Curse Breaker Omnibus

by Melinda Kucsera

  Sarn broke the gaze lock and sagged, exhausted by the revelation. But a gaze-lock was a two-way conduit functioning on a logic all its own. What had the thing those black-robed loons brought into this world seen in his eyes?

  The creature crouched down in front of Sarn. “Don’t make this difficult. I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve come to like you.”

  Its black-on-black eyes drank Sarn in and rearranged its features into a parody of his. The thing, for it was more beast than man, stared at him. If evil could incarnate, the thing in front of Sarn would be its servant. Its lust for the power in his veins slapped Sarn across the face delivering a timely reality check.

  “You know what I want.”

  “Yeah, you want to trade up.”

  The creature nodded and hooked a finger in Shade’s direction. “My host is sterile, but you’re not, and you already have a son.” The creature’s lips split in a predator’s grin while its body melted into a man-shaped shadow. “Just think of what we could become together. You have so much power and no idea how to use it.”

  A cold finger of foreboding dragged up Sarn’s spine. Could this thing harm Ran from a distance? Its eyes claimed it could. Shade had been in his cave the other night, and so had this vile thing. What if it had left a mark or spell on his cave allowing its brethren to enter? Oh Fates no, his son was unprotected, and there was nothing he could do about it. If he’d had blood running in his veins instead of magic, it would have run cold at the thought.

  “Ran should be here. He’s such a little darling, and this is a family event. I should fetch him.” The creature laughed and flung out its arms.

  “Leave my son alone.”

  Hands seized Sarn, and he went down struggling with a man made of insects. His attacker sprouted more arms until it had Sarn pinned to the ground. He freed his head from the squirming mass and searched for the horned devil. Had it gone after his son?

  A gray-clad figure stepped into his line of sight holding an open book. It was Rat Woman, and she was conferring with the enemy. He should have known she was part of this.

  “Don’t struggle. I don’t want to hurt you,” said a buzzing in Sarn’s ears.

  “Why?”

  “Why do you think? The one who made us loved you and doesn’t want you hurt.”

  So, Shade had made them with the creature’s power. “Why did Shade make you?”

  “Why does anyone make a rough draft?”

  I wanted to be beautiful, so you’d love me, Shade had said.

  What other depraved acts had his ex-friend committed in pursuit of that goal? Just thinking about it made Sarn sick. His jailer loosened his hold so Sarn could roll onto his belly and vomit.

  Between bouts, he caught glimpses of the author of all this unnaturalness. It had thrown back its horned head in manic glee and unleashed a flood of necrotic power into the heart, quickening it. Severed arteries belched man-sized, three-dimensional shadows bristling with spikes. They floated up out of the clearing and headed for Mount Eredren and his son.

  Fear clenched Sarn's heart and stopped the dry heaves, but his captor tightened his hold. The insects massed together into an approximation of a head, and it leaned against the back of Sarn’s shoulder.

  “Please don’t struggle.”

  “But my son’s in danger—”

  Rat Woman had been backing away from the creature during its laughing fit. She turned now, and her silver eyes met Sarn’s then she melted. The book in her hands dropped to the ground and landed on her discarded cloak. Rats scurried across the clearing. One stopped to nuzzle his cheek before dashing off.

  A gray snake struck down one of the rats. More reptilian heads burst from the leaf mold to attack the fleeing rats.

  “No—” Sarn started to shout, but a hand covered his mouth. It was more leathery than human flesh, and so was the body pinning him.

  “Don’t distract Zail—the horned one. Don’t remind it you’re still here. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  But Rat Woman’s horde needed help. Half had been wounded or killed by the snakes. And Sarn wasn’t out of the game yet. His cheek pressed into the ground, and his magic had always been fond of Ran. Seeping through his skin into the earth, his magic dove down under the pollution then raced toward the Lower Quarters. I will save you, son.

  Curled up under his blanket, Ran hugged Bear and stared at the door wishing Papa would return.

  “And they rode into the dawn gilding their armor with their heads and swords held high. They'd done what was right and righted the wrongs.” Uncle Miren closed the book and sighed. “What's wrong? I thought you liked the story of Sir Alec and the Silent Bell.”

