“This truly confuses me, if not frightens me. I don’t want to spend another night in this forsaken desert, no...I think we should be quick on our way to this Krem’s dune—be he an evil wizard or not,” Erguile said. He stood and drew forth his sword.
“Whatever stole your sword, do you think it could really have concealed its tracks in the sand here, to no error?” Adacon asked.
“I reckon it may have left some trace, lest it was a winged creature, or one with the powers to walk in the clouds,” Erguile half joked. They set about another attempt, searching farther from the camp than they had first checked, looking again for any marks upon the sand.
“There!” Adacon cried. He pointed toward the tracks they themselves had left, still clearly visible as a scattered and broken line of ruffled sand winding into the desert. But it was not those tracks he had pointed at—there was another trail breaking away from theirs. The tracks led off in a different direction, disappearing behind a low dune.
“Perhaps we’ll find our culprit yet!” Erguile said, feigning enthusiasm for a hunt in the scorching heat.
“Well, at least let’s have a better look,” Adacon said, and they walked over to the foreign tracks. The sand was soft enough to prevent any precise imprint, nothing detailed enough that the markings could be discerned as human or otherwise. They were, however, roughly the size of the marks a human might leave. The trail could definitely be followed, they both knew, but the path seemed to go on interminably into the northwestern horizon. Adacon was almost certain they had passed Krem’s abode some way back, and he contemplated the futility of making an attempt at tracking the unknown thief.
“I doubt the sword would ever be worth our trouble. I don’t know what lies farther north, save maybe danger. I think we would do best to retrace my original tracks.”
“I suppose you’re right. Let’s do that then, though I don’t think this incident will easily pass out of my mind,” Erguile replied.
“Nor mine,” Adacon returned. “I hope we find shelter from this damned sun soon though, and that Krem will have some answers for us.”
“Let’s hope we can find something at all in this godforsaken place…” Erguile said. Adacon and he started toward their trail leading back west. They followed it without trouble for a short while, and sure enough Adacon saw a new trail diverge in the distance.
“There, up ahead on the right. Do you see it?” Adacon said cheerfully. Erguile scanned the dunes.
“Yes, are you sure it is your path from before?”
“Most sure—I turned right some to reach the place, I remember. I’d suspected that we’d passed it last night, but there was no way to tell in the dark.”
Sweating heavily, they reached the path Adacon had created the previous afternoon. They followed the old trail toward a dune that Erguile soon realized was more than just a pile of hot sand; a tiny green door came into view on its side, and he grew anxious as Adacon’s tale was confirmed with his own eyes. The green door grew larger as they approached the hidden fortress, and Erguile could begin to make out little windows on the dune now, and before long the sign on the door was also visible.
“Krem’ll be expecting us,” Adacon said jovially. “He’s an energetic old man, by all respects. I rather expect him to have food ready for our arrival.” As they neared the door, Adacon began to describe the cool air, the glittering pond, and the filled dining room deep beneath the sand. Finally, they arrived at the door—Erguile read for himself the words on it:
‘Molto’s Keeping.
Do Not Enter,
Lest You Fancy
Spirited Winds
To Sear Your Soul.’
“Shall I knock?” asked Erguile.
“Yes.”
“Alright.” Erguile knocked hard on the door three times as he glanced into the covered windows anxiously.
“Last time it took him a good bit of time to open up, so be patient. Inside it’s quite huge; he’ll have to travel some to get to the front door if he’s down below.” It was only an instant, however, and suddenly a voice came from a secret hole in the green door.
“Still alive I see. And just as I expected. I take this to be a new addition to your company, laddy? I am glad to see it, though I had hoped you’d get more than one from the errand. A moment lads…” Krem said, speaking through the hole, and suddenly the hole closed up and the door swung open. Erguile was taken aback at the appearance of the small, purple-robed man; Krem seemed to perfectly resemble the evil wizard of his dream.
“Come in!”
“You are Krem, the lonesome hermit of the sand dungeon, I presume?” asked Erguile warily as they stepped inside the cool interior.
