Curse Of The Dark Wind (Book 6) (38 page)

“Muh tung,” he says, pointing at his mouth.

“I guess it was too hot for you. Sorry about that,” the caster replies, reaching out to caress his jaw. “It should be fine in a bit if you keep up with the ice. That’s good because I wanted to talk to you for a bit. Not with you, but to you. I’ll let you join in the conversation when I’m ready.”

Luke crunches the ice in his mouth and grabs some more before returning to his seat on the island. Glancing over his shoulder, the half-elf watches the others sleep. Everyone has found a space on the floor to set up their bedrolls with Timoran taking up the entire area in front of the cool locker. Delvin and Sari have claimed the corners, but they look cramped and uncomfortable as they shift under their covers. When Luke hears Nyx clear her throat, he turns around and gestures for her to begin talking.

“I know you’re worried about the Dark Wind and things are changing inside you. Sari and I can sense it, so we flipped a coin to see who talked to you,” she explains, putting a gentle hand on the warrior’s shoulder. She rubs her amethyst necklace when she feels how his clothes stick to his ooze-covered skin. “I keep trying to figure out what the point of this curse is, but I’ve no idea. Stephen said it was to control me and now we found a more potent version up here. Maybe he meant to bring you to the Garden once you were in that cocoon and the stronger Dark Wind would keep you alive. Then again, I don’t know why that hardening ooze hasn’t reappeared since the first time in Fyric. Maybe this new version is a backup plan in case we cured you before reaching the Garden. No matter what I’m sure there’s a final piece of the puzzle that brings the living curses together. Unfortunately, I’ve no idea what it could be.”

“What if I’m the final piece?”

“That’s ridiculous,” the caster claims with a nervous chuckle. She finishes her cup of coffee and takes Luke’s drink, warming it in her hands. “He would need to have researched your aura and crafted both living curses to react to it. That takes years and he hasn’t been around you long enough to have the proper insight. To attempt such a thing with limited research and time would result in a curse that is unpredictable. Placing something like that in Gale Hollow could have resulted in infecting the entire continent. Stephen wouldn’t do something so sloppy . . . would he?”

“Of course he would,” Sari says with a yawn. The gypsy is bundled in her bedroll as she hops over to her friends. “Stephen is obviously a planner, but we’ve seen that he doesn’t care about anyone else. He set up the Lich to be destroyed even though they were allies. Then there’s what he did to me. I could have exploded and destroyed the castle along with all of the orcs and giltris. Stephen couldn’t care less as long as he got what he wanted. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s enjoying the extra damage he’s inflicting.”

Luke nods and puts an arm around the smiling girl’s shoulders. “I don’t really understand magic, but I think I know what he did. He designed the Dark Wind to go for the aura of those with a connection to air by using my aura as a basis. I didn’t realize it before, but now I feel an affinity with the living curse. Like it’s a piece of me that was stolen and the rest of me wants it back. That’s why I’m terrified of what’s going to happen.”

Nyx takes a deep breath and faces the far wall, wiping away a few mysterious tears. She sips at the coffee while thinking about what her friends have said. The similarities between Luke’s aura and the Dark Wind is now clear in her mind, which makes her ashamed that she never realized it before. Though something about the toxic scent wafting off the forest tracker continues to gnaw at her brain.

“You might be right, but I still think we’re missing something,” she admits while watching Sari shifting within her bedroll. Nyx casts a spell that yanks the bag off the gypsy, turning away when she sees her friend is naked. “Why are your clothes off when it’s cold and we’re sharing a room with three men?”

“It was too tight if I had my dress on. Besides, I was trying to get dressed when you stripped me,” Sari casually replies as she gets her clothes out of the crumpled bedroll. “Are you really surprised at me being naked? You’re acting like I’m a reserved prude instead of the sexually free woman who enjoys making you nervous.”

“You’re shivering.”

“This might not have been my smartest idea.”

“I thought your naiad powers keep you warm.”

The gypsy adjusts her dress and straightens her top before rubbing her arms. “Only if I’m calm and happy. I’ve been stressed and upset too much to retain my resistance.”

