The Dark Realm: The Edgewater Chronicles, #3

By Greg Cmiel

A year on the run with everything to lose.

 

The bad dream of the past fourteen months has morphed into a full-blown nightmare for Nikola and Lizzy. In a dizzying sprint halfway across the world, they prepare to face a vastly more dangerous foe—a triple threat not born of this world, and intent upon their utter defeat.

 

Sailing into the Bay of Kotor under the cover of night, they find themselves attacked by ancient magic before even setting foot on the rocky shore. The old country seethes with unexpected malice, and the path to their goal grows more difficult by the hour.

Nikola and Lizzy search for new allies to even the odds against the malevolent forces that await under the black mountain, but can they be trusted?

 

The lives of Lizzy's family hang in the balance as the last clash against the Ancient Ones unfolds. Can Nikola and Lizzy unlock the puzzle of their destiny before it's too late?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Greg Cmiel
• Release date: Oct 26, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393385677

Book preview

1

Spitting Fire at the Sky

The wooden fishing boat swayed gently as it pushed against the current, with cold waves lapping the side and puddling on the bottom of the boat. Nikola had long ago given up keeping his feet dry and resigned himself to chilly, wet toes for the remainder of the journey. The moon was nearly full but hidden behind a shifting patchwork of clouds darkening the early morning sky.

The sailboat entered the bay at the southern tip of the peninsula, leaving the wide Mediterranean behind and slipping in under the shadow of the black mountains that towered over the deep valley. The boat’s owner, his Great-Uncle Dusan, sang an old folk song as he worked the sails, steering the creaking boat up the waterway toward the rendezvous point. Nikola sighed. They were nearly a day behind schedule, and he wondered if anyone would be there to meet them.

Nikola, Papa, Lizzy, and Grandpa lay concealed under a heavy tarp that smelled of fish. Hidden from prying eyes, they hoped for a secret return to the old country as the inhabitants of the Bay of Kotor slept. They were warned to keep their heads down as other boats plied the early morning waters and there was no sure way to tell friend from foe. Strange days had come and rumors of a dark presence deep in the mountains of Montenegro had unsettled the region. Recent messages Papa had received from his cousin spoke of unusual things happening every day.

A young father with everything to live for climbed a tall peak and threw himself off. Animals cried out as if in pain and were restless from dusk until dawn. Children wandered away from mothers on shopping trips and were found staggering alone down deserted roads at night. Shadows appeared deeper and darker than ever before, though no one knew why. A curse seemed to have befallen the region and everyone was on edge, frightened by things that prowled the night.

Nikola pondered his own strange experiences since the plane had touched down in the old country. Whispered voices in empty rooms—lost spirits that wandered his daydreams, alone in the wilderness searching for home. Monstrous creatures that lurked in the dark places. A creeping dread of the vast forests to the north—a place he had never walked, leaves he had never seen nor touched—black woods on a bone-chilling night. Nikola hadn’t dared tell Lizzy; some uneasy feeling made him keep it to himself. He hoped it would all go away, maybe just a dark mood brought on by the stress of a year on the run. He made a mental note to talk to her about it soon.

Papa had reminded Nikola that Montenegro literally meant Black Mountains, and after a sneak peek from beneath the rough canvas, he had to agree. They were black all right, and filled with hidden dangers that he wished would remain so. They sailed past a church built upon the rugged coast and illuminated by the pale moonlight. Papa nudged Nikola with his elbow, and he dropped his hold of the canvas.

Nikola swiped his phone on to check the time—6:18. They’d been stuffed into this tight space for nearly seven hours and his back ached. Lizzy was asleep, curled up beside Grandpa, whose eyes sparkled in the light, his pipe clenched in the corner of his mouth. Nikola dug around in his backpack, pulled the familiar plum-colored book out, and used the dim light from the screen to scan a page of the mysterious relic—the one found in Grandpa’s basement so long ago. Papa nudged him again.

Save battery; we may need phone later, Papa whispered.

With a sigh, Nikola thumbed it off. Doesn’t really matter. The signal is junk anyway.

Papa shushed him. Nikola rolled over and pretended to sleep.

He wasn’t really tired; he’d actually slept on the long plane ride from home. They had landed in Zagreb and transferred to a bus which took the quartet on a bumpy, four-hour ride along a dusty road. They’d arrived in Zadar just as the sun sank below the horizon and the sky morphed into hues of purple and indigo.

The moon rose higher as the salty tang of the ocean wafted up the coastline and seagulls swooped across the sky. Their lonely cries made Nikola sad, though he wasn’t sure why—he hadn’t heard a real seagull since he was a little boy. The gulls near home had been silent for so long he’d almost forgotten the sound. Everything had changed since the Ancient Ones had returned, and he found it strange that no one seemed to notice. No one except Lizzy. The world seemed empty of its vibrance. Maybe it isn’t the world, maybe it’s me, Nikola wondered for the hundredth time.

