The Shadow Curse

by Kala Merseal

  His fingers were coarse and calloused. She imagined him wielding the sword which pierced the horned demon, as Arlow often described the scene.

  Grimacing, Ara looked up, watching for any sign that she had woken him. There was no response. She stared at Raethin as she poked at his fingers.

  Still, unresponsive.

  With a sigh, she shoved his hand back onto the bed and sat back in her chair.

  Will he ever wake?

  A minute passed before she wet her lips.

  “Hey.”

  Her voice broke the heavy silence, startling herself.

  “I hope you can hear me.” Ara hesitated, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I wish you would wake up so that I can yell at you for getting hurt like this.”

  She paused, watching as his chest steadily rose and fell with breath.

  “Also, I’d like to thank you. I know we have had our differences, but I realize you are a person bound by duty, honor, and justice as well as oaths. You swore an oath to my father, and you kept it even after his death. You could’ve all ran for your life and left me for dead, but you did not. I have everyone to thank for that…but you most of all.”

  Still no responsive. Ara drew her legs up and crossed her arms over them. The book fell to her side as she laid her chin on her knees.

  “I’m…I’m alone. An orphan. I have only Max, Arlow, Nyph…and you.” Ara swallowed passed the thickening in her throat and held back tears as she rasped on. “I don’t know what we would do without you. So, please wake up.”

  Ara fell silent again, eyes blurring with tears. She sniffled and wiped at her eyes, lying her head sideways against her knees. Her gaze caught the gleaming moonlight from the ceiling glass. She sighed shakily and closed her eyes.

  Slowly, Ara fell into a restless sleep, plagued by shadows of the horned demon and her mother’s lifeless eyes.

  Chapter Sixteen

  When Raethin fell into the abyssal darkness, the liquid fire of the poisonous blood that tainted his body seared his soul. His existence convulsed under the taint, suspended in that void. Something dark and primordial gripped his soul, sickly claws digging into his essence. He struggled against its pull, a silent, pleading scream striving to break free.

  Time lost substance as his struggle against the dark force weakened. Like tar, it clung to his soul, seeping into the deep crevices of his spirit. Voices erupted as the toxin dug further, filling his abyss with words both unrecognizing ancient and familiar.

  Heed the Void King’s call.

  Fall deeper into the Void.

  Be reborn within the Void and take flight to devour their souls.

  Dominate all of Theron’s living.

  They shall all be ours.

  These voices echoed, whispers and shouts of all kinds, responding to one another in a rallying chant. But what broke Raethin down slowly over the unmeasurable time in the Void was the resounding call of the King.

  Devour the gods and rebirth the realm in our image.

  First comes the Crown. Second comes the Heir. Third comes the Priest.

  Raethin held fast to denying the Void its appetite. His mind thrashed against its hold, crying out for purification of its toxicity. When the voices became a deafening, blurred chorus within him, taunting visions followed. The horned Kaevari was a prevailing accompaniment to these terrors. Bright crimson eyes flashed often in the moonlight as the demon hovered over Raethin’s slumbering princess. Her body bared and bleeding, displayed as the demon ravaged her. Raethin lurched continuously toward them, the darkness clinging to him unyielding. Often, her blood soaked him.

  When he still denied the Void its soul, stagnant scents permeated the abyss. Bodies filled fields, their stench a miasma of bloating decay. Undertones of rancid blood, both black and crimson. Sleek, black tar dripping from ashen skin. Shivering bodies howling for their next meal. Gnashing bone-white fangs tearing into fair, soft flesh.

  Raethin writhed in the abyss, senses assailed in the dreamscape. Slowly, his mind fell into disorder, the Void King’s efforts chipping away at his resolve. Still, he grasped to the remaining strands of his sanity, his pleas for salvation roaring in volume against the cacophony of screams and howls.

  Ara flashed in his mind, her cerulean eyes anchoring his sanity. Blood soaked the edges of his visions as they blurred through the various landscapes. Death still prevailed but often Ara flashed before him, her voice a soft but strong string in the chorus.

