Darksome

Darkness crept into the forest. A thin layer of fog rose from the forest floor and sent damp fingers throughout the mild night. Melbus slumped against a great oak tree and closed his eyes. The ground rumbled as his pursuer drew closer, and he shivered as the vibrations ran up his back. He knew that if he wanted to survive, he had to rest. He raised the small medallion in his chubby hand and pressed it to his lips.

Fighting off tremors of terror that made his hands shake, he gently kissed the small piece of metal before muttering, "Expelso lon evlib" - Save me from evil.

He looked at the small medallion. It was wrought of pure gold and hung from a piece of thin purple satin. The medallion itself depicted a lion's head, the seal of the Tusca royal family. Below the head were the words Sala Iglais Nauv - "Heaven Welcomes Thee". It was an ode to the belief of the Tusca family that the entire family was divine and each held a position in Heaven's courts. A conceited bunch, Melbus thought.

A distant howl shook Melbus from his reverie. He looked all about him, his head jerking in every direction, but he was unable to see anything in the growing dark. Sensing that he was running out of time, he tore away again, running as fast as his squat, pudgy body would take him. His plain tan robe clung to his legs, making his gait uneven and wobbly; tree roots added to his inability to run easily. All around him, tree limbs seemed to morph into spindly arms and gnarled hands trying to grab his treasure.

"Saint, protect me," he huffed.

Stumbling into a clearing, Melbus paused. The only sound he could hear was his own labored breathing. No rumbling, no howling, just his own heartbeat and his own breath. He looked to the sky; only one moon was visible this night. It glowed with an orange-amber hue. Melbus knew from the lore of his childhood what the Reaping Moon meant: blood. Taking advantage of his moment of peace, he knelt.

"Dear Saint, have mercy 'pon me. I canno' escape this fate on m' own. Guide your servant's hands."

At that moment, the rumbling began anew. Without hesitation, Melbus stood and ran for the other side of the clearing. Upon entering the forest again, he tripped and fell flat on his face. He lay flat for a moment and gathered his wits. The heavy smell of damp undergrowth mixed with an unfamiliar odor invaded his nostrils. After he stood and wiped his robe clean, he turned to face the object that caused his fall. He gasped. Before him lay a Jeceta, an ancient tomb for one convicted of being a host for a demon. Kissing the medallion again, Melbus began to slowly back away.

"Melbusssss," a voice whispered behind him.

Melbus was so startled that his legs nearly buckled. Sheer willpower held him up.

He turned quickly to behold the source of the voice. The darkness of the forest prevented him from being able to identify anything, but there seemed to be a deeper darkness standing before him.

"S-s-s-show y' self," he stammered.

A pale, dim light sparked amid the darkness. It grew until Melbus saw that it was a blue flame suspended about an old, gnarled hand. The light revealed an old man, seemingly older than any man Melbus had ever seen. The old man’s back bent at such a sharp angle that he appeared to be only a few feet tall. He stood propped up by a twisted walking stick, his only means of support. His bald head glinted and his beard hung nearly to the ground. He wore no shirt or shoes and his trousers were simple brown fabric held up with a piece of twine. But above all things, Melbus noticed the gleam in the old man's eyes. His eyes sparkled with a youthful vigor that made Melbus long for the days of his own childhood.

"You've run far enough, Melbus," the old man said, his ragged voice cutting through the silence of the night. "This night, your running stops."

"I am but a humble servant of the Saint. And who might you be, old man? And what is it that you think I'm running from?" Melbus asked with as much courage as he could muster.

"Ah, Melbus, you think the world does not have eyes that see as clearly as yours. I am Darus, the poor unfortunate soul who lies beneath your feet with only that accursed stone to mark my resting place."

Melbus looked again at the Jeceta. On it was inscribed one word: Darus
.
"Beast," he cried nervously, backing away, "I want nothin' to do with ye. Leave me be!"

