Curse Breaker Omnibus

by Melinda Kucsera

  Maybe, but none of the runes he recalled seeing in Miren’s textbooks looked anything like them. They had to be significant, or a bunch of enchanted trees wouldn’t have paused their battle long enough to draw them. He’d seen them in the heart of that crystal yesterday too, and those had been trying to tell him something.

  Pain crashed into Sarn and sent him sprawling as Jerlo’s voice boomed in his head. Come to me now. Shit, he’d been summoned. There went all chance of finding answers tonight.

  Sarn rolled onto his stomach and pushed up to his knees. Something wet crawled down the inside of his injured arm. Splat. He stared at a luminous puddle creeping toward his braced hands. His magic could do a lot of things, most of them annoying, but healing was beyond its capabilities. With a sigh, Sarn ripped a strip from his cloak and bound the wound.

  His magic’s skill at clotting left something to be desired though it had no problem reweaving his cloak. Sarn fingered the healing tear. I wish I mended as easily. But he didn’t so he touched the puddle and the luminous fluid drained into his index finger. Warmth pulsed up his arm as the magic redistributed itself throughout his body.

  Sarn gave those circular runes one last glance as the four symbols comprising his name wheeled past his mind's eye presenting a key. He touched the nearest rune—an S, skipped the next two, then grazed an R. Over there on a spear-wielding ruffian, he spotted an A and an S amid a cluster of unreadable characters.

  Sarn traced those unknown characters wishing he could read them too. Maybe they held the one clue that eluded him, and maybe he was deluding himself. He still had no evidence those circle runes related to the ghost boy’s situation except a gut feeling. And there was no one to tell him how everything connected—or was there?

  Three times the Queen of All Trees had summoned him, but each time he’d been prevented from reaching her. Sarn rose from his crouch. It was time he sought her out. She was the one being in Shayari who might know how to fix what was wrong. If only she’d call him. Her summons could drown out Jerlo’s.

  A bell rang once and fell silent as Sarn staggered to his feet. Call me, he begged in that still small voice the magic used when it spoke to him. I need to speak to you.

  She didn’t call. A compulsion shoved Sarn onto an intercept course with Jerlo.

  Call me. I just want an end to all of this, and I think you know how to end it. Call me, please.

  The Queen of All Trees’ power shot around a bend, caroming off statues. Silver rays wove around Sarn, muting Jerlo’s summons and replacing it with hers.

  Come to me Child of Magic.

  Yes, he must go to her, the Queen of All Trees. Sarn turned south toward the mountain’s main exit and the refulgent presence probing the trails for signs of him.

  The North-South transept dumped Sarn into a dark labyrinth. Tunnels wandered off in all directions but most led to dead ends or sudden drops. Only one disjointed path swerved toward the doors after skirting a series of murder holes. There was a quicker way requiring agility and a touch of magic—two things he had in abundance.

  Veering from the safe route the Rangers always trod, Sarn chose the middle fork. No light except the glow of his eyes lit the maze. Darkness shrouded its dangers by design. The Litherians had gone to impressive lengths to keep people out.

  As he ran, the elevation rose, but his magic-infused muscles took the ascent in stride. When he reached its pinnacle, Sarn leaped over a pit. Old bones mixed with spikes marking where unlucky travelers had met their end. Landing on the far side, he skidded for a few feet on loose stones. The crown of his head brushed the ceiling.

  Claustrophobia tackled Sarn. The tunnel narrowed, and its ceiling dropped forcing him to bend then drop to all fours. His breaths came fast and shallow as the back of his shoulders grazed stone.

  Come to me Child of Magic.

  Her summons smashed through the fear, and Sarn belly crawled until his hand struck open air instead of more tunnel. Relieved, he felt for a hand hold, and his fingers turned sticky. They gripped rock as he eased himself out until his feet dangled.

  Sarn cursed as he felt Mount Eredren stir. Where the hell were his gloves? No doubt Nolo would add the cost of them to his ever-increasing debt. Damn, he had to find them before Nolo found him. Later he could berate himself over the loss. Right now, he had to descend to the trail proper and take his hands, and his magic, off the mountain before it reacted.

