The wind picked up; its unrelenting force driving the rain
against the castle’s great walls. Lightning streaked through the angry clouds,
accompanied by thunderous claps that would boom and rumble away into the
distance. Before one flash could fade away, another replaced it.
The citizens of Mazwar took shelter in their homes and
businesses, closed their doors, and braced them against the weather. Some said
it was the worst storm in ten years. Old men said it was the worst since they
were small children, though in truth, none could ever remember worse.
Only one man braved the storm. Hunched over, Father Enek
leaned on his walking stick as he crossed the street, holding a large Alkosch
before him. A circular medallion with spiraling lines flowing outwards from the
center, the iron Alkosch was the holy symbol of the Maklese Church. Between
claps of thunder, the old priest shouted his warnings to any who would listen.
“—lord of darkness is upon us. Repent your evil ways oh
citizens of Mazwar! Repent your vile
thoughts oh sons and daughters of Castle Malroy! Repent your sins, for the darkness is upon us
and soon God will judge your deeds.”
Another giant bolt of lightning lit up the sky, giving the
rolling clouds a fiery accent. The priest had to shield his eyes from the
brightness for a moment before thrusting the Alkosch back towards the sky. “Repent
your wicked ways oh ye--”
A large spear of lightning struck the Alkosch, sending
sparks clear across the brick paved road. For an eternal second the priest
stood, outlined in a bluish white glow before the bolt of lightning was gone
and the old man collapsed to the street. The Alkosch had melted the flesh of
his hand and forged its wilted structure to his bones.
No one saw the priest lying there in the street. Nobody
noticed the downpour of rain pelting his lifeless eyes, for the citizens of
Mazwar were keeping to themselves, hunkered down in the safety of their homes. Safe
from the worst storm that has ever laid waste in the country of Shayle. The
worst ever seen in the land of the Three Kings.
Deep within the castle’s dungeons, there was another storm
loose. There was no thunder and not a hint of lightning. There was no rain or
wind. Yet, this storm could unleash a darkness upon mankind, the likes of which
the world has never imagined.
King Harren Malroy sat in the high backed oak chair, staring
at himself in the mirror created entirely from shadows where a dark figure
stood holding it. However he tried, the King of Shayle could not make out any
features of the one hidden in the darkness and had long since given up trying. Now
it was as if the ghostly image did not even exist. All King Harren could look
at was his own reflection.
Once, he had been a large man. He’d been a Ruler who reigned
with power, in his Kingdom as well as in his own physical appearance. Now the
sight of himself made him want to vomit on the spot. A gaunt face, framed his
sunken eyes, with his forehead covered with liver spots. At the age of
eighty-three, he supposed he should be glad he could still get around on his
own two feet, as slow paced as that was, but it was not enough. He hardly
filled out his purple shirt the way he once had. He always wore purple. He
believed that purple, and gold are the two colors of royalty, but gold always
seemed overbearing when he wore it. Lifting a hand to touch his bulbous nose it
froze half way to his face. Seeing how his hand shook disgusted him beyond
words.
“You are nothing more than food for the worms now
Harren.” The shadowy figure said, its
voice sounding like a thousand whispers. “The twelve children you fathered in
your years are those worms. They dream of the day you will die, wondering who
it will be that you have named to replace you. A one in twelve chance of
gaining the throne is far better than no chance while you live. You know well
that you will not live another two years in your health, but I tell you now,
you will not live out the year.” With a
quick flourish of its hand, the mirror faded away in a collage of wispy
tendrils before the dark figure continued to speak in its haunting voice. “You
can have your strength back Harren! You
can have ten more years to rule and likely longer. Your hands will no longer
shake. Your vision will be as good as when you were a young man!” The figure took a tentative step toward the
king. “All you need to do--.” It took
another smaller step and leaned to look at the old king in the eyes. “— is to
serve me! Give me your oath.”
Harren stared into the face. Up close now, he could actually
make out the dark soulless pools that were the figures eyes. Harren’s voice
shook as much in fear as it did with age as he spoke. “I serve you and I will
retain my power as King of Shayle?”