The boat scudded along the black waters of the bay. There was an occasional thump along the bottom that worried Nikola and made him think of jagged rocks that could tear a hole in the hull. Black water would gush in and they’d be scuttled even before they could set foot upon the land. That thought kept him on edge; he wasn’t a strong swimmer, and he feared the dark depths. He had plenty of reason to fear it, and knew in his heart he’d never swim for pleasure again. He understood all too well what lurked deep in the depths of lakes and rivers, far below the roiling waters, deeper than the silt that floated like motes of dust into the forever night. Vassallus lurked there, trapped and trying to find a way out. The memory of the dark places he’d explored would always run his blood to ice.

Nikola shivered in the cold night air and pulled the thin blanket that covered his legs up over his shoulders. He ducked his head under, swiped his phone back to life, and aimed the dim light at the book which had dropped open to the page he feared most. A stormy sky surrounded by black mountain peaks, and a dark-robed figure that stood before the mountain. Long hair floated free of the robe and twisted like a den of serpents. Arms outstretched, the figure took hold of the shadowy scene and drew everything toward the passage. Lightning flickered. The robe that shrouded the figure was blown by a gusty wind that swept the deep canyon. Montenegro. Black Mountains. Nikola swallowed hard. He was really here, and so were his greatest foes, the Brothers, the so-called Ancient Ones.

Their names burned his tongue when he choked them out—like spitting fire at the sky.

Kalabash, Demon of Smoke—who took the form of a gray wolf.

Kalanem, Thunder Spirit—a solitary white tiger that wandered the plains.

Kalavaas, Bringer of Death—the most fearsome of the three, who circled the sky in the form of a golden eagle.

The three Brothers, demons all, and not of this world, formed a troika, a strange word his papa had used once to describe them. Their dark purposes were unknown and shrouded in mystery.

Kalavaas, Kalanem, and Kalabash waited for them deep under the mountain.

Nikola feared their desperate plan, a risky gambit that seemed foolish, but he knew in his heart there was no other choice. Lizzy’s mom and little brother Johnny must be rescued at all costs, so he pushed his fear aside and drove himself onward.

There was a muffled cry and a thump. Nikola pushed the blanket down and aimed the dim light from his phone toward the sound. Lizzy thrashed in a dream. Grandpa smoothed her hair and whispered as she kicked her feet outward, running and running. Nikola imagined she ran wildly, with Kalabash close behind and breathing hot fire upon her neck.

Lizzy woke with a gasp and sat up, gazing around the shadowy confines of the fishing boat. Where? The gentle rocking seemed to soothe her from her dream. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of fish and she touched the rough wood of the boat. She sighed.

Nikola, phone, Papa growled.

Nikola turned it off and lay back against the coil of rope he’d been using as a bedroll. It dug uncomfortably into his spine, and yet, it was not the worst place he’d slept. The months on the run had forced the foursome to be creative and sleep where and when they could. Sleeping rough was what Grandpa called it.

How much longer until we get there? Lizzy’s disembodied voice cut through the darkness.

Dusan’s mournful song drifted back. It struck a melancholy undertone with a dash of dark spice added to this leg of their journey.

I don’t know, Nikola began, but I wish Uncle Dusan would stop singing. I have no idea what he’s going on about, but his song gives me the creeps.

Papa cleared his throat. We are almost there, maybe another fifteen minutes or so. That song that gives creeps is beautiful old song about a man who loses love of his life to the forest, lost forever to the fairies that take her away.

Nikola harrumphed. "Like I said, Creepsville."

I don’t know about that, Nikola, Grandpa said as he futzed with his pipe. The soft glow filled the small space and the sweet black cherry scent wafted about. I think it’s beautiful and sad. The melody is familiar and reminds me of something from long ago. A song Lizzy’s grandma used to sing, I think—to help the kids get to sleep.

Lizzy yawned loudly. I’m with Nikola. Creepsville.

Is strange, Papa began. I grew up on songs and stories about forest and creatures that dwelled there, stories to keep me out of trouble. I believe the tales and then I grow up and push them aside. But now, with all that has happened, I wonder …

The wooden planks of the boat creaked, the sail snapped in a sudden gust, and Dusan paused in his song. He began again as the gulls cried and soared high in the indigo sky. The sun rose in the east, but remained shielded by the tall mountain peaks that surrounded the bay.

Nikola laced his fingers behind his head. What do you wonder?

Maybe there was some truth in stories Grandma tell me and Marko growing up? Papa said.

Nikolas blinked in the dim light. Tell me a story.