  But it was too late. The rock wall Sarn clung to undulated until a section of it extruded far enough to provide a foothold. Her wordless call stopped the questions forming in his mind. Glancing over his shoulder, Sarn spotted her, the Queen of All Trees. Her refulgent crown cut through the night as she moved away from Mount Eredren on a north by northeast heading. Her trajectory, if it remained unchanged, would intersect with the murder sites.

  Good, it was time he returned to where it had all began and took another look. Maybe this time, he’d find a clue. Sarn felt for the next foothold but a wild urge to just jump for it seized him, and he let go.

  For a moment, the mountain held on, gripping his tunic and trousers with dozens of stone hands. When he resisted, it subsided, and each extrusion released him in turn. Sarn plummeted toward a ribbon of gravel zigzagging down the mountain's southeast face. Letting his magic take the brunt of his fall, he landed in a crouch and took off in a sprint. Ahead lay the precipice where he'd paused last night. This time he vaulted off it and hit the ground running.

  Grass crackled underfoot as he blew past Nolo. The Black Ranger called out, but Sarn ignored him and kept going.

  Less than two minutes later, his boots struck gravel, and he bolted through the twin rings of menhirs feeling a vague tingle as he cleared them. Thank Fate they'd allowed him to pass.

  Where was the Queen of All Trees? He checked his faithful map for her silver torch, but it was absent. Where had she gone?

  Silver light blossomed around a beckoning branch. He rushed to the spot, but she had already moved on. What game was she playing? One he had no choice but to play.

  An hour later, Sarn felt the trees' focus on him, but they stayed out of his way as he wove between their massive trunks. Was that a good sign?

  His head map jumped up front and center pointing out the spot where it had all begun. He stood where the first group of bodies had been found. Was it only three days ago?

  No sign remained, but that was okay since things hadn’t gotten weird until he’d reached the second murder site. And that one was about a half mile to his left, so after a cursory glance, he headed for it.

  “Sarn!” Nolo shouted.

  Damn it, the Black Ranger was a half mile behind and struggling to narrow the gap. Sarn increased his pace. Better he saw what he needed to before Nolo arrived.

  Leafy crowns hid a sprinkling of stars plunging the forest into darkness, not even his glowing eyes could eradicate. A black shroud lingered over the place where he’d found the dead boy, absorbing the light his eyes put out.

  Or maybe blood loss and exhaustion were making him see what he expected to see instead of what was there. Sarn scrubbed both hands over his eyes. How could he tell the difference? He was functioning off less than four hours of sleep.

  Sarn circled an ankle-deep pile of leaves covering the resting place of the ghost boy. The specter didn’t appear neither did the Queen of All Trees. Either entity could have clued him in, but they stayed away.

  Squatting down, Sarn fingered a gleaming leaf, proof the Queen of All Trees had been and gone. Had he missed his one chance to gain the answers he so badly needed?

  Sarn cursed when her leaf shriveled up and lost its glow. Perhaps even her august presence had limits. If so, then how was she muting Jerlo’s summons? He could still feel the compulsion seeking a way around her shield, whispering commands he didn't want to follow—shut up!

  It was all in his head. He had to focus, to find whatever he was meant to find before she let go.

  Sarn turned taking in the small clearing. Dead leave
s crunched under his boots. Most of the trees had frost striating their peeling bark. Since this was a warm May evening, the frost was—

  Unnatural—complained his magic, and Sarn agreed with it.

  He felt a soul deep urge to fix it. Since there was no arguing with a gut reaction, Sarn stepped up to the worst affected tree. It listed. Ice had burrowed under long swaths of bark splitting it. If the magic had any ideas about how to help, it kept quiet about them.

  Stealing himself, Sarn extended his hand. But before he could touch it, a branch swatted him aside. Sarn stumbled but caught himself on a frost-rimmed rock.

  Invisible eyes watched him, and it made his skin crawl. Someone other than the enchanted trees surveilled him.

  Sarn spun seeking the watcher, but it eluded even his sharp eyes. “Who are you? Show yourself!”

  Something evil focused all its attention on Sarn sending a black wave crashing down on him, but he pulled on the light inside him and shoved it back.

