“Are you sure that’s what you want?”
Dirk shivered at the sepulchral tones that question was delivered in. Before he could answer, the front line of trees wavered, and a thousand children sang:
Come and see. Oh, come and see—what your dark deeds have done. ‘Cause I’ll be there. Yes, I’ll be there to show you—to show you. So, come and see. Oh, come and see ...
Their sweet song faded with the wind, but he would always remember it. Its melody echoed in his awakening heart.
Blinking away tears, Dirk headed for the branches extending a warm welcome to his inner orphan. All his life he’d longed to see those trees do something magical. Now they had, just for him.
“Dirk! Listen to me.”
“Not until I see what they want to show me.”
Without a backward glance, Dirk broke into a run and the meadow sailed away under his scuffed boots. Behind him, the bland countenance of the miner fell into shadow as a pawn dropped onto the grass.
The Adversary picked it up then bounded after Dirk. The man could not escape so easily, not while he carried a piece of the Adversary in his heart.
Eam’eritol neem’eye —screamed Sarn’s magic as it pounded against his skull seeking a way out.
It was back—the green magic that always came when he called it. And he'd forgotten how loud it could yell when something upset it. His map flickered in and out of view, demanding an update. The Queen of All Trees must have restored his earth magic.
Dropping to his knees, Sarn wiped the blood dripping down his lips onto his sleeve while his magic repeated its warning, eam’eritol neem’eye—black lumir. His magic screamed at Sarn to get up and eradicate the problem.
Where is it?
His magic shut up, but it kept trying to escape his rested body.
Sarn punched the silver leaves in frustration. If his magic was right, more black lumir was—what? Exposed? On the loose? What exactly happened earlier?
“Why won't you tell me what’s going on? I’m not a witless child.”
But everyone believed he was including his own magic. Sarn dropped his aching head into his hands.
“Papa?” Ran crashed into Sarn’s chest seeking reassurance, but he had none to offer anyone, not even his beloved son.
Sarn held his son as he regarded his Queen. “It’s not over, is it? There's more going on.”
As Sarn asked the question, her radiance faded, and she vanished with it. His cave reappeared, messy as always. Under his knees, one hundred forty-four interlocking circles burned brighter than the sun for a heartbeat then died away into shadow.
But he had his answer. Sarn hugged his son as his world crashed down around him again. How could it not be over? Didn't the Queen of All Trees defeat the Ægeldar and seal up the black lumir?
She must have because there were no tentacles barging into his cave, and the mist wasn't seeping under his door. So, what was irking his magic?
“How could it not be over?”
Sarn stared at the wall across from him. Nothing made sense anymore. Had something else happened while he was fighting the Ægeldar—something to do with black lumir?
Ran squirmed until he let go. “How could what not be over? What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know.”
Sarn shook his head. He scanned his cave seeking answers amid the piles of clothes and books scattered about. The ratty mattress taking up the back half of the hemispherical cave called to him. But Sarn blinked away the need to sleep. If something had happened, he needed to know about it preferably before it endangered him and his son.
“Why’d the Queen Tree go away?”
Ran set his stuffed bear down so he could touch the intersecting circles on the floor. They no longer glowed. And that worried Sarn.
“I don’t know.”
When Sarn touched them, the power sleeping in their curves made his fingers tingle. Her mark still protected them. A weight slid off his shoulders as his worries lessened. Ran would still be safe here when this was all over—if it ever was. Thank the Queen of All Trees for that.
Sarn shifted so he sat outside her mark then scanned his cave. His magic reported back seconds later that everything was as he’d left it—no foul mist, no wraiths. That just didn’t seem possible after the afternoon he’d had, and it wasn’t even over yet.
Light speared through the ceiling and swirled around his son’s toy, lifting it. Bear winked a twinkling button eye as the light funneled into its fuzzy body then the stuffed bear floated back into Ran’s outstretched arms.
Ran poked its belly. “Are you back, Bear?”
