The Lantern's Curse

by Hannah King

  Ralstag compromised? I mused fuzzily. Ralstag had once been a safe place for us, a neutral ground. We’d always sent our furs there at the end of the season to be traded for extra supplies; the things we couldn’t hunt for in the woods or hadn’t happened upon by chance during a caravan raid. Necessary things such as salt, wool for clothing and blankets, rare borage oil for protecting the camp, pounds and pounds of sandmeal, sacks of hutch beans, and boxes of dried fruits; all things that would be taken back with us when we returned to our families in the Brawl Mountains.

  Feverishly I realized that if not in Ralstag, I wasn’t sure where we could make a similar trade. The leads will likely have it under control, I told myself. At least we hadn’t been followed. There were more concerned mutterings within the tent, but I fell asleep once again, my body apparently too tired to worry.

  I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when I next awoke. The tent was quiet. A different, younger healer sat on a low stool, staring at me with boredom. He took a cool cloth and methodically wiped my forehead.

  “Where is Healer Farris?” I asked.

  “Busy caring for someone else,” he responded blandly.

  “When can I leave here?”

  “When you are able to stand and walk without feeling faint,” he informed me. That seemed fair enough. My energy was already surmounting, and I was certain I could attempt the tasks required. I drew the covers off and sat up.

  “There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with me,” I observed.

  He shrugged and nodded. “The fever left you several hours ago. I would suggest moving slowly at first and not attempting much. Oh and,” he said smugly, “bathing. All the Parsley fever patients are required to wash themselves and change their clothing before returning to their squadron.”

  I sighed and stood up, pushing aside some lingering dizziness. If it were not for the cleanliness orders I would have gone straight in search of food.

  He handed me my pack. “There is fresh water, soap, and washcloths in there,” the healer pointed to a small, curtained off section of the tent. “The clothes you’re wearing now will have to be burned. Leave them in the corner.” I began to protest but he would not change his tune. “This is what the commanding healers insist upon. Would you like to take the matter up with them?”

  I shook my head but couldn’t believe they would condone such a waste.

  I pushed past the curtains and closed them behind me. In the narrow, dark space there was exactly what the healer had promised and no more.

  Pulling off my stale, sweaty garments I began to scrub my whole body with a rough cloth I’d lathered. The soap burned my skin and made my eyes sting. I wrung the cloth out in the bucket several times and repeated the scrubbing until I felt I’d met the camp standard of clean, low as it was.

  Setting the rag and bucket aside, I dug in my pack for my second set of clothing; dark brown woolen pants and a thickly woven shirt. I pulled my spare leather jerkin over these and proceeded to fasten my sword and lace my boots. These clothes were part of my cold weather ensemble but would have to do. I took my sick garments and rolled them into a bundle. With a gnawing feeling of loss I set them in the corner. The last days of hot weather were going to be miserable in my alternate garb.

  I knew my brown hair was tangled, and I began to finger through it exasperatedly. There was only so much you could do for hair without a mirror, but maybe that was better. I’d seen my reflection before. There wasn’t much to it. I was thin, too thin really. I had brown eyes and dirt brown hair. I’d been told I looked like my mother, with my father’s nose and his stubborn courage in my eyes.

  It was always bittersweet to think of my parents. When I had last seen them, they had been safe and hidden with the others in the Brawl Mountains, but I knew their well-being could change at any moment.

  I’ll see them again soon, I reminded myself, trying not to worry. The season of temper was coming, and if all went as planned, we would reunite with them before the first flakes spiraled out of the sky, bringing them the provisions and materials that we gathered during this conquest. I was eager, as I was every year, to see them secure and accounted for with my own eyes, to see how the children were growing, to greet and embrace the elderly, to be teased by my aunts and uncles.

  With all that we looked forward to, we knew it depended on whether or not we could slip back to the location without detection. We’d been met by opposition many times along the way this season and every season before it. Parter scouts and cavalry troops roamed around looking for us, the infamous “Sustainers.” It was a passionate hobby of theirs, trying to shake water on the tiny, slowly glowing ember that was the remainder of old Cronin.