  Within an instance, the abyss went silent and darkness swept over the scape. The deafening quiet unsettled him. A calm cooling overtook the searing liquid fire, dulling it to a numbing ache. He shivered within the abyss, feeling the heat dissipated.

  When next Raethin heard a voice, its deep rumblings were serene and hushed compared to the earsplitting, hoarse tones of the chorus.

  Calm now, young one. Your plea has been answered.

  Relief washed over Raethin as healing warmth enveloped his limbs and torso. His strands of sanity pulled taut together. A golden glow surrounded him in the darkness, blocking out the clutches of the Void. The toxic claws slithered from him, abating in the crevices of the abyss as the light thrust it from Raethin.

  White eyes contrasted against the gold. It blinked, slowly, as if itself woke from a slumber. The same voice wafted over him.

  I can save you, but a covenant must strike between us.

  No matter what it is, I will agree to it, Raethin pleaded. Now that his mind stilled and he could think clearly, he thought of Ara. What happened? Is she alive? He had to know. Even if after this being saved him Raethin found that she died, he would do as the being wished if it meant stopping the devouring of the realm.

  The blinding white eyes blinked. The motion was remarkably like a nod, as though it accepted his binding words.

  The agreement is struck then. In time, you will know the fullness of the covenant. But for now, you must know this: by committing to this covenant, you are rav’la. You are my avatar. In time we will exist as one. The taint will fade and creep into crevices of your spirit. I will keep it at bay. In return, you will do as our god bids.

  Our god? Raethin wondered who sent the Great Spirit to recapture his soul from damnation.

  He will pronounce himself in time. For now, just know that he decided your soul pure and just to house his servant.

  What is your name? Raethin called out to the Spirit of light.

  The Spirit’s blinding eyes blinked once more, and its voice murmured over the abyss.

  My name you and I will discover in time as I have slept for eras and all that I remember is my god.

  As the last of his calming voice drifted over Raethin, the Spirit’s light overcame him. The warmth turned into a purifying fire, electrifying and awakening his veins. This sensation was a different type of pain that filled and cleansed wounds. The sweeping fire overtook Raethin’s mind until it numbed and lulled him in a deep slumber.

  Raethin was not sure how long he slept but he found his body twitched with consciousness. His eyes fluttered open, fighting against the crust of days — maybe even weeks — of slumber. When his vision focused, he found himself laid in a cot. A soft blanket tucked in around him and cotton decorated body.

  Moonlight cut across his surroundings. Bookshelves surrounded him, filled with a mixture of ancient tomes, glass jars of herbs and liquids, and strange, unfamiliar trinkets.

  Stars shown above him through a crystalline glass ceiling.

  A flickering flame illuminated his bed side, casting shadows against a figure curled up in a wicker chair. Dark hair fell in ringlets down her hunched back, covering her legs. Her arms cradled her head over her knees. Dried tears coated her cheeks.

  Raethin watched as she shuttered. Her face skewed in pain, fresh tears trembling down her cheeks. As though someone shouted in her ears, Ara jerked, her legs slipping to the floor. Ara caught herself on the chair’s arm, her wide-eyed gaze vaulting around the room for the offender.

  When the princess se
ttled, she caught Raethin’s stare and froze.

  “You’re awake,” Ara breathed, fresh tears collecting in her eyes. Sniffling, she blinked and rubbed her eyes.

  “I am.” His voice was harsh, his throat sore and dry. He wet his lips and swallowed as he shifted in bed, trying to sit upright.

  Ara lurched upward, reaching out to help him. Her fingers brushed his bare skin, cold against his heat. He watched as she swiftly pulled away and frowned. In the dim light he could not see the blush that crept up her neck, but he knew it was there by the way she turned and hid her expression.

  “Are you thirsty?” Ara whispered, afraid to disrupt the night’s quiet. “I’ll get you something to drink.”

  Raethin nodded as she fled the room. He could hear her footsteps as she clambered down the hall.

