadows. “You’ve never been anything else. However, don’t wonder how big and powerful the puppeteer is, this time. Or terror won’t let you take another step.”

  Dagger lunged at him, but fell to his knees before reaching him; one of the appendages had sprouted from the carapace and held his ankle.

  “Where are you running, if you don’t know where you’re going?” the black man said. “I knew Hanoi would choose to help you. Look at the effect you’re having on him.”

  Dagger stood up again with clenched fists. “I had a dream.”

  “A dream brighter than any reality, I suppose. Well, tell me. Did it make sense, this time?”

  “What’s the meaning of the three arches?”

  Mumakil was not indifferent to those words. “The three arches…”

  “You know where they are.”

  “No. I can’t know.” For a moment, the man seemed one with the darkness at his back. “Hanoi has his own way to help and influence those who have had the privilege to get in touch with him. A part of them is still inside his endless memory, so what do you think you saw? His memory, or theirs?” He smiled. “Maybe those three arches are just a symbol, a place of my and your fantasy.”

  Yeah, right…Dagger thought.

  “Apparently, a Guardian of the river lives forever unless his master forgets him,” the black man said to himself. “And Hanoi…Hanoi has his own way to help us.”

  “You mean through those roots that get out of everywhere?”

  “Yep. Through those. Are you scared of them?”

  Dagger picked up a shell and turned it over in his fingers before throwing it against the yellow and sick moon rising in the night. “Who is the Guardian of the river?”