  Ran did like the story, but there was something wrong with their cave. Shadows massed in the corners whispering and gnashing their teeth. They were boiling up out of the mark Shade had scratched into the floor. He’d forgotten to tell Papa about that, and now it was too late.

  What were they planning? They crept closer with every breath. Ran squeezed Bear. Papa come back. Make the shadows go away.

  “What is it? What's wrong? Talk to me.” Uncle Miren ruffled Ran's hair.

  Ran shook his head and bit his lip. Uncle Miren had no magic, and only magic's light could defeat the monster growing in their cave. Ran turned his face into Bear’s soft head, and his fur caught a stray tear. He sniffed and shivered. The monsters had come to take him away. Fear squeezed out more tears, and his thin shoulders shook until Miren pulled him into a hug.

  “You've heard this story before. Why tonight did it upset you?”

  Because there were monsters, Uncle Miren couldn’t see or fight coming toward them. But Ran just cried into his uncle’s shoulder unable to explain.

  Hurt by his nephew’s silence, Miren rolled himself up in his blanket facing away from Ran. “Your father will be home soon. You can tell him what’s wrong since you won’t talk to me.”

  Stung by his uncle’s rejection, Ran curled up in a tight ball of misery to wait for Papa. After a while, his uncle’s breathing deepened and slowed. Peeking over Uncle Miren’s shoulder, Ran spied on the shadows. Oh no, the one by the door had swelled up to man-sized. It flowed toward Ran on a tide of darkness.

  Cowering on the mattress, Ran reached inside him. He grasped hold of the shining cord connecting him to Papa and pulled with all his might. Promises had created the cord and woven it out of love. He gave those promises a good yank.

  Bear hugged Ran, and his button eyes promised safety. But how could Bear protect him? Light blossomed from Bear’s belly and gathered into an emerald dome. Ran wiped his eyes on his sleeve. Papa’s magic and his love shined out of Bear and enfolded Ran in a luminous bubble.

  Ran looked at Bear stunned by the display, and he smiled. Scanning the cave, he searched for Papa. His eyes landed on the book covered table, the stool, the chest, the dripping stalactite and the bucket. But Papa had yet to return from work.

  Bear’s stitched lips quirked into a smile, and one of his button eyes winked. The shadow charged full speed into the shield causing it to flare, momentarily blinding Ran. As the last shadow monster disintegrated, it shrieked.

  Uncle Miren thrashed his way out of sleep, and his arm bounced off the shield. “What the hell was all that noise and light?”

  Ran shrugged, and a yawn caught him unawares. He'd tell Papa about the shadow monster and Bear’s magic trick in the morning. Papa could explain everything. If the answers eluded Papa, then they'd just have to go on an ad-ven-ture to find them. And the thought made Ran smile. He loved adventuring with Papa and Papa had promised a nice ad-ven-ture.

  Whispering a thank you into Bear’s soft fur, Ran pillowed his head on Bear’s tummy. Bear must have stored up some of Papa's magic. He gazed into the magic’s light entranced by the soothing dance of shapes and gradations of green.

  Remembering the seeds Papa had brought him the other day, Ran slipped his hand into Bear’s belly pouch. Skimming a finger over their shiny filaments, he giggled at their ticklish t
ouch. Ran fell asleep wrapped in the remnants of Bear's magic while listening to his uncle grumble.

  Pain punched Sarn in the face, but he kept reaching out until his magic brushed against her power and was rebuffed. Why would the Queen of All Trees prevent him from saving his son?

  Sarn opened his eyes to find a battered Rat Woman slumped against a tree. Gaping holes marred her limbs, but none bled because she was a collective being wearing a human face, not an actual human being. Her defeated eyes refused to meet his. The snakes ringing her collided together, and Snake Woman popped into being.

  Wearing nothing but scales and a pair of protruding fangs, she was every man’s nightmare, but her shapely arms were empty. Without access to his head map, that would have to do as proof Ran was still safe in his cave.

  “Let me up.” Sarn tried to rise, but his captor refused to budge.