  As silence settled over him, realization sent goosebumps up his neck. His hearing was far more attuned than before, picking up the breathing of several slumbering bodies on the above floor. From what he gathered, Raethin and Ara were the only two on this floor. Dozens of yards away, outside of the building, birds chirped as dawn approached. He turned his gaze upward again, catching the moon shining through the glass ceiling and the shimmering stars. A blue hue seeped into the dark indigo sky, signifying the approaching morning sun.

  When Ara returned, she held a wooden jug of water and a plate of bread.

  “Here.” She handed him the cup and set down the plate on the bedside table. “I’m not sure if you’re hungry, but — just in case. I found this in the kitchen.”

  Raethin sipped the water, eying the princess over the lip of the cup. When he sated his thirst, he set the cup down and leaned forward.

  Ara shifted, pinned under his stare.

  “Where are we?”

  “The druids’ fortress,” Ara said. “Ir Avel Rakeva. They found us just in time and chased off the demons.”

  “They are strong enough to scare off the Kaevari?”

  “They are peoples of legends,” she said, humor surfacing in her solemn gaze. “Don’t you remember?”

  The taunt lightened the tension a little. He leaned back, a ghost of a smile pulling at his lips, as he studied her once again.

  He couldn’t take the horned Kaevari. Even his expert training and his potential to become an Arch Magus had not been enough to make a dent in killing the creature. His only inflicting wound to the demon had angered the monster and caused Raethin’s near-death.

  His disbelief was not in that the druids were legendary and powerful but that they were strong enough to fight the Void King’s champion.

  “From what I heard,” Ara said, “Cirith scared the hells out of the horned Kaevari, so much so that he ran away when Cirith tried to fight him.”

  “Who is Cirith?”

  “The Great Spirit of the Forest.” An expression flashed through her eyes as she explained, almost akin to fascination. Raethin frowned as she said, “He is the Avatar of the goddess’s servant.”

  He blinked, surprise overshadowing a faint hint of jealousy at her awe for the person. The mention of an Avatar reminded him of his dream—but it was not a dream. For though bandages covered his body like adornments, he felt no wounds underneath them. Absently, his hand prodded at the gauze wrapped around his torso, where the fatal, infected injury should be. He removed pieces of the cotton fabric, revealing smooth skin with faint scarring; so faint that they looked like shadows casted upon his olive flesh.

  “I must speak with Cirith then.”

  Ara nodded. “He would probably like to speak to you too. But it’s not dawns yet.”

  “I can wait.” Raethin paused, eying her again. “You should go back to sleep, Ara.” The dark circles under her eyes were more prevalent by the candlelight now that they faced each other.

  She nodded again, deliberating her next words.

  “I’m glad you’re awake.” She hesitated again, chewing inside her cheek. “It’s been weeks since we arrived. I…we thought you may never wake. It’s thanks to Cirith and the druid elders that you have.”

  “How so?” His shoulders tensed at her words.

  “The druids were going to kill you,” she said. “But Cirith said that he could save you. For a few weeks, he struggled finding the right cure. It…you were bad. The curse festered in you. But a week ago, he did something and in just one night he was able to bring you here. So, whatever it was worked.”

  Raethin stilled, eyes wide as Ara stood and straightened her skirt.

  “I’ll go to sleep now. The others will be happy to know you’re awake,” Ara said as she gathered a book that fell to the floor by her feet. “I’ll see you later.”

  Raethin watched her walk toward the door and said,

  “Sleep well, Ara.”

  She paused at the doorway and smiled. Genuine joy flashed in her eyes before she ducked out of the room.

  In that moment, the weeks of torture and the contract he struck with the being were worth enduring.

  ♦♦♦

  Raethin sat the dim silence of the infirmary until morning broke. Druids came in to check on him and quickly rushed out. Only minutes later did they return, with Arlow and Max following shortly after. The druid attendants had brought Raethin a change of clothes and more food and his companions brought him reports of the previous weeks during his coma.

  When Max and Arlow first saw Raethin, they halted, scrutinizing his appearance.

