Chapter 17: The Blackened Isle

         They remained by the entrance into the volcano for some time. No one spoke a single word, but they shared the same thoughts. Kravitz’s sacrifice, the loss of the ruby, and Shenk’s parting act of heroism blew around in the storm of their minds. It all happened so fast, yet they could slow the events down and replay them over again like a torturous mental drama.

         “What have I gotten us into?” Grom asked aloud. His voice came like a rumble of thunder across the silent night sky. He was the first to speak since finding the outside world again. When they emerged, Grom fell against the side of the mountain and closed his eyes. He felt the rumbling of the rocks from deep within and heard the echoes of silent screams from those left for dead. His body began to shake, and he wrapped his arms around his knees to stop the convulsions.

         Neither Cloey nor Prescott knew what to say. Cloey sat by herself with her back turned away from them both. Tears rolled down her cheeks as the realization of loss solidified in her mind. Prescott paced back and forth along the ground, creating a line that separated the vast mountains from the rest of the world. His usual calm and collected attitude had left him, fleeing to somewhere that no longer existed.

         “I should never have done this to you all. I only wanted to save Anne’s life. How did things take such a terrible turn?” Grom asked. He buried his face in his knees to hide his doleful tears. The screams of torment bounced around his mind until he could no longer stand it. He cupped his hands over his ears, but even that failed to silence the cries.

         “We must not linger any longer,” Prescott spoke, breaking his silence.

         “Shenk is gone,” Grom whispered.

         “The longer we stand here, the closer Mortillus comes to ruling over us all,” Prescott said, still pacing back and forth, back and forth.

         “He was so innocent and caring. Why must the gods be so cruel?”

         “Astaroth has the ruby. He must have returned to Mortillus by now.”

         “Kravitz tried to save us. To save us all . . .”

         “Grom, are you listening?”

         Grom raised his head and stared at Prescott with empty eyes. Prescott held out his hand to Grom, but he refused to accept the help to his feet.

         “Leave him alone. We’ve been through too much,” Cloey said, refusing to look at them.

         “We have to move forward, Cloey! The ruby is on its way back to The Blackened Isle, and we are the only ones that can stop Mortillus. Astaroth has not yet won!” Prescott answered, turning in her direction.

         “We’ve lost, Prescott,” Cloey replied, “We’ve lost King Gregory. We’ve lost the amulet. We’ve lost the ruby. We’ve lost your brother, Kravitz, and Shenk. We’ve lost.”

         “I will not accept that!” Prescott shouted. His voice grew in an anger that no one had ever seen. Cloey jumped a bit, but she did not turn to see his rage-filled eyes.

         “Accept what you will, but where do we even go from here? Do you remember what Isac told you? No one knows the exact location of Mortillus. The island isn’t even on any maps. By the time we discover it and travel to a port city, the armies of The Blackened Isle may be released,” Cloey said.

         Grom reached up and pushed the top of his head down into his knees, hoping to wake from this wicked nightmare. Grom opened his eyes, hearing something moving along the ground beside him. Something tugged at a lace hanging down from his untied boot. His eyes fell to a fat-bellied rat, who held the lace between its teeth and yanked at it incessantly. Grom watched it with great curiosity. He wondered what such a creature would be doing out in an open, rocky wasteland with little food or water.

         “Then we will find a way to fight them back. We can raise the armies of Oneria and Anon to stop the threat before it spreads,” Prescott suggested. He stepped beside Cloey and stared down at her.

         “As simple as that? How long does it take to mobilize a grand force of soldiers? It would take months! And do you think that every large city would just march all their troops away because a dwarf, halfling, and half-elf said so? They’d laugh in our faces and turn us away! Even if they believed us, we would be too late!” Cloey snapped back, throwing her head around to stare Prescott in the eyes.

         The rat’s stomach dragged along the ground as it tugged at Grom’s boot string. Grom stretched out his hand and scooped up the rat. To his surprise the tiny animal did not try to flee or bite Grom. The rat watched him with its beady eyes and a twitching nose. Grom lifted it toward his face to get a better look.

         “What do you suggest? Do we just go home and wait for the dark elves to come knocking on our doors?” Prescott asked.

         “I don’t know!” Cloey shrieked. She stood in defiance of all the questioning and threw her hands into the air. “I don’t have any answers. I’m sorry that I can’t think of anything! I’m tired and I just want to go home!”

         “That is not an option anymore!” Prescott shouted back.