  We tried to be ready, posting watchmen and sending scouts out so as to be warned of approaching armies. We chose unlikely campsites and moved often, covering our tracks the best we could, and always preparing for the worst. It was an exhausting way of life, and most of us were still children in some sense.

  Years ago, when the idea of the Sustainers had first been formed, all of us had signed up eagerly to help. We’d trained in the Brawl Mountains, in the dark caves and deep valleys, growing hardy and clever.

  Once it was determined that we were ready, our ragtag troop had left the confines of the hideaway with the hope of bringing back anything that could make our families stronger and help them to survive in the years to come. We were young and the lifestyle was difficult and sometimes deadly, but to all of us it had seemed like an escape from the closed off life we knew in the mountains.

  Back then we’d been content with bringing back a few sacks of grain and pounds of meat to feed our families. But year by year we grew older, more experienced, and stronger. Instead of simply hunting and trading pelts, we had grown bold enough to attack trade caravans and sneak into small enemy camps. Last season we’d brought back more food, medicine and material than we could have dreamed. Even our weapons collection had become impressive.

  Our numbers multiplied as more of our friends and siblings aged into the ranks back home. We were growing, whether they liked it or not. By our stubborn spirits and the mercy of Creator Lavalt we survived and carried on. We had to. We were all Cronin had left.

  The season of pel was coming to an end, and soon the scent of fresh rain from the plains would begin to mix with the sweaty, stagnant marsh air. The Elm Beds had been an awful place to spend the warm, sunlit days usually given by the season, but it would be even worse come the season of rain; unlivable actually. The sites we’d pitched our tents upon would flood with marsh water and the knee-deep mud would trap us.

  “We’ll journey back to Brawl soon,” Lead Talrinious had informed the camp several mornings ago. We would finish our course here while the weather was still warm, meet our quotas, and then slink back toward our hideout through the wet weather with our heavy, dark woolen cloaks. Without any trouble from the Parters we would be back in time to bring the others our goods and wait out the freezing seasons of temper and night.

  Once color dawned, our troop would return to its nomadic state, and we would leave our families behind once again.

  At the time, my illness had caused me to completely forget the things I had heard in the healing tent during my fever. In my mind, everything was still going as planned; the trading party had not yet returned, Ralstag was unconquered and Captain Warner would soon be riding into camp victoriously with a trail of pack horses carrying supplies in place of the pelts they had marched off with a week ago.

  “Amlai,” the healer called, his voice thick with impatience.

  “I’m finished,” I replied, shoving the curtain back and entering the tent hurriedly, slinging my suddenly light pack onto my shoulders. I stood straight, assuming he wanted to confirm I’d followed his orders, but he didn’t lift his eyes up to survey me. Instead he was very busy recorking a collection of bottles.

  “There’s a messenger here for you,” he divulged. I took a step back.

  “A messenger…for me?” I re
peated in confusion.

  “He’s not allowed in the sick tent, so you’d better greet him, and quickly.”

  “Yes sir,” I murmured, traveling toward the tent flap with a worried frown. As soon as I lifted it my apprehension fell away. Standing outside beneath a nearby tree was a boy with tousled brown hair, sunburned cheeks and flighty green eyes. Of course, it was only Wes. A grin spread across his face as I approached.

  “Hey, I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he said.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked him.

  “I’m just looking for the fish you promised me three days ago,” he shrugged.

  “Oh,” I rolled my eyes.

  “Actually, Lead Breiden wants to speak with you.” The sentence came out of nowhere; spoken casually as if it were something someone said all the time.

  “Lead Breiden?” I echoed stupidly.

  “Yes,” he nodded simply.

  “You’re teasing me. This isn’t funny.” I started to brush past him. As much as I liked Wes, his jokes were often untimely.

