Dark World (Book I in the Dark World Trilogy) (31 page)

The gong sounded again. Roars of
excitement thundered through the stadium.

Fate leaned over to Vale and asked,
“What’s going on?”

“
We got here just in time!”
He grinned. “The games are about to begin.”

“
What games?” She was
becoming impatient with him. His demeanor had changed since they’d
entered the city.

He shushed her and joined the raucous
masses in their cacophony of cheers. Huffing loudly and firing a
glare of displeasure in Vale’s direction, she turned her attention
to the impending festivities.

A dozen necromancers, clad in crimson
capes, sat in high back chairs at the head of the arena, their
silver skin rippling.

All at once, they stood and silence
fell over the crowd. The twelve necromancers raised their heads and
hands to the covered sky, uttering low words of enchantment. Their
voices hollow, blending in a chant.

Fate looked up, bits and pieces of the
sky was falling. Chunks of soil rained onto the floor of the
stadium.

What on earth are they
doing?

She’d given up on asking Vale what was
going on. He’d fallen unresponsive. Ignoring her.

What was she doing here? Hadn’t she
learned not to follow strange boys?

This was a bad
idea.

Her thoughts fell on the demon city.
Why hadn’t she just stayed? What did it matter how Kane felt about
her? Who cared if he didn’t trust her? Or hated her? At least she
would have been safe. At least she would have had Ever. And Ick.
Regret clawed at her heart. How she wished she could turn back
time.

Streams of dirt cascaded from
Dark World’s roof, until one, two, then three objects fell from the
canopy, landing with a
thud
. More and more plummeted until the number hit twelve. She
narrowed her eyes, straining to see beyond the cloud of
dust.

What are those? Are
they…rocks?

The necromancers that had performed
the—whatever it was—then shifted their focus to the lumps strewn
about the field, chanting and emitting beams of red light from
their hands, light which reached out and touched each of the
objects.

Soon, they started to
twitch.

Then stand.

Fate gasped as she realized what she
was looking at. Bile rose into her throat.

Oh my god! Are those what I
think they are?

Unstable and wobbly upon twisted legs,
torn garments barely masking the glimpses of bone and rotted flesh.
Pasty skulls peeked through fine, wispy strands of hair on their
crowns. Open sores on their faces wept blackened blood while what
remained of their teeth dangled precariously from decomposed lips
and gums.

As though pulled with invisible strings
to the head of the arena, the twelve dragged themselves like
lolling, unsteady puppets to where the red-cloaked necromancers
sat.

The crowd cheered as the humanoid
creatures marched closer to what appeared to be the start of the
race.

A voice boomed excitedly
overhead. “Welcome to the 300
^th
annual Zombie Races!”

“
Zombie Races?” Fate
repeated, both disgusted and curious.

Vale turned to her, explaining, “Yah,
there’s a graveyard on Surface above us.” His chin lifted slightly,
pointing upwards. “Every year, the necromancers summon the dead
and…well, here we have it.”

Fate was appalled. “You watch this?
Like some kind of underworld Olympics?”

He grinned. “It’s really fun, just
watch.” His eyes pleaded with hers momentarily, then Xia, who’d
apparently been eavesdropping, added in an arctic tone, “It’s a
tradition.”

Fate couldn’t believe it. Such
disrespect for the dead. On the Surface, people who died were
buried in graveyards and given reverence. Put to rest, or so she
thought, anyways. This was no way to treat the dead—or undead—for
that matter.

Fate turned a reluctant eye to the
scene below.

Almost all of the zombies were so badly
decayed that they came across as androgynous, neither male nor
female—except for one. She stood out from the rest. Petite, blonde
hair in a short pixie cut (wild as it was) and clad in a pink prom
dress which was tattered and shredded like a morbid Barbie doll.
Her skin looked almost intact, nearly pleasant compared to her
competitors. She didn’t appear to have been dead for
long.

A spark of red electricity suddenly lit
up the sky, popping and exploding like a firecracker.

The race was on.

With moans and groans, the zombies
willed their clumsy bodies forward around the track. Eyes lolling
from their sockets and useless legs dragging behind a few, the poor
creatures pulled themselves around the arena. Fate watched in
disgusted horror as they tripped, bit and beat on one another. Some
even tossed bits and pieces of their eviscerated bodies on the
track like a slippery banana peel in waiting.

Roars of laughter thundered around
Fate, the cruel heckling and jeering molding a knot in her
stomach.

This just wasn’t right. How could
Vale—or anyone else—think this was humorous? Didn’t they see that
this was sick?

“
What do
they
get out of this?” Fate asked crossing her
arms over her chest, her voice cool and empty as she nodded towards
the zombies clambering round the field.

Vale turned, a glimmer of compassion
rising behind his glowing eyes. “The winner,” he started, “is
brought back from the dead.”

Fate felt her eyes widen. “What? They
can do that?” she asked, bewildered.

“
Yes,” he said with a
cryptic smile. “That, and so much more.”

“
So, one of those…things,”
she said with some effort, “gets to be human again?”

He raised his eyebrows twice and
stated, “No, something much better.”

Uncertain

Destinations

Arcanum’s scales shifted from chocolate
brown to creamy white as he landed softly on the ground amidst the
pearly stones of the Opal Meadows. He huffed once, tucking his
talons beneath his body and quickly settled in for a nap. Ever
crawled down from the mighty dragon’s back, Kane following
behind.

The beast’s breath came in long,
arduous drags, an occasional tendril of smoke escaping his flared
nostrils. A trickle of guilt meandered through Ever.

