Rise of the DarkWalker: The Chronicles of Carter Blake, Book II

The wizened elf sat cross-legged before a fire inside the teepee. Pine scented smoke drifted upward from the small crackling flames. The elf escorting Carter pointed to the opposite side of the fire from him and slipped out to be with the rest who’d escorted him. The Walker scratched at a cluster of mosquito bites on his forearm. ‘Imperious fuckers.’ He glanced to the elf at the fire, watching him with a serene expression, and then sat on an animal skin rug opposite of him.

He cocked his head to the left. “Do you speak my language?”

The white-haired being jabbered a musical string of sounds Carter couldn’t understand.

He threw his hands up. “Fucking hells.” He slumped back and crossed his arms. “Why would this guy be any different.” He heaved a sigh.

The elf blinked at him, calm and unimpressed.

Carter dropped his hands to his hips and gazed into the fire. The orange and gold flames licked hungrily at the artful pile of logs. The crackle was soft and steady, soothing. The pine scent mixed in a pleasant fashion with the earthy smell of the ground beneath them. Light cast a warm, golden glow against the canvas walls, where shadows danced in time with the flames.

A small draft made him glance up in time to see the elf moving his fingers in small motions as he chanted something in his musical language.

“Can you understand me, Walker of Worlds?”

The voice cut through the silence like a blade. He jumped to his feet and drew his sword. He angled the blade in a defensive posture as he spun in place, casting his gaze over everything in the shelter. Shelves of delicate, crystal vials held glowing liquids, silvery threads of gossamer traced blinking symbols he’d never seen before, and a turquoise mirror showed flickering images of other worlds. ‘No one else is here. Where did that voice come from?’

A soft chuckle made him return his gaze to the elf who watched him move around.

“I have cast a spell of understanding, Walker. We may more easily communicate.”

Carter cleared his throat as he winced. ‘Translation spell. Of course.’ A tingling swept up the back of his neck and over his cheeks as they warmed. “That’s embarrassing.”

Though he muttered the words, when he turned to face the elder, he detected a faint smile on the wizened elf’s face.

“Sit.” The elf gestured opposite of him where Carter had sat before. “Please.”

He sat and met the elder’s pale blue eyes. “Why did you call me ‘Walker of Worlds?’”

“Because I see your soul. You are the Keeper of Balance.”

“Wh-what d-do you mean?” His voice was breathless as he stammered.

“You are guardian of order and justice with the power to slay or banish gods.”

Carter's throat tightened. The word "slay" echoed in his mind, absurd and terrifying. He had faced demons, yes. But gods? He shook his head, as if trying to shake off the weight of the elf's words. “Wait, wait, wait.” Carter raised his hand. “What do you mean, ‘slay gods?’ That’s crazy.”

“As crazy as spending time in the Abyss, hunting and killing demons?” The elf watched him, waiting for his response.

“Demons are different from gods. Lower level in power.”

He remembered cutting down L’Arc demons with ease. A Tigellio was bigger, but almost easier. They mainly had size whereas the L’Arcs had seduction, and shape shifting.

“Some aren’t.”

“I’ve not encountered any.”

“They exist, Walker.”

Carter rubbed his fingernails through his beard. “Alright, assuming I accept your words as true, why?”

“That is your legacy and duty, Walker.” The elf reached into a bag next to him that Carter hadn’t noticed before. He withdrew a pipe and stuffed it with an aromatic herb before lighting it with a twig from the fire. “Your line was created to battle gods who’d become too far gone and abandoned their portfolios.”

“That’s not explaining why.”

“The progenitors decided it.”

Carter leaned back, mouth open. He blinked for several seconds and then closed it. The elder watched him, smoking his pipe.

“Ho–?” He stopped, blinked more. “Wh–?” Again, he stopped.

“Are you well, Walker?”

“I’m still trying to process.” Carter rose and paced around in the teepee, listening to the murmur of outside voices.

As he walked, the runes on the canvas glowed and changed colors. After a couple of passes, he noticed they flashed in time with his heartbeat. ‘Cool.’ He took a deep breath and spotted something moving in the mirror he’d noticed earlier.