  “Don’t you fucking look at me.”

  “Why not?” hissed a female voice right before her arm wrapped around his throat and pain pierced his shoulder. Fangs broke through his skin as he threw himself backward against a tree.

  She groaned and backed off, clutching her bloody mouth. One of her fangs remained lodged in his shoulder until he yanked it out. Green light wept from the puncture wound, but Sarn ignored it since his magic was already clotting it.

  “You bastard! You broke my tooth.”

  It was the snake woman again. What was with her and sneak attacks?

  “What do you want?”

  Eam’meye erator, replied a hoarse voice he hadn’t heard in a while.

  That fell phrase rendered the snake woman incapable of speech. Her body convulsed, shaking loose snakes. They slithered a few feet then vanished.

  Still feeling eyes on him, Sarn pivoted and scanned the clearing. There was something he was not seeing. What was it?

  Show me what’s here. Sarn concentrated. The glow of his eyes increased as his magic spun up a shining half dome revealing gray man-shapes. Were they ghosts too? Did everyone who died return as a shambling mute?

  Under their translucent feet, darkness boiled spitting black chains from its heart. They manacled the twelve haunts circling the strange magical construct. One disconnected chain flailed about in search of the thirteenth specter. No doubt it was meant for the ghost boy.

  Thirteen ghosts, thirteen cairns—a disjointed memory flickered just out of reach. The two couldn’t be related.

  A veil dropped in front of the figures becoming more opaque as it pumped out bitter cold air.

  Sarn's teeth chattered as he made another circuit of the mysterious working. Who had done this and how? Could a drug lord have a mage on retainer? Or worse, enslaved to his will?

  Sarn shuddered only partly from the cold. Zaduke would do such a thing. Hell, any of the gang lords in the Lower Quarters would. Which was why he’d avoided them until Shade had gotten into trouble.

  The central mound pulsated. Nausea punched Sarn in the gut, and he doubled over vomiting stomach acid. Between one heave of his angry stomach and the next, the entire tableau contracted into a black pinpoint and winked out.

  A hand seized Sarn and spun him to face a livid Nolo. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and waited for an overdue reprimand.

  “Why did you run off? I could have you whipped.”

  “I had to see this place again.” Sarn pulled free of Nolo’s grasp and staggered around feeling for what he’d just seen and sensed. Nausea continued to unsettle his stomach, but the intense cold had departed. Had he imagined that fell working?

  It had felt real but so did every dream and hallucination. Not ready to give up yet, Sarn scanned the ground seeking proof. But what he’d seen was gone as if it had never been. He felt for a puncture wound, but his index finger slid over undamaged skin.

  Once before he’d gotten a flash of something that had already happened. Both then and now, his magic had been riding high. So maybe that’s what had just happened. And yet, something still didn’t feel right about this clearing.

  Squatting down, Sarn zeroed in on a shadow his luminous eyes couldn’t banish. It was a black oval inscribed with broken circles—the symbol of death. He froze, hand hovering over the thing as the urge to throw up overwhelmed him. Swiveling, he managed to vomit away from the item.

  “Don’t touch it.” Nolo batted Sarn away from the black cabochon.

  Another random piece tumbled into place as Sarn wiped his lips on his sleeve. The blind man had worn the twin of that foul gem, but the circles had been whole on his. A sinking feeling he'd asked all the wrong questions made Sarn punch the ground. The blind man from the subterranean farm was part of this making it more than a drug deal gone sour.

  "Are you all right?" Nolo shook his head answering his own question. "No, you're not all right. You're pale, and you just vomited."

  Throwing himself to one side, Sarn dodged the hand Nolo threw out to grab him. He refused to go to the infirmary.

  “Do you know what this thing is?” Sarn pointed willing Nolo to say yes, to explain why the damned mark was stalking him.

  “It’s the mark of the Seekers of Truth.”

  “The Seekers—”

  Sarn shot to his feet and scrubbed both hands over his face. Too shocked to speak, he paced in a tight circle then slammed his boot heel on the cabochon. He ground it into the earth burying his drug deal hypothesis. So those zealots had killed an innocent child and everyone with him. He should have known.

