Chapters:

Prologue: The Prophecy

They appeared in the town’s cow field overnight. Bells and melodies floated on the air to the town early the next morning, enticing all to attend. The bright colors of their tents shown out as the dawn broke, and the smell of sweets and crisping meat drew their audience like flies.

Quin loved carnivals. There was always some dark, reeking tent open in the evenings willing to horrify and disgust him (for a price). He raced through his chores for the day; the life of a farmhand was dirty and mindless work. Working for his uncle guaranteed him fair working conditions, but Quin knew that if Uncle Colum got wind of his plans, he would be given more work to do. Colum was not a fan of carnivals or those who worked them; “gypsies and thieves,” he would call them.

During their evening meal, Colum ranted about the “scum polluting their good grazing land.” Quin tried to maintain a straight face, but he dismissed his uncle’s remarks (as he usually did regarding most things), focusing on his meal. When he was finished eating, he stretched and gave a half-hearted attempt at an excuse to leave before exiting the hut, making his way towards the faint music down the road.

Quin entered the fray just as dust was breaking. A grin snaking along his face, he took in the business around him with a haughty air. He knew these types and how to deal with them: watch for pickpockets, don’t get distracted by the lavish performances, don’t fall for the gimmicks. He headed toward the rear of the setup to seek out his prize.

He found the shady green-colored tent near the “herbal enchantresses,” in other words, young women who sold concoctions of flowers and water as “herbal remedies to cure all ailments.” Chuckling to himself, he paid the measly fee to enter the small tent.

Shelves lined the inside of the tent, each shelf containing grotesque figures floating in jelly. Quin took a quick glance around and sighed. ‘Nothing new,’ he thought and instead turned his attention to the small tables spread across the area, loaded with various objects.

A black sword, the blade as dark as night, caught his eye. Grinning, he picked it up.

“A beaut,” a voice said from the shadows. Quin jumped slightly and turned, the sword hanging heavy in his hand. A slim man stepped out from behind a shelf, a sly smile on his face, a smile that did not seem to reach his eyes.

“Um, yes,” came the response and Quin placed the sword back on its table.

“Looking for anything…specific?” the man’s lips curled around his teeth with the last word before fading into his uncanny smile again.

“Just…browsing,” Quin replied, echoing the man’s cadence. Noticing this, the man frowned.

“Don’t break anything,” he warned, turning away and disappearing back into the shelves.

Quin watched the man leave his sight before continuing to peruse his merchandise. Most of it was the same drab items that were seen throughout most of the faire, trinkets and doohickeys that really didn’t do much but look flashy.

Quin turned to leave the tent, muttering under his breath, wondering if his uncle was right about these folk being scum. Before he could pass back through the entrance flap, he noticed a small box: nondescript, wooden, barely bigger than one of his hands. Quin took another step toward the exit but hesitated, casting a second glance at the box. Shrugging, he wandered over to it and picked it up. Heavier than he expected, he creaked open the lid. Inside were two black spheres; so dark that they appeared to suck the light from around them, but that was nonsense.

“Hmph,” Quin commented, looking around him for the wiry man again. Although they were definitely a gimmick, they were cool looking. “How much for this?” he asked to the empty air.

“Hmmmmm?” the man appeared from around another shelf, this time across the tent from Quin. Unnerved for a moment, Quin shook his head to clear it from wondering how the man had gotten there undetected. The man grinned, knowing he was about to make a sale and started toward the young man with that same eerie smile. “You wish to purchase?” His s’s made Quin’s hair stand on end and he involuntarily shivered.

“What do we have here?” He descended upon Quin like a bird of prey, swooping down upon him, ready to squeeze as much money as possible out of the boy. “You-” and he stopped short only a few steps away. The man was staring at the small box and his eyes narrowed. His lips involuntarily curled back from his teeth in almost a hissing position. “That…two silver.”

Quin started. From a con artist such as this, he expected a much higher starting price, even if it was a useless trinket. “Th-thirteen copper,” he spat back. Twenty coppers to a silver, he was lowballing to see if the man would go lower than this startling starting price.

“One silver: you get the box and a ticket for the faire. And you leave and never come back,” the man spat back.

Dumbfounded, Quin nodded and handed over one silver coin. The man passed him a ticket and ushered him out of the tent. Standing outside, a cool breeze washed over him. He stood for a moment, confused before shrugging, grinning to himself and walking off. Whatever was wrong with that man, Quin had profited and that made him happy.

