Darkin A Journey East - By Joseph A. Turkot Page 0,29

the emerald hill that rose from the Vashnod floor. The other two caught up to him, and soon Krem made camp and had a fire going, above which sat a small pot, in which was boiling a delicious smelling stew of spiced meat and vegetables. Erguile sat nearby and puffed contentedly on his pipe. Adacon stood alone at the edge of the hill, staring off in all directions, mesmerized by the foreign landscape. In a moment Krem started to pour the stew into clay bowls.

“Come on lads, dinner is served,” called Krem. Adacon came and they gathered around the fire. Each sat with a bowl in hand but did no more. No one spoke—no one dared. Finally Krem seemed pleased enough at their discipline, so he spoke.

“We shall give homage to Gaigas in our own minds from now on, for from our pondering of her can we learn much about this journey of life,” Krem said, and the three fell to complete silence. An eerie tranquility overtook the atmosphere.

Adacon immediately fell to his own world of thought, forgetting to give homage to Gaigas. Just a few days before, he had been inside his own prison, a part of the unending oppression; now he was completely free. Life would be completely unlike anything he had experienced before, and it seemed that each new day was bringing more excitement than the last. His mind flourished with a thousand fascinations and fumbled with a thousand questions. It was almost too much, but all of it was beautiful.

Erguile seemed content enough after a few seconds to begin feasting, but he held back. It was only after Krem opened his eyes at last that they began to eat. The stew was extraordinarily good. The slaves gorged themselves and when it was gone they wished for more; but there was no more stew, and the night had grown colder.

“Now that we are properly full it is time to settle into our comforts for the evening. I will be our watch for this night; I do not feel a need for rest just yet,” Krem said, and they went about making the site as comfortable as it could be. Soon Adacon slipped into fantastical dreams, and Erguile fell into a dreamless slumber, while Krem kept watch over the dark plains.

* * *

It was still the middle of the night, Adacon knew, as he opened his eyes and saw a star-filled sky above him; the clouds had cleared, allowing a view of glittering space dust. Why am I awake at this hour, he wondered, realizing he should be sleeping. The reason became apparent in a moment; noises drifted through the air behind his head. It was not very close, but near enough to hear. Adacon rolled to his side quickly, seeing Erguile still sleeping peacefully. Then Adacon froze—he recognized the noises to be voices—one of them was Krem’s.

In a state of alarm, Adacon first acted as if he were still sleeping, but he carefully raised his head to peer in the direction of the talk. He was taken aback at what he saw. Standing next to Krem was a swirling aura of light, something that vaguely resembled the shape of a human. The aura was scarlet and gold, flickering slightly. The form seemed twice as tall as Krem, and it appeared to be having a conversation with him. Although Krem’s voice could be clearly made out, when the form spoke it seemed only to hiss in a syncopated rhythm, and Adacon could not make out a word. Krem seemed to understand at any rate, and the two were chattering on.

Adacon tried edging closer to hear Krem better, nervous of being seen or heard. He wriggled quietly, leaving Erguile alone. Finally—either by wriggling closer or by being fully awake again—Krem’s words could be understood.

“Be it may that your power has been accelerated Zesm, I would ask you to remember our last meeting,” Krem said in a cold tone, one unlike any used with the slaves. A syncopated hissing came in response, and Adacon turned his head up and around once more to catch a glimpse of the form, only this time the form was gone, and in its place stood a tall, hunched human. The man was built of threaded muscle, wrapped in greyed bandages, with spotty leather armor hanging off here and there. On his head was a dirty type of turban, and on his side was sheathed a bloodied broadsword. Adacon rolled back to his mock sleeping