  “Not yet.”

  “What are you waiting for?”

  Insect Man remained silent because the answer was obvious.

  “You want that thing—Zail—to succeed?”

  Of course, his captor did. He was made using Zail’s power and therefore owed the horned thing some loyalty. But Sarn didn’t. He’d broken the bonds holding the Insect Man together once before using the white magic. But that power was ignoring him. How could he get its attention?

  “What have we here?” Snake Woman’s clawed toes stopped an inch from Sarn’s face. The ground shook knocking her back a step.

  “What did you do?” the Insect Man’s grip loosened.

  Sarn squirmed free but stayed on his knees as another series of tremors shook the ground. “It’s not me. It’s that thing.”

  Indeed, the giant heart had slowed its frenetic beating to a slow earth-shaking throb. Each contraction dragged its prisoners closer to it. At the end of his tether, the ghost boy huddled, and his frightened eyes begged Sarn for help. As the temperature dropped still lower, sheets of black ice rose.

  Sarn pushed to his feet and dove across the barrier before it walled off the clearing. A swarm of insects followed him.

  Unnatural, screamed his magic.

  Need called the white power from its den, and it pushed out the familiar green one. Ice pellets floated in the air reflecting the silver light pouring out of his eyes.

  Purge it, ordered the white magic.

  How? Sarn waited for an answer then smiled when white light limned his bladed hands.

  Use me to purge the evil.

  Gladly.

  Sarn slashed the coalescing man-shape to his right scattering the insects so they couldn’t fuse. A familiar branch clattered to the ground as the swarm dispersed.

  “I would have helped you.”

  “Can’t risk it.” Sarn picked up his crutch, and white light silvered it. His ankle was a fiery ball of pain thanks to all the grappling.

  “Well done!” Zail said as the creature clapped its hands. “But it’ll just reform and return. It’s not gone for good. Oh, but you didn’t know that, did you?”

  No Sarn hadn’t, but it made sense since he’d banished Insect Man once before.

  “Do you know what the worst thing is? Here you are trying to stop me, but you have no idea what I’m doing.”

  That was true, and it gave Sarn pause. “You’re not going to tell me.”

  “I might. You did find the book I was looking for and this—” Zail tossed a black cabochon into the air and caught it. “Every spell needs a focal point, and obsidian will work just fine for this.”

  “But it absorbs negative energies—how could—that’s what you want.”

  “Exactly.”

  The creature’s lower half blurred, blending with the night as it flung itself at him. Sarn staggered aside, wincing as he put weight on his weak ankle and it gave way. A branch shot out catching him under the arm before he collapsed. Magic welled around his injured ankle bracing it. Sarn raised the crutch to meet the blade sailing toward him.

  Zail sliced the stick in half and left a shallow cut along his ribs. Magic spilled out, white and brilliant as it ran down his torso. Sarn looked up in time to see the pulsing organ eat the last links and sucked the ghost boy in. Transparent hands and feet poked out of the heart belonging to the other twelve ghosts it had devoured.

  Sarn blinked. Thirteen black robed people plus the vessel had attended the summoning. The creature had captured thirteen ghosts and tethered it to what? A power source? He had the uneasy feeling the magic Shade had bled out of him had powered the summoning. But his memories of the night almost six years ago were patchy. What was this thing’s purpose?

  In answer, the organ pumped out a wave of tar submerging the struggling ghost boy. As a gust of wind sped past, a gash opened in Sarn’s left side, and a leg swept his feet out from under him. Sarn crashed down, bleeding light and magic into last year’s leaves. When his attacker solidified, it grabbed a handful of his hair.

  “You never had a chance kid. You inherited power but not the knowledge to use it.”

  A cold edge touched Sarn’s throat. Magic bled from a cut under his left eye and dripped onto Zail’s foot. The creature screamed as white magic negated black.

  “What the fuck are you?” Zail hopped on smoking feet out of striking range.

  “Your worst nightmare.” Sarn gained his knees but had to stop there when the world spun, and dizziness almost coldcocked him. For the moment, he had the advantage. Magic was light and color, and this thing was the antithesis of both. There had to be a way to leverage that.

