The Shadow Curse

by Kala Merseal

  “What must we do?”

  Cirith hesitated to answer.

  “There isn’t anything mortal to stop this curse, Ara.” He considered briefly then said, “There is a dark power that far surpasses most all of divinity that is fueling this war between the Kaevari and this realm. But there are forces that wish to save this world, and beings who are willing to sacrifice for its survival. There may be a being out there that knows a cure. But there’s no promise he'll survive even that.”

  “It is better to try and fail than to never try.”

  Cirith eyed her again, then nodded curtly.

  “I agree.” He moved toward Raethin, motioning for Ara to follow. She quickly swiped at her tears and flanked him. She did not dare come any closer to Raethin that Cirith did, though a part of her begged to inspect and comfort him personally.

  Cirith lifted part of the cloth, revealing the fullness of Raethin’s injury. The black crust engulfed his wound, and a thick deathly fragrance wafted from it. Ara covered her mouth, her eyes watering as they roamed over her commander.

  The hole filled most of his side, and black veins reached from all sides outward. The skin closest to the wound grayed, much like the Kaevari’s tone. Muscular dystrophy already took effect on the commander’s refined frame.

  “This is what I have managed to discover.”

  Cirith gestured to his hand, still covered with the tarlike substance. His claws lengthened once more, the gold-tinged talons shining in the dim torchlight.

  Then in one smooth motion, he ripped into the blackness of Raethin’s wound.

  A squeal caught in Ara’s throat. Her hand clamped around her mouth, the other clutching her chest, as she watched.

  Raethin was so deep in the induced coma that he did not react, even as Cirith dug out a chunk of the black ichor and ripped it from his body.

  Appalled, Ara watched as the substance filled the emptiness in the wound. Cirith held the extracted piece in his hand. It crawled up his arm, inching for something to latch onto like leeches to blood.

  “This curse devours the body and transmutes it into Kaevari,” Cirith said, gesturing to his hand. The substance shivered against his skin as currents of his magick rolled across it. Then, in a flash, the white fire erupted in his hand. The smell thickened, akin to the toxic miasma that emanated from plagued bodies.

  When the light dispersed, black soot remained in Cirith’s palm.

  “It can be dissolved,” Cirith muttered and glanced at

  Ara. “But my magick is from the Great Spirit—of divinity. If I try to burn out the curse from Raethin, his mortal body will not take it. The substance reacts too quickly as well. It swells and multiples within seconds.”

  Cirith dropped his arm, the ashes of the substance dusting the stone floor.

  “As reconciliation, Princess,” Cirith said. “I will do what I can to save your commander. There are…possible options to take. But I must do research. If I am to save his life, I cannot run headlong into some methods. I will likely kill him instead.”

  “Which is why you haven’t used your magick to burn the curse.” Ara’s voice shook as she swallowed. “I understand, Guardian. I…”

  She looked at Raethin. Many emotions ran through her still but what settled in the pit of her stomach was guilt and regret.

  “I never truly knew Raethin as an individual,” she said. “He was my father’s closest advisor in the end, and I hate to admit that my father’s favoritism for him did make me jealous and prejudice against him. But Raethin has upheld the oaths he swore to my father and gave his life for mine. I wish to repay him by renewing it.”

  When Ara tore her stare away from Raethin, she caught Cirith’s eyes.

  He nodded once then pulled the cloth back over Raethin’s wound.

  “I shall escort you back to your quarters.”

  “Will you allow me to check on him again?”

  He paused.

  “Will you at least update me on his condition?”

  “In a few days’ time, you may see him again. I would like to focus on your training—and I would like to have results for you by then.”

  Ara pursed her lips but bowed her head briefly in deference. Then in silence, the Guardian guided her out of the room. She threw one look over her shoulder at Raethin before the druids ushered into the room, blocking her sight.