The fire still crackling above his hand, the old man straightened a bit and said, "It is I who have come seeking you, Melbus. You carry something of great importance and I wish to have it back."

"Back? It was never yours! But that is th' way of demons, I suppose; always wantin' what's not theirs and usin' any means to get at it."

With that, the flame in the old man's hand suddenly burst into a sprawling tower of liquid fire. It shot toward the heavens, washing the forest in blue luminescence. Amid the blue, the man's face was dark red.

"Cur! What do you know about demons? You pray to your Saint and lie back waiting for an unseen host to remedy your every ill. You know nothing of the world outside your own!"

Darus's voice rasped, hoarser than before, and betrayed his apparent age. Melbus thought the man looked taller now and had lost a bit of the curve in his spine.

"Now," the old man said after a brief pause, "I want what you carry."

Melbus felt the medallion that he held in his fist. It seemed cool even in the heat of his clenched hand.

"I worked 'ard for this. I have been chased all the way from Aldarin by some creature that I can't even see. It is all I have..."

"Melbus, I am not asking a favor of you. I will have it. You do not know the danger you are in."

Melbus looked to the ground. His acquisition of the medallion played through his head: the castle, the waiting, the sneaking, the long hallways, the dead sentry, the dark room and the pedestal that held the medallion. He had indeed worked hard for his prize.

"No," Melbus said softly.

"What did you say, cur?" the old man growled.

"I canno' give it to you. I've gone through too much for this. It is all I have..."

"I will not ask again! Give me the Bliss or you will know my power!"

A flame seemed to ignite in Melbus's chest. Courage he’d never experienced before flooded his veins, and the medallion grew cold in his hand. "No! You will not have it, beast!"

Darus unleashed a howl that made Melbus shudder despite his newfound courage. He recognized it as the howl he had heard earlier in the forest. The old man looked to the sky and continued to howl. As he did, his back straightened fully. Now that he was back to his proper height, Melbus noted that he was a very tall man, nearly seven feet.

Suddenly, his howl began to change. It became more animalistic. It rose in volume until Melbus felt that he would faint from the terror of it. A flash of light ignited, temporarily blinding him. When he regained his sight, he saw a terror that he had never believed possible. The blue flame had lit the forest floor and it was burning brightly. In the center of the ring of fire stood a Jecetera, a demon. It had grown to a staggering height of around eight feet tall. It was now a true beast, having black fur that covered its body and a long black mane. It stood upright on its muscular legs. Bulging muscles covered its torso and arms; its hands had great claws that seemed capable of ripping men in half with hardly any effort. Its maw dripped saliva as it grinned, baring its terrible teeth and fangs.

"Saint, crippe servelsion manin durcson," Melbus panted: Saint, let no harm befall your servant.

Darus laughed in a horrid gurgle of glee. "Yes, stupid cur, pray to your Saint! Even the mightiest of dieties will not save you."

The beast lunged for Melbus, easily stepping over the circle of flame. Frozen in terror, Melbus could not will himself to move. Using his immense arms, Darus lifted Melbus to eye-level by the front of his robe. Its fetid breath reeked of the grave and Melbus had to struggle to keep the contents of his stomach where they belonged.

Still grinning, Darus said, "Hand me the medallion, cur, or you will soon visit the underworld."

Melbus could feel a nearly unbearable heat coming from the beast's hands as they held him, but the medallion suddenly felt ice cold in his hand. The cold began to spread, slowly inching up his arm; he felt as if he had plunged it into a barrel of iced water. He writhed in the grasp of the beast, caught between a hellish heat and an overwhelming cold.

Without forethought, Melbus slammed his hands onto each of the beast's forearms, sandwiching the medallion between his right hand and the beast's arm. Words began to form on his lips, words he had never heard before in a language that was unknown to him.

"Krissun dis sals. Mui orr excusino mandis. Huwinto buscata nio."