He crossed to it and saw ships travelling through space firing lasers. ‘Whoa. Reminds me of Star Trek or Star Wars.’ A blink, and a woman in an all-white suit flying through the air above a futuristic city appeared before him. He leaned closer, resting his hands on the plinth before the mirror. ‘That both looks like Earth, and not. Maybe it’s in some distant future? How is she flying? If she can fly, maybe I can kill a god. Or many, if necessary.’

As Carter leaned closer to the mirror, the image shifted. The futuristic cityscape faded, replaced by an infinite darkness, swirling and alive. From within the abyss, two pinpoints of burning light—eyes, vast and ancient—emerged. They locked onto him, their searing gaze cutting through the void, through time, through the mirror itself. A deep, guttural rumble echoed in his ears as if the very universe was growling. Shadows twisted and writhed around the eyes, coiling like serpents, and Carter felt the weight of something immense—something watching, waiting. The air in the teepee thickened, and the fire dimmed as if even the flames feared that presence.

A great weight fell on his shoulders and the hairs on his body stood. He shivered.

“Walker?”

Carter’s heart leaped into his throat as the elf’s papery voice pulled his attention away from the mirror. He spun around, wide-eyed, breath catching in his chest as his mind scrambled to understand what he’d seen at the end.

“Have you finished processing?”

“N-no.” He pointed at the mirror. “What the fuck was that?”

“That’s is the Mirror of Possibilities. It shows some things that may come to be.” The elder waved his hand. “Do not let it bother you.”

“Easy for you to say. You’ve gotten used to stuff like that.” He ran his fingers through his rumpled dark hair. “They don’t have things like that in the Abyss. Not even in Haavastaad’s realm.”

The elf raised his eyebrows at Carter’s revelation, but didn’t follow up on it. He stretched out his legs and yawned. “Walker, are you still processing the progenitors, and your role in their design?”

Carter sighed and sat by the fire again, running his fingers through his dark hair. “I’m trying not to.”

The elder raised his bushy eyebrows. “Why is that?”

Carter stared into the fire without seeing the flames. “Where I’m from, progenitor means one that begins, an originator.”

The other nodded. “Yes?”

He raised his eyes to the swamp elf. “Something that came before the gods?” He shivered. “That’s overwhelming.”

“Why are gods and demons something you can accept, but something which came before is more difficult to?”

Carter laced his fingers together and leaned on them. “I’ve met demons and gods. Not progenitors.”

The elf laughed until he coughed smoke. “Ah, youth.”

Carter ignored the outburst and coughing. “Elder, what are the progenitors?”

The elf raised a finger as his coughing faded away. He wiped tears from his eyes and conjured a waterskin and drank deeply. Trickles of water ran down the sides of his mouth. He lowered the skin and swiped the wasted water away with the back of his hand. He offered it to Carter with a slight shake, and when he shook his head, the elf set it beside him.

“The progenitors,” the elf said, his voice a soft hum, “are the architects of everything. They crafted the worlds, the stars, and all that fills the void. The gods are their creations, mere caretakers of the universe’s endless cycles. But some gods forget their purpose.” He leaned forward and placed a boney finger on Carter’s chest, above his heart. “That is where you – and your ancestors – come in.”

A commotion outside drew their attention. Carter rose, hand on his sword, and glanced at the elder. The elf, wrinkled face set in a stern expression, nodded. The Walker ducked under the teepee’s flap into the evening light. He shaded his eyes against the glare of the setting sun. Shadows grew long on the ground as the evening light penetrated the canopy of trees.

Moss-covered, dome-shaped houses – constructed of branches, mud, and stretched bark – clustered around a plaza with a communal fire pit. Swamp elves clustered around a band of warriors – the same ones who’d brought Carter here - holding the ends of ropes which bound a woman. They wrapped around her torso, and arms behind her back. Her sweat soaked brown hair clung to her red cheeks. Dirt and bruises marred her freckled face. The blue surcoat she wore was torn and muddy. The leather of her trousers were scuffed at the knees.