“Ah, ‘tis I you script, lad. It is not a description that I would choose, mind. I think I shall befriend you anyway. I suppose slaves are a nice breed, though damned ignorant most of them are,” Krem chuckled as he led them into his home, laughing.
“Damned ignorant? What does that mean, I wonder, coming from a small man who has secluded himself from the world inside a sand dune?” retorted Erguile. Already Adacon feared the tension growing between Krem and Erguile.
“Hush yourself and I shall let you have food. Does that strike your fancy, young lad?” asked Krem. Erguile did not protest at the offering of food, and Adacon felt relieved to see the tension die.
“And what shall I call you?” asked Krem as he led them farther into the cavernous hallway.
“My name is Erguile. I am a slave of the same farm as Adacon here. Alas, I am the last of our fellow slaves. The plantation was retaken at dawn yesterday. The others are dead now, along with the foolish guards that chased after them. No doubt—the Red Forest has had its fill by now.”
“The Red Forest, a beautifully cruel place it is—in fact, it was not long ago I was traveling there and found the most peculiar creature; a marvelous beast that called itself Slowin. But I shall tell you more of the Deep Red when we are fixed with proper comforts, and you two are no longer ailed by hunger. Come! We must make haste, for Grelion never sleeps—no he doesn’t—never sleeps…” Krem said as he led them through the cool cavern. Erguile fell in love with its beauty just as Adacon had. Krem brought them to the great room with four branching halls, and they briskly walked down the path that led to the ladder. Krem and Adacon quickly descended, followed by a reluctant Erguile, who made the mistake of peering down first. In a moment they were all standing on the floor by the great crystal-reflecting pond.
Adacon walked to the corner and seated himself in the spot where he had eaten before as Krem went to fetch food. Erguile had not thought about food since he had arrived below, instead training his eyes upon the beautiful shimmer of the pond.
“It’s the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen! I don’t understand how such a place could have existed all these years without me having known. I am sorry, but I think I will stay here a good year before I set off with you, Adacon. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind, would you?” Erguile said as he stood off to the right of the ladder, near the edge of the pond, staring at the water’s wondrous illumination. The cave was eerily lit with no obvious source, and the ceiling shimmered with reflective sparkles, bouncing off the jagged rock roof. The pool was vast and clear, reflecting the glimmering ceiling, and no certain bottom could be seen within it, only a dark depth that descended beyond what eyesight was capable of seeing.
“I suppose if the pond has you so entranced that you won’t be of any use in battle, I can let you stay here. But I doubt Krem will let you stay all alone in his precious palace,” chuckled Adacon.
“Fine—then it shall be that once our quest is over, I’ll first return here and spend a decade or two, marveling at this place, and swim evermore in peace—save when I grow hungry and hit up his food stores!” Erguile rejoiced. Adacon was happy to see Erguile in such high spirits.
The pond is that beautiful, Adacon thought, and Erguile’s fantasy wasn’t so different from the way he himself had felt upon first seeing the place
. Adacon thought of things to come; he wondered: if such a marvel lay so close to their farm, what beauty could the rest of the unknown world have in store for them?—and what evil? But his thoughts only swayed for a moment, as before long a sweet aroma of spiced meat filled the room. Adacon glanced off to a corridor that led into a room filled with cupboards and saw Krem coming with a tray full of platters. Erguile smelled succulent food too, and he seemed to forget the pond already as he rushed to a seat next to Adacon at the oaken table.
“After this feast, I think I shall go for a swim,” Erguile said. “How about you Adacon?”
“You will first have a good talk with me, Erguile, before I am to set you loose in my pool,” Krem uttered as he laid the tray of piping hot meat on the table.
“This looks delicious Krem,” Adacon said politely.
“Indeed it does! And I won’t be able to contain myself much longer if you don’t hurry your old bones Krem,” shouted Erguile in a frenzy. Adacon feared for his new friend after the cutting remark, but Krem remained as calm as ever.