Luke growls and rears back to kick a nearby cabinet, but stops when he realizes he would injure his foot. His leg goes limp as he leans against a rack of skillets, his hands tightly gripping the cold metal. With a combination of fear and rage in his chest, the half-elf takes several deep breaths to relax. He can feel the living curse surging, which puts him on edge and makes him wish he could gouge the parasite out of his body. Lost in his own thoughts, a slow movement to his right causes him to lash out like a cornered serpent. He snaps out of his trance when he hears Sari yelp and feels her fingers in his grip.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, kissing her hand. He releases her and moves to give her a hug, but stops when she steps away. “I don’t know what came over me. It was as if I was angry and scared at something. I’ve felt it before, but this is the first time it was this strong.”

“What do you think is happening to you?” Nyx asks while she checks Sari’s bruised hand.

“I’m worried that I’m changing. I keep thinking back to when the Dark Wind tried to put me in the cocoon. When it was growing, I could sense that it wouldn’t sustain me beyond giving me air to breathe. So I’ve been wondering how Stephen planned on using me to control Nyx. I’d starve to death in that thing, which means it wasn’t for permanent containment.”

“You think it really was a cocoon and you’d emerge a servant of Stephen. You’d become another Kayn,” Sari says with a nod of her head. She shudders at the thought of Luke transforming into the crazed servant that her former lover had become. “That’s as good an explanation as I’ve heard so far. If the control was strong enough, he’d be able to order Luke to commit suicide or attack the rest of us.”

“It’s a bizarre plan, but it make sense,” Nyx agrees, running her shaking hands through her short hair. “Holding Luke as a mindless servant would make it easier to dangle his life in front of me and lock me in as Stephen’s toy. I’d never be able to break his control unless I saved Luke first, which wouldn’t happen under that bastard’s attention.”

“It doesn’t matter!” the forest tracker snaps, startling his sleeping friends. Fizzle yawns and stretches as he crawls out of a basket of apple cores. “Sorry about that, guys.”

“We needed to wake up anyway,” Delvin admits, rubbing his lower back. He crawls out of his bedroll and gets his chainmail, the armor hanging among a collection of ladles. “We’ll have some food and head out. No need to pack up anything beyond weapons and armor. Maybe some rope and grappling hooks just to be safe. If we’re successful then we can come back for everything else. If we fail then we’ll be dead and won’t need this stuff anyway.”

Nyx sends the pot of hot coffee to the warrior, who stares curiously at the powerfully scented brew. “Seems somebody is all sunshine and rainbows. Have a drink and relax for a few minutes.”

An echoing roar of agony and fury erupts from the hallway as something charges by the sealed door. The pounding footsteps fade into the distance and another bellow rips through the castle, the sound not losing any of its strength from being so far away. Everyone stands still, expecting the mysterious creature to return and burst into the kitchen. The only sound is the gasping of Luke, whose breath appears as vague puffs of vapor.

“I need to get to the throne room,” the forest tracker whispers, falling to a crouch and holding his aching head in his hands. “Whatever that thing was, I felt like it was calling for me and pulling at my soul. I have no idea if I’ll be safe in the throne room or if this thing is waiting for me there, but I know that’s where I have to go.”

“First let the rest of us get our gear ready,” Delvin requests. He walks over to the half-elf and kneels, surprised to not find any Dark Wind oozing out of him. “I promise that thing won’t get near you. We’ll find a way to track its movements and avoid it.”

“Fizzle go,” the drite claims with an apple core sticking out of his mouth. “Fizzle track and not seen.”

Nyx steps behind a cabinet to change into a fresh red shirt while she asks, “What about staying near Luke and keeping the bond? You said that you had to stay near him to keep the living curse at bay.”

The tiny dragon flutters over the others and lands on the forest tracker’s shoulder. “Fizzle use aura streams in temple. Pass magic to Luke and hold bond. It mean no fight, so Fizzle only hide and flee.”

“Good idea. All I want you to do is locate the creature,” Delvin says as he pats the dragon on the head. “See what it is and get an idea of what it can do. Then hurry back because I don’t want you to be caught defenseless.”

“Fizzle be safe!” he declares before vanishing from sight and darting out the door.

*****

The hallways are silent as Fizzle uses his claws to crawl along the slick ceiling, keeping his invisible body low. He stretches his neck to check if his reflection is still appearing on the walls, a small scowl creasing his features when he sees himself. The thick, ornamental edging near the ceiling is the only space that is not made of enchanted glass, so he squishes against the cold surface again. The slow pace is frustrating for the drite, who is used to zipping along without fear of being noticed.

