by P B Hughes
“No. The curse befalls those who take in their greed. If we take what is ours, and no more, then all will be well. It is what my mother taught me.”
“Then we leave the jaded coins where they lie,” said Sir Weston, coming up beside them with Nera and Martha. “We’ll take what is ours and inform the authorities. I’m sure there is a holy man or two who can assess the condition of this treasure. In the meantime, I say we get a move on.”
Gregory looked at Martha for support, but she dropped her gaze.
“Nera,” said Gregory. “Come on, you know what this kind of money would mean to your family.”
“I…” said Nera, “I just don’t know, Gregory. I don’t think we should touch it until we know if it’s safe.”
“Cursed,” mocked Gregory. “Of course it is. Everything’s cursed. The whole world’s cursed!”
Martha placed a hand on his shoulder. “Everything will be all right,” she said. “We’ve got what we need.”
Sir Weston looked down and examined the coins. “Huzzah!—I’ve found our coins, right here by the edge. The insignia on the front is different than these other coins—the face of Emperor Oran.” He found nearly as many as they had lost, and put them inside a leather pouch. “Come now,” he said. “It’s best we leave this place. Jelani, if you will collapse the entrance on the way out then perhaps it will stay safe until we can come back for it with the holy men.”
Jelani, Sir Weston, Nera, and Martha headed back up the stairs, leaving Gregory on fortune’s shore. Just like that his wealth was gone. And what would happen, he wondered, when the holy men came to break the curse? They would take it all for themselves. He wouldn’t see a single coin from the pile. It wasn’t fair. He gave a cold look to his friends—they were almost to the top of the stairs.
He glanced down again, and the same skull caught his eye. The circlet looked so beautiful. Though the band was simple, the jewel flashed like a star glistening in a midnight sky. In a burst of thought, he remembered: this circlet—it was the same crown the man wore in my dream! And suddenly, it was the most desirable piece of treasure in the whole room.
“Go north; fulfill your grand destiny and you will be like a god!” The words floated through his mind so clearly he couldn’t tell if someone said them or if it was his imagination.
It’s my destiny to take this crown and become the ruler of my own life.
But Jelani would never let him take it. The cautious fool would bar them all from the grand future the riches promised. He couldn’t believe they were all so willing to let it pass them by.
I deserve this, he thought, bitterly remembering that snowy night when the thieves stole the armor his family had slaved to make. They promised them gold. Instead, they murdered his mother and stole his hopes for a normal life. It’s mine by right. It should be mine! He stared out across the lake of treasure, fury swelling within him. Fate, it seemed, had decided to release him from the bondage of being a Guardian. All he had to do was take the circlet and he would be free.
The world seemed to grow brighter—the twirling torches, the shimmering light upon the gold and jewels caused the sight to bulge in his mind. Hot sweat formed across his brow as the colors danced in his eyes. Every muscle in his body screamed for him to take what belonged to him. He stole a glance to the others; no one was watching.
It’s mine.
Quickly, Gregory reached out and took hold of the skull. It disintegrated in his hand, leaving only the circlet. He held it a moment, electricity running through his veins. And then he had a thought, one so strong it was as if it was not his own:
I should wear it. I should put it on, just to see how it fits.
“Gregory?” Martha called out form the top of the stairs. “Are you coming?”
Gregory jerked up and stuffed the circlet inside his cloak.
“Yes,” he said with a nod, giving one last longing look to his treasure. “I’ll be right there.”
Chapter 13
Jude hardly noticed the land morph from the flat plains into a polychromatic display of hills and forest in the full throngs of autumn. As he rode alongside his companions, he existed only within the deep confines of his mind. Images of the man they buried two days prior haunted him: his wounds, the pain in his eyes, and the words he spoke—all of these blurred Jude’s senses and removed him from the concrete world. He did not feel the brisk cold on his skin or the damp mist from across the sea; he could not enjoy the beauty of treetops, though they seemed to be on fire with color all around him.