Krem began spreading plates around the table. There were several large chunks of meat—dark and light—covered in different blends of spices. Krem laid out more plates filled with plenty of potatoes, corn, rice and bread. There was wine again, along with several vials of rainbow-colored juices. At last all the food was properly arranged and Krem sat down opposite them. Erguile could barely contain himself and his hands began to fidget. Krem took a good while getting comfortable in his oak chair, then looked toward his guests.
There was silence, but suddenly Erguile began to grapple with the assorted meats and place as many as he could onto his empty plate in a barbaric manner. He began to eat, nearly forgetting to chew, shoving everything down his throat and almost causing himself to choke. Immediately, Krem lifted his staff at Erguile’s head and brought it down with great force.
“Ow! The hell was that for old man? That hurt,” cried Erguile, rubbing his head and dropping meat from his hands. Adacon knew Erguile’s mistake, and sat in silence quashing his hunger for the moment in anticipation of Krem’s words.
“Do you not give thanks to anything for the graces you receive? I suppose I shouldn’t have expected different from you, coming from the same place as him. Ah well; that’s the way of things, I guess. Now quit moaning lad, and fix a proper mind for giving thanks,” Krem commanded, and then he assumed a meditative gaze, closed his eyes, and spoke again.
“All of Darkin assembles before the great god Gaigas, so that the fruits of this land may usher in a new serenity, renewing the circle of life and ridding the demons. I ask that you, Gaigas, the soul of this world, unite yourself with us, as we thank you for these graces.” Adacon recognized the words to be similar to the prayer he had heard before. “Now you may eat, Erguile…” motioned Krem. And all three of them began to remedy their hunger. In a good bit of time they nearly decimated the entire table’s worth of food.
“I’ve had quite my fill,” smiled a now bloated Adacon.
“As have I,” spoke Erguile. “I suppose this meal alone requires me to drop any grudge against you, old man, even for beating me on the head.”
“That it does indeed,” said Krem. “We shall hold council now, and talk of the great journey to come. I expect you’d all enjoy a fresh pipe?” asked Krem.
“Most certainly! I can’t remember the last time I had a fresh pipe,” Erguile enthusiastically responded.
“Alright then, let’s find our way to my fire den. It’s up the ladder and a short walk from there,” Krem said, and he was the first to stand up from his chair, disregarding the dirty table and plates. He began trotting towards the ladder. “Come on you wretched tatters!” he called back at the still sitting slaves as he began climbing up.
“I suppose we have to go,” said Adacon, looking to Erguile. “I’ll admit I would have rather stayed here and talked; my belly is full to its brim.”
“Mine as well, but talk of war will get me moving,” Erguile said emphatically, and he rose.
“I suppose. . .” Adacon said, and with some effort he removed himself from his chair, and the two climbed the ladder to the chamber above.
Upon arriving again in the room with the four separate halls they realized that Krem was nowhere to be seen.
“How do you like this? He goes off and leaves us alone in his palace,” said Erguile.
“I guess we’ll have to find his fire den ourselves. Come on.” Adacon started off toward one of the corridors, the one farthest from his position.
“Krem!” shouted Erguile suddenly. “You tricky bastard, where have you gone?”
“That will be a good way to anger him, and get your head thrashed again,” reproached Adacon, stopping at the sound of Erguile’s shout.
“Serves the little bastard right, to let us alone and not wait up,” said Erguile. Then, from far down the third corridor came a hooting sound, loud and seemingly from some kind of musical instrument. “That would be him now,” Adacon and Erguile hurried down the corridor from which the sound had come.
They hurried down the long hall, taking in the odd decorations that were just as wondrous as the rest of the palace. The walls were lined with mysterious trinkets, gadgets, and other artifacts fastened to shiny mounts, all of which neither Adacon nor Erguile could recognize. Some were the color of bone, and looked to be strange animal skeletons. Others were shiny and metallic, and whirred at their passing. At last they came to a small room with generous sofas and a large glowing hearth at its center. Little Krem sat in his purple robe, puffing on something that smelled extremely sweet. Erguile plopped down on the sofa across from Krem, followed quickly by Adacon.
“You had better serve me a fixing of that, old man,” said Erguile.