He hears the roar erupt from behind him and a blast of frigid wind rolls through the empty hallway. A thin gouge runs along the floor as if something is dragging a blade along the glossy stones. For a brief moment, Fizzle thinks he sees a misty form charging ahead and turning a corner. The sound of chattering voices and a bellowing growl roll from the distance, sending a chill down his spine. Locked by primal fear, the dragon almost misses another voice amid the cacophony. It is a dainty cough that repeats itself from the opposite direction of the monstrous noises.

Risking exposure, he drops from the ceiling and soars back to an intersection. He hears the cough again and goes to his left, tracking the noise to a dying garden. The glass dome above is cracked and the frame is rusty, melting snow dripping onto the shriveled flowers below. A naked willow stands in the center of the atrium with marble benches surrounding its brown, wrinkled trunk. Black and red ivy has grown around the seats and runs along the ground in a network of curse-oozing leaves. Throbbing thorns hide within the invasive vines, forcing Fizzle to stay above the garden where he sees a silver-haired woman standing near a broken fountain.

“Who you?” he asks as he cautiously approaches. He stays out of reach of the stranger and backs away when her body flickers. “You ghost?”

“In a way,” she says with wry smile. She leans over the empty fountain and touches her face as if she is peering into a pool of water. “I could be dead. It was a terrible punishment I received for helping your friend. I’m not even sure I can survive the strain of visiting you here. So many miles and barriers to get through.”

“Woman come to help?” the drite happily says, a wave of relief washing over him.

The specter runs her thumb along her lips and stares at Fizzle. She vanishes and reappears beneath the dying willow, her hand passing through the trunk. For a few minutes, she moves around the room as if seeing it for the first time. The woman breaks into a coughing fit and spectral blood splatters against the floor. Fizzle is surprised and scared when the ivy bursts into white flames. All of the vines ignite and turn to ash while the phantom wipes her mouth with an alabaster handkerchief.

“I apologize,” she whispers, flickering out of sight. She materializes behind Fizzle and swiftly grabs him by the tail. “You see, little one, I made a big mistake helping your friend. I’m not allowed to get involved right now. I was punished severely for my actions, so I must atone. If I don’t then I’ll be killed before you free me. I’m sorry. Please forgive me when we meet.”

A surge of uncomfortable aura races through the drite’s body as he struggles to escape the woman’s tight grip. Screeching and snarling, he can feel the energy searching for something deep within him. The specter’s strange magic wraps around the inside of his throat and constricts his windpipe, nearly cutting off all his air. With a sharp twist, Fizzle feels an invisible tether snap and a vision of Luke in agony flickers in his mind.

“Woman break bond. Luke will die.”

“Then get him to the throne room and protect him from the Meraphor,” she insists. A look of fear crosses her face and she punches herself hard enough to knock a spectral tooth out. “I need to stop talking to you people. Sari wasn’t bad, but you and Luke are going to get me in more trouble. Please leave me alone and find me.”

The woman vanishes as Dark Wind flows into the room and coats every surface. A strange figure walks through the black mist and stares at the drite. The hazy creature is tall and seems to be made out of patches of solid, churning winds. Each section is a vicious storm that battles the rest of the body for more space. Fizzle finds it hard to focus on the ephemeral monster as if his senses keep forgetting it is there. The voices of other creatures can be heard from the hallway, but they stampede away when the ghostly figure bellows over its shoulder.

“Give me my prey,” the Meraphor hisses in a voice filled with suffering. Curved blades grow out of its forearms and it advances toward the drite. “I need my prey to make me whole.”

“Fizzle stop you.”

The tiny dragon dives at the creature and passes through its body, feeling a shock of anguish punch him in the chest. The Meraphor whirls around and swings its arm in attempt to slice Fizzle with its blades. For a terrifying moment, a strange pull on his aura makes it difficult for him to escape. Forcing his body into action, Fizzle twists to narrowly avoid the attack. The drite darts out of reach and gasps for air while the Meraphor unleashes a horrifying shriek. Falling to its knees, the creature retracts its blades and feebly reaches for its enemy.