Black, Jude thought. Black is what he said. He remembered his own nightmares that attacked his sleep each night. But trying to grasp the details felt like reaching for the wind. The one image that pervaded was a horrid, swelling blackness. I’ve dreamt of your pain, he told the man inside his head. I’ve felt it. You were trying to tell us something. To warn us. He gripped his reins in frustration. But what? Never before had he seen a wound that could not be healed. Burns that spread without fire; a disease that consumed so quickly.
The company splashed into a creek. The chill of water rising up to his legs pulled Jude from his thoughts. He pursed his cracked lips and tried to swallow, realizing he hadn’t had a drink since breakfast. His water-skin was still full from their last stop, and he took a long draw as they climbed up the other side of the embankment. From the corner of his eye, he caught Marcus looking back across the creek with an aggravated expression. On the other side, Ambassador Sweeny sat on his horse, refusing to budge.
“I’ll not have any of my supplies ruined,” Sweeny said, his eyes locked on the water as if it were poison. “Find me a crossing.”
Jude felt the tips of his ears grow hot with anger. “You’ll cross here, Sweeny. Just like the rest of us.”
“Don’t fret Ambassador,” said Ari. “If anything gets too wet I’m sure Daniel would be happy to pull the water from it.”
Sweeny shook his head, staring off down the creek. “I despise being cold and I despise being wet even more. I insist we find a crossing.”
Jude jumped down from his horse, his boots splashing in the mud. He yanked his staff from the loop in his pack and tossed a seed to the ground. “Cross, Sweeny.”
“I will not,” he replied.
“Cross or I’ll make you.”
Sweeny looked up, his eyes wide with indignation. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh,” said Jude, twirling a finger, “but I would.” A vine sprang up from the ground, growing ever longer and larger.
“Jude, please,” said Ari. “We can help him across.”
“Right,” said Marcus. “I’m sure the Ambassador would just love for us to ferry his things across the creek like he’s some sort of king.”
“I’ll fly his supplies over,” Ari insisted. “It won’t take long.”
“No,” said Jude. “Sweeny, it’s time you learned your lesson.”
The man tried to spur away, but his horse was too heavy-laden and the vine too quick. Over the creek and around his waist it tangled, wrenching him from his saddle. With a flick of his wrist, Jude sent Sweeny flying into the water with a tremendous splash.
“That was uncalled for,” Ari said, flashing Jude an angry look. “I would have helped him.”
“You know what, Jude?” said Marcus as he rode back into the water to retrieve Sweeny’s horse. “I think I misjudged you. You’ve got a decent sense of humor.”
Sweeny lurched up from the water with a gasp. “Miserable youths!” he cried, sputtering about, trying his best to paddle toward the bank. He pulled himself out of the water, whey-faced and shivering. His mustard robes fell about him like wilted flower petals.
“You swim like a fish, Ambassador,” said Jude. “Wait, no. I’m sorry—you look like a fish.”
Marcus laughed. “That’s an insult to fish. Hold on…You’re right. I see a striking resemblance to a flounder.”
“That’s enough, Jude,” said Ari, her voice rising with warning. “I mean it.”
J
ude hated it when Ari lectured him. He liked her well enough ordinarily—she could keep up with him intellectually and usually didn’t speak more than one ought. Normally he simply ignored her nagging, but her defending the chicken-hearted man was beginning to bite at him.
“As you wish,” Jude said to her, “oh, busy-bodied Princess of Good.”
Ari opened her mouth to reply, but Sweeny interrupted her.
“You will pay,” he said, swinging an invisible sword at Jude. “You will all pay for this.” He slipped and fell to his hands and knees in the muck. “When we return to the capital, I’ll have the skin whipped off your backs!”
Jude only smirked down at him and waited for Marcus to make it back to the other side of the bank.
“Oh, you think you’re funny, do you? You have no idea—” Sweeny slammed his palm against the ground “—what kind of power I wield!”
That sentence grabbed Jude’s attention. He studied the seething man, and for a moment he thought he might attack them. “Tell us, Ambassador,” he said, “what kind of power do you wield?”