---

Before exiting the faire, he looked around for something to spend the ticket on. There were various attractions but nothing that caught his eye. Most of them were aimed toward couples or children or people easily duped. Sliding the ticket and the box in his pocket, he figured he could return tomorrow and take another look during the daytime; and he headed towards the exit.

“Boy!” A cry came as he was passing a maroon tent. “Come here boy,” the voice insisted. Looking around, Quin realized the voice was addressing him and lifted the flap to the tent.

“Yes?” he asked to the darkness.

“Here boy, sit here.” Quin’s eyes adjusted to the dim light and he could make out a lone elderly woman sitting at a table, a small glowing orb in front of him. ‘Fortune teller’ he realized, chuckling that she had actually gotten him inside. ‘I have one ticket, might as well,’ he thought, sitting down at the table.

“Yes, you might as well or the world may be sorry,” the woman crooned. Taken aback for a moment, Quin raised an eyebrow and placed his ticket on the table. His hand brushed against the box and he noticed the cover was ajar.

“So you tell fortunes?” Quin asked, grinning. The woman gave him a glare which shut him up handily, his grin reduced to nothingness. “You’ll tell my fortune?” he asked, more seriously.

“That depends.”

“On?”

“On whether your fortune is worth telling.” The woman held out one hand to him.

Quin placed his dominant hand in hers, the other seeking his pocket to make sure his box was still there. Accidentally knocking it gently, he felt two plops as the balls dropped from their stand deeper into his pocket. The crone placed her other hand on the crystal ball and closed her eyes.

The crystal turned dark red, then bright blue and, finally black. Unimpressed, Quin looked away from the ball and down toward his pocket, reaching for the spheres with his unoccupied hand. As his fingers closed around his prizes, the woman’s hand clutched his tightly, her nails digging into his palm.

Quin protested, trying to pull his hand from hers but it seemed locked in place. The crone’s eyes shot open and he saw a deep abyss of nothingness where her eyes should be. Crying out in surprise, Quin jerked back but was again prevented movement by his clutched hand. The abyss stared through him and the crone opened her mouth.

At first, she only let out a low groan but it grew louder, soon echoing around him in the small tent, although how he did not know. Finally, the groaning ended and the old woman spoke:

“Darkness comes from the depths. It will cover the land in unspeakable horror. All will fall to its power. All shall quake with fear and be devoured…”

“Darkness? What depths? Who’s getting devoured?” Quin asked in a panic.

“Sir Quin embarks upon the quest to find the champion foretold. Only he may prevent the darkness. In Elsos, blond of hair and green of eye, marked with the sign of the Kalvos.”

“Kalvos? The ancient sages? Sir Quin? Lady, I don’t know what you’re trying to sell me, but I ain’t buying.” He dropped the spheres and used his now-free hand to try and pry her fingers away from his captured one.

“Transferred power is the key…”

The woman trailed off, blinking. Her eyes returned and her grasp weakened on his hand. Looking up at him with concern, she tried to speak. Quin had pulled his hand back and was leaning away from her, his eyes wide. “What…the hell…was that?” he asked.

“I…” the woman looked confused and disturbed. She was thoroughly unable to speak. She pushed the ticket back to him and shook her head, her mouth still hanging open. Her worried eyes followed him as he took the ticket back, scowling, and exited the tent.

As he left, he could hear the faint sound of crying coming from behind him. Shaking his head, he left the faire as fast as possible, heading back to the farm.

---

The next morning, Quin awoke with the sun shining brightly overhead, light streaming through the windows to his room. Glancing out the window, he noticed that the faire was no longer in the cow pasture. Odd, since they usually stay for at least three days.

“Uncle Colum!” Quin called back as he walked down the stairs. No response. Searching around, he found his uncle in the barn, leaning over an animal. As he came closer, he noticed the lamb in his uncle’s arms was dead.

“What happened?” Quin inquired.

“Some strange disease. Something. Never seen it before. Affected the others too. Not sure if they’ll live,” Colum motioned to the rest of the flock. “Hadn’t seen it before this morning either…”

Quin got a better look at the dead lamb. It had some sort of dark mold or infection around its mouth. The lamb’s tongue was completely black…Quin had never seen anything like this before. A sinking feeling washed over Quin and he began to sweat cold as a sickening, black thought crossed his mind.

‘Could this be…the darkness?’