Bear’s stitched lips twitched then returned to their customary smile and Ran echoed it as he hugged his now animated toy.
Great, so Ghost Bear had decided to stick around. He should be glad Bear would be protecting his son, but Sarn distrusted the ghost’s motives.
“Do you know what’s going on or why she fled?” he asked, but Bear just gave him an enigmatic look. Wonderful, now Bear was playing mute. Why was everything magical so cryptic? “Fine, don’t tell me. I’ll figure it out on my own.”
Never doubted it, Bear finally deigned to reply.
“I liked you better when you were helpful.” Ran scowled at his toy until Bear hugged him. The boy unbent enough to smile and tender his own opinion on things. “Maybe the Queen Tree is spying on bad people.”
“Maybe,” Sarn replied, liking the idea more and more as he considered it.
In fact, that sounded more plausible than what he was thinking. And spying just happened to be something he was good at. Sarn regarded the bare stone floor. A gray patch between discarded clothes called to him.
Just a touch, just a taste, and your magic will race…
Mount Eredren groaned, and the ground under Sarn’s knees trembled. Ran rushed to his side, frightened of the shaking.
“What’s happening?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” And if I can, I’ll put a stop to it. Sarn touched the cold stone of his home and let his magic flow.
CURSE BREAKER: FALLS
~
O, Guardian most dear
stand with me when darkness falls.
Deafen me when evil calls.
Push me forward when I stall.
Hold my loved ones all night long.
If I fail, help me stand tall
O, Guardian most dear.
-Traditional Shayarin Prayer
Come, Dear Sinner
Come, sinner, dear, play the game of ages.
Light and dark, good and evil, all on stage take their turn, and still, we play for the age.
Win the game, determine its heart—an age of good, or bad, its winners write the page.
They create the cage inside which we rage.
—fragment attributed to the Book of Ages
Mapping Trouble
Mount Eredren groaned, and the ground under Sarn’s knees trembled. Ran rushed to his side, frightened of the shaking.
“What’s happening?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll find out.” And if I can, I’ll put a stop to it.
After all, something had attacked the Queen of All Trees' magical glade before she'd sent them away, and that something might still be trying to break through. Was her sylvan refuge truly a place outside of time as it had seemed or was it somewhere near enough he could go to her and—what? Offer a mythological magical entity his aid?
What can you do? You can't even get your magic to behave most of the time. A sarcastic voice reminded Sarn, sounding too much like Bear's for comfort. But it wasn’t. That entity had gone mute since the Queen of All Trees had returned them to his cave.
“How’ll you find out?” Ran regarded Sarn, scared of the answer.
Sarn shrugged. “The only way I know how—by magic.”
“Is the Queen Tree okay?”
“I don't know, son. That's what I want to find out.”
“And the cause of the sha
king?”
“That too.”
But first, Sarn touched the cold stone of his home and scanned its nooks and crannies one more time. While he mucked about with magic, his son would be vulnerable. Whatever had attacked the Queen of All Trees might already be here.
Ran looked up at him with scared green eyes that thankfully didn’t glow—yet.
Sarn bit his lip and pushed that thought away. Now wasn’t the time to freak out about his four-year-old son eventually inheriting his power. With luck, that day would take forever to come.
Ran’s gaze darted around the cave as the ground shook again. He clamped his stuffed bear against his skinny chest and chewed on its ear. If that sarcastic spirit Bear was still inhabiting the ratty thing, it gave no sign. Bear's button eyes stayed dark and as impenetrable as the black magic-stealing mist they’d fled from earlier.
But that mist was gone. The Queen of All Trees did something to get rid of it. I need to find out what. If Ghost Bear knew, it wasn’t saying. Sarn glared at the now inanimate toy in his son’s arms.
The ground heaved hard enough to send Ran crashing into him. Sarn caught his wide-eyed son in a one-armed embrace, and the dust dotting his son’s tunic reflected the green glow of his eyes. Those pinpricks were a remnant of the Dryskellions’ grace.