Poor Arcanum, he’s too old
for this kind of adventure.

Her lips downturned, she then glanced
at her father. His brow was pinched, eyes glowing dim, movements
slow. She suddenly realized what was wrong.

“
Father, have you had any
bloodstone today?” He didn’t need to answer, his expression spoke
volumes. Seating herself on a large opal boulder, she immediately
reached for her pack, fished around for several of the powerful
stones and extended her hand to him. “Here, take this.”

Thankfully, he didn’t need much
persuasion. Upon accepting it, his talons tightened around the
stone. He then tilted his head back, mouth open, and savored the
liquid magic. Sitting across from her, his eyes closed, he allowed
the enchantment to enrich his blood.

“
You can’t let yourself get
so weak,” Ever stated as she reached for her own bloodstone
supplement, squeezed it and let the thick, red sustenance rain down
the back of her throat.

His eyes opened and he nodded, not
meeting her stare. A sense of disquiet drifted from him.

“
What’s wrong?” she
inquired.

He sighed, his eyes searching for the
right words. “I…don’t know what to do.”

“
What do you
mean?”

His large, black shoulders slumped. “I
don’t know if acquiring all the scrolls is the right thing to do.
What if…what if I obtain them all and…” His voice trailed
off.

“
And what?” she prodded
carefully.

“
And it’s a mistake,” he
surrendered.

“
How could it be
wrong?”

“
What if I bring them
altogether and it opens the fissure to the Surface? And I end up
helping Malus rather than stopping her?” Worry pulled at his
forehead.

Ever pondered his words carefully, then
replied, “Do you know what each of the scrolls say? Do they say
that simply bringing them together will open the
crevice?”

Her father shrugged, a grave expression
crossing his face. She understood his conundrum. Regardless of who
brought the pages together, Malus or her father, the fracture could
be inadvertently opened and all Hell could break loose.
Literally.

“
Do you know what our scroll
said?” she asked of the page that had dwelt in the demon
city.

His eyes lit up, gaze meeting hers, and
he cracked a small, humble smile. “Yes.”

She grinned back. “Well? What did it
say?”

He turned his face upward, his thick,
dark brow crinkled in concentration. His baritone voice
recited,

“
I am legend,

I am lore,

I am the essence of
nightmares,

The dawn of fear,

A fallen angel,

A winged beast,

Spawn from the seeds of evil
and black magic,

I am Lucifer,

Lord of the
dark.”

The dark poetry bled from his lips,
sending a shiver down Ever’s spine. Her grandfather’s words. His
legacy, spun like gold from her father’s mouth.

“
That…was beautiful,” she
whispered, certain she saw her father blush. “What does it
mean?”

“
That’s the problem,” he
started, grimacing. “One page—one sonnet—is useless without the
others. But when brought together…”

“
Wouldn’t they all have to
be spoken aloud? Like an enchantment?”

He bobbed his head once, but still
looked unconvinced. “Yes, I suppose. I just don’t know if I should
do it. Maybe it’s the biggest mistake I’ll ever make. I don’t know
if I should take that chance.” His eyes closed and his hands
wringed in torment.

“
Daddy,” Ever began, taking in a
steadying breath. “Sometimes you have to take chances in life. You
can’t dwell on what
might
be. If you live that way—you’ll never truly live, do you
understand? Life isn’t about the risks you don’t take; it’s about
the journey and the mistakes in between. Life isn’t looking for
you—it’s out there, waiting for you to find it.”

He stood, his arms open and tears
gathering into the corners of his eyes. Ever rose, meeting him
halfway, embracing him.

“
How did
I
get such a smart, beautiful daughter?” he
asked quietly, stroking her long silver hair.

She laughed against his chest. “Must
have gotten it from my mother.”

Suddenly the races didn’t seem so bad.
If the winner was awarded with the chance of living again, Fate had
to find it in herself to accept the grotesque competition as a
positive thing—as disgusting as it was.

It was obvious who she was rooting for:
the feisty girl in the pink dress. Already she’d proven far more
resourceful than the rest, what with using the trailing intestines
of others as a lasso and roping them like babies calves. Unlike the
rest of the zombies, she seemed to be the only one strategizing.
Planning her attacks.

“
How many times do they have
to run around the track?” Fate inquired, her voice low as she
leaned into Vale.

“
Three,” he replied, his
eyes focused intently on the arena below.

Fate held her breath a moment as one of
the larger zombies set his sights on the girl in the pink dress. He
swung his large, lumbering arm in her direction. The girl ducked,
but only narrowly missed being struck by a powerful blow. The giant
zombie then swung the same arm at another competitor, hitting the
poor soul in the face thus sending its head flying off of its body.
Fate gasped, holding her hand to her mouth and taking deep breaths,
hoping she wouldn’t faint.

To her chagrin, the crowd, including
Vale, laughed hysterically at this. Fate scowled at him, but he
pretended not to notice.

“
The contestants are
rounding the last lap!” the announcer yelled excitedly through the
loudspeaker as the group of dwindling zombie runners persevered
round the arena. Only seven remained in the race. The bodies of
five, damaged beyond repair, lay inert on the track.

An uninvited flutter of excitement went
through Fate’s stomach as her favorite little zombie raced ahead of
the others. Tattered pink dress streaming behind her, a glow of
determination graced her decomposing face. But the pack of rabid
zombies behind her had suddenly picked up pace—and appeared to have
a plan. Working together, four of them ganged up on the young girl,
charging her from several directions.

“
No,” Fate whispered under
her breath.