  It was then for the first time in days, as Cirith escorted her through the fortress, that she prayed to Athaera, for the will of the gods to surpass the limitations of the mortal realm and this curse.

  As Ara settled into her quarters, a weight fell over her shoulders. Heat filled her chest, a ghost

  So, she continued to pray even into sleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ara had learned the next day the truth of training in the arcane arts—or rather, how others outside of the royal family trained. It started calming enough, of course.

  When Kiri came and escorted Ara from her quarters back to the keep and ushered her to the upper levels, the druidess gushed to her about the excitement of learning magick for the first time. Ara did not bother to correct Kiri that this was not the first lesson she ever had on magick. But she quickly discovered that this was the first time she learned magick through the druids.

  The lesson began with Vilithian. It was during this that

  Ara heard him speak for the first time. Though his voice was a soft whisper, it still rang through the room clearly.

  “We will coax your magick to respond and awaken first.”

  She sat across from him, cross-legged amid a circle engraved in the wood flooring. Vilithian leaned his arms against his crossed legs. His hair pooled, filling the space around him.

  “Close your eyes and focus on falling deep within yourself.”

  Ara did as he instructed. After minutes of deep breaths, she peeked, and caught Vilithian watching her.

  “You cannot fall into yourself until you forget your surroundings, Ara.”

  She nodded and closed her eyes once more. Moments passed before she felt something tugging from within to fall into the meditation. Instinctively, Ara resulted and had to force herself to fall deeper into the hypnosis.

  Spiraling into that void within her was much like the dreamscape she experienced before. The difference was that she controlled her trance. When she felt time slip, a force slammed into her center and pulled. If she were not so deep within herself, she might have screamed from the sudden infiltration. Pain coursed through her as the force gripped the well of energy in her center and tugged. Light sparked in the abyss. The energy toiled against the force, resisting.

  A scream bubbled up Ara’s throat but halted at her lips.

  A whisper broke the void’s quiet.

  “It is resistant.”

  Vilithian had spoken, his whisper cutting through the darkness. A presence shifted far in the abyss, a golden tinge moving in the black.

  “Is there a block?” Cirith’s voice followed the whisper, his tone strong and rumbling through the dark.

  "There is." Vilithian paused.

  "But why? And who?"

  Vilithian didn’t reply and silence prolonged across the pain as the tug strengthened into an iron-fisted hold, afraid to relinquish until their next move.

  An unspoken decision crossed the void before the golden tinge in the dark drew closer. Ara shuddered under its presence.

  Vilithian’s hold on center loosened and the golden tinge replaced it. Cirith’s face blurred into view as he leaned forward, his hand lurching into her chest. No, into her core, for she was bodiless now, a floating soul amid a cosmic dark sea.

  “I’m sorry, Princess,” Cirith muttered. “This will be agonizing.”

  Instead of tugging, his grip tightened, and a burst of light erupted from his hold. Ara lurched, her back arching as the fire laced the pain. A screech cut through the void, and the world tilted. Images blurred, her surroundings

  Cirith held her, one hand on her shoulder to keep her upright,
and the other flattened against the center of her chest. The fire within her grew hotter, a searing pain that threw her in and out of blackness. Her head lulled back, eyes fluttering as she tried to focus on reality through the agony.

  “Hold on for a little longer, Ara,” Cirith muttered, his face twisted with focus and concern. “Endure while I break the seal.”

  She could not. Her body shuddered as he tugged once more, and she fell into the abyss.

  Cirith caught her as she slumped back, holding her head from slamming into the wooden floor. The seal yielded and the room quivered from the release. The candles dimmed, then erupted with larger flames.

  When the room settled, Vilithian loosed a breath.

  "I did not expect this.”

  Cirith frowned and knelt by Ara, collecting her into his arms.

  “Do not mention this to the others,” Cirith said. “We must learn of what is within her before we venture forward.”

  “We can’t examine the cause of that seal if she’s unconscious like this.”