  “No, Talitha,” he put a firm hand on my shoulder. “I wouldn’t tease you right after you were sick. I’ve got official parchment to prove it.” He passed me a small scrap of yellowed paper.

  My fingers traced the lead’s seal in disbelief. A summons.

  “But... I... why would a lead want to see me?” I argued, but all too quickly a reason was forming. The fact of the matter was, almost no one went to the leads except for high ranking messengers or people that had broken the rules; troublemakers.

  Suddenly images from the last few days flooded back to me. The trade caravan raid, the shazod, my direct and outright disobedience of Commander Reblaine. My empty stomach churned. It hadn’t blown over as I had hoped. They’d waited until I’d recovered of course, but now I would receive my deserved punishment. My heart was sinking like a rock as I realized I was about to lose everything I’d fought so hard for. Rulebreakers were often demoted, stripped of rank and weapons, forced to work in the kitchen tent.

  “You all right?” Wes asked, noting my sudden anxiety. “Calm down Talitha, it probably isn’t anything bad,” he comforted obliviously.

  “No, no, I think it is,” I protested. I will not pass out again, I told myself, but my knees wobbled, and I had to reach out for Wes’ arm for a second of support.

  “Whoa, steady,” he exclaimed. None of my friends were used to me acting fragile. Neither was I.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  TALITHA

  WES ESCORTED ME to just outside the lead’s pavilion. He wished me luck and deserted me, claiming he had duties to attend to. I swallowed hard and slowly approached, feeling sicker with every step. The tent was protected by the usual squadron of guards. They didn’t say a word as I approached them.

  “Lead Breiden asked to see me,” I explained hoarsely to the armored young man that met me at the threshold. I presented my piece of parchment shakily. His eyes narrowed as he looked down at the seal, but then he gestured for me to enter.

  Enter alone? I panicked. I had imagined them escorting me inside, announcing me at least.

  I swallowed hard. My trembling hands pushed back the thick cloth, trimmed with silver stitching to indicate entrance to authority.

  Cautiously, I stepped inside. Within, it was dim and eerily quiet. A long table stood at the center of the tent. Scripts and maps were strewn across it, as were drinking goblets and empty breakfast dishes. Pushed back from the table around the perimeter of the tent were several chairs, most of them piled high with leaning stacks of papers, baskets, blanket rolls, and weapons, so that one could hardly sit down.

  Amidst the odd disorganization of the tent, I almost assumed it was vacant, but then I saw her. She was standing at the back, facing away from me. I held my breath. She seemed to be watching out of the small window that, covered by lighter canvas, allowed a bit of sunlight in.

  Should I say something? Clear my throat? I was at a loss. At last she turned to face me, looking somewhat surprised by my presence. Awkwardly, I took a knee in respect, but she gestured for me to stand.

  “Oh, yes,” she seemed to remember why I was standing in front of her. “Talitha Amlai…” she wasn’t addressing me, but thinking my name over aloud, familiarizing herself with it. After surveying me a moment she broke my stupor with a simple question.

  “Feeling better?”

  “Um, yes,” I stammered. I’d never once stood so close to a lead.

  Though her overall presence was intimidating, her gray eyes seemed less frightening the longer I stood there. She wore a leather jerkin much like mine, but sewn with silver thread and made with twenty times more skill. Under the jerkin was a gray cotton dress and then a light green underdress. Her auburn head was crowned with a single silver ring and the belt at her waist holding her sword was brought together by a silver emblem, finely crafted by a smith to indicate her authority. She was beautiful in a stately sort of way.

  I had no idea how old she was. We were all so tired and worn most days that it was always difficult to judge age. Even the youngest of us looked as though we’d lived a lifetime. The wrinkles in Lead Breiden’s face were deepening as she surveyed me.

  “Please forgive me,” the words rushed out.

  “You seem eager to place blame on yourself,” she stated, then waved away my attempt to reply. “You’ve never met a lead, have you?”

