The Lantern's Curse

by Hannah King

  THE LANTERN’S CURSE

  HANNAH KING

  Copyright © 2020 Hannah King

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To Alex, Amanda, Mom and Dad

  I can do all things through

  Christ who strengthens me.

  Philippians 4:13

  TEN YEARS AGO

  TALITHA?” MY FATHER was whispering to me, a smile on his face as he crept behind the giant log I sat against. His small hunting dog was at his heels. Trom wasn’t a good hunting dog, but we didn’t need him to be. He’d lost his sense of smell years ago and was too lazy to help carry anything. My father simply brought him along for company.

  “Did you see something?” I asked, wide eyed. He nodded and made a motion for me to be quiet. We were deep in the forest, surrounded by thick, fragrant firs and towering maples. Bird calls echoed across the magical space. My da’s bow was still slung across his shoulder, so I knew we weren’t hunting yet. He picked me up and put me on his shoulders.

  “Can you stretch your hands out?” he whispered. I stretched my fingertips out exaggeratedly.

  “Shut your eyes like I do,” he whispered. I did so.

  “See anything?”

  “Well, you’re here,” I said, a little loud for the quiet forest. A bird twittered away. “A bird was here,” I giggled. “But I just heard that,” I admitted. “Trom is here, and lots of ants. Oh, and ferns and trees too.”

  He lifted me off his shoulders. “Wait right here,” he instructed, and I did as he said. He tiptoed gently to a lifted root a few feet away from me and reached down. He was there for a long time, but at last he was looking up and whispering for me to come over carefully.

  I tiptoed the best I could through the noisy leaves. When I came behind the root and saw what Da was holding, I squealed. A brown rabbit lay softly in the crook of his arm, nestling up to him. My hands reached out to touch it immediately, but he shook his head.

  “Slowly, Talitha. It has to trust you.”

  I took a deep breath and gingerly stretched out my small fingers, aching to touch the smooth fur. It seemed like an eternity before they made contact. A gentle touch on top of its head near its ear. At first, the ear flickered, startling me, but Da stroked it again and it soothed. I reached out one more time and this time, it nuzzled me. I felt its warmth and awed at its tiny system and steady little heartbeat. It was calm and curious and began to crawl into my lap.

  “Now you’ll know where they live, and you can keep Trom from bothering them,” Da said. He gently set the rabbit back to the mouth of its burrow and it disappeared inside. I was disappointed that our visit had been so short. Da looked at me.

  “Now, what did we set out here to do?” he asked.

  “Mem wants venison,” I reminded him.

  “Exactly,” he unslung his bow.

  “Can I pet the deer too?” I asked, he knew that meant I wanted to acquaint myself with it. He shook his head.

  “Those take a little more time. Their legs are a lot longer,” he winked at me.

  I shrugged easily. He’d promised me one day he’d help me know almost everything in the forest, so it was only a minor disappointment. It was time to hunt now, and I would have to be quiet while Da walked about, waiting for his mind to tell him where our dinner was.

  CHAPTER ONE

  TALITHA

  MANY PEOPLE SEE and hear the world exactly how it a-pears. All they see is the outside. I envy them. Their world is quiet compared to mine. It’s small and manageable, clear and simple. But I will never see the world that way.

  I’m of the Lantern code, which means I’m one of the people with light in my hands, just like my Da. That “light” isn’t the sort of light other people can see. It’s really just a sense, like hearing, feeling, or seeing is to most people. It’s a sense I wish I could get rid of. In fact, I’d swap my code for anything if it was possible.

  I didn’t always feel that way. When I was old enough to realize I could tame a wild animal with the touch of my bare hands, I got a little carried away. It was fascinating at first. When I reached my hand out and made contact with a life form, either beast or plant, a beautiful image would form in my mind, showing me the intricate details and systems within. I could instantly see inside its soul and sense its spirit.

  As long as my fingertips remained, their minds were open to me, like books. I could see their purpose, their place in nature, and experience in my own body their current feelings, even feel the thud of their heartbeat coursing through my veins. They were gentle at my touch, never biting or clawing to get away.

  Because of this new phenomenon, I roamed the wild forests as a child, searching for creatures to acquaint myself with every spare moment I found. It gave me an ample source of adventure.

  Of course, Da had warned me to avoid the more antagonistic animals, for even though I could tame them with my hands, getting close enough to do so with some creatures was flirting with death. I mostly minded this and kept to the smaller or gentler species such as rabbits, squirrels, deer, voles, and badgers. It was as though the universe had given me all the pets a child could ever want.

  I still remember the day I had sat so still that a simple brown sparrow lighted on my shoulder. In a curious moment, I reached out to stroke its back and it drew near to my hand and sang. I knew he was hungry, so I reached out and gave him some crumbs from my bag.

  He would have never flown away, but as I set him down and took my hands away, the magnetic field vanished. Once a creature was released from the charm of my hands, it was free to be wild again, even dangerous.

  The sparrow went on its way, but so long as my fingertips remained bare, there was one more facet to my ability that did not require touch. Once I was acquainted with a member of a species, I was left with a subtle yet astounding knowledge of its whereabouts.

