Curse Breaker Omnibus

by Melinda Kucsera

  Indeed, he did and when to break them. Sarn ran part way up the wall, tucked and tumbled over Gregori’s head. Landing in a crouch, he sprang to his feet and sidestepped the warden who rushed him. His buddy threw out an arm to stop Sarn, but he dropped into a slide, bypassing the obstruction. Gravel abraded his pants, tearing it in places but Sarn ignored the sensation as he rose and raced into the maze.

  Gregori shouted something, but the labyrinth swallowed the echoes of his words. Sarn pelted around another bend and jumped over a pit lined with sharpened staves. A sense of urgency nudged him to run faster.

  Gregori smiled as he replayed the Kid’s latest stunt. The incident proved his point. If you pushed the Kid, magic happened. Screw Jerlo’s edicts. Someone had to test the Kid and find out what he could do.

  Gregori squeezed the file in his hands. Branches and other bits of foliage caught on his trousers. People took the novelty of plants growing under lumir light a little too far. Next time he’d bring a machete.

  After a few minutes of batting branches aside, he stepped up to a plain wood affair. Inside he heard raised voices and judged the occupants, a Mr. and Mrs. Fredanya, were at home. Applying his fist to the door, Gregori announced his visit. He listened between knocks for footfalls. As he raised his fist to deliver another rap, the door wrenched open. An angry youth glared at him.

  Six foot two, dark hair and eyes—Gregori checked off the details as his gaze skimmed what he could see of the youth. Square-jawed, clean shaven and smelling of soap—this kid was ready to hit the taverns. And he was closing in on twenty-one same as the other missing kids this year except this one wasn’t missing.

  “What do you want?” Tall, dark and attitude asked.

  “You’re Purfoy Fredanya?”

  “Are you a tax collector or a census taker?” Mr. Attitude folded his arms and narrowed his intense eyes. A two-inch height differential in Gregori's favor ruined the effect.

  “Neither I’m a concerned citizen.”

  “Yeah well, I didn’t do whatever you think I did.”

  “You’re a Scorpio, right?” Gregori’s question knocked the attitude out of the kid.

  Surprise blanked Purfoy’s face. “How’d you guess?”

  A smile tugged at Gregori’s lips. “You remind me of someone.” A six foot six nightly annoyance known as Sarn. Of course, the Scorpio thing only went so far in explaining the Kid’s attitude problem. Frustration at his situation and the abuse he'd suffered accounted for the rest. Still, it was no excuse. With some quality time, he could eradicate the brat's attitude.

  Wasn’t Nolo due some time off for good behavior? Yes, he should take some of Nolo’s shifts, spend some quality time with the Kid and keep a psycho from finding him. “Would you fetch the lady of the house so I can conclude my business here?”

  “Fetch her yourself.” Purfoy donned his attitude again and stepped outside.

  Maybe it was his shield, and under the gruff exterior, a gentle heart dwelt. It did in Sarn's case. Slamming the door behind him, Mr. Attitude went for a shoulder check. Gregori sidestepped the punk and let him storm off in a swirl of well-worn brown fabric.

  Gregori raised his fist to try again but the door cracked open, and a woman’s face appeared in the gap. She blinked at him from a feminized version of Purfoy’s face. Age, worry or raising Mr. Attitude had creased the skin around her eyes.

  “I’m sorry for bothering you, but I need to talk to you. This’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”

  Instead of inviting him inside, she stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind her. Despite the late hour, she wore a plain homespun dress and a stained apron. Some of the globules dotting it looked fresh.

  “Am I interrupting something?”

  She shook her head, and he noticed the rag draped over one shoulder. “No, I was just cleaning up. What did you want to talk about?”

  “Your son ma’am. You reported him missing five days ago.”

  Her face fell, and she dry washed her hands. “Yes, he came back last night. I had intended to go to the Guard Captain to explain, but it’s been a trying time. And I’ve had my hands full just keeping the peace. He and my husband don’t see eye to eye. But no harm was done. He’s back safe and sound.”

  “Did he say where he’d been?”