Hmmm, let me think a moment. Papa scratched his chin covered by a thick beard of gray and black.

There were times when Nikola saw his papa and pictured his Uncle Marko. The resemblance was much stronger now that Papa had let his beard grow out.

Okay, I have one. Papa sat up and leaned forward. There is legend of creature named Koschei. A near immortal who would hide his soul in an object so he can never be killed.

Near immortal? Now you just ruined the ending. Nikola snorted. Where did he hide his soul? he added in a whisper.

Koschei was so terrified of his own death he cast spell to protect himself, Papa said. Hiding soul in a needle and then in egg which was carried inside bird that could fly away and keep it safe.

A gull called out in the distance, and Nikola wondered if the bird carried someone’s soul. Maybe Dmitry’s soul was inside the bird, safe and secure forever.

Papa continued. Koschei road fast horse and terrified the peasant people of the wood with sightings of a pale, naked man on horseback. More like a corpse—he would paralyze even the stoutest soul with fear.

Nikola sat wide-eyed as the story unfolded, forgetting for a while the reason they were in the old country. A tiny window opened, shedding a bit of light on his family history, and he wished he were here with Papa for a visit and not running from danger into more danger.

Papa drew in a breath. A man named Ivan married woman, a great warrior named Princess Marya. One day she leave home to fight in war and tell Ivan not to open the door to the dungeon. Of course, he does. He finds Koschei chained there. Ivan brings him twelve buckets of water to drink which restores Koschei’s magic power. He breaks the chains and runs away. Later, he kidnaps Marya. Ivan tries to rescue her but is killed and his body thrown into the sea. Lucky for Ivan, his sisters are married to great wizards. They bring him back to life as a falcon and tell him to seek Baba Yaga and ask for the fastest horse. He is tested severely by Baba Yaga, but succeeds and is given the horse.

Why did he need a horse if he could fly? Lizzy said.

Papa shrugged. Maybe spell changing him to bird had worn off by then. So he takes horse from Baba and goes after Koschei. He finds him and they fight. Ivan wins freedom for Marya, then burns body of his enemy and throws it into the ocean.

Was that the end of Koschei? Lizzy asked.

Papa didn’t answer and grew very still.

What? Nikola murmured.

Papa touched his fingers to his lips.

The bay was quiet and the singing of Uncle Dusan had ended. The mournful cries of the gulls had been silenced and the lap of the water against the hull of the boat had ceased.

The boat rose and pitched gently from side to side, adrift upon the water.

A lovely melody filled the air, and a woman’s voice sang softly—like a meadowlark song back home. The singer’s sweet voice seemed everywhere and nowhere, all at once.

Dusan, Papa hissed. The was no answer. He threw his blanket aside and crouched. Dusan! What goes on? Papa searched the faces under the tarp for answers. Nikola shrugged. Papa lifted the canvas carefully and peered out.

Uncle Dusan stood motionless at the front of the boat, one foot raised and placed firmly upon the top of side deck. He seemed poised to leap into the black bay. His body was wrapped from the waist down in something that coiled and writhed as if it were alive. His eyes were wild with fear.

2

The Lady of the Lake

The singing grew more forceful. Nikola gaped as Papa was drawn out from under the tarp. Papa’s eyes were vacant as he staggered forward to join his uncle. Nikola, too, felt a surge of longing in his heart. He wanted to meet the singer of such a beautiful song. He wondered if Papa and Uncle Dusan felt the same yearning. Long tendrils reached out to caress him and drew him closer. At first, Nikola welcomed the embrace of the tendrils. He imagined the endless sky seen from the depths of the bay, the gentle waving of the seaweed that held him to the bottom—his new home. In his reverie, Nikola searched for Papa, but he lay hidden in deeper waters and was lost forever. Cold and alone. The writhing tentacles dragged him closer to the edge of the boat. Nikola’s eyes widened as he peered into the black depths of the bay. The singing voice sought to calm him, telling him it would be lovely to live under the sea and swim with the creatures there. No. Nikola knew in his heart it would not be lovely— my death . The woman’s voice caressed him. No, eternal life . A fire burned in his chest as Nikola fought against the spell of the singer. He chose life.

The coils shook and fell away from Nikola as if stung by a spark. A bitter wind whipped through the sail. Nikola called out through chattering teeth. Papa! He held his hands over his ears and watched a wave of russet power flowing across the water from the forests to the north. He sensed a raw hunger there, one that fed upon the pain of men and women in peril. Nikola did not understand it, but it clawed at his heart like a wild beast.

Papa! he screamed again.

Papa didn’t reply as he stood beside Uncle Dusan. His hands gripped the rail, and his body was clenched tight like a spring. He waited for the command to pitch his body overboard. The tendrils spiraled upward, choking the two men and binding them together tightly. The tendrils