Cloaked from head to toe in mud-colored rags, the petite Oracle sat hunched before her collection of crystal ornaments. Carved into twelve unique runes, the stones spoke to her—and only her. Each with a song all their own, the mystical rocks vibrated and glowed as they answered the seer’s queries of the future.
As he made his way to the seat across from her, Kane’s horns bumped into the various gem mobiles dangling from ceiling. They clicked and clattered in protest, undulating long after he’d gone by.
Quietly seating himself, he awaited acknowledgment of his presence.
Engrossed in some sort of trance, her head hung, he wondered if he should return later. He turned to leave but was startled when suddenly she spoke, her voice gravelly and ancient.
“What do you desire, son of Lucifer?”
“I am searching for the pages of the Devil’s—my father’s—Bible. Are you not the guardian of the scroll?” he queried, wondering why the wraith sentinel had brought him to the Oracle when he’d asked for the scroll’s guardian.
“No, the wraith guardian is no longer with us,” she responded cryptically. “Why would you seek the pages when they will only bring conflict if brought together”
He bowed his head, paying reverence to the fallen wraith guardian, then answered, “We believe Malus has stolen our scroll…and the banshees’ as well. I seek to protect them. I have to stop her from gaining access to the Surface.”
The elderly crone nodded. “Yes, your mother must be stopped.”
Kane cringed. He despised his renowned affiliation to the nastiest Devil in Dark World history. Seeming to sense his unease, the Oracle moved on.
“The wraiths cannot help you,” she stated, a wisp of silver smoke drifting across her face from a nearby candle.
“Why?” Kane frowned.
A raspy sigh escaped her. “Their scroll has also been taken.”
His heart and soul fell at once, making him feel woozy with dread.
Malus has three of them now?
“No,” she responded to his thoughts and he shuddered. “Not Malus. There is another.”
“Another! What do you mean?” Kane leapt to his hooves, nearly smashing his head into the ceiling. “Someone else seeks the scrolls? Who?”
Unmoving, she admitted, “I know not. But…” she whispered, continuing with an eerie breath, “you must travel south. To Necrosia. The answers you seek are there.”
Necrosia. He shuddered.
Kane exhaled sharply and examined the old soothsayer a moment, tempted to believe she was lying.
Would she deceive me?
For this, her head snapped up and she shook her head no. The hooded cloak betrayed her but for an instant. Kane practically trembled when he glimpsed her face—or lack thereof. A void. A nothingness. Just an empty space where the windows to the soul were to reside.
A relative newcomer to Dark World, no one knew where she’d come from. She’d simply shown up over a century ago, her powers of prophecy unrivaled. Although she was revered throughout the land, Kane wondered what this haggard old soul was doing within the wraith dwelling. Wraiths didn’t mingle with other races and while he didn’t know from which race the prophetess stemmed, he was certain she was not a wraith. She was solid whereas wraiths were nearly translucent beings, ghostly and vaporous. Banshees were solid, but Amazonian in stature, and being a sexually provocative group, always naked.
And she was obviously no demon.
Reapers, the most dangerous race, dwelt deep within the Nether Caves. Always cowled, Kane had to admit he’d never actually seen a reaper uncloaked. He swallowed hard with the notion that the Oracle could be such a creature. Hidden beneath her dark hood could rest the face of a thousand horrors.
She could very well be a necromancer. Maybe that’s how she knows I should go there.
He nodded in silent decision. Though no one he knew, other than his late father, had ever laid eyes upon them, it made sense that she might be from the mystical tribe that lived far in the East, beyond the great wall dividing Dark World in half. Many myths swirled around the reclusive magic weavers: the ability to leave their bodies, possess animals, control the elements, and raise the dead. All bedtime stories his father would amuse him with, but based on cryptic truths. For now, he would entertain the notion that the ancient seer was a necromancer, although Kane wasn’t positive he enjoyed the idea he was in the presence of the mysterious race.
Her hunched spine stiffened and her gaze fell upon the doorway. She seemed to sense something.
“Foolish demon,” she said, her voice taut with annoyance. “Why have you brought her here?”
“Her?” His thoughts moved to Deme being treated by the village shamans.
“The shade!” she spat, brimming with anger.
“I apologize,” Kane stammered. “I found her…in the Crimson Desert…born alone.”
She paused momentarily, seemingly interested.
“Shades are not to be trusted,” she stated coldly.
He nodded, careful not to upset the old woman further. “Speaking of the shade.” He swallowed. “Is there any way to…cure her? Tame her?” An uninvited hope crept into his chest. Why did he care so much? He only wanted Fate tame to help him acquire the scrolls. Didn’t he?
He shook off the sensation, focusing on the task at hand.
The old psychic paused, the eerie silence sending icy fingers walking up Kane’s spine. “Yes,” she finally uttered, “but it is a near impossible feat.”
He frowned, a tightness forming in the pit of his stomach. “What is it?”
“You must find her soul and return it to her,” she stated in her raspy voice.
“Find her soul?” He had to admit he hadn’t considered that. He knew that damned souls descended into Dark World, but he had no idea where they wound up. Only that Malus owned them once they arrived and he was certain she wouldn’t be eager to part with even one. Especially Fate’s.