“I’m going to kill you.” Her rich, alto voice, though hoarse with anger, was clear and strong. Sweat rolled down her face, drawing lines though the dirt, as she fought the ropes. A mighty yank tugged an elf closer as he over-corrected when yanking back. As he stumbled closer, she snapped at him like a wild dog. He pulled away just in time.

‘Almost got him that time.’ Carter smiled. ‘I like her spirit. She’s a warrior of some kind.’ He looked over the elves holding her. ‘None seem to have any weapons she might have carried. Is she a brawler, or other kind of hand-to-hand fighter?’

One of her captors turned towards the elder’s teepee and yelled something in their musical language.

Carter glanced over his shoulder to see the wrinkled hand of the swamp elf leader holding the teepee flap up before he glided out as graceful as a swan.

The elves struggled with the ropes as the woman continued to fight. When she’d get a foot under her, one would yank her bindings to knock her off balance and back to the ground. She yelled and cursed and started all over again.

Carter strode over. “What’s going on?” His bass rolled over the crowd, quieting them, and caused the woman to pause her struggles.

“The guards caught her sneaking through our territory and she attacked them.” The elder watched her fighting the ropes.

“Bullshit.” She spit the word. “I was travelling through the woods, and they attacked me. I merely defended myself.” She shifted from side to side, trying to free her arms.

“Please, calm yourself, miss.” Carter squatted and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Allow me to find out what’s going on here.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“My name is Lavitz. I’m called ‘The Patchwork Knight.’”

She paused and looked him over. The leather brigandine over his torso was scarred, pitted and patched. The repairs went from almost invisible to obvious and ragged. They were done by different levels of skill. His faulds and tassets were similarly rough. The edges of his vambraces and greaves were frayed and jagged.

“So you are.” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you allied with my captors, sir?”

He shook his head. “Not yet, but I’m hoping to be.” He glanced over to the elder. “Despite learning more about myself, I originally came here as a favor to an ally.”

She stopped her struggles. “I’ll wait for a bit. See if you’re a man of his word.” She leaned forward as much as the elves would allow her to whisper in his ear. “If you betray me, I will get free, and I will hunt you down.” She moved back to stare into his eyes from inches away. “And I will kill you.”

‘The way she said that last says she’s deadly serious.’ He nodded with all the solemnness her statement demanded.

He returned his attention to the elves, a bit surprised they’d waited patiently for him to finish talking with their prisoner. The elder waited with his hands behind his back as serene as he’d been the entire time Carter had been here.

He slid over to Carter as if he walked on the air. “Walk with me, young man.”

Carter raised his right eyebrow, but didn’t question the elf’s choice.

The elder conjured a gnarled wooden cane and set off past the gathering of houses. Carter followed after and the woman called out.

“What about me? Don’t leave me like this!”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Relax. I’ve got this.”

“What?”

“You’ll be fine. I promise. Just cooperate.”

He then hurried to catch the old elf who moved gracefully through the thick, moss-covered roots, his gnarled hand resting lightly on his twisted cane. Carter struggled to match his fluid pace as his boots sank into the muck. Mist clung to the trees, draping their ancient, gnarled branches like ghostly shrouds, and the distant croak of unseen creatures echoed through the dark swamp. Sweat clung to his face and neck as the humidity kept it tight to his skin.

He stumbled on the uneven terrain while the elder glided over root and water as if the swamp was a part of him. He slapped at mosquitos biting him and frogs croaked – a deep, echoing sound that seemed to reverberate the stillness.

The heavy scent of decaying wood and wet moss filled the air, mixing with the musty odor of stagnant water.

“Hcrot.” The command word brought a light torch from his glove of holding. It crackled as flames danced along the oil-soaked cloth, casting flickering light and shadows across the surrounding waters and hillocks. Its orange and yellow tendrils twisted upwards, licking at the darkness, while the scent of burning wood filled the air.

Something he missed splashed in the fetid liquid as the sudden light startled it. Moths, drawn to the light, sparked into nothingness as his motioned caught them in the flames.

