Happy New Year, everyone. Here's chapter 9. Please email me your comments!! They really let me know whether or not this work is worth the effort. You can also view my webpage at http://spiffy_psycho.tripod.com. There's naughty words and some sex scenes, so if you're under 18.. well, you know the rules. It's your butt, not mine. ;) Thanks for reading!
The Dark One
by David M. Roduner
"How glorious is the sea!" Mahou gleefully souted into the wind. The Mist Weaver happily swam about the dancing weaves, reaching its far northern destination league by league.
The glorious sun beat down upon the great Insi Ocean. Its golden rays gaily reflected down upon the sea's clear blue waters. The salty air sang a song of its own, joyfully rejoicing its part in this circle of time, long before the poisoning of all things natureal. The Goddess was surely smiling down upon them!
While Mahou rejoiced in the glory of life and its boundless beauty, Roland had a slightly different view. This happened to be over the side of the ship, accompanied by a rather green face. If Roland had bothered to look away from his nauseated misery, he would not have missed the glorious blue-grey mountains surrounding Calamon's castle in his country of Frivesland, slowly growing smaller. He also would have easily spotted the grey-cloaked figure atap a hirse watching their proud departure. "How I wish the sea would stay still!" lamanted the land-loving Roland. Mahou laughed heartily and patted the older man on his back.
"The ocean is calm today, my friend," laughed Mahou, irresistably joyful as always. Roland suddenly gasped, forgetting his pathetic, seasick disposition. Mahou eyed his companion, smiling broadly. "What is it, my friend?" he inquired.
"I saw a shark fin!" Roland shouted, jumping away from the side of the boat in fear. Mahou eyed his friend curiously, for sharks never inhabit water this shallow.
The Cardinal was waiting. It was five minutes past eight o'clock. He tapped his foot impatiently. Apparently, his black mailer had no intention on showing up. Just as well! The Cardinal sat up and prepared to leave, but was interrupted by the rude pounding of riding boots upon the cold grey stone floor. The Cardinal lifted his naturally-frosted eyebrows to meet the frenzied image to meet a dark-grey cloaked figure, covered with mud and drenched with sweat. The Cardinal sat down into his chair with a grunt and a sigh. His eyes closed partially, but immediately opened again to mask his surprised upon seeing the cloaked figure removing his mud stained hood. The Captain of the Riders, Alexander, gave a half, barely respecable bow to the Cardinal. "You received my little note, I see," Captain Alexander said quietly. The Cardinal nodded impartially in response. "My Lord, I can see the powers turning. The Great Mørkt Servio..." The Captain paused, craftily noting the Cardinal uncomfortably switching positions in his chair. "-is no longer great. In fact, he is naught but a folly!" The Cardinal laughed quietly to himself at this brash outburst. "I know that.. God, of course, has chosen you to lead Frivesland away from this foolish peace with Serlatùn! Only one man is great enough for this glorious position" The Cardinal carefully observed Captain Alexander, concluding his logical movement. "But," the captain paused, "this great man neeeds a second in command. He needs a second set of ears to hear the waggling tongues of his citizens in order to hold them in their proper place. He needs a pair of eyes to observe the evils of Serlatùn so that we may eradicate it properly. He needs another proboscis to smell the mutinous stench of those opposed to him. But most of all, he needs a second mind to plot along with him - all in the name of the Lord, of course!"
The Cardinal smirked and provided a slow, dramatic applause for the now uncloaked rider. "Oh what a cunning general I have! I am qute sure that he will make my army victorious. For if he does not, I am quiter sure that our Lord shall spite him as if he were the husband of Mosdor, glancing back to the land of Romogath, and then becoming antpepper for my steak." The newly appointed general nodded in comprehension of the seriousness of this threat.