“Why you would want to help a shade is beyond me,” she said gruffly, then mumbled, “…can’t be trusted.”
He nodded, unable to argue. He was still struggling with his own decision to allow her to live. Something inside him, an instinct, told him Fate wasn’t entirely evil even though she was spawn from it. Besides, if he was going to seek out the pages of the Devil’s Bible on his own, he was going to need someone who could touch them since he could not.
The Oracle suddenly shifted her attention to the stones before her. “The runes wish to speak to you.” She gathered the stones into her hands, shook them once and then tossed the lot onto a marble table before her. They clattered and clacked as they rolled and skid to a stop in various positions.
“What do they say?” His eyes darted from stone to stone trying to decipher some secret code they might present. Anticipation crept over him like a spider ensnaring its next casualty.
The old fortune-teller held her gloved hands over the runes, summoning answers from the cryptic arrangement. After a few moments, she pulled her arms back and tucked her hands into her sleeves.
She sighed once as though contemplating whether she should respond. Eventually, she spoke, her voice low and saddened, “The runes do not show good things for you, I’m afraid. You will know more sadness…more loss.”
His heart picked up pace, anxiety setting in. “Who? Who will I lose?”
If she had eyes hidden behind that cloak, they were boring into his soul.
“Everyone you love.”
A whirlwind of dark power surged around her, pulsating and writhing. The energy owned her, soothed her, bent her to its will. Lust beat down the doors where her soul once resided and demanded to be fed. Fate eyed a wraith before her, his fear palpable, and dropped her gaze to his chest.
I don’t want to do this! Stop!
The need. The hunger. The desire to devour was winning. She brought her hand to her face and removed her mask, growling as the ache resonated within.
I can’t, her conscience pleaded. I can’t ki
ll. I don’t want to kill!
The moment before she lunged, she curled her hands into fists and fell to the ground, releasing an anguished scream as she fought her body’s compulsions.
“What’s going on?” Kane’s deep voice boomed.
“Get her out of here!” the wraiths’ united voices hissed like a hundred snakes. Suddenly they were rushing towards her, their translucent bodies bending with the wind. Fate felt her body being lifted into the air by unseen hands—and hurled into the tornado barrier.
Reckoning
His jaw hung open, staring in distress at the wild, writhing barricade before him. The wraiths hadn’t sent her over the obstruction, but straight into its thrashing clutches. Trapped in stasis, she hung suspended in a pool of grey and black waters. Fate was now a prisoner of the sentient tempest. The storm phantoms howled in delight, grasping her with their shadowy fingers and pulling her in several directions, playfully fighting over her. Kane watched as Fate was tossed about like a lifeless corpse.
“Please,” Kane called out, desperation tarnishing his powerful voice. “Let her go!”
In his peripheral, he saw Deme emerge from the healing hut, a look of concern shrouding her eyes. While he was thankful she appeared to be better, he couldn’t help but notice a smugness rise behind her expression when she pieced together the scene before her.
Calm down, Kane, he thought, turning his attention back to Fate. She’ll be okay.
A pair of tiny hands wrapped themselves around his ankles. Looking down, Kane saw little Ick hugging him above his right hoof, terror blemishing his polished green eyes. Deme, having limped slowly to his side, crossed her arms over her chest.
“So,” she started with an icy tone, “the shade finally got what she deserved.”
Kane winced. He hadn’t known Deme to be so merciless, but then his opinion on shades hadn’t been much different—until recently.
Twisted into unnatural shapes, Fate was all but ripped limb from limb. Her screams unheard as the multitude of hands assaulted her body. And not just her body, but her mind as well. A deep sorrow burrowed through her core, gnawing at the emptiness within. These phantom beings had the power to invade her thoughts, her fears and deepest sadness.
I just want to go home, she thought, a diamond teardrop escaped her colorless eyes and shimmered down her cheek.
Confusion consumed her. Where was home? Was it that beautiful place above with the sky of Caribbean blue? That place where she recalled warm, human arms wrapping around her? Or was it the home belonging to the voice? The velvety female voice that lovingly begged and pleaded with her every moment since her arrival in the dark world—was that the road home?
The encasing winds morphed from black to murky shades of grey. Maniacal laughter rebounded on all sides, merging into whispers, then back to sinister giggles. It was a Hell within a Hell. She teetered on madness, trapped within the steely arms of gloom.
“Let her go,” Kane beseeched the leader of the wraiths, his eerie, angular face leering from within the cowl. “Please, we’ll leave immediately.”
Vaporous and exuding an aura of unkindness, his semi-transparent body hovering several feet above the ground, the cloaked creature simply laughed. Kane’s blood simmered and he instinctively reached for his sword, the onyx blade singing a metallic tune as it slid free from its covering.
“I said let her go!” he snarled, the bridge of his nose creased, intersecting with the fury of his lowered brow.
The ghostly menace laughed harder, his amber eyes aglow with malicious amusement. Kane gripped his sword with both hands and unleashed his rage, swinging at the wraith. The blade sliced through the torso of the apparition, leaving only a ripple of disturbance like a pebble skipping over murky waters. Kane staggered, then regained his balance and took another swing. He knew how to kill the wraith and what he was doing was futile, yet his fury prevented logic.