He cast a glance at the elder, who strode ahead with the ease of someone who belonged here, his gnarled wooden cane tapping soundlessly on the earth.

‘Is it magic that makes him so light on his feet, or something else? Either way, I can’t shake the growing sense that the swamp itself recognized the elf as one of its own. Meanwhile, it seems intent on making my every step a trial.’ He wiped the sweat from his brow, and retrieved his water skin from his belt on the other side of his scabbard. He drank some of the warm liquid before putting the lid back on and rehanging it from his belt.

His breath quickened, frustration bubbling in his chest as he hurried to catch up. The mist swallowed the sounds of distant voices from the village behind them, and for the first time since arriving, Carter felt truly alone in this eerie, ancient place.

After stumbling behind the elder for a couple of hours, Carter reached out to a tree and used its trunk to catch himself from falling. He panted under the oppressive humidity. He armed sweat from his face again, but as before, it didn’t help. His legs burned from his march as he leaned against the tree. ‘Hell of a workout, wandering through a swamp.’

The moon, hanging like a judging eye, illuminated the clearing before them. The elder waited for him in the middle of the glade, both hands resting on his cane. ‘I bet that’s merely for show.’ Carter shook off the uncharitable thought and pushed away from the tree. ‘I think this is the most cardio I’ve done without fighting since I’ve been here in the Realm.’

Carter walked through the clearing until he stood before the elder. “Why are we out here?”

“It is time you knew who you are, Carter Blake. And what that means.”

Carter’s left eyebrow arched. The elder sounded like a different elf out here. Before, his papery voice indicated his age, but after the trek through the swamp, he know sounded young and full of life.

“Why do you sound different?”

The elf gave him a faint smile. “What do you mean?”

“A test of my observational skills?” Carter tilted his head and then nodded. “Alright. Back in the village, you stood with a slight slump as if the years weighed on your shoulders. Your voice was thin and aged, and your eyes seemed clouded by the firelight in your teepee. After our walk, you’re more erect, your voice is full and deep, and your eyes bright and clear under the moonlight.” Carter made a show of glancing around the swamp. “I’m betting you’re mystically tied to this wetlands, and our hike has revitalized you.”

The elder’s smile widened. “Very good, Walker.” He moved around his companion. “You are correct. You’re also not covering your identity.” He stopped inches from Carter’s nose. “Is it because you’ve decided to trust me?” He stepped back and shook his head. “No. Not fully. You’re curious, but wisely, your hand hasn’t strayed far from the hilt of your sword. Your legs are slightly spread and you’re resting your weight on the balls of your feet, ready to leap into a fight in a second.”

Carter shrugged. “A habit of mine. I’ve always got to be ready. I’ve been ambushed many times. Including by those I’ve thought were allies, or potential ones.” He paused. “In Bisquine, I spoke to who I thought was the commander of a Fist of Keldur’s paladins, but he turned out to be a demon in disguise, and he somehow teleported me into another location.”

The elder drummed his fingers on the top of his cane, brows furrowed. “Did you go back to deal with him?”

Carter shook his head and lifted his legs, trying to get the tightness out of them. “Nah. My friends took care of him.”

The elf wrinkled his nose. “How did they know about this demon?”

“They were with me, and when I didn’t return, they’d have entered his office and then discovered it.”

The elder raised his right eyebrow. “Fascinating.”

Carter smirked. “Agreed, Mr. Spock.”

“I cry your pardon?”

Carter chuckled and shook his head. “From my world. Never mind.”

“Ah.” The elf nodded. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I brought you out here.”

“Indeed.” Carter slapped a fly on his arm that was biting him. “This swamp of yours doesn’t like me.”

A faint feeling niggled at the back of Carter’s mind, that he had forgotten something. He leaned his head to the left, and frowned at the ground. Tendrils of mist from the swamp swirled around his legs. Clouds of tiny bugs spun about his face until he waved them away. ‘I came here for something else. Not to learn about my abilities, though that information is handy, but something else. Something important.’