Darus howled in terror as a wave of icy wind swept throught the forest. The medallion continued to grow colder under Melbus's palm. Apparently Darus could feel it as well because he was trying to pull his arm away. But Melbus had gained a new strength and held the arm fast.

"You have plagued this land long enough, demon. The underworld has a special resting place for you," Melbus said to his own surprise.

Darus howled again, this time in rage. "You have betrayed me, Xeros! Your kingdom will not stand! We will have our revenge!"

Unleashing the most bitter and chilling howl of all, Darus seemed to freeze from the inside out. He then shattered into tiny pieces that faded into the ground.

The circle of fire faded, leaving an unconscious Melbus lying alone on the dark forest floor.


* * * *


"Sire, Darus is dead."

The king remained motionless, staring out his window at his gardens below.

"Good. Thank you, Jairn. Send for Dekarrd."

Without a word, Jairn turned and left the room.

Within moments, a thin, gangly man entered the room. His bald head gleamed in the light of the sun from the open window. He was a very tall man, nearly as tall as the doorways of the palace. As usual, he was dressed in a very dark green robe but for now did not have the hood covering his head. Despite his age of twenty-five, he was revered in the courts of the king as resident mage. He was also the greatest assassin in the land; respect and fear were synonymous with his name: Stok Dekarrd.

Without turning from the window, the king said, "Darus is dead. The fat fool actually did something useful for once in his life."

Dekarrd smirked to himself as he imagined the pudgy stump of a man fighting off a demon. It was a ridiculous image. "I am glad to hear that, sire," he said in his smooth, quiet voice.

"And now, Dekkard, I need you to recover the Bliss. It is of great value to me. And with that damned demon finally out of the way I have no one to stop me from crossing the forests."

Dekarrd's eyes widened. "King Xeros, I am, as always, at your service, but to handle a device as ancient and powerful as the Bliss I would need much more..."

The king raised a bejeweled hand to silence Dekarrd and turned away from the window for the first time. He was wearing his home attire, which consisted of a deep purple tunic, tan trousers, and a deep purple cape that sprawled down to the back of his knees. His long dirty-blonde hair was not tied back this day and flowed freely to the middle of his back; his beard reached his rippling chest but was pulled together in a tight braid.

"Do not presume to tell me what can and cannot be done. That trinket should have been mine from the very beginning, before Mikaal Tusca and his ragged "family" paid your wretched brother to steal it from the underworld! Now, Dekarrd, what can you do about this?"

After a moment of thought, Dekarrd responded, "As you know, sire, the Bliss is a dangerous relic; it is made more so because that fool has no idea what he possesses nor would he know how to use it if he did. He was fortunate with Darus, but I would not expect it to happen again. Something has to be done quickly before he brings about changes that can never be undone."

"I already know all of this. My question was what can you do about it?" the king asked, impatience creeping into his voice.

"I am a mage of the fire element. To come too near to the Bliss would mean certain death for me, especially if Melbus catches on to the power of what he holds. But I have other ways of reaching him..."

King Xeros's eyes widened. "You mean the Saturos?"

A grin graced Dekarrd's lips. "Yes, sire. There are few powerful mages who can survive the Saturos; I believe we will have no trouble ridding ourselves of Melbus."

The king turned back to his window. His servants were bustling about, working diligently on the upkeep of the garden. A rare genuine smile spread across King Xeros's face. "Dekarrd, bring me the Bliss. Do not fail me or you will suffer the same fate as your brother. Do we have an understanding?"

Dekarrd bowed low and said, "Yes, King Xeros. I will not fail."

Dekarrd turned and strode from the room. The sun was beginning to set behind the western hills. King Xeros stood at his window as the room darkened, content to watch those he controlled do his bidding.


* * * *


In the darkness of the forest, resting soundly on the ground, Melbus slept, dreaming of his new medallion and the new life that was ahead of him...

_____________________________________________________________________

Depending on the reaction this piece gets, I may continue this series. Feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank you!