"My good Lord Cardinal," General Alexander said finally, breaking the tense silence, "I know the location of the infedels of whom you seek." The Cardinal had rasied a golden chalise of Egparberry wine to his lips, brewed in 463 GM (a very good year, mind you!), but immediately spilled the very expensive liquid. He coughed violently, beating his chest.
"Where?" the Cardinal managed to finally spit out. The General stood, enjoying his newly assigned position. "Where?!" screamed the Cardinal in madness. The General blinked his eyes as he was violenly robbed of his glorious reverie.
"The sail on the ocean northwards, towards Guidh Insi," the General calmy replied.
"Or to Crìocha Tuaisceartacha. General, we must fly like the wind!" The Cardinal grabbed Alexander by his cloak and sped out of the chapel and to the stables. He hastily ordered his Holy Coach to race to the pier.
Stefen Jotes slammed his fist on his conference table. Damn! The brutes had failed to destroy the infiltrators. But the battle was not a total loss. Roger the White had been stung by the bite of the Dark One. He would soon die with a soul tainted by the venom of his Dark Lord. Stefen managed to snicked over this triumph over the light. In the end, he would be victorious. After all, he was the right hand of the glorious Dark One! No longer an illex. They were invincible. Triumph was inevitable for one so great and unfathomable to petty humans. If these pathetic mortals continued on their course, thou gh, the rejoining would be required. But that would not be for some time! The great Dark One was fated to dominate this sphere.
Stefen sat down in his oversized leather chair at the head of the conference table and patiently brushed his long blonde bangs out of his eyes as he buzzed for his secretary. She quietly and unobtrusively entered the room, practicing her art for yet another day. "How may I help you this morning, sir?" Stefen's wicked eyes met hers, and malice flashed in them.
"Contact the cleaner and hell her to meet me in an hour and fifteen minutes," Stefen responded.
"Kim shuddred at the mention of that woman's name, but nodded and stepped out of the room quietly, but only after confirming, "At 9:30 then, sir?" Stefen nodded affirmitively.
"Wake up, sir!" Cor frantically said, shaking John from his sleep. Roger the White sat on som emoss, observing any oncomers. The party of three had elected to rest near to the Park of Seasons. John strestched rudely and yawned, blinking his eyes sleepily.
"No need to be so dramatic," John finally yawned in reply. John slowly stood and observed where they were. He paced around th ewood, deep in thought. He suddenly looked over to Roger. "I can never go home, can I? I can never the the man that I was. Never again."
"No, I'm afraid not. You feel it too, do you not?" responded the white wizard. John simply nodded in response.
The Cleaner had found John's home and was cleaning it. Childhood memories were whisked away in moments with her clinging heands. She was not a woman to be trifled with. Well muscled and full of hatred for the world and for herself, she was another montrous addition to the Dark One's collection of brutes. She was created with the worst kinds of memories: rape, murdered children, cowering in fear from a drunken husbandd, getting even, yet feeling no joy from one's violent wrath.
It is strange how men only see what they wish. For instance, no one missed her breasts when walking down the street. Yet her pointed ears were never noticed. Nor was her well-oiled and razor-sharp axe, a great tool in her destruction. Her waist length supernatural blue hair nearly always blinded her enemies.
But the Cleaner had no enemy in sight today. This morning she was erasing this boy's existance. He would have no choice but to continue his journey and meet his final destination: doom. She snickered to herself as she cleaned out his house. Another man gone. One less pin in her back, one less bad memory. One day she could sleep and be free from this pain for all time. But hack until that well-deserved rest came!
Mørkt stirred in his sleep, drabbing for his dark amulet. But it was done. He howled in anger as he awoke. His guard raced to see the problem. Mørkt blinked, finding his amulet lying rather dormantly on his chest. Mørkt mismatched the guard and searched his thoughts, very suspicious. A bit away from the castle the Cardinal was being congratulated by his second in command, General Alexander.
"I am telling you," Mahou repeated patienly, "sharks do not inhabit water this shallow."