         Grom recognized the rat from somewhere before, but where? He opened up his hand and let it sit there with its tail hanging between his middle and ring finger. The curious creature watched him with those tiny black eyes, eyes that seemed to hold more than the desire for food.

         “We have to do something!” Prescott shouted.

         “What do you expect us to do!” Cloey screamed.

         The rat leapt from Grom’s hand and scurried off into the distance between Prescott and Cloey. Grom followed it with his eyes as it ran toward a stooping figure and into a clawed blue hand. The cloaked stranger lifted the rat with both hands and revealed a face lined with dark blue scales. The strange kobold Edwin cradled the rat against his face and kissed its nose.

         “Who’s my little Mildred? You, you are! You’re my little Mildred! My good little rat-rat!” Edwin said to the squirming creature as if it could understand his words. Both Cloey and Prescott stopped their bickering and turned to the blue-skinned sorcerer. Edwin continued talking to his pet, oblivious to their presence and glares. He rubbed Mildred against the side of his face and made more kissing noises.

         “What are you doing here?” Grom demanded. He pulled himself upright and marched to the crouched, cloaked kobold.

         “Come on now, Grommy. Why are you so angry?” Edwin asked. If there was any shred of sympathy in his voice, it went undetected by Grom.

         “Why am I angry? You don’t want to know my reasons for being angry!” Grom bellowed, raising his clenched fist in warning. Edwin neither recoiled nor even looked at Grom. His thin, yellowed claws ran through the tiny hairs on Mildred’s back. Grom pulled his hand back to strike the kobold between his eyes, but Prescott restrained him.

         “Grom, stop this. We need to focus on finding a way to stop Astaroth,” Prescott reminded him. Shades of his former calm returned to his voice and countenance, but the strains of this dire time remained.

         “So, you have business with the emperor of The Blackened Isle, do you? How very interesting and foolish,” Edwin thought aloud.

         “What do you know about Astaroth?” Grom asked. Edwin’s quick response surprised him. “Where is Mortillus and how can we get there?”

         “I know many things new and old. I can tell you things commonplace or things obscure. I know riddles and songs from centuries past and poems not yet written. I have seen artifacts from fallen kingdoms and created new marvels for future empires. Anything you wish to know I could offer you the answer,” Edwin replied with a smile.

         “You speak of riddles in riddles. What sort of knowledge do you possess about Mortillus?” Prescott asked.

         “I know plenty about the island,” Edwin answered.

         “Do you know the way?” Grom asked.

         “You wish to go to Mortillus? Even if I were to supply you with the directions, you would never make it to the island in time. No, things are too complicated now. Astaroth is on his way back, and he has the ruby. Do you even know what the ruby is for?”

         There was a general consensus of silent stares and shaking heads.

         “The ruby is going to be cut and placed into Astaroth’s sword. The sword and amulet are the two keys that will ultimately allow him to break the seal that keeps the evil on Mortillus,” Edwin began to explain.

         “Then how did he leave in the first place?” Cloey interrupted, “How did the dark elves and the orcs search for the amulet?”

         “The orcs lived outside of Mortillus,” Edwin began again, “However, the dark elves are another matter. I do not know what allowed them to pass through. All I do know is that Astaroth was unable to leave the island until he had possession of the amulet. Astaroth and two dark elves were the only ones to escape the island, and there are plenty more little dark skinned elvies to deal with. If Astaroth breaks the barrier, you can expect an army of a vast greatness. I can not even fathom the number of denizens that will descend upon this land. The end result will be Feldos’s ultimate destruction.”

         “It’s settled! We have to find a way to the island!” Grom shouted, punching the palm of his left hand and nodding his head.

         “Silly little dwarf man, did you not hear what I said before? You wouldn’t make it to Mortillus in time,” Edwin said with a curious smile.

         “There has to be something we can do!” Cloey cried, “I’m not going to give up after losing so much. There has to be a way to get to the island!”

         Cloey looked frantically between the serious-faced Prescott, the clenched-fist Grom, and the floating Edwin. None of them had any answers to the many questions that loomed around them like the thickness of the air. Silence prevailed for some time, each of the four standing around without even the tiniest glint of hope in their hearts.

         “Unless,” Edwin mumbled. They all turned at once, caught by the faint flickering light held within his deep-set eyes. They hung on that one single word, a tiny utterance that rolled through a jagged row of pointed teeth, and they stood in silence, waiting for him to finish. “There might be one other way, but this way is very dangerous.”

         “What way?” Grom asked, unafraid to question the unknown. The shadow of the rocky mountain slopes and the looming dark sky would not stop him, nor would the warnings of a blue-skinned sorcerer.