Do what I can't, son of Adam, the last Dryskellion had said mind-to-mind before she'd disintegrated into a silver mist with the others.
‘Do what I can’t.’ Her final words rang in Sarn’s head bringing her sacrifice to mind, but he suppressed the memory before it could replay. Her final words galvanized Sarn. He let go and his magic flowed.
Emerald light gushed out of his hand, carrying his awareness through the door to the tunnel beyond and away from his son. The Queen of All Trees defeated those killer tentacles. Ran will be okay, Sarn told himself as the distance between them mounted, stretching the tie binding them. He held his son huddled against his chest tight, but he could just barely feel the boy trembling at his side. His mind raced away from his body and his nervous son, riding the magic’s sparkling wave.
His magic swept over everything it passed in its relentless search for answers. Candles lit on his head map. They marked every person his magic encountered, turning them into a cloud of fireflies all heading somewhere. What galvanized them? Some new danger, a resurgence of one already defeated or did they know something he didn’t? Is the Queen of All Trees in danger?
Sarn searched his mental map for her silver symbol as he followed the twisting tunnels deeper into the lowest level under the mountain. A wall of white light sprang up, knocking his magic and his sight away from the Ægeldar. How did I get here?
Her light stabbed the darkness. This shield reminded him of the one around the Queen of All Trees’ glade. It must be her doing.
Are you still in there, my Queen? Earlier she'd had trouble getting around the Litherians' wards—until he'd done something to help. Bear still needed to explain that.
When Sarn ran his hands over the sparkling wall, patterns emerged. He counted a hundred and forty-four interlocking circles before realizing there were chains within chains. It was the most elegant spell work he’d ever seen. Was this barrier meant to keep something in or out?
Had the Queen of All Trees defeated that many-armed monster, or was it still in there trying to escape?
Just the thought of that creature from the pit sent a cold shudder through Sarn. He reeled as something hooked his magic and yanked him through the bowels of the mountain—and the wall of his cave. What the hell?
Sarn flew right over the head of his kneeling son. A breeze ruffled Ran’s hair and the boy looked up, still chewing on his stuffed bear’s ear. But if he saw anything other than the finger-long stalactites dripping on his head, his little face didn’t show it. Sarn caught one last glimpse of his discarded body, still clutching his son in a one-armed embrace, then he passed through a wall into yet another dim tunnel. The Lower Quarters had miles of them because the Litherians had gotten lazy when carving them out.
Where’s this thing taking me?
Outside Mount Eredren, a lone man opened and closed his mouth and the most inconceivable things fell out. Dirk wanted to go into the enchanted forest? Why the hell would he want to go there? It was about to be destroyed.
The Adversary stared at the fortyish fellow. Feeling his disguise slip, he pulled his everyman’s face into a mask of skepticism. Some of his dark presence spilled through before he could stop it, and Dirk shivered.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?”
Dirk nodded and gestured to those confounded standing stones. “I want to see what they want to show me. I can meet your interested buyer—what's his name? —later.”
“You mean Straymos.”
Dirk ignored the Adversary and regarded those menhirs. Their double ring of trouble enclosed the meadow. Well, there went that plan, for now.
Beyond those creepy standing stones, the enchanted forest extended massive branches, and they arched over the invisible cordon those damned menhirs maintained. Both the forest and the menhirs were a relic of a dead age. Someone should rip them out of the ground and toss them out like all the other rubbish left over from the so-called ‘Age of Magic.'
“Dirk! Listen to me.”
But the man wasn’t listening to anyone. Without a backward glance, Dirk broke into a run heading for those damned menhirs and the forest giants beckoning to him. Dirk looked ridiculous with his dirt-smeared clothes flapping in the wind. Blood had soaked into the hem of his trousers and ichor had streaked his tunic. What a picture the conman made to the tradesman and green-uniformed Rangers he passed. Of course, they didn’t give Dirk more than a passing glance as they strode toward the mountain brooding behind the Adversary.