Sweeny stared up at him with an open mouth, but quickly snapped it shut. Then he stood, slowly this time, and looked Jude directly in the eye. “Influence. And with it I will bring you low.”
The sound of shouts from above caught Jude’s ear. The words were indiscernible, but he could tell they came from Daniel, and by the alarm in his tone he knew something was wrong. He shot a glance up to the sky. Daniel was pointing to the east, urging Shade downward to land.
Jude could see nothing ahead over the hill and trees.
Daniel and Shade landed in front of their group with a thud, causing Marcus’ horse to rear.
“Steady, boy,” said Marcus, trying to calm his steed. “Steady.”
Ari brought her horse forward. “Daniel, are you all right?”
“A village,” Daniel said, his cheeks bright red from cold. “Up ahead and to the east. There’s smoke rising. They’re in trouble.”
Again Jude remembered the man who stumbled into their camp two nights ago. He spoke of a village before he died.
“How far?” Jude asked.
“Half an hour ride, maybe. I could reach it in minutes with Shade.”
Sweeny became interested at this, a frown sliding over his face. “We are not on a rescue mission, boy. We are to reach Irachnia. If those villagers are in peril then it is their problem, not ours.”
Daniel’s brow creased, his dark eyes filling with passion. “If it is not our job to protect the weak, then whose is it?” He paused a moment, confusion replacing his fervor as he noticed Sweeny’s soaked state.
“Don’t worry about him,” Jude said. “Just took a spill.”
Daniel nodded. “Then I’ll go on ahead.”
“We should at least stay together,” said Marcus. “It’s too dangerous to go alone.”
“I’m not afraid,” said Daniel, pulling Shade around as he prepared to return to the sky. “If I linger then lives may be lost. Head due east. You’ll see it just through those trees and over that hill. And hurry—I may need your help.”
“Daniel!” Ari exclaimed as he flicked his reins. “No one questions your bravery, but please wait for us.”
Daniel’s expression softened for a moment, but was quickly replaced with a look of determination. “I can’t.” Shade sprang forward, and with three mighty beats from her wings they were airborne. “Hurry!” he cried over his shoulder.
Ari started to climb down from her horse, her blue eyes knit with a mixture of anger and worry. Jude knew she meant to fly after him.
“Ari, ride with us. You can’t leave your horse,” said Jude, swinging his leg over his charger and pulling her around.
Reluctantly, she sat back down. “Then let’s go,” she said.
They did not wait for Sweeny, but left him shouting curses as the three of them tore up the hill. At the crest, Jude spotted the tail of smoke rising up from the horizon. In the distance, far across a wheat-field, he could make out the outline of a village.
Jude dug his heels into his horse’s side and sped down the hill. It must be the village the man spoke of, he thought. And for that he feared the worst. The smoke was thick and black, almost unnaturally so.
“That’s not wood that’s burning,” he shouted to Ari and Marcus. “That smoke is toxic.”
He knew what they were all thinking. They would be met with death.
Through the wheat they found a cobblestone road leading to the village entrance. The clatter of hoofs on stone filled Jude’s ears; all the while their destination grew ever closer. He could see the red brick wall that surrounded its perimeter, thatched rooftops rising beyond. They crossed a bowed bridge and were met with a stench so foul that Jude felt as if invisible hands choked the air from his lungs. He slowed his horse and looked to the others. Ari’s scarf was pulled up over her mouth and nose, and Marcus had his own nose in the crook of his arm.
“We go on foot from here,” he said, not wanting to risk losing their horses in an ambush.
The others agreed. They slid down from their steeds and tied them to a nearby tree.
Jude could tell a battle had been fought. The wall had been reduced to rubble in several places, and the thatched rooftops of many of the homes and buildings had been burned through.
Marcus unsheathed his sword, holding it with one hand while the other stayed over his nose. “It looks like whatever happened here has passed through.”
“Let’s hope so,” said Ari, gripping her staff.