         “I can send you three to the Blackened Isle,” Edwin said.

         “Why didn’t you say this before? How?” Grom blurted out, interrupting the creature’s words.

         “I am able to send people and things to different places with the aid of my magic,” Edwin explained, “However . . .”

         “The process of teleportation is not something to practice lightly,” Prescott warned.

         “What’s the problem? If he’s got the magic, I say we use it!” Cloey exclaimed, nearly jumping into the air with excitement.

         “I do not think you understand the situation clearly,” Edwin began again. He took a deep breath and shook his head from side to side. “Let me explain this to you. There are factors that might disturb the casting of my spell. I have never been to Mortillus, and a spell of this magnitude works based on the caster’s own knowledge. To put it simply, I need to know where the place is in order to ensure the spell’s success. The other problem lies with the magical field placed over Mortillus. It keeps evil in, but it may also keep others out.”

         “So you’re saying that the spell might backfire?” Grom asked, his face showing a bit of concern.

         “If I send you to the island, I cannot be certain that you will all arrive in one piece,” Edwin said. He closed his eyes and said no more.

         Grom turned his eyes to his two companions, looking each of them in the eyes. In Prescott he saw past the wall of seriousness into the depths of his mind. Emotions of sadness, fear, and resolve all melted together in his icy blue pools. When he gazed into the emerald sea of Cloey’s eyes, he saw an overwhelming amount of terror. The ocean of her soul was drenched in the blood of loss.

         “Is this the same creature that provided you the map to the mountains?” Prescott asked.

         “Yes,” Grom said and nodded, “That’s the same kobold. How many blue-skinned kobolds have you met with such knowledge and power?”

         “Can we trust him?” Cloey asked, her voice shaking.

         “I don’t think we have any other choice,” Grom said. He bit his lip and turned back to Edwin, who floated as if standing on an invisible pillar.

         “There is no other way. We will take the risk and travel to Mortillus with your aid,” Grom said.

         “Very well,” Edwin whispered. He opened his eyes and placed Mildred on his shoulder. The three heroes watched and listened to Edwin, who held his hands out and whispered phrases in a raspy language. A crackling blue light spread from his palms and stretched toward them, creating a dome that encased them.

         A darkness fell before Grom’s eyes, leaving him with a feeling that he had never experienced before. Grom could think of few words to describe the desolation, the frigidity, the bleakness. There was no descent or ascension, no dread or aspiration. He felt only a death-like void gripping at every inch of his being. Souls rendered, minds shredded, existence torn. He and his companions drifted between life and death, sanity and madness, until a burst of golden light broke through. A brilliant, shifting arc dazzled like a momentary blaze of warmth, hope, enlightenment. They were thrust by a brutish, unknown force from the enveloping nothing onto the coldness of stone and soil. Unpleasant feelings of pain rushed through their limbs and every muscle and fiber of their being, returning their minds, bodies, and souls.

         Grom groaned and fought to open his eyes. At first he thought that his eyesight had left him, but he soon realized the ground beneath him was black like the choking air that surrounded them. He pulled himself up with the aid of his shaky, sore limbs and looked around. Darkness stretched forever onward in all directions. The rocky ground was blackened with death. The crash of waves in the distance broke through the eerie silence that took hold over the entire land. Signs of sick, decaying vegetation tore up through the ground, each sickly gray vine and root pulsing and struggling to grasp onto life. A blanket of pitch black swallowed the sky, not even allowing the light of the stars to fight their way through.

         He crawled on all fours along the rock, sharp points biting deep into his leathery hands like teeth. Drops of crimson red fell onto the ground, bringing a bit of color to the land. He grabbed Cloey’s shoulder, turning her over onto her back and placing her head in his lap. A smear of red ran across her shoulder like a stroke from a brush. He shook her in hopes of bringing her back around. “Come on Cloey, wake up.”

         “You’re hurting me, you smelly dwarf,” Cloey groaned and opened her bright green eyes. Those eyes danced about her surroundings, and Grom watched the look of horror spread across her face. “Where are we? Are we dead?”

         “Worse,” a voice from the distance echoed over the rising and falling of the waves. Prescott stepped forward, adjusting the sword at his side. “I believe the spell worked. We’ve arrived at the island of Mortillus.”

         “So the strange little kobold knew what he was doing after all,” Grom uttered.

         The ground shook and trembled beneath their feet, nearly sending Prescott tumbling over onto the field of awaiting teeth. Cloey grasped Grom’s arm and cried out in fear. The rumbling passed, leaving only the sound of the waves and their racing hearts.