  “He went up to Racine looking for work, but he didn’t tell us in case it didn’t pan out. You know how it is. Jobs are hard to find for regular folk. And he was so angry the accountancy hired the bastard son of a minor noble who had no experience.”

  “Mmm, Nepotism’s hard on the younger set, but that’s the way of things here.”

  “Yes, the titled class has every advantage,” Mrs. Fredanya folded thin arms over her chest. “Those without trundle through life doing the jobs the titled class rejects. It isn’t fair.”

  “Mmm, and education only factors so far into the equation.” Gregori shifted his weight from foot to foot seeking a way out of this conversation. He hadn’t come here to discuss Shayari’s employment problems, but he’d given her an opening, and she was bent on exercising it.

  “Exactly, without a title, breaking into the professional class is impossible without a sponsor.”

  And Mr. Attitude had none, poor dear, but that wasn’t Gregori’s problem. “I’ll pass the word along that your son’s been found, but you should stop in and make it official. Have a good night and thank you for speaking to me.”

  Gregori had cut across her latest rant bemoaning Shayari’s economic system. And he made no apology for it either. All his life he’d heard variations of the same diatribe, but not one word of complaint had ever changed it. It was better to aim for careers the nobles avoided like joining the Guards or the Rangers.

  “Tell your son there’s no lines, no waiting for positions with Guards or Rangers,” Gregori said because he couldn’t help himself.

  Mrs. Fredanya’s words tumbled to a stop, and she nodded having just caught the dismissal in his voice. “I will. Thank you.”

  Of course, she wouldn’t, but she was too polite to say so.

  Gregori wished her a good night once more and left. He walked away wondering just what was going on. Killers and kidnappers didn’t change their patterns. There was a twenty-seventh victim out there either already taken or in the kidnapper’s sights. And he’d let Sarn run off alone into a bloody maze. Cursing, he crashed through the branches in his path and passed a shadow on the stairs.

  Anger burned through Sarn fueling his run. They were hiding something from him about the murders. Taking the hairpin turns at breakneck speed, his boots whispered across the carvings, and his outrage coalesced into a boy’s face. A dead child whose dull green eyes hadn’t taken up their glow and never would. The ghost reached out to Sarn from beyond a dark veil until he blinked the image away.

  Sarn opened Jerlo’s door without knocking and dropped into a chair facing his diminutive master. Minutes crawled by, but Gregori didn’t arrive. The Ranger must have had someone else to bother.

  “Something on your mind, Kid?”

  “Yeah, those people who died.”

  Jerlo sat with his hands tented in front of him, his dark eyes intense. Good, he had the commander’s full attention—now to pry out whatever the man was hiding.

  “Not your concern.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Watch your language. You won’t get another warning. Do you hear me?”

  Sarn nodded, but he fixed his gaze on the blue dragon alighting on the tapestry behind Jerlo.

  “What’s bothering you? Don’t tell me a bunch of strangers losing their lives has got you so worked up because I don’t believe it.”

  “There was a boy who died, and he was like me.”

  “Like you how? Explain.”

  In answer, Sarn pointed to his glowing eyes. “I want to know why he died and why I had to see it. Don’t tell me there isn’t a reason because I don’t believe it.” Sarn pushed up from the chair. He needed to do something. But the
feeling faded as his words reverberated in his skull.

  Shock stopped Sarn mid-step—why I had to see it. Who had wanted him to see those dead bodies? Judging by Jerlo’s disapproving glare, not the Rangers. Why would a bunch of enchanted trees want him to witness the homicides—one of which they had committed? How had the forest even known the Rangers would bring him along?

  “Easy lad, calm down. I see where you’re coming from.”

  “No, you don’t.” How could the commander understand? His green-eyed boy gave him a perspective no one else shared. Sarn fought down the urge to throw the chair he’d vacated at the nearest wall in frustration.

  Magic leaped, aiming for the two slim exits his eyes provided, flooding the room with emerald radiance.

  Cold water slapped Sarn in the face, snuffing the fire in his eyes. His magic reared back, and Sarn had to take an involuntary step to the side to keep from falling. He rubbed itchy eyes as the water dried and a familiar green glow ringed his sight again.