They stole up the road to the front entrance; the wooden gates were open wide. Jude motioned for the other two to wait and stuck his head through. The clap of shutters was the only sound to break the silence. Rows of would-be houses and shops lined the way, many nothing more than husks of what once held life. Only a few still stood, and Jude thought it might have been a quaint place, with remnants of gardens and trees growing all about—a fountain in the middle of the road with debris from a statue littered around the base. His eyes rose and he spotted Daniel. His friend was on his knees, his staff lying beside him as he looked off down a bend in the road. Shade lay beside him with her head resting upon her paws.
“Daniel?” he called out, stepping out onto the road.
Ari rushed past him on his right, heading for Daniel. Jude, however, remained aware, looking from side to side as he walked. He heard Ari utter a dismayed cry.
When he drew near, he could see that Daniel’s skin was ghostly white, tears sitting in his eyes. And when Jude followed his gaze down the road, his stomach felt as though it had turned to lead.
A pile of bodies lay at the road’s end. Smoke rolled up from them as they smoldered, most now nothing more than ash. It looked like everyone in the village had died—men, women, and children.
Ari knelt beside Daniel, and Jude stared blankly at the corpses.
Black. The thought clung to his mind like a spider.
For a long while no one spoke, unable to invent an appropriate response to what lay before them. It felt like one of Jude’s nightmares had come to life before his eyes. He hadn’t seen the goblins cut down the other Miraclists and innocent people back in the arena. But the sight of these people brought back the guilt so intensely he felt it might crush him. If it wasn’t for him those people might still be alive.
It was my fault, he thought, eyes stinging with tears. It was my fault, and so is this. I released the Nosfertu.
Slowly, Daniel stood. “We need to bury them,” he said quietly.
“Bury them?” a voice called out from behind. “What do you mean, bury them?”
It was Ambassador Sweeny. His face looked laden with rage, bright red, each wrinkle expressing a hateful notion.
It had taken less time for him to catch up to them than Jude had anticipated.
Daniel stood, facing Sweeny. “Just what I said. We can’t just leave them here to rot.”
“They’ll rot either way,” Sweeny replied. “We need to be on the move. Besid
es, they were nothing more than peasants.”
Daniel started forward, but Ari grabbed his arm.
“How dare you,” Daniel said. “I have held my tongue until now, but I’ll not do it any longer. You are a wicked, despicable man. I was once considered a peasant by your standards. But what gave me value? My ability—” he shot a blast of ice from his palm past Sweeny’s head “—to kill?”
“Daniel,” said Ari softly.
“We have inherent value,” Daniel said, tears falling from his eyes. “Because we’re humans—not because we have wealth or gifts!”
Sweeny blinked several times and opened his mouth to respond.
“Hold your tongue,” said Marcus, silencing the man. “You’re done speaking.”
There was such authority in his voice that it took Jude by surprise.
“Daniel,” Marcus said. He was crying too. “As much as I hate to admit it, Sweeny is right. We don’t have the tools or the time to take care of these people.” He placed a hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “As soon as we’re back at the capital, the first thing I’ll do is send a dispatch to bury them. You have my word.”
Daniel let out a pent-up breath. He was clearly dissatisfied with the response. A look of determination gripped him, jaw clenched, brow bowed. He stalked over to a pile of rubble and began to sift through the debris. “If we can’t bury them,” he said, taking hold of a wooden post, “then we’ll leave a memorial.” With a great tug he freed the post from the pile. It was actually not one post, but two—a board was nailed across the top like the hilt of a sword. He examined its scorched surface for a moment, and Jude wondered if the rest of the world would soon be turned the same.
Daniel dragged the post in front of the pile of bodies and lifted it up. The sight was unnerving, but Jude couldn’t help but admire Daniel’s fervor. And suddenly, Jude wanted to help. He wanted the people to know he cared. So he dropped his staff and stepped forward to take hold of the pole beside Daniel. His friend gave him a nod, and together they drove it firmly into the ground.