         “What was that?” Cloey whispered, loosening her clutch.

         “I do not want to wait and find out. We must move forth at once,” Prescott said, lowering his hand to Cloey and Grom. Cloey took hold of the half-elf’s hand and stood on knobby knees. Grom pulled himself up, wincing at the pain from his lacerated hands. He clenched his fists and ignored the ache, looking ahead.

         “Where do we go?” Cloey asked.

         “There’s some sort of forest up ahead. I should be able to track a way through it and hopefully find where Astaroth is hiding,” Prescott replied.

         “The sooner we find him, the better,” Grom grunted. He pulled the axe from his back and strode over the rocks. Cloey pulled the obsidian dagger from her boot and clutched it in front of her with both hands. She followed Grom and walked alongside Prescott, who grasped the handle of his sword at all times.

         The inclined path toward the forest consisted of many more sharp rocks and little vegetation. Aside from the looming forest, Grom noticed that there were no trees growing out from the ground. Turning his head to the side, he saw the waves of murky water crashing against the black-sanded beaches. Nothing lay beyond the sea, except for an endless void that led to an unbecoming destruction.

         They came upon the edge of the forest within a short amount of time. The roots of the trees twisted and tangled along the ground, pulsing and moving in the same struggle for life. The thick trunks of the trees stood bare of bark in places that looked ripped or torn by some creature. They passed several trees with wide gaping holes filled with squirming colonies of white larvae and worms that crawled around one another in a massive feeding pit. Few leaves hung down from the branches and vines, and those that managed to survive resembled scraps of crumpled, aged parchment. The branches stretched forever up into the sky, tangling and meeting with one another and creating a netting that encased and enclosed those that dared enter.

         Prescott led the way through the dark, twisted woods. After walking a ways, Prescott knelt down to check the ground for tracks. He waved a hand in front of his face and a flicker of silver light appeared in the air in a small sphere. He held it in the palm of his hand to shed some light on the surroundings, but the darkness reached out in thin tendrils and seeped into the silver orb, choking out the light until it was no more than a fading ember.

         Something slithered along the ground and brushed against Cloey’s foot. She screamed and jumped, turning to stomp on whatever touched her. Something grazed her again, but this time it yanked her leg from under her and sent her down upon her stomach. She dug her dagger into the ground to help hold on, but she lost her grip and screamed as she felt her feet leave the ground. Grom and Prescott both turned, and their excellent eyesight fought the darkness enough to behold a thick vine wrapped around her ankle. Grom let loose a mighty cry and leapt forward with his axe, swinging in a mighty arc and cutting through the thick vegetation. Grom landed against the trunk of a tree, and Cloey fell from the air and collapsed into a mess of uprooted plants. Another creeping vine snaked toward them, but was cut down by Prescott’s shimmering blade.

         “Fade back to the shadows!” Prescott shouted. He opened his hand and a blinding flash of silver fell over the entirety of the forest, moving like a wave in the great oceans and pushing the darkness back like a lone, lost ship. The plants recoiled, and remained out of sight when darkness returned. “Quickly, we need to move!”

         Grom clutched his axe in one hand and ran over to Cloey. He helped her to her feet, and they ran after Prescott as fast as their legs would carry them. They raced onward through the dark, not stopping to check for tracks or to discern their direction. They jumped over roots and ducked under branches, fearing the possibilities of what could be pursuing them. Finally, having gone on too long, they came to a stop. Grom and Prescott leaned against the trunks of trees, and Cloey fell to her knees; they all drew in long, labored breaths.

         “How much further?” Grom asked, turning his back to the tree and resting his hands on his knees.

         “I do not know,” Prescott responded.

         They rested there for several minutes, each trying to muster up the strength in their limbs, but the traveling and battles of the last few weeks had taken their toll. Each of them yearned to lay their heads upon a fluffy white pillow and close their eyes to sleep.

         A rustling from above broke their silent dreams. Before they could react, veiled figures no larger than Cloey descended upon them in a rain of incomprehensible screaming and shrieking. Dozens of them swung down from the trees, clawing and biting at the three. They grabbed at anything they could get their fingers upon–hair, arms, bags, clothing. Unseen hands ripped and clawed at them with frantic urgency.

         Cloey screamed, but she could barely be heard over the raucous cries that flooded the enclosed canopy of the woods.

ID: 965055   (Rated: 13+) Chapter 18: The Dragon's Belly  The heroes fight their way to the dark castle in Mortillus... by The Lemon