The shadowy figure laughed; a deep and cynical sound that
echoed in Harren’s head. “But of course
you will keep your power. In fact you will have even greater power, for you
will have my strength as well.” The
shadow curled its dark hands into fists. “Serve me and you will be king of all
that lies between the great seas.”
“I don’t know.” King
Harren whispered. Sliding one of his feeble hands down his face, he looked lost.
“I just don’t know.”
The shadow grew even darker, as if swallowing what light
there was for them in the deep dungeon. King Harren could no longer distinguish
a face as the figure straightened up in front of him, but somehow he was
certain it was now snarling. His whole body began to shake with fear that he
was very near his death. The dark figure had done nothing to give him that
fear, but somehow Harren was sure of it. If the figure so wished, it could
crush him where he stood.
“You, decrepit old fool!”
The shadow hissed. “You will not live out the year without me. With me,
you will live for many more years. You will have your strength again. The realm
of your control will reach every shore. Yet you consider turning me away? Without me, one of your seed will expedite
your death in hopes of having your crown. Of your twelve children, only one is
not hoping for an accelerated death.”
The shadow circled slowly around Harren once before finally continuing. “Serve
me Harren, and you will retain power. Let me walk away and within the year one
of your undeserving spoiled children will have you killed.”
The king silently wondered which child the shadow was
speaking of. Could so many of them care so little for their father? Could
eleven of the twelve truly be wishing for his death? It was unthinkable.
In the three lands of Jawiva, the kings have always chosen
their heir to the throne. He had written his children’s names on a sheet of
parchment, in the order he would have them reign. That list now rested in a
small locked room and heavily guarded. Touching his fingers to his chest, he
felt the key beneath his purple shirt. It was the only key to that room.
For a long time the shadow stood in silence, allowing King
Harren to consider his limited choices. When the king did not speak up, the
shadow hissed at him. “You are as big a fool as those leaches you call your
children.” The shadow spun around and
walked away toward the deeper darkness in the corner of the dungeon.
“How can I be sure?”
King Harren’s voice shook as he hurriedly uttered the words, fearful the
shadowy figure would continue to fade, leaving him with a quickly fading
future.
The shadow stopped and slowly turned around. It stood so
close to the deeper shadows that the king could hardly tell where one ended and
the other started. “What is it you wish to be sure of?” The question came in its usual echoing
whispers.
“You offer me health and strength. You make promises of my
kingdom growing. You promise that I can rule all of Jawiva instead of only
Shayle.” King Harren swallowed the
phlegm that was caught in his throat before continuing. “How do I know you even
have the powers to give me these things?”
The shadow moved slowly back to him and when it once again
stood in front of the king, it stood quietly, considering what the king had
asked. Finally, after a long while, the disturbing voice came again. “I will do
this for you in good faith.”
The shadow’s hand reached out, sinking into King Harren’s
chest. The king tried to move back as far as his high backed chair would allow
him to, afraid of what the dark figures hand might do. At first when the hand
seeped into his chest, he was surprised that it did not hurt. Then a moment
later, he realized it actually felt quite good. When the shadow finally pulled
his hand back, the king sat with his mouth opened in wonder at how he now felt.
He felt-- invigorated.
“That,” the shadow said, “Is only temporary. It will fade as
the days continue if I am not there to strengthen it. As it fades, remember how
it felt to have your health again and consider the fact it is but a small thing
compared to what I can do.”
The king stared in silence at his hand that no longer shook.
He felt the energy inside of him strong again. He did not believe he was ready
to run up the stairs to the upper floors of the castle taking two steps at a
time, but he felt he could make it up those stairs and not need a rest. When he
finally lifted his head, the shadowy figure was gone.
BUY IT NOW!
If you would like to read more, you will have to buy the book. The ebook, only $3.99 is available at Smashwords, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Sony, and several others. The Paperback (printed) version is only available at Amazon.