  “No,” I admitted.

  She nodded thoughtfully. “Most fielders never do, unless they’re in trouble, or important for some reason or another.”

  She creased her forehead and clasped her hands together. “I understand your last expedition outside of the Elm Beds was eventful. It caused many of our fielders to feel tested.”

  “Yes, My Lead,” I hung my head in shame, sure of what was coming.

  “Your company was surprised by a few of Faldir’s shazod, which caused the raid to spiral out of control. Is that right?”

  “Yes, My Lead,” I repeated. I could think of nothing else to say. The story I’d hoped to come up with was lost and my tongue was so thick and dry I could hardly speak.

  “Word has reached my ear that you delivered a friend of yours from one such creature. A Strongbearer of your own rank within your squadron.”

  My hands unclenched a little.

  The fact that I’d saved a life, would that lighten my punishment?

  “One was attacking my comrade,” I answered, twisting my hands in front of me.

  She went on, “It is usually difficult to rescue someone from a shazod without harming the very person whom it is attacking. If the victim is failing to defeat the creature themselves, there is little that can be done by an outsider. I’m sure you were taught this in your training. How were you able to overpower such a creature so quickly?” she asked, doubtfully surveying my willowy form.

  “I’m not sure,” I hesitated.

  “It was certainly an impressive rescue.”

  I stared at her blankly, stunned to suddenly be receiving praise. But the bliss didn’t last long.

  The lead cleared her throat. “Your commander also felt it necessary to tell me about a certain incident he witnessed during that day’s events. He claims you ignored him when he told you to fall back and cover the archers.”

  “Yes, I did,” I admitted, eyes downcast, spirit sinking.

  “You disobeyed a direct order. It puzzled him as it seemed to go against his impression of you. Shocked him even; but not for the reasons you’re imagining. As you rushed forward away from his direction, he watched you slay the unseen, with a passion and intelligence that no ordinary person could have. He describes it to me as thus, that it was as though you could see the creatures.” Her eyes bore into me as I tried to grasp the direction this conversation was taking.

  “Have you encountered shazod before?”

  “No, never.”

  “And yet you killed the first in a matter of seconds and went on to swiftly incapacitate more all over the field, turning th
e tide of the conflict, giving us victory.”

  “Well, I…”

  “What is your secret then?” she interrogated. “I’m sure the rest of your troop would be eager to learn your technique.”

  “Technique?” I echoed stupidly, strangely terrified of the truth. “I don’t know, I just…” I fell silent.

  “There must be something you discovered that aided you that day Amlai. Speak plainly.”

  “I could sense them...I don’t know why,” I stammered. “I’d wounded my hand, so it was bare, I reached out and touched the one that was attacking Camphraz and I could see its form for a few seconds. Once I’d destroyed it, my senses reacted just like they would for any other creature. I knew exactly where they were hidden in the battle-”

  “So, you have seen one,” she interrupted, cocking her head. My mind flashed to an image that had haunted me in my sickness. It wasn’t part of my fever, it was a memory.

  I swallowed hard. “I did see...something, when I first touched the form of the shazod that was attacking my comrade.”

  “And you didn’t mark this as unique in your mind?”

  “There wasn’t much time, there was chaos all around me.”

  “And you sensed the rest of the shazod within the battle. You ignored your orders and you followed your senses, ridding the field of the creatures effectively. Saving lives.”

  She moved closer toward me, inspecting my person. “Your father, he is a Lantern, if I recall correctly?” I nodded.

  “I’m very familiar with Lantern people, my brother and several of my close friends held the very same code,” Lead Breiden revealed. “Are you aware that all of the Lanterns I’ve ever met have told me it is impossible for them to see or sense the shazod as they would see and sense other creatures? Why should I challenge that? How can I expect their powers to see inside something that is already unseen? But here you are, and from your words and your commander’s, I am beginning to believe that perhaps you are the first of our company, the first even of your code, quite possibly, to view and detect one.”