mind except an odd dream: he and Calan had been walking through a frost-bitten meadow of flowers at dawn…
Memory came flooding back. He remembered the battle at Dinbell, the calamity of the strikes Flaer and Aulterion threw against one another. He wondered for a moment if any of it had been real. He looked to his left arm and saw a deep scar running down. There was a tiny window in the room, built sturdily with a cross frame. On its outside ledge was a high ridge of snow, the softest white he’d ever seen. Adacon rubbed his eyes in astonishment, peering out the window from the warmth of his bed, watching thick flurries of snow-crystals drift sideways. He quickly surveyed the rest of the room: there two oak cabinets and some candles burning on a table in the corner, creating a pale yellow glow. Against either wall were wooden statues of bear-like creatures and atop the only door in the room hung a worn battle axe. The walls were knotty grain wood, slightly shiny. Adacon felt relieved to become aware that he was in no slave home, not back on his farm in Arkenshyr—there were no homes there as nice as this. Suddenly the door creaked, and in walked a purple robed wizard.
“Krem…” Adacon said.
“Good to see you’re finally awake lad. I thought I heard someone stirring in here,” he replied with a warm smile.
“Where am I—what happened?” Adacon asked.
“Calm yourself. You are safe, and once more in the protection of my Vapoury. We are in Erol Drunne, dear Adacon.”
“But—how did we get here? Last I remember…” Adacon said, trailing off, unable to express his exploding thoughts and questions.
“I had to call you down to Flaer in the final moments of his duel against Aulterion. You possess a special… power. A power you’ve never understood—of which no one else possesses in all of Darkin,” Krem said.
“Me?” Adacon said in bewilderment.
“Without you, we would not have been able to defeat Aulterion—nor the Feral Brood in turn.”
“They’ve been defeated? I still don’t understand—how long has it been since the battle?”
“Not very long. A season,” Krem answered.
“A season? I have slept for a season!?” Adacon panicked, staring out the window at the falling snow.
“Not very long, considering how much energy you spent saving Flaer,” Krem replied.
“Me—save Flaer?—surely this is a dream, or the state of death,” Adacon gasped in confusion. “Have you gone mad Krem? Am I?”
“Quiet boy—quiet and rest. You still need time to recover. What is important is that you are alive and well, and that Enoa has been saved. I will tell you about your power later, after you’ve had plenty to drink and eat, and your strength’s returned.”
“The war is really over?” asked Adacon, unable to fathom the suggestion to relax.
“No, not the war. The people of Arkenshyr are in grave peril. In the wake of Aulterion’s utter destruction, Zesm has overthrown Vesleathren, and become more powerful than we can guess. Zesm has…” Krem stopped talking. A shadow passed over his jovial visage, but it lasted only an instant, and then the old Vapour smiled once more: “Enough—enough of talk that is serious, for now at least. There will be plenty of time, later, for that. There is a time of peace now on this side of the Kalm. We mustn’t dwell on dark omens in the hour we first wake!” Just then Erguile burst into the room carrying a plate of hot pastries and a pot of tea.
“Good morning old friend, savior of us all,” said Erguile, winking. “Couldn’t help but overhear you finally talking again! Thought you might want something to eat—what with sleeping for months on end...” Adacon stopped trying to understand how he’d saved them; he simply surrendered to the joy of seeing his old friend:
“Erguile!” Adacon rejoiced. Erguile came over to him and they embraced. Just then, a loud argument could be heard outside, drifting in through the still open door.
“If you’ll just give me a head start, I’m telling you, there’s no way you can outswim me—no way—fat rock of a man!” shouted a familiar gnome’s voice. In a moment Remtall came in through the doorway, smiling wide and holding a flask in his hand.
“What better time to perform a toast?” Remtall exclaimed. He shuffled over to Adacon and they hugged one another, giant grins spread across their faces. Adacon glimpsed Slowin standing outside the doorway, unable to fit inside.
“Slowin! Decided you’d hang around after all?” Adacon called. He attempted to get up from his bed, but Erguile restrained him.
“No you don’t—not yet,” Erguile said.