  If I were ever within a stone’s throw of a sparrow again, any sparrow at all, I would know exactly where it was located. The more I interacted with that specific creature, the stronger my sense of their whereabouts would be.

  It was the same way with any other life form I introduced myself to. Be it bird or bug, tree or fern, I could feel their presence and find every single member of the species nearby, even with my eyes shut or in the dead of night. Because of that, my brain is always crowded with senses of different creatures around me. If someone would have told me years ago about the consequences of my gift, I would have never acquainted myself with so many species as a child.

  I could sense humans too, with limitations. A human mind is too strong to be explored or tamed. I could ruin a game of hide and seek for them, but I couldn’t break through the doors of their mind to read their purpose or feelings. That was fine with me. I got enough information as it was.

  “Amlai!” I looked up at the sound of my home name being whispered loudly. I’d been crouched in the shadows of some thorny brush toward the front of our ragtag company, but Commander Reblaine pointed to the back with a scowl. I nodded and headed back toward the middle of the formation, taking cover in a new patch of bush. A Strongbearer took my old post. Of course our commander wanted his best in that strategic position. He didn’t trust me yet, I knew that much. I hadn’t had a chance to prove myself. I prayed that today wou
ld bring me that chance.

  We’d been watching this spot for days. Scouts had brought us word that a Parter trade caravan was due soon, coming from Daun, laden with goods, but they were taking their own sweet time. They might have encountered bad weather, we’d imagined, or some other form of delay. We hoped they hadn’t changed course.

  I shuddered. The brush beneath me was crawling with spiders. I couldn’t see them, but I felt them. I pulled on my gloves, the taut leather stretching across my palms, just loose enough to allow me to grip my sword hilt easily. The gloves helped me to think clearly. They muffled the horrible buzz in my head, and dimmed the light of my gift, even though they couldn’t completely shut it out.

  My sword was sharp and waiting in its sheath. I drew in a deep breath to calm my nerves and glanced at the members of our company. Though we were spread out amidst the overgrowth for concealment, I could still see a few faces from where I stood and knew that I wasn’t alone in my jitters.

  I’d come to learn that the worst part of combat was the anticipation of it. Waiting and rethinking the possible consequences, while also trying not to jump at the first snap of a twig. It was a struggle to remain alert yet perfectly still for hours and hours, and I was growing tired of the waiting before the hard part had even begun. My feet were numb and my body was covered in itchy zignot bites. Despite all of this, I was grateful.

  It’s been enough of a fight just to be here, I reminded myself.

  Few Lanterns, and even fewer female Lanterns were given combat jobs. Our code was better suited to hunting and gathering, locating herbs for a healer or taking night watches. Many believed that once you were born with a specific code, it determined your life and duties forever. But I hadn’t wanted that. I’d only wanted to take my place beside the other fielders and fight with them. For some people, their code was their strength. For me, I felt my strength was swordsmanship, of which I practiced endlessly.

  It was my stubborn nature that had forged my way to becoming a fielder. With hard work and sweat I’d fought to keep up with people twice my size and twice my strength. I was surrounded by Strongbearers and Swiftfoots, those who were born with codes of uncommon strength or incredible agility and speed. Fireholders, Wiseones; they all seemed better suited for battle than I did. But this was my fourth expedition, and here I was. Alive and well, with victories in my past.

  Better not jinx myself, I thought, shaking my head. Every day I lived there was a chance it could be my last. It was important not to forget that.

  My ears perked up as a low whistle resounded throughout the forest. It could be a false alarm, I reminded myself, but my hand fell to my hilt just in case. The scouts further ahead in the glade were watching, but this was the third time they’d mistaken a humble traveler for our target.

  I shot a look toward Ayla, a confident sixteen-year-old with snappy blue eyes and ivory skin. Her dark silky hair was pulled out of the way as usual. I watched as she silently notched a bolt onto her crossbow string and pulled it back with ease.

  Camphraz was staring at her too, but for a completely dif-ferent reason. I saw Ayla mouth the words, “good luck” to the tall, muscular Strongbearer, and he nodded back. I rolled my eyes and smirked. I knew they were sweet on each other, but they always swore they were simply best friends. Both of them were Strongbearers, and it was common to see them arm wrestling or sprinting, but I’d also caught them stealing a kiss once. They were clearly more than friendly competitors.

  There was a second low whistle. I swallowed and tensed. The confirmation signal. It was almost time. My heart pounded, but I was relieved at the promise of springing into action.

  Soon there was evidence to be heard; the snapping of twigs and the crushing of leaves, the thud of horses’ hooves hitting the soft dirt as they approached our stakeout. With bated breath, we watched as the long train of people, wagons, and horses appeared and marched right past our concealed outlook. It would be lucrative. The heavy loads of herbs, spices, and bright colored fabrics bouncing on pack horses and filling wagon beds were enough to fill either beggar or wealthy miser with excitement.