  But how could they be involved? The Seekers hated magic. Their order existed to eradicate it, and he had proof of magical involvement.

  “Look out!” Nolo shoved Sarn out of the way.

  The ground spat the Seeker’s pendant out, and it ricocheted off a rock before rolling to a stop at their feet. Nolo wrapped the pendant in a handkerchief before placing it into his pocket for safe keeping, of course.

  “Jerlo needs to see this, and I need to get you back to the mountain. You can’t be out here if there are Seekers around.”

  “They’re not.”

  “Not what?” Nolo turned, and his dark eyes bored into Sarn.

  He broke from the Black Ranger’s intense gaze and fidgeted. Inside everything churned, stirred up by the look. No one cared for him save his son and sometimes his brother. Sarn dragged the toe of his boot through the decaying leaves. Frost edged them with spikes.

  But he'd seen a spark of something in Nolo’s eyes, concern perhaps. Sarn shoved the thought aside. He knew what he was: a walking, talking inconvenience. One the Rangers, especially his superiors, wished had come mute, mindless and mundane.

  “Stop pacing and talk to me. This is not the time for silence.” Nolo’s words cut across the mental chatter dragging Sarn back to the conversation. “What are they not?”

  “Around. I saw them a couple of days ago.” Sarn kicked a rock. Its path curved away as if it had struck an invisible barrier. But when he felt around for it, his hand encountered nothing but cool air. There was something hidden here. Maybe it was what he’d seen, and maybe it was something else.

  “You saw Seekers, and you lived to tell about it?” Astounded, Nolo stared at Sarn.

  Sarn nodded. “They didn’t see me.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?” Nolo shook Sarn in the hopes of gaining answers or sense. His eyes claimed either would do.

  Sarn pried Nolo's hands off him and rubbed his shoulder. It still smarted from when he'd banged it earlier. Nolo’s hawk eyes zeroed in on the bruise and tried to peel back the cloth layers covering it.

  “You’re hurt.” The man reached out, but Sarn turned away.

  “I don’t need a fu—”

  “Don’t push me. You’re in enough trouble as it is. Don’t make it worse by cursing at me.”

  Sarn took a minute to rephrase his protest and clamp down on the anger targeting Nolo. His skin felt two sizes too small for the magic pushing
against it. Calm lay out of reach but not civility. That would have to do.

  “I don’t need a healer.” Sarn glanced at his master to gauge the impact of his refusal.

  Nolo gave him an assessing look. Sarn stood straight, shoulders squared, arms crossed under his cloak and waited. Let Nolo see no outward mark of his inner issues. Let the man believe he was all right. Even though 'okay' had eluded him since the magic had exploded out of his eyes and washed his world in green light. Let the Black Ranger drop the whole healer thing. In the mood Sarn was in, he'd deck the benighted healer.

  Time dilated as the assessment continued. Finally, Nolo nodded his head, and Sarn relaxed. There’d be no infirmary visit tonight, thank Fate.

  “Why didn’t you say something about the Seekers?”

  “I saw Gregori, and I forgot. He did leave me out in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Tell me about the Seekers. Where did you see them? What were they doing?”

  “I saw them twenty miles from here on the north bank of the Nirthal near Racine. They had a boat, which they boarded and sailed away.”

  “They were near but not at Racine? Did you go to Racine?”

  “I don't know if they went there. I saw them maybe a mile east from there. And no I avoided Racine. I'm not stupid.”

  Nolo accepted his answer with a nod and narrowed eyes giving nothing away. What was the man thinking?

  “How many were there?”

  Sarn shrugged. He should have counted them, but at the time, their numbers had seemed unimportant. “I don’t know. A lot—enough to carry a large crate and row their craft.”

  “Their boat—was it a trireme?”

  Sarn shook his head. “No, it was shaped like a fingernail with one large sail.”

  “Come on.”

  Nolo waved toward their back trail.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To Jerlo, he needs to know about this right now. Seekers are serious business. I don’t like hearing they’re on the move.” Nolo stopped and turned to face Sarn. Concern wrote itself all over his black face.