  “What?” He asked as he shoved his feet into the boots. Surprisingly, they fit perfectly.

  “Your eyes.” Arlow paled as he leaned forward.

  “What about them?” “They’re gold,” Max said.

  “Like Cirith’s,” Arlow added.

  Raethin said nothing as his friends dropped the subject, all three uncomfortable. It proved further that his dream — no, his interaction inside the confides of his soul — was true.

  The morning went quickly and Raethin, now dressed in cotton and leather, walked out of the infirmary with the druids and Max and Arlow. His ears picked up Ara’s steady breathing as she slumbered in a room just above the lounge. When Nyphelia came down for breakfast, Arlow asked about Ara.

  Bieva, one of the druids, said, “We alerted the elders that he woke and Vilithian advised to let Ara sleep in. She is to meet with them later, so I did not bother her. Besides, the poor little princess hasn’t been well lately.”

  “You should start giving her sleeping antidotes,” Max said, concerned.

  Hesitantly, Raethin muttered, “She was there when I woke up, asleep in a chair.”

  “How adorable,” Arlow said. “The princess’s been worried about you.”

  “Maybe your waking up took some weight off her shoulders.” Max patted Raethin on his shoulder and leaned in. “She has felt guilty about you sacrificing yourself to try to save her.”

  “She shouldn’t. I would’ve done it ten times over.” Raethin straightened and crossed his arms. Catching the others’ concerning stare, he continued, “I swore an oath to her father, just as you all did. The whole reason we are where we are is to protect her.”

  “Sure,” Arlow muttered as Max nodded.

  They adjourned to the dining hall, where druids set plates of cheeses, breads, and fruits on the long table. Raethin had finished the food the druids brought to him in the infirmary, but his stomach still ached. One of the consequences of being in a magick-induced coma for weeks.

  Arlow sat on Raethin’s left side and Max on his right, still chatting away about what he missed the last few weeks. Nyphelia slid a chair flush against Arlow’s and clung to his side, nibbling on bits of cheese and fruit while she half-laid in his lap.

  His comrade caught Raethin’s disapproving side-glance.

  “It’s times like these that bring people closer together,” Arlow said, his arm tightening around her waist. “You’ll never know this but back at the keep, we’d been flirting for years. When we realized that we may not have much time left in this world together, we decided it was better to
love while we could.”

  “And if you die?”

  Nyphelia stiffened against Arlow as a quiet settled over the table.

  Sighing, Arlow said, “The druids are kind enough to offer Nyphelia a home here. If I die, she will have me in her memory. She would have all the joyous times, all the intimate times, to remember, and she would be safe. And that is about the best that we can all hope for now, isn’t it? Our homes are destroyed. Our families are dead. We only have each other and we are blessed to be received by the druids so easily. If we must love like this, then that’s all I or Nyph can hope for.”

  “That’s…” Tragic. Their own desperation to soak up their affections would be their undoing. Romantic novels and screenplays portrayed such relationships. Reality was not so fanciful. But Raethin watched as pain ignited in Arlow’s eyes. He knew what Raethin couldn’t say out loud.

  So, he cleared his throat and instead muttered, “If that is what you want then who am I to ridicule you?”

  The tension shifted then, and the others went on eating.

  “You know,” Max said after a moment. “When you were absent, it was as if we all lost our heads.”

  “Even with the druids tending to you?”

  “Even then.” Max sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Even with Cirith taking charge in your stead, we were like motherless pups.”

  They all chuckled but an underlying sense of relief took over the others. Raethin did not know how they were before he woke but tension had loosened in them. Signs of fatigue in their expression relaxed. They finished breakfast and Raethin’s stomach finally settled, satisfied.

  “The elders will see you later in the day when the princess is ready,” Bieva said as she and the other druids cleaned up the table. “The soldiers may go to the training grounds but since Solas will be preoccupied, it’s up to you if you wish to rest for the day.”

  They contemplated what to do. Raethin would wait for Ara then travel to wherever it was the elders would meet them.