  Behind Zail, the organ expanded, looming up as it writhed into a doorway. Sarn stared at it in morbid fascination until the stygian darkness lightened to reveal a giant eye.

  Zail flashed Sarn a manic smile then pivoted and tossed the cabochon into the doorway. Air rushed toward that gaping maw as it sucked loose stones and leaves into its void. Trees bent, and Sarn scrabbled for a handhold, but there were only layers upon layers of dead leaves.

  Wrong, wrong, wrong, screamed Sarn’s magic in response. Words bubbled up forcing their way into his mouth then out of his lips. Just before the vacuum sucked him into it, a root leaped out of the soil and wrapped around his wrist. Sarn jerked to a painful halt until something reared out of the doorway and seized his ankle. Not the sprained one, thank Fate for that small mercy.

  Another root tapped Sarn's shoulder. He grabbed it and tried to tug his ankle free. A third root, this one silvered and losing its glow, traced a circle in the light weeping from his wounded side.

  Yes, circles contain things and the doorway, needed containment ASAP. A fourth root wrapped around Sarn’s waist and a fifth root stabbed at the thing tugging on his ankle. More of the Queen of All Trees' roots dove under the black wall and battled whatever was trying to enter their world. Something howled in anguish and let go of his ankle, freeing Sarn up to try the Queen of All Trees’ crazy plan.

  He dipped his fingers into the magic bleeding out of his abused body and drew one hundred forty-three interconnected circles all enclosed by one greater circle. Words bubbled up from his soul and fell out of his mouth. Each of them had their own symbol. They linked together binding the circle and imbuing it with one purpose—cleanse.

  The doorway shuddered and began to collapse into a thrashing blob through which a pale hand strained. Without thinking, Sarn reached into the icy morass and grasped the ghost’s hand. He pulled, and the Ghost Boy rose out of the roiling murk. Clasped in the boy’s hand was another ghost’s arm. The killers and the slain became a chain, and his magic flowed through them.

  A scream deafened Sarn. As he pulled the last ghost free, the foul working lost cohesion and exploded in a shower of black sparks.

  “I’ll kill you for this whelp!” Zail charged him.

  Too spent to fight, Sarn scrambled out of the way as a searing heat burned his uninjured side. White fire erupted from the burn, and a woman materialized wearing a worn gray dress and a feminized version of his features. She head-butted Zail, and black blood gushed from the creat
ure’s broken nose.

  Her lips moved. Death had stolen her voice, but a vague memory of a twin sister floated free, and his heart translated her words.

  Leave my brother alone.

  Her hand fell cold as ice on his shoulder. He was the sheath, and his magic changed into a blade she withdrew. Whirling, she swung a shining sword and sliced his adversary in half. Zail screamed then its two halves extruded writhing worms and wove itself back together.

  With the blade of pure light in her hands, she parried the creature’s next thrust. But whatever deal she’d struck expired after three strokes. Her soft brown eyes held an apology. She’d bought Sarn all the time she could. The blade in her hands liquefied and the power arced back into Sarn.

  He’d forgotten her name and her existence because she’d died when he was a few years older than his son. Sarn met her gaze. Her eyes forgave him, and they urged him to give himself completely over to the magic.

  She vanished as Zail passed right through the spot where she had stood. Three burly ghosts threw themselves into the creature’s path. Laughing, Zail smacked them aside.

  Sarn looked for anything he could use as a weapon. His gaze landed on the leaves crunching under his boots as he backed up and tripped. He went down, landing on something hard and rolled aside just in time. A blade missed spearing him by inches, but a foot caught him in the ribs.

  With the black heart gone, his head map functioned again. The map overtook his sight to blink a warning. Jerlo and Nolo would reach here in the next ten minutes unless delayed.

  Throwing his arm out, Sarn knocked the blade driving down toward his chest aside with his forearm. It hurt like hell, but Gregori would be proud he’d remembered the block.

  Shit, he had to vanquish this creep before the Rangers arrived but how? Maybe his dead sister could hammer magic into a weapon, but when Sarn tried, the magic ignored him.