  An empty glass clattered as Jerlo set it down on his desk. “Sit down and talk to me. Anger never solves anything. It only makes things worse.”

  “Nolo says something similar.” And both men were right. He’d get no answers if he didn’t calm down.

  “I’m glad you listen to what I say,” Nolo replied as the door swung in to admit him. His gaze took the scene in with a glance and a nod.

  What had the Black Ranger seen? A screwed-up kid Lord Joranth’s retinue had pulled feverish and frozen out of a snowbank seven years ago? No, he'd met Nolo later when he’d tried to escape Hadrovel. Thoughts of the psycho made his blood run cold, and his bladder unclench. Thank Fate he’d pissed it empty before rushing in here.

  Sarn could still feel the net tangling his feet as it caught. Miren’s frightened questions still echoed in his ears. He blinked away the memory and put his back to the nearest wall keeping both his masters in sight.

  He was just as caught now, ensnared by a fates-damned promise to do whatever they ordered. Even if they commanded him to drop this.

  Thirteen faceless corpses loomed, hands grasping for him. Their unnaturalness socked Sarn in the gut, crushing him against the wall.

  Eam’meye erator, whispered a voice he was beginning to hate. The specters advanced as he scrambled toward the sole exit to Jerlo’s inner office. He shoved the door open as the ghosts faded into the marble dragons of Jerlo’s menagerie.

  Sarn leaned into the door frame at a loss for what to do next. The ghost boy lingered, its translucent hands outstretched, then it too vanished.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Nolo glared at Sarn.

  Too shocked to speak, Sarn shook his head. No one else was rattled by the thirteen ghosts, meaning only he had seen them.

  “The Kid claims there was a boy like him—you know when we had the disturbance the other day.” Jerlo slouched in his chair and stared at a dragon-shaped inkwell squatting between two towers of paperwork. “The sight must have unhinged him.”

  “And you want answers, but I don’t have any since the forest destroyed all the evidence.”

  “You must have a theory.” Anything would be better than what he had now, which was nothing.

  “Truthfully I haven’t given it much thought. One group killed the other then the forest killed them—it’s an open and shut case. I don’t know why you’re obsessing over it when you should be thinking about the forest’s strange behavior toward you. It has me far more worried than those deaths, and it should worry you too.” Nolo’s dark eyes targeted Sarn with their concern.

  What was this some half-assed attempt at deflection? Everything reacted to him. It was part of his everyday existence and not worth discussing. “It’s not open and shut. If it were, the forest wouldn’t have freaked out. The entire thing is wrong—unnatural even.” Sarn ran out of floor to pace and words to throw. All he had were a bunch of ghostly appearances and bizarre occurrences but nothing concrete to back up his gut feeling the murders were part of a larger problem.

  He squeezed his eyes closed, forcing away the image of a shadow leaping at his son. I saw a shadow monster, Ran had confided only hours before. He still didn’t believe it.

  “How many died?”

  “I didn’t have time to count. The forest tossed the remains into a deep hole, remember?” Nolo folded his arms over his chest. His dark eyes bored into Sarn.

  “Thirteen counting the boy,” Sarn supplied. “Don’t ask me how I know.” The number bothered him. It was one digit off from twelve, the original members of the Guardians. Thirteen was the number of their nemesis, but both groups were dead and dusted long ago.

  And neither of his masters cared. Sarn read the ambivalence in their eyes and fled to escape it. After slipping into Jerlo’s outer office, he stalked into a short hallway, turned a corner and ended up back in the north-south transept with even more questions than before.

  “Where are you going?” Nolo yelled from behind him.

  To find answers, but where should he look? Sarn stopped. Anger had made him forget he was Indentured. He had no right, not even to answers.

  “Why did you walk out? Do you know how much trouble you’re in?”

  “People died out there. Don’t you want to find out why?” Sarn turned to face Nolo needing to see the man’s reaction.

  “And they’ll die out there tonight and tomorrow too. The enchanted forest is dangerous. You can’t trust it or turn your back on it.”

  “Next, you’ll say there’s nothing we can do about it, but you’re wrong.”