He paced through the moonlit meadow trying to catch the illusive thought. ‘Somehow he knows my real identity and that I’m the Walker of Worlds. He also knows what that means, it seems, or at least part of it.’

Silvery light spilled over the landscape, casting long shadows that danced among the tall grasses and vibrant wildflowers, which shimmered like stars scattered across the ground.

‘But, I came to his village for something else. Damn it, why can’t I remember? Is it due to a spell, or was the rush of information and that vision in the mirror too much?’

The dark waters of the swamp mirrored the moon's brilliance, rippling gently as if whispering secrets to the night. The croaking of frogs provided a rhythmic symphony, punctuated by the occasional rustle of nocturnal creatures stirring in the underbrush.

A flash of a thick beard, a bare chest and green tights popped into his head. ‘Aquaman?’ His eyes widened. ‘Shit, no. Amando! Prince of the Mer.’

The weight of his mission came flooding back. He had not ventured into this forsaken land to learn about his place in the Realm or unlock some grand destiny. No, his true mission was far simpler—and far more urgent. He had come to retrieve Amando’s ancestral weapon, Conker’s Blade. It was the Prince’s condition for aiding Adora in her war with Drago the Clanless. Guilt gnawed at him as his stomach burned. He had let himself get lost, distracted by whispers of who he really was while the one person who counted on him more than almost anyone waited on the brink of destruction.

“By all the hells, I just remembered.” Carter felt his face warm. “I’m here for someone else, not me.”

The elder had his nose buried in the glowing petals of a flower with petals that were a kaleidoscope of colors which shifted subtly in the moonlight, like liquid rainbows caught in a gentle breeze. He glanced over to Carter, shimmering pollen caught on his smooth cheeks.

“Ah, yes. I was afraid of that.” He set it down. Delicate, shimmering filaments spiraled from the flower’s center, releasing tiny sparkles that floated lazily through the air, resembling starlight descending upon the meadow. He straightened, once again resting his hangs on the top of his cane.

“You have a choice before you.”

Carter stared at the elder. ‘Does he look younger now?’ He rested his hands on his hips. “No. My choice has been made.”

The elf raised his hand. “Wait for a moment, Walker.” He lifted his cane and collapsed it between his hands. “Hear me out.” The now smaller cane went between his lips, and the he lit the end like it was a cigarette. He waved his hand to a large hillock. “In there, you will find your answers.” Smoke came from his nostrils. “The choice before you is what you take inside with you.”

Carter stroked his chin. ‘The old beard is getting thicker and longer.’ He shook off the irrelevant thought. And dropped his hand. “Where did that tor come from?”

“It has been here, waiting for you to be ready to see it.”

The Walker of Worlds drew in a sharp breath through clenched teeth. “What do you mean by the choice is what I take inside with me?”

The elder gave him a small smile. “What is in your heart is what you will find inside.”

His eyes glowed a faint green as he raised his cigarette. A pulse of emerald erupted from his body and he was gone, leaving behind only the faint scent of damp moss and a swirl of mist where he once stood, his presence erased as if he had never been there at all.

Carter blinked against the fading light, a curse caught in his throat as his grip tightened on his sword. His jaw clenched as he stepped forward, as if the elder might still be there, but only silence and swamp mist greeted him.

"Kellün’s balls!" Adora’s favorite curse was growled under his breath, the questions he'd meant to ask now hanging heavy in the stagnant air, unanswered and slipping further from reach.

He faced the hillock fully. The cave mouth yawned from the side of the hillock, half-obscured by hanging vines and slick with moisture from the swamp’s ever-present mist. He stood at its edge, scanning the uneven ground for signs of disturbance, his instincts prickling with caution. The air smelled of wet earth and something faintly sour and unfamiliar. He knelt briefly, running his hand over a patch of flattened reeds near the entrance, then glanced up at the dark tunnel beyond. His sword remained loose in its sheath, but his every sense was alert—if there were traps, they’d be hidden well in a place like this.

He crossed the threshold of the cave and was swallowed by the darkness.