  I could hear one of the Parter soldiers singing a tune while three others laughed as he mixed up a familiar line. Pretty soon they were all joining in with the chorus, loud and careless, probably enjoying more than their portion of mead as they grew bored with the trek. It was the perfect timing.

  I watched as Commander Reblaine rolled up his sleeve and smeared borage oil on his forearm. He studied the oil for a few seconds. This precaution we took was well worth the wait. If the oil turned stormy and gray, there was a chance we would be warring against more than mere humans.

  The oil was used to be sure there were no shazod, the horrible, unseen monsters that answered to Faldir, lurking among the group of men we were about to attack. They were invisible, spirit-like creatures from the dark marshes, controlled by Faldir’s sorcery. Although they were few in number, they were lethal. The presence of even a few of these shadowy creatures could turn the tables of this simple attack and send us running for our lives. The oil must have been clear, for he raised his left hand, signaling us.

  In a flash, the archers started picking off the first few guards and I jumped out of cover with the other fielders. Our shouts rang out through the forest and the armed travelers stumbled into action to protect themselves, some being struck by arrows before they’d even grasped what was happening. Several fielders jumped out in the commotion and hurried to cut the horses free of the wagons so that our bounty of spoils wouldn’t run away with the terrified beasts.

  A simple game of stun and chase. That was always our main goal, and that morning we’d been fairly confident that everything would play out according to plan. But somewhere within the first minute, our luck began to slip. A fielder to my left stumbled over nothing and flailed on the ground.

  “Move back!” I heard Commander Reblaine shouting. “They’re not alone!”

  “Shazod!” Someone yelled, then, a horrible scream.

  I struggled to comprehend. Shazod? Here? Why hadn’t the borage oil alerted us? My heart sunk. Had they been purposely distanced from the rest of the caravan to avoid detection? Out of reach of the borage oil’s effect? The Parter soldiers were suddenly alert and swinging, bolstered by their own element of surprise. They were catching on to our tricks and had taken some precautions this time.

  I swallowed hard. I had no experience with these.

  How many are lurking around us? My mind raced as I met and locked swords again and again with approaching soldiers, waiting for the touch of one of the unseen. There was no way of knowing how many shazod there were among the seemingly small group of adversaries. I wasn’t sure how it would feel to be attacked by such a creature. I kept whipping my sword back and forth in between sparring, hoping to thresh anything that I couldn’t see before it got close to me.

  A scruffy faced soldier with a long scar on his chin jumped in front of me with a grin. I was unsure of his code, but he was definitely bigger than me and seemed to anticipate I would be easy prey.

  I remained calm, following through with a series of strokes, some part of a pattern I’d learned, the rest from instinct that had been drilled into me. He hadn’t prepared for the swiftness of my delivery, and soon doubled over in pain as one of my blows hit his side. Another soldier approached me in defense of his friend. He was shorter than the last soldier and had learned how to compensate for this much like I had. He was too familiar with some of my tricks.

  My left hand stung as the very tip of his blade slid across it. I set my jaw and closed my wounded palm around the grip of my sword, using both hands to send a crushing blow against his shield. It did him little damage, but it bought me time. In his split second of recoil, I jumped forward and attempted a hurried swing at his ankles near his armored boots. I was greatly surprised when my blade struck them, and so was he. My metal forced its way through the stiff leather of his boot, causing him pain and toppling him to the ground.

&nbs
p; Once I made sure he was dead, I retreated a moment and crouched behind a boulder to inspect my raw and bleeding hand. Any closer and I could have lost fingers, I realized grimly. With my teeth I pulled off the sliced and bloodied glove and tore a section of my sleeve long enough to wrap my palm tightly, leaving my thumb and fingers bare for the sake of mobility.

  It throbbed, but that wasn’t the worst of it. Without the glove covering my fingertips there was nothing stopping my mind from receiving the signals of my code. Distractions invaded my mind, stealing my focus from the dangers around me.

  Of course, I sensed the many soldiers around me, but more than that, I was instantly aware of the many snakes that burrowed deep in the cold earth beneath me, the bugs crawling in the foliage, the terror of the caravan horses, and the birds circling above, waiting for casualties. I swallowed hard, feeling sick but not knowing what to do. The noise in my head was closing in on me.

  I dodged the blow of someone who’d caught me distracted. My heart jumped into my throat, but I managed to catch the second blow and wound him. Too close. Quickly, I drew back into a form of cover, trying to calm myself. Silly! Silly not to bring another pair. This was just the kind of situation Commander Reblaine would chastise me about. The sort of thing that would keep me in the fifth rank forever.

  Dimly, just above the noise, I heard someone calling my name. It took me a second to gather my bearings and look to see who it was. Was it a warning about another oncoming attacker? If it wasn’t, I didn’t want to waste my time looking around for a voice when there were opportunities to be killed at my first surrender to distraction.

  Again I heard it, and this time my ear picked up the direction. Turning to the side, still panting, sword drawn, I met Ayla’s eyes. They were full of fear. She was stationed with the other archers, behind the cover of a few gnarly trees. She paused only long enough to point before she notched another dart and fired it with precision.