While the wraith found the demon’s actions amusing, he’d apparently deemed the attack irritating enough to counter. Ancient words spilled from his lips, stirring a dust Devil of sand and wind around him. Crackles of electricity sparked and a heavy droning filled the air whilst a supernatural energy built. The wraith raised his arms, pulling the elements closer, summoning them. A white sphere of illumination danced from one palm to another, growing and intensifying.
Kane held his ground, drawing from the depths of his own weakened magic. He ignited his entire body into an inferno of blue flames, to both protect and return fire.
I only have one shot at this, he worried. Without the light of the Crystal Pyramid or ample supply of bloodstone, his powers could last but a few moments.
The wraith sneered, readying to discharge his elemental weapon. Angry sparks flew from his hands, reaching for Kane’s chest. Kane’s blazing aura reacted by forming an impenetrable shield, rebounding the streams of lightning and sending them firing about the village. A bonfire of cerulean flame then burst forth from Kane’s body and roared towards the wraith, striking him in the shoulder. The wraith shrieked in anger and pain, recoiling from the blast.
Weakness suddenly smothered Kane. He fought to stay standing as his once loyal fire faded to embers. He looked to Fate, writhing in the arms of agony and silently cursed his father for disabling the pyramid. Without its powers to nourish him, he was useless to her.
The wraith recovered, powering up for the next shot—as did five other wraiths now encircling the defenseless demon.
“Kane!” Deme screamed. “Run!”
This is it. Kane bowed his head. Maybe if I’m lucky, I can find Seren wandering the afterlife—and join her.
“Daughter,” the voice pleaded with her, “come home to me…come home.”
Flashes of the Surface mingled with the fathoms of Dark World. A collision of worlds, infused with bitterness and rage, sadness and regret. What was real? Was she still alive and all of this but a bad dream? Or was this Hell and she was truly dead?
“There is no death, only transition,” a familiar voice whispered, the blade of a serrated dagger glinted by the light of a full moon.
Chanting.
Pain.
Then, sinking.
Fate sobbed, her throat aching with unleashed emotions as she fought against the evil masses molesting her undead body. There was no escape—no one to save her. Or was there? The demon. The dark one called Kane. He had shown pity on her, had he not? By removing her mask and protecting her from the sphinxes, didn’t he show he cared?
As though her revelations cleared the airs around her, the storm calmed and clarity parted the dark clouds like a veil. She peered through the makeshift window and saw Kane fighting one of the wraiths. Black magic tore through the village, first aimed at Kane, then the wraith.
The malevolent hands relaxed their grip and she moved closer to the scene. Her hands pressed against what felt like a solid pane of glass, she watched as the demon fought with heroic valor, then fell to his knees, left to the mercy of the phantoms. Wielding the elements within the palms of their ghostly hands, she watched helplessly as the large demon faced his death.
“Kane,” she whispered, her breath caught in her throat.
So much of the fight had left him. Sorrow was the only emotion he’d owned for so long. With the loss of his wife, his father—and even his mother—he didn’t know if he held the desire to continue.
Ever. Kane flinched. She’ll be without a father unless I keep fighting.
Knelt before the encirclement of shrouded beings, he considered his options. He could simply cower before them, accept his unfortunate destiny and hope to move on to the next world—or he could fight.
He chose the latter.
A surge of power rippled through him. Not knowing where this newfound energy had manifested as he was out of bloodstone and the pyramid still lay dormant, he embraced it. Kane stood, driving his sword into the earth. A network of red sparks frayed from the handle, each probing the ground with purpose, searching for its prey.
; The wraiths paused, glancing at one another with uncertainty. Even Kane watched with awe as the energy took on a life of its own. Kane’s blue eyes suddenly swirled with streaks of scarlet and his aura swam with mists of ebony.
“Ego sum legio!” his Baritone voice boomed, sending a cascade of crimson lightning at the quartet of wraiths surrounding him. Penetrating each of the phantoms in the chest, they were propelled backwards and encased within cages of red electricity.
Fate was immediately thrust from the clutches of the living tornado, landing at Kane’s feet with a heavy thud. Conscious, but obviously shaken, he helped her to standing. The urge to embrace her, to console her, was overwhelming—and it frightened him.
In the midst of her liberation, an arched pathway emerged from within the tempest.
“Leave,” the entire community of wraiths hissed, pointing to the exit, “but know this, son of Lucifer…this isn’t finished.”
The Demon City
“What happened back there?” Deme asked, hobbling alongside Kane as they continued their journey to the demon city. “I’ve never seen that kind of magic.”
Honestly, he didn’t know. For the last hour, he’d been replaying the instance over and over in his mind, trying to decipher just how he’d accomplished that feat. Without the obvious sources of magic to infuse him, he couldn’t fathom where this new power had come from.
“I don’t know,” he responded sincerely. “It just…happened.”
“Well, it certainly worked.” She shrugged.
Dark World (Book I in the Dark World Trilogy) Page 9