  “No.” Cirith nodded in agreement then sighed. “I will take her back to her quarters and have Bieva and Misandreas watch over her. We will reconvene with her when she is recovered.”

  Vilithian slipped into his normal quiet with a nod. He too stood and followed as Cirith left the training chambers. The elder was a silent companion as they took the princess to the infirmary building where the guests’ quarters were, only speaking after they had deposited her with Bieva.

  “We should discuss the infected mortal.”

  “Yes.” Cirith and he stopped in the foyer of the keep after returning. “Let’s meet at dusk.”

  They headed to the council’s quarters but split at the stairs. Cirith disappeared into the Guardian’s quarters, a subsection of their wing that ventured up a spiraling tower. When the stairs he climbed emptied into his own enclosed study, dusty and cluttered with tomes, he headed for a column of bookcases. Jammed into the shelves were off-limits texts, kept hidden away from the general druidic public.

  He delved into those tomes, prose of ancient rites of transconfiguration mixed with recounts of avatars of old.

  It would be from here that he would find the answer to Rasilvanor’s cryptic insistence, and possible something of what happened with the Heir.

  ♦♦♦

  Cirith met his elders in the lower levels, waiting before the healing chambers where they kept the wounded mortal.

  He had scoured the tomes and found many useful insights from his predecessors. It had been centuries since he last rummaged through their pages and found that despite reading it before, he noticed bits of knowledge that he hadn’t remembered or thought of.

  The information harrowed Cirith and he had called out to his goddess for confirmation. The only hint of approval was a breeze that swept through his hair, as though she combed her fingers through the strands in comfort. The tome with the most valuable information settled under his arm as he stood before his elders, their questioning looks falling to it.

  “We have talked,” Solas said, his arms crossed. “If we cannot resolve this mortal’s conditions then we must get rid of him.”

  Cirith nodded. “Then we must discuss what the Goddess and Great Spirit wish to do with him.”

  “What is it that you found?” Misandreas asked. Her brows knitted together as she watched Cirith lift the tome and open it to a bookmarked page.

  “Vilithian and you were there when I appeared, rebirthed and merging with Rasilvanor, those many thousands of years ago,” Cirith said. “But I was not the first, and the way that I was reborn was not often how it was done.”

  “No,” Vilithian said. “You are right. The first vessel of Rasilvanor was initiated and given his Spirit in that rite.”

  “Well.” Cirith loosed a breath as he handed the tome to him. “I found the ritual.”

  The three elders cluttered around the book, eyeing the pages detailing the rite.

  Then all three turned their wide, gleaming eyes on their Guardian—one read disbelief, the other rage, and the third deep contemplation.

  “You wish to rebirth him,” Solas spat. “But with whom? What Spirit is accepting of that covenant?”

  Cirith, knowing the ill-tempered elder would throw a fit, said, “I don’t know. But there is an agenda with our goddess. I feel that she has a Spirit in mind.”

  “And if it doesn’t work?”

  “Then he dies, and we apologize to the princess and move on.”

  Solas quieted, his eyes still distrustful.

  Vilithian closed the tome, the bookmark still poking from the pages.

  “We will do this.” The eldest bowed his head to Cirith.

  “It is what the Goddess wants.”

  “When?” Misandreas eyed her council, a frown creasing her expression.

  “It is best that we make haste,” Cirith said. “The princess is resting after removing that seal and another day of waiting will put her commander further at odds.”

  “Then you suggest we do this at midnight.”

  “I do.”

  The three elders nodded, though Solas still fumed in silence. Cirith scrutinized the ill-tempered elder.

  “Misandreas and Vilithian, prepare the ritual and transfer him from the healing chambers to the sanctuary.”

  Cirith still eyed Solas. “You and I must speak.”