“You’ve got some tongue, lad, but the rudeness I’ll take as a trait for the better, as it shall come in handy when we deal with Feral Trolls. Here, I have not forgotten you both,” Krem said, and then handed them their own pipes stocked with sweet smelling shreds of dried fruits and leaves.
“Thanks old man,” cried Erguile, igniting the mix and starting to puff.
“You can keep those pipes—and these,” Krem said, and he threw from his side two satchels, each made of leather. “I’ve put some dried meat and flasks of water in them already.”
“Thanks Krem, it’s much appreciated. These will be a great help,” Adacon thanked him.
“Indeed,” Krem agreed, puffing contentedly on his pipe as the nearby fire kept them from the growing cold. “Now, before I begin to talk, I am sure you both have questions you want to ask.” Erguile almost jumped in his seat, and immediately asked the first question.
“I have more than a few nagging my mind, but this before all the others: is it true, as Adacon told me, that a Lord Grelion is the all powerful and only lord of this land?”
“Indeed he is, Erguile. And it’s a sad truth, for that man has grown evil in all ways imaginable,” Krem sullenly replied.
“I’ve a question that I wanted to ask you since yesterday, Krem—it rather pertains to you, actually. Who, or what, is Molto? I’ve twice looked upon that name on your door in confusion—and the Spirited Winds that the sign speaks of,” Adacon asked, puffing pensively on his pipe. Erguile was distracted, deep in thought, quietly coming to terms with the truth about Grelion.
“Ah, an observant one you are, friend. Molto—that name is legendary from ocean to ocean, by those who remember the Elder Ages anyhow. It is said that he was the last of the great Vapours. It is my understanding that he lived in this very home before I came here, and perhaps even many years before that. The Spirited Winds, as you saw on my door, happens to be the name of a spell, one that when Vapoury was commonplace struck fear into the hearts of evil men, trolls and elves alike. In a great battle of the Elder Age, Molto waylaid a terrible evil as it descended from the North, single handedly stopping its advance. It was his powerful spell, the Spirited Winds, that defeated the evil Crawl Plaque, as they were called. His Vapoury
alone restored an age of peace in Darkin,” told Krem.
“Did you say elves? Elves of the forest? You mean to say they’re not fable?” Adacon eagerly replied.
“Hah, elves are perhaps edging on the border of fable in this age, but I can assure you they have lived on Darkin for at least as long as humans have—I suspect much longer. It is said that in the first age of the world they inherited the good land from Gaigas herself.”
“Gaigas—you keep saying that. Was she a queen of some land from long ago?” asked Adacon.
“Oh no, and above all, you should know of Gaigas. She is the good spirit of Darkin itself, the harmony and love within. Perhaps you’d like to think of her as God; I don’t know the faith of slaves. She brings all that is good together, and works with those who are virtuous to guide and strengthen them in their trials against all that is evil and wrong.” Krem paused to puff on his pipe. “Gaigas resides in the nature of all things positive and good. Some, who know the ways of the ancients, can draw upon her energy. This life force, or energy, is known as Vapour. Vapour can be drawn upon and stored in the spirit, should one know how to become at peace with Gaigas. It is a great and mysterious energy, the force a common man would mistake for magic, if he saw it used by a Vapour.”
“This talk; I reckon it blasphemous and untrue. I have lived on this land for all my life, and not once have I seen a magician weave a spell, nor have I looked upon an elf,” grunted Erguile, not believing a drop from the old man’s mouth. With that, in an instant, Krem raised his right hand into the air and motioned at Erguile. Erguile’s pipe suddenly rose up out of his grasp and into thin air, floating for a few seconds in nothingness. Then it suddenly dropped, and Erguile was quick to catch it before it hit the ground. Erguile was speechless, and he sat back quietly.
“That, my friend, is the Vapoury of air. Vapour itself arrives to us in many different forms, to assume all the different naturally occurring elements such as there are on Darkin. You both are familiar with fire and water, ice and wind. These are all attributed to the natural flow of Vapour from Gaigas, but there are many others that I have not named; some I would not dare name.”
Darkin: A Journey East Page 5