Run along to your little lives, your petty concerns. Pay no attention to the dark force tearing your world apart. The Adversary finger-waved to those oblivious mortals. His bland countenance fell into shadow as a pawn dropped onto the grass at his feet.
The Adversary picked it up and cursed. The Queen of All Trees had made her play right under his nose. Damn, she was good. He hadn’t seen nor sensed her meddling. But she’d drawn Dirk off the path he’d laid out for the conman. Damn her!
Setting his plans to send more black lumir crystals out into the world aside, the Adversary examined the black pawn. The irony of it made his lips quirk into a crooked smile under his deep hood. Finally, he’d found a worthy opponent. Now it’s my turn, Queenie, he sent on the wind blowing out of the northwest. And what a turn I’ll take.
She didn’t answer. Rumor claimed she never did. Talking was beneath her. But she would beg in the end, they all did. And he would bring her into the darkness and bind her like all the rest of the mighty who’d fallen at his feet.
Whistling a jaunty tune, the Adversary tossed the pawn into the air. It spun nine times widdershins—a good sign—then vanished into his pocket. In a swirl of dark cloth, the Adversary turned to follow Dirk. This round wasn’t over yet. Nor could the conman escape so easily, not while he carried a piece of the Adversary in his heart.
Before the Adversary had taken more than a couple of steps, a reverberation in the magic dragged his attention to a black hole cut in the mountain’s feet. Well, well, well, what have we here?
Every strain of magic had its own key, and every spell, its own song. But this one was strange. Either there were several mages or one mage slinging spells from more than one magical discipline.
Perhaps Aralore’s merry band of zealots had left a few mages alive. That didn’t seem possible given the sword-loving priestess’ proclivities. Might this be a distraction?
What are you up to Queenie? The Adversary strained his ears for more information. His bones were tuning forks. Each one vibrated in sequence until he identified the tones he was hearing.
Three distinct tunes merged into two somewhere close judging by their volume. The Adversary rushed through that vertical bar of black back into the mountai
n. He could reclaim Dirk later. After all, there was no escape from the Adversary, not for a man who’d sold his soul for a few precious coins.
Tunnels flashed past at dizzying speeds away from the Ægeldar. Sarn struggled but couldn’t break free. What caught me? And how did it catch me?
Sarn felt around for it, but he had no idea what he was looking for. What did a ‘capture’ spell look like? Was that even what had ensnared him?
The magic infecting his blood and bones didn’t come with a grimoire. Other than creating shields, mapping the area around him and jumping long distances, most of the magic he worked was accidental. None of the magic he’d ever touched required crafting an actual spell.
Sarn poked his gift—he had two of them, but only the green one peered out of his eyes. It didn’t offer any insights. His other gift slept curled around his heart like a giant white cat made of fire. It didn’t even twitch when he prodded it.
Ahead, a swarm of fireflies—no, people—flowed toward a hole in the ground leading to the sunlit outdoors. They halted, and the invisible force ceased towing him.
Did the crowd call me? Or was she out there calling all her subjects? Is the Queen of All Trees in danger?
Something blocked the restive crowd's egress. Sarn sent his magic over the barrier seeking her radiant presence and ignited a dozen new symbols on his map—Guards. No doubt someone had dispatched them to keep the Indentured underground where they belonged.
As if he’d heard his unkind thoughts, one of the Guards turned. He was a thirtyish man washed out by the magic’s warm green light.
“Papa? I want to go out, now.” Ran tugged Sarn’s tunic to get his attention, but the sensation was muted by distance, and so was his son’s voice.
I just need a few more minutes. Sarn tried to say to his son. But when he opened his mouth, no words issued. His body wasn’t there, just his mind, and the connection between them wasn’t strong enough to send speech back. Oh well, he only needed another moment.
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