"A I am telling you," countered Roland, "I saw one!" Suddenly, the Mist Weaver shuddered amidst the calm sea. "What the bloody hell is going on?!" Roland cried in fear.
Mahou keep his cool, running to look over the side of the ship. "Oh, this isn't very good at all. I guess you were right, my friend." Roland ran over to his compainion and was greeted by a horde of Woodsharks. "I fear our journey may have been cut short. These are the Woodshark.. they enjoy the taste of boats, and the rats that come with it. And this boat is made of a fine wood stock, the lavwood tree!"
The Woodshark were indeed strange visitors. They were a clan who inhabited the deepest of waters. They fed upon sunken ships as a vulture feeds upon corpses. Their skin is a bluish-grey color, reflecting their surroundings. Those living in our sphere could easily compare them to the blue shark, with a major exception. On the tip of its nose was extra cartilidge extending in both directions, forming an axe-like shape. This shape aids in splitting its ligneous meal.
Roland emitted a blood-curdling scream. One of the Woodsharks had grabbed onto the foremast and begin to greedily bite away at it. "I think we are in trouble," Mahou said quietly.
Roland rolled his eyes and ran below deck. Thinking quickly, he grabbed a loose board from the hull and ran on deck again. "Get off.." Roland grunted, running towards the shark, "my boat!" Roland violently smacked the icthyic creature over the head with the loose board. "Get off my bloody boat!" Losing patience, the former courtier for King Calamon kicked the shark square in its jaw. Its teeth scraped loudly against the wood as it moved backward and seemed to defy gravity for a brief moment before it plummetted loudly into the sea.
The fallen woodshark joined its brothers. They joined in a circle, seemingly conversing. "This is not good," Roland rhetorically offered. Mahou was not about to argue. Mahou rubbed his fingers over his chin, deep in thought. "If only I had my lance, I would spear their wicked bodies," Roland continued dreamily.
Mahou glanced over at Roland amazedly. "Of course! Trimer!" With that, the short little pudgy Serlatùnian raced down below decks.
Roland was again confused. "But Trimer is just a legend! God of the Seas indeed! Stuff and nonsense!"
Just then, Mahou appeared again, panting for breath. "My ancestors would never lie to me! Here, you have breath in your body. Push it down into the sea and blow in it." Mahou gave Roland a collapsed horn, which he slowly extended down into the depths of the ocean. Then, pulling in a deep breath, he blew into the mouthpiece with all of his might, buzzing his lips emphatically. Not a sound was heard, though bubbles arose from the ocean from his efforts.
Running out of breath, Roland released the sea horn and pulled it into the ship. Then he waited. Mahou paced nervously across the deck and waited as well. They were soon rewarded by a giant.. what seemed like an earthquake. "But we're on the sea!" yelled Roland over the rumbling. Mahou, smiling, looked at Roland and patted him on the back assuredly.
"Who dares to call the Great King Trimer, God of the Seas?" A giant man emerged from the ocean, the top half of his body at least 6 feet tall. He was as old as time, his long hair and beard going past his nipples. He had a montrous, wrinkled chest. He pulled up his mighty trident and pulled himself onto a nearby rock. Looking into The Mist Weaver, he relaxed. "Oh, it is only you, Mahou. What the devil do you want? It has been far too long."
"I regret that today we cannot catch up. We are on a voyage to the north. But we seem to have a bit of a problem," he said, pointing to the sharks swimming around.
"The Woodshark clan is dormant at this time of year. There is something very queer about this. These are not their waters, my friend." King Trimer picked up one of the fish as if it weighed no more than a glass of water and peered at it carefully. "Its thoughts are not its own. This is a most unnatural marine visit they have greeted you with." The sea king then stared into the distance. "I think they were meant as a welcoming party." The Holy One neared to the Mist Weaver. The Cardinal smiled to himself. He would stop these troublemakers and claim all the glory and vengence that he so well deserved.