  Solas began to retort but fell silent. Then with a dip of his head, he conceded to his Guardian. Solas followed as Cirith left the council room, and they continued until they were walking side-by-side through the fortress. When they came to the guests’ living quarters, Cirith halted and turned to his companion. The silent walk had taken most of Solas’ steam from him, and the elder stood before the Guardian with an unusual reserved expression. Most of the lines that creased with his scowls smoothed out.

  “You have let your anger control you, friend.” Cirith cocked his head. “What is it that terrifies you?”

  “Nothing.” Solas quieted at the darkened glint in Cirith’s golden eyes. Then with a sigh, he looked away. “Our people have been protected for thousands of years. We have managed to evade this war of the Void King. Until you decided to take in the orphaned princess and her little soldiers. I fear that by doing so, you have doomed us.”

  “Do you question my intentions? Or the Goddess’s?”

  “No.” Solas’ teal eyes flashed when he turned to meet Cirith’s gaze. “I question the gods’ games which unfortunately, our beloved goddess has a hand in. My love for her does not change my knowledge and disagreement of the gods’ wills.”

  “If you wish to not participate, then you may leave.” Solas’ expression hardened.

  “You are just as aware of their games as I am, Cirith,” Solas said. “Why are you feeding into it?”

  “Because I know that the gods are playing games against each other, not against the mortals. They happen to be pawns, and if we play our side right, then we will save them.” Cirith crossed his arms. “If we accept our destiny then we can save others’ fates. That is something that the very mortals you wish to toss out must learn, for their actions will affect the world just as much yours, or mine.”

  Solas quieted, his gaze cooling. Alone with Cirith, one of his oldest companions, his fire died of exhaustion and his true emotions displayed in the weary slack in his shoulders. Cirith could read him better than the others for righteous fury fueled him once upon a time. Deep down, Solas cared deeply for his people. What he lacked was care for the rest of the realm’s souls.

  “I need you to accept this, Solas. As the third elder, there are decisions that we must take despite knowing the consequences.”

  Solas’ gaze hardened. “You know that our lives will never be the same after taking in these mortals.”

  “I expected it. And so too should you,” Cirith said. “This is destiny, my friend. We must accept its chaos as it is designed.”

  Solas hesitated but followed Cirith as they entered the quarters and climbed
up the stairs.

  “What are we doing here?”

  “Checking on the princess,” Cirith responded as they rounded a corner. The hall emptied into a lobby, where the guests settled collectively into sofas and chairs around a fireplace for the evening.

  But when the half-elf and his companions noticed the Guardian and elder approaching, they stood.

  “Ara is still recovering,” Max said.

  “Whatever you did, she’s out of it. Tell us that she will be fine.” Arlow crossed his arms.

  “She’ll be fine,” Cirith said. “I’m here to check on her, of course. But there is another matter.”

  Weariness shifted through the room. Arlow’s arms dropped to his side as he stepped forward.

  “It’s about Rae?”

  “Yes. Him being your commander and leader, I thought it best to inform you of his condition.”

  “Ara mentioned a little about him yesterday,” the elven woman said, clutching Arlow’s arm tightly.

  “We will be performing a ritual tonight that may heal him completely,” Cirith said. “Or it may kill him instantly. We are taking the risk in both his and the princess’s interest, because nothing else that we have is as potent or is working.”

  Their eyes widened.

  “What does it entail?” Max asked.

  “That I cannot divulge,” Cirith responded. “It is a ritual that only the elders and I know, can be privy to, and can perform. By dawn tomorrow, it will be for certain whether he will survive.”

  Silence prolonged for a moment as the mortals absorbed his words. Then Max stepped to him and clapped him on the shoulder.

  “Thank you for telling us,” he said.

  “You’re welcome.” Cirith glanced over the mortals one last time before turning to Solas.

  "Keep them company while I check on the princess."

  Cirith left them before Solas could scowl and object, heading toward Ara's bedchamber. The door stood open and

  Cirith found Bieva curled up and dozing on the chase beside Ara's bed. As if sensing him, Bieva jerked upright, and halted.