“I’ll be here. I’m not going home just yet, friend. Very glad to see you’re back with us. Oh—before I forget—Falen sends his regards—he’s flown off to visit his family in the north,” Slowin announced. “I think someone else is coming.” As Slowin finished his last word, another familiar sound came from just outside the doorway: Calan’s laughter. She rushed in, without words flinging herself onto the bed, knocking Adacon down against the quilt.
“Easy woman, he’s not quite one hundred percent,” Erguile warned.
“Let them be, dumb slave! Never mind the affections of an elf woman, nor the ravaging her man must pay her after many months without. Let’s leave them be, how about?” Remtall said.
“We’ll be just outside,” Krem said, hinting for the others to leave.
“And don’t be getting up for anything either, you hear?” Erguile warned. “I’ll be checking up on you…” They filtered out one by one, until at last Krem stood alone in the doorway, looking at Calan and him.
“Oh, one more thing before I leave you two alone,” Krem said.
Adacon nodded and smiled, waiting.
“Someone else wants to say hello,” the wizard replied. Adacon stared at Krem in confusion, but soon a smile crossed his face as he realized whom Krem spoke of. Calan kissed him, and together they waited for the final visitor. Krem waved farewell, then scooted out the door.
Flaer stepped in.
“Flaer!” Adacon said, lighting up.
“Glad to see you’re finally awake—Calan, would you mind allowing me a moment with Adacon?” said Flaer, his voice deep and gravelly. No smile formed on his face.
“Of course not,” she said. After a quick peck on Adacon’s cheek she bounded out of the room. Flaer quickly turned, shut the door behind her. Now alone together, Flaer moved his hands in an odd circular motion around the handle of the door. Like a wave, emerald light rolled over the door, extended to the ceiling, encompassed every wall and window in the tiny room.
“So they won’t hear us,” Flaer grunted in explanation.
“Hear what?”
THE END
ABOUT THE CREATOR
Joseph A. Turkot currently works as a Teacher of English in New Jersey. He graduated from Rutgers University with a B.A. in English. He has written numerous short stories and novels in the world of Darkin. The sequel to Darkin: A Journey East will be published in September 2012.
A Message From the Author:
You’ve reached the end of book 1 in the Darkin Saga! I sincerely hope you take the time to write a review on Amazon.com, and any additional retailers that have Darkin listed for free. I intend to keep book 1 free forever, and it would mean a great deal to me if you reviewed it. I write so that I can engage with my readers, and your thoughts would help to grow the Darkin community. I greatly appreciate your readership. Book II, Darkin: The Prophecy of the Key, will be out by this Christmas, 2012. Again, thanks for joining me on the beginning of Adacon’s adventure.
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Table of Contents
Title
PREFACE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
PROLOGUE
I: BREAKING THE FARM
II: KREM THE VAPOUR
III: THERE AND BACK AGAIN
IV: THE VASHNOD
V: THE BRIGUN AUTILUS
VI: WEAKHOOF
VII: BLOCKADE RUNNER
VIII: AGAINST THE KALM
IX: THE ENOAN ROAD
X: THE DINBELL WALL
XI: EROL DRUNNE
ABOUT THE CREATOR
Table of Contents
Title
PREFACE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
PROLOGUE
I: BREAKING THE FARM
II: KREM THE VAPOUR
III: THERE AND BACK AGAIN
IV: THE VASHNOD
V: THE BRIGUN AUTILUS
VI: WEAKHOOF
VII: BLOCKADE RUNNER
VIII: AGAINST THE KALM
IX: THE ENOAN ROAD
X: THE DINBELL WALL
XI: EROL DRUNNE
ABOUT THE CREATOR
Table of Contents
Title
PREFACE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
PROLOGUE
I: BREAKING THE FARM
II: KREM THE VAPOUR
III: THERE AND BACK AGAIN
IV: THE VASHNOD
V: THE BRIGUN AUTILUS
VI: WEAKHOOF
VII: BLOCKADE RUNNER
VIII: AGAINST THE KALM
IX: THE ENOAN ROAD
X: THE DINBELL WALL
XI: EROL DRUNNE
ABOUT THE CREATOR