  “You can’t save him. He’s already dead.”

  Nolo’s words hurt. A gray shape separated from the statue throwing it and slouched forward. Sarn met the blank eyes of the dead boy who extended a hand in mute entreaty. Pale lips shaped a silent plea: help me.

  How do I help you? Sarn just managed to cage the question before it could escape. He squeezed his eyes closed, banishing the ghost from his sight, but not his senses. Bile crawled up the back of his throat the longer the ghost lingered.

  Nolo's hands grasped his upper arms and shook him. “Sarn—did you hear what I said?” Nolo shook him again receiving a head shake in response. “I said you have to let go. He’s dead, but you’re not. You weren’t there when it happened. You didn’t even know him. Let it go.”

  If only it would let him go. Instead, it sunk him deeper into something he didn’t understand. Sarn slipped out of Nolo’s grasp and stalked a few paces away.

  “We prevent the tragedies we can and mourn the ones we can’t. Obsessing over what happened will drive you crazy, but it won’t bring them back. Nothing you do can bring them back. Let them go.” Nolo held both hands out to Sarn in entreaty.

  Or was it an offering but of what—absolution? Sarn turned away, his gaze falling on a frieze depicting one of his heroes—a Guardian of Shayari. What would a Guardian do?

  “Did you check the book?” Sarn asked without turning.

  “What book—oh the log—no why would I?”

  “Neither group crossed the border. They either stayed here or were on their way here. If it was the former, they might have written something in the book.”

  “And you want me to check it.”

  “Yes, we can go right now. We’re supposed to be out there.”

  Sarn pivoted, but there was no window, only sculpted stone. Out there, where the fallout of one boy’s death had infected plants and turned them against their enchantments. Wizards, blizzards and bloody damned gizzards—how had he forgotten about his run through the gauntlet of warring trees? He’d been outside less than an hour ago, and he hadn’t spared the forest a single glance. Damn Gregori for interfering.

  “Not we. The commander and I agree you should stay away from the forest for a while.”

  “What? Why?” Sarn stared at Nolo, who regarded him as if he’d lost his mind.

  “The forest kidnapped you, remember? Until we know why you’re not going anywhere near it.”

  “But we di
scussed that—it wanted me to see those bodies.”

  There was no point in arguing. Nolo folded his arms over his chest and shook his head at every word he uttered. Sarn’s shoulders slumped. Logic would do no good here. Neither would staying inside, but he was Indentured and had to do as he was bid.

  “Will you check the entries from the day before, and the day we found both the bodies and tell me what it says?” Maybe there was a clue in the log to the identity or motivations of those specters he’d just seen.

  Interest kindled in Nolo’s eyes. “Alright if you have to know, I’ll check but only on one condition.” Nolo held up a long black finger to make his point, and his sleeve fell back exposing a green glow.

  A low murmur startled Sarn. It was those damned stones on Nolo’s bracelet talking again. Sounds tumbled, slipping and sliding at the edge of comprehension. The central bead emitted a bright flash, leaving an afterimage behind—a star bounded by a circle.

  Eam’meye erator, echoed as the stones’ muttering died away.

  Am I losing my mind? Sarn scrubbed away the image, banishing what was either a clue or a red herring. At this point, it could be either.

  “No matter what I find—whether it’s something or nothing—will you abide by my decision?” A dark eyebrow winged up, midnight against his master's dark skin. “Well? I don’t have all night. If you want me to look at the log, then you agree to drop this thing if I tell you to. Do we have an accord?”

  Sarn nodded. “I’ll drop it if you say so.” His magic lay quiet, held down by his will where nothing he said could activate it. He'd let no promises bind him which might impede his search for the truth.

  “Good, now put these on.” Nolo tossed two items at Sarn—gloves and a blindfold.

  Sarn caught and donned both articles before his magic could protest. Instead, it oozed out of his skin and crawled around under his clothes seeking contact with the outside world. For some reason, cloth barred his magic. He was glad it did until his magic concentrated on his remaining senses. It wreaked havoc on his inner ear